"Yes," Kate said. "I remember. You- What's wrong? You look distressed."
"Could we step away from the window? There's… I think… I know it sounds wild, but I think a man has been following you."
Kate led her to the small corner table. The young woman sat down so that she, too, could see the street. "I'm Nancy Westervelt."
"Yes. I hope you found a designer you will enjoy working with."
"I have an appointment next week. Thank you." The woman chafed her hands together lightly, as if she were cold. "Tonight when I saw you on the street I thought I recognized you. When I turned to look, my attention was caught by a man who seemed to be following you. I watched him. When you came in the restaurant he drew back out of sight but then in a minute he slipped forward and looked in the window. Then he went on past, crossed the street, came back along the other side, and kept watching. He so bothered me that I knew I must tell you."
"I appreciate that. When did you first notice him?"
"I saw you get out of your car. He was in a cab right behind you, he got out as you were parking. He started right off following you, though I didn't realize at first what he was doing.
"Maybe it's nothing, but it frightened me." Nancy's voice was soft and well modulated. They sat a few minutes discussing her design project, waiting to see if he would return, both watching the window. Then, in the shadowed door of a T-shirt shop across the street the man appeared, as if perhaps he had been there for a while but had just stepped forward. Nervously Kate glanced toward the kitchen, where the back door opened to the alley.
The young woman's eyes widened. "Can you go out the back? If you could slip out that way, and around to your car… you could take my raincoat, there's a hat in the pocket, you could pull that down over your hair."
Kate almost laughed, the idea of a disguise was so bizarre. And what if he caught her in the back alley? She would like to call the police, she was really tired of this. She wished she knew the names of the two detectives that Dallas Garza had worked with here in the city. If they knew that she was a friend of Garza's, would they be more likely to help her? More likely to believe that she'd been followed, and to listen to her?
But she didn't know their names, and anyway she would be embarrassed to call the busy San Francisco PD and ask them to send out a patrol car for something so… something that, when she repeated it back to herself, seemed so without substance. He has been following me for weeks, I see him standing in doorways…
If her car or her apartment had been broken into, the police would take her seriously. But this… Well, she had to do something. Glancing toward the kitchen, she rose.
Nancy rose with her, handing her the raincoat. "I'll go out with you. He won't expect to see two women."
Sliding some money onto the table, Kate followed her toward the back. Watching Nancy, she tried not to warm to the woman's gentle manner-but why did she have to be so suspicious? Nancy Westervelt was only trying to help her, was only concerned for her. As they paused by the door to the kitchen, Kate pulled on the raincoat, then the hat, tucking her blond hair up inside. She felt better doing something positive, even if this was melodramatic. Nancy looked hard at her. "I was followed once." She was quiet a moment. "It wasn't nice. It wasn't something I'll forget."
A faint nausea touched Kate, a shaky sickness.
As they moved through the kitchen among the busy chefs, among hot, delicious dinners being prepared along the big stainless-steel tables, the workers frowned at them, puzzled. A round, dark-eyed chef appraised Kate so critically that she thought he would tell them to leave. But then Annette caught up with them, handing Kate a foil-wrapped package, Kate could smell the warm shrimp melt. And quickly Annette led them through the kitchen, shepherding them with authority. Between a stack of cans and boxes, and storage lockers, they approached the back screen door covered by a dark security grid.
"Wait here." Annette's thin, oval face was quietly serious. "Let me look out the back window." She disappeared into a storeroom, but was gone only a moment. Returning, she didn't ask questions. "There's no one there that I can see, the alley looks empty."
They slipped out through the screen door fast, Nancy going first, Kate staying close behind her shrouded in the cream raincoat, the slouch hat pulled down nearly to her eyebrows. She felt like Groucho Marx in drag; she wondered if the lame disguise would fool anyone. Hurrying beside Nancy along the faintly lit alley she headed for the side street that would take them to Columbus again and her car.
20
The roof of the courthouse reflected bright moonlight, offering no dark niche where a cat could hide. Along the edges of the tile roof, harsh searchlights scanned the night's shadows bleeding up into the sky. Only within the gloom of the oak tree's thick foliage, where the leaves caressed the roof of the Molena Point PD, was there safety. The three cats huddled down, blending as well as they could among the shadows, their paler parts carefully concealed from the dazzling beams. Joe Grey's white chest, nose, and paws were tucked under him as neatly as if he were a rolled-up ball of gray yarn.
It might seem overkill to send the entire department out looking for whoever had dumped that clear plastic package in through the holding cell window. But these days, any object tossed into a police building had to be regarded with suspicion. Anything, any time, could be a bomb. For too many, law enforcement had become the enemy.
Just when searchlights ceased to scour the parking lot and progressed deeper into the village, a squad car pulled in from the street to park in the red zone facing the station. The cats watched warily.
Young Officer Rordan was behind the wheel. The thin, dark, more-seasoned Officer Sacks rode in the passenger seat. Had they picked up someone they thought had dumped the package, some unintended victim of feline subterfuge? But then the cats saw the three figures in the backseat.
All were female, slim, and young; one with pale hair piled on top of her head, one a tall girl with long dark hair tied back in a ponytail. And, a too-familiar figure with a sassy bob that, even in the glow of the vapor lights, gleamed as red as new rust.
Stepping from the vehicle, Officers Rordan and Sacks ordered the girls out. The three crawled out of the back, angry and disheveled, and were marched into the station, Candy and Leah scowling with rage. Dillon looked frightened and ashamed. Officer Sacks carried two large paper grocery bags crammed full of clothes; the cats could see bits of leather and velour, an expensive-looking running shoe. The officers and their prisoners disappeared inside, and the cats heard a metal door slam. Pushing through the oak's thick leaves to the high barred window, they peered down into the holding cell.
The girls sat sprawled on the stained bunk, all three now sullen and defiant. In the style of fashion-conscious young teens, none was dressed warm enough for the chill evening. Candy wore tight faded jeans, a white tank top that hiked well above her middle, and goose bumps. She slouched at the far end of the bunk watching as Officer Sacks booked Leah and then Dillon: name and address, parents' names, school, and any statement they cared to make. Leah's answers were so rude the cats wondered if she wanted to be locked up for the night or perhaps longer. Her thin, sagging T-shirt looked no warmer than Candy's tank top. Her lipstick was the color of raspberry jam. Only Dillon answered Sacks's questions with any civility, as she glanced past him into the station. Was she looking for Captain Harper, perhaps hoping he wasn't there? She was wearing red jeans and an old, creased leather jacket with nothing but a bra underneath. Her boots were thick and heavy, of the kind that, well aimed, could break a person's leg. When Sacks finished with the girls, they lounged on the hard bunk, scowling and silent.