(excerpt from Poe Place)
Bet had a missed something. A mental tug hinted at a lead that was flopping around trying to make a connection; she’d learned to never ignore that sensation. She flipped again through the photos on her laptop; a twitch of the eyes over each caught all the details as her finger beat a staccato on the mouse button.
Twenty pictures in she found it. Not even marked by a numbered yellow placard, the photographer had still thought to put a checkered gauge next to the bloody partial paw-print. She could have kissed him. Judging by size, it was a cat’s - Bet pulled some reference images off the Internet to confirm. It was the right shape - a small dog’s footprint would have been narrower with clear claw marks. This print was broad, and… Bet frowned and looked back at the reference image. The one from the crime scene had six smudges around the large central pad. Could that sixth smudge be an extra toe?
“Six-toed cat”, Bet told her search engine and hundreds of pictures populated the browser. A computer voice started reading off the attached captions. Apparently six-toed - or “polydactyl” - cats were more common than she thought. When she added “paw-print” as a term, it brought up an image that was a dead-ringer for the partial from the crime-scene - the sixth toe spaced away from the other five, more like a thumb-like than just another toe.
The tugging in her brain persisted, increasing in urgency without increasing in clarity. She picked up her cellphone while she waited for the feeling to solidify or fade away. “Call Bradley” she said, and waited.
The detective picked up after only two rings. “Hey Bet, what’s up?” There was the sound of voices in the background.
“You’re still on scene? Good. Have you talked to the building Super yet?” Bet asked.
“Yah, I just did. I can probably catch her again if you think you found something.”
“Maybe… there’s a cat print in the blood. Did the renter of that apartment have a cat?”
“Wait just a second…” the sounds became muffled and strange as Brad took the phone away from his face and put it against his… chest? The rustle of clothing suggested so, and it may have been an artifact of her expectations but Bet thought she heard a faint rhythmic thumping. Bet closed her eyes and swayed slightly left, as if she could get closer to the sound. She remembered the last time she had heard Brad’s heartbeat, unmuffled by electronics. Or clothing…
“Bet,” Brad’s voice came back over the line, startling her into sitting upright. “The Super says that not only did Ms. Fonelli not own a cat, no pets are allowed in the building. It’s in the renter’s agreement. She said that Ms. Fonelli is allergic to cats and said how was glad she was that none of her neighbors would have them. And before you say anything, I asked Guaric - he said that the responding officers didn’t say ANYTHING about a cat found at the scene, and there’s been an officer stationed at the door since they first opened it. They would have had to be sleeping to miss a cat coming in or out.”
“Maybe it’s still on the scene?” She knew nothing about cats, but the evidence didn’t lie. There had been a cat there. I need to run the blood swabs for cat DNA, she thought, hoping there would be enough sample after the matching to the victim and suspect pool was done.
“With this commotion going on?” Detective Adair paused. “Maybe. I’ll have someone look under the bed, behind the couch… the usual places. Hey, do you think the killer brought it? I’ll check with the Magnussons, see if the victim had a cat or anything.” He kept chattering, but Bet had stopped listening. Her feeling had matured into a straight-up hunch.
“Brad, just shut-up, ok?” Bet said into the phone, and then put it down on the desk, ignoring the “Oh for fuck sake, just call me back when you get it worked out,” on the other end and the beeping as the connection was dropped.
