Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 12 Who Knew A Cardinal

Qwilleran's hand hovered over the phone for an instant before he lifted the handset and reported the homicide. As a hard-headed journalist Down Below he would have notified his newspaper first and then the police, but there was a sense of intimacy in a town the size of Pickax, and his loyalties had changed. He knew the victim, and the police chief was a personal friend. Without further hesitation he called Chief Brodie at home.

"Brodie!" was the gruff answer from a man who was accustomed to being roused from sleep at 3 A.M.

"Andy, this is Qwill, reporting a homicide in your precinct."

"Where?"

"In my orchard."

"Who?"

"Hilary VanBrook."

There was a momentary pause. "What was he doing in your orchard?"

"There was a party here for the Theatre Club, and he was the last to leave. He was shot before he had a chance to start his car."

Brodie shifted from gruff lawman to concerned parent. "Was Fran there?"

"The whole club was here."

"Be right over."

"Hold it, Andy! The driveway is probably full of tire tracks and footprints, if that concerns you. Come in the other way, through the theatre parking lot. I'll meet you there and unlock the gate."

Brodie grunted and hung up. Qwilleran pulled pants and a sweater over his pajamas, picked up the flashlight once more, and headed at a run toward Main Street. The road through the woods had been freshly graded and graveled, and it was only a few hundred yards to the fence. Even so, when he arrived at the gate headlights were already illuminating the theatre parking lot. In a town the size of Pickax, everything was five minutes away from everything else.

He jumped into Chief Brodie's car and pointed the way through the woods, while other vehicles with flashing lights followed. He explained, "We've had trespassers lately, so I lock the gate at night."

"How'd you find out about VanBrook?" Brodie snapped.

"After everyone left the orchard, there was still one car parked among the trees. Then that cat of mine started howling suspiciously. I went out to investigate and found VanBrook slumped over the steering wheel."

"He wasn't a happy individual. No wife. No family. Could be suicide."

"Not with a bullethole in the back of his head," Qwilleran said. "It blew his hairpiece off." They had reached the rear of the barn. "Park here. All the activity was on the other side."

A Pickax prowl car and a state police vehicle pulled alongside, leaving room for the ambulance, which arrived immediately, and the medical examiner.

"Anything I can do?" Qwilleran asked.

"Stay indoors till we need you," Brodie ordered. "Leave the house lights on."

Qwilleran threw the master switch once more, and the entire barn glowed like a beacon, the light spilling out to illuminate the surrounding grounds.

The Siamese were nervous. They knew something was wrong. Strangers were milling about the yard, and police spotlights were turning the misshapen trees into frightening giants. Qwilleran picked up the cats and climbed the ramp with one squirming animal under each arm. In their own apartment on the top balcony there were comforting carpets and cushions, useful baskets and perches, a scratching post, and TV. Slipping a video of birdlife into the VCR to calm them, he returned to the main level, feeling mildly guilty; he had not yet called the newspaper.

He notified the night desk, asking if they had a reporter available. Yes, they said, Roger was subbing for Dave.

"Tell him to use the Main Street entrance," Qwilleran said.

Then he tried to reach Larry Lanspeak; as president of the school board Larry deserved to be notified immediately. It appeared, however, that the Lanspeaks had not yet arrived home. They lived in the country; Larry was a cautious driver; and they always drove Eddington Smith home first. Qwilleran gave them another fifteen minutes to reach the affluent suburb of West Middle Hummock before he punched their number again.

Larry answered on the tenth ring. "Just walked in the door, Qwill. What's up?"

"I have bad news for you, Larry. You'll have to shop around for another high school principal."

"What do you mean?"

"VanBrook has been killed."

"What happened? Car accident?"

"You won't believe this, Larry, but someone put a bullet through his skull. The police are here, combing the orchard with their spotlights."

"How did you find out? Did you hear the shot?"

"Didn't hear a thing, except someone's jalopy backfiring. After the gang pulled out, there was one car left. I went out to check it."

"This is a mess, Qwill. The police will assume it was one of us."

"I don't know what they'll assume, but we'd better be prepared to answer questions tomorrow."

Larry volunteered to call the superintendent of schools and alert him. "Otherwise he'll hear it on the radio, or the cops will bang on his door. I can't believe this is happening!"

A chugging motor in the yard caught Qwilleran's ear.

"Excuse me, Larry. Another car just drove in. I think it's a reporter. I'll talk with you later."