Have You Seen My Cat? And Other Stories

Have You Seen My Cat?

And Other Stories

By Robert P. Hansen

Copyright 2014 by Robert P. Hansen

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Acknowledgments

Armageddon copyright 2014 by Robert P. Hansen. Originally published in the September issue of The Fifth Dimension.

Baby Jesus copyright 2006 by Calliope. Originally published in the Jan.-Feb. issue.

Code 13 B copyright 2012 by Robert P. Hansen. Originally published in the March issue of The Fifth Dimension.

Fishing on Enceladus copyright 2013 by Robert P. Hansen. Originally published in the 2013 edition of The Martian Wave.

Playing Thief copyright 2012 by The Corner Club Press. Originally published in Vol. II, Issue VII.

Thanatos copyright 2014 by Robert P. Hansen. Originally published in the June issue of The Fifth Dimension.

Cover copyright 2014 by American Book Design.

Special thanks to Ronda Swolley of Mystic Memories Copy Editing for the copy edit.

Dedication

For Rick Meyer, a friend misplaced.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Have You Seen My Cat?

Crossing Over

Baby Jesus

My Father’s Secret Place

By the Book

A Small Town Murder

A Friendly Wager

Playing Thief

Armed and Dangerous

This Time

Shadow Walker

Driven

Remote Control

Yesterday’s Child

The Phantom Hand

The Mistress of Death

Confessions

A Green Thumb

Natural Selection

The Big Day

The Idiot Box

Little Brother

Thanatos

Code 13 B

Armageddon

Fishing on Enceladus

Connect With Me

Additional Titles

Have You Seen My Cat?

ONE

Louisa Anderson stepped into her apartment and turned sideways just far enough to shut and lock the door behind her. She took a deep breath, savoring the pine forest of her air freshener, and set her keys and purse on the small table in her foyer. She slipped off her work shoes and leaned down to rub the toes of her left foot, and then she walked into the kitchen and stopped. Something was wrong.

She looked around the kitchen but couldn’t tell what was. She frowned. Her door had been locked, but she had the distinct impression that someone had been in her apartment. Nothing seemed to be out of place, but she still took a few steps back and slipped her hand in her purse to get the pepper spray. She wasn’t scared, exactly, but she was uneasy.

What was it that troubled her? Prissy? she muttered, wondering why her calico hadn’t greeted her. She always greeted her with a soft little mewl and friendly rub against her calf. Here kitty, kitty, she called, her voice higher than normal, softer than normal. She smiled and asked, Where are you, you little rascal?

She palmed the pepper spray with her finger on the nozzle and went back into the kitchen to look for her. But Prissy wasn’t near her food dish, and there weren’t many places for a cat to hide. She searched them quickly, calling, Here, Prissy, a few times, but the kitten was not there. She turned to the living room—what she called a living room; it was barely large enough for a pair of chairs, a dining table, and a few wall-length bookshelves—and did another quick search. No Prissy.

That left the bedroom and bathroom, neither of which yielded the little calico.

The windows were closed. The door had been locked.

Where are you, Prissy? she asked, shaking her head and putting her hands on her hips. She frowned and mumbled, I know I didn’t let you out this morning. She gave her apartment another quick search, ending with the same results. By the time she had finished searching for the third time, she was getting somewhat frantic, wondering where her kitten was. She took out her smartphone and searched through the text messages she hadn’t gotten around to reading, but none of them mentioned Prissy or her apartment. She hadn’t expected them to, since the only other person who had a key to her apartment was her landlord, and he always called well ahead of time if he needed access to it. Still…

She called her landlord.

This is Tom, he answered.

Hi Tom, she began. This is Louisa Anderson in 22B.

Hi Louisa, he said.

Were you here today?

No, he said. Is there a problem?

I don’t know, she said. I can’t find my kitten. I’ve looked everywhere in the apartment, but she’s not here.

Did he you let her out when you left?

No, she said, shaking her head.

Are you sure?

Positive, She said, nodding. She’s too skittish to go outside the apartment.

Did you lock your door when you left?

Of course, Louisa said. I had to unlock it when I got home.

Who else has a key?

Only you, she said.

Is there anything else missing?

I don’t think so, she said. But I haven’t really looked.

Look then, he said. If there is, you should call the police. Other than that, I don’t know what you want me to do.

Louisa thought for a moment, Well, if anyone finds a calico kitten—

I’ll keep you in mind. Is there anything else?

Louisa pinched her lower lip and shook her head. No, just my kitten’s missing.

All right, Tom said. Goodbye, then.

TWO

Louisa sat on her couch and scrolled through the photos she’d taken of Prissy, trying to find the right one to use on the flyer. She smiled at the one in which Prissy had been tangled up in a ball of yarn, and then she remembered why she was looking through the photos. She needed one that showed Prissy’s profile and face, and that one didn’t. Most of them didn’t. Most of them were funny little incidents Prissy had gotten into, the ones she had put on Facebook for her friends to chuckle over.

Once she chose a photo, she wondered about the content of the message. HAVE YOU SEEN MY CAT? was the easy part, but she didn’t know if she should give a reward, use her e-mail, phone, Facebook, or twitter for the contact information. Should she give her name? It was complicated, more complicated than she’d expected, and it took several minutes for her to settle on using her phone number and offering a $50 reward that she couldn’t really afford. She saved the file and opened the printer menu.

How many copies? she asked herself, counting them off on her fingers. The Laundromat. The front door. The back door. The bulletin board in the park. Telephone poles. Hadley’s Bar & Grill. In the end, she decided Prissy was just a kitten and couldn’t have gotten very far on her own. She printed off twenty copies.

By the time she reached the park, most of the flyers had been posted, and she was wondering if she should have printed more copies. Then she saw Gina standing in front of the bulletin board talking with a couple of older women from the building, Madge McDougal and Fillipa something-or-other-in-Spanish. She tried to smile as she approached, waved half-heartedly, and called out, Hi Gina!

Gina turned and waved her over, and when Louisa drew closer, half-shouted, Have you seen Rudy?

Rudy? Louisa asked as she joined them. Why? Is he missing too?

Too? Gina asked.

Louisa nodded and held out her flyer. Prissy’s gone. I can’t find her anywhere.

I told you it was strange, Madge said. That makes four that we know about.

Four? Louisa repeated.

Four cats are missing, Gina said. She pointed to her own flyer and the picture of the orange monster she called Rudy. Ours disappeared this afternoon while we were gone.

That is odd, Louisa agreed, her heart sinking. If four cats were missing, the chances were pretty slim that they had all gotten loose on their own. I thought I would put up a flyer, she said, looking at the other flyers on the bulletin board. In case someone saw her.

What do you think happened? Gina asked.

Louisa shrugged. She was in the apartment when I left for work this morning, she said. When I got home this afternoon, she was gone. She had to have been inside when I left.

Gina nodded. Same with Rudy. He was in my apartment this morning and now he’s gone.

And Adorno, Madge said. He disappeared during the lunch rush.

Si, Fillipa agreed. Jose go.

A middle-aged, balding man with a beer belly hanging over his belt ambled up, said hello, ogled Gina for a long moment, and started tacking up a flyer offering a $100 reward for the return of Gandalf, a Siamese cat with diabetes.

Another one? Gina said. Five cats missing? It isn’t natural.

No, Louisa agreed. Something else must be going on.

Five cats? the middle-aged man asked.

Yes, Gina said, trying not to look at him for very long. Our cats are missing, too.

Five cats missing, the man mused. That is unusual. He took a pen from his shirt pocket, flipped one of his flyers over, and began drawing. I wonder, he said, if there’s a pattern. Here, he said, holding his drawing up against the bulletin board to show them a diagram of two intersecting lines with boxes around them. That’s Elm Street, he said, pointing at one of the lines. And this is Main. I live in the apartment complex on the corner.

So do I, Louisa said. And Gina. But we’re on different floors. Gina glared at her for a brief moment, but she ignored it.

I live above the restaurant next door, Madge said.

Fillipa pointed at the diagram and nodded. 3C.

We’re all from the—

A teenager on a bicycle skidded to a stop, nearly running into the middle-aged man. Sorry, he said, letting his bike fall to the ground. Hi Grandma, he added as he hurried up to the bulletin board with a flyer.

Jimmy—

Are you from Elmhurst Apartments? the middle-aged man asked. I think I’ve seen your bike chained up in the lobby.

Yes, the boy said, sticking his flyer onto the bulletin board.

Your cat’s missing, Madge asked.

I can’t find him, the boy said. I think he got out the window while I was at school.

I think, Louisa said, we should call the police.

Police? the middle-aged man said. They don’t look for missing cats.

They might, Louisa said, if six of them are missing from the same general area.

You might be right, the middle-aged man said.

I know who we can call, Gina said, taking out her cell phone….

THREE

Chief Daniel Jacobs frowned as he hung up his cell phone. That girl, he muttered, picking up the landline’s receiver and jabbing the button for an extension.

Detective Primrose, was the prompt response.

Frank, he said, would you come into my office for a few moments?

There was a brief pause before Detective Primrose asked, Now, Sir?

It isn’t urgent, Chief Jacobs said. It can wait a few minutes.

All right, Detective Primrose said. I’ll be over in about ten minutes.

That will be fine, Chief Jacobs said, hanging up. Cats, he muttered, shaking his head as he returned to the weekly expenditure reports.

By the time Detective Primrose knocked on his door, he was utterly convinced there wasn’t room in the budget to redirect his resources to find a few missing cats and had almost called to tell Frank not to show up. Yes? he said and the door opened.

You wanted to see me, Dan?

Yes, he said. Would you mind shutting the door?

Of course, Detective Primrose said. Once he had done so, he approached the desk and sat down opposite Chief Jacobs. What is it, Dan?

Probably nothing, he said. But I told my niece I would have someone look into it.

Gina? Frank asked.

Yes, he said. Her cat is missing.

Another one? Detective Primrose asked, leaning forward and taking out his pocket-sized notebook and clicking his pen to life. Do you know the details?

Details? Chief Jacobs said. It’s a cat. A big orange furball she calls Rudy. But that’s not why she called.

Oh?

She says there are at least six cats in the vicinity of her building that are missing.

Six cats, Detective Primrose said, marking down the number. Did you get the names of the owners?

No. I thought you would find that out if this turned into something. I wouldn’t even have called you, but it is rather unusual for six cats to go missing.

Gina’s still downtown, isn’t she? Somewhere on Elm Street, I think.

Yes, Elmhurst Apartments, Chief Jacobs said. Why?

Six more missing cats, Detective Primrose mused, flipping through his notebook and occasionally putting the nib of his pen to a spot on the page. That makes nearly thirty cats missing that we know of. There are probably more that haven’t been reported.

Thirty cats? Chief Jacobs repeated. Where?

All over the precinct, Detective Primrose said. You should check the other precincts to see if they have any cats missing.

Yes, Chief Jacobs said, frowning. We appear to have a cat burglar….

Or several, Detective Primrose said. The disappearances seem to have happened about the same time. He paused, reviewed his notes, and finished. All right, Dan, I’ll head over to her apartment. It’s as good a place to start as any. Confined area with a concentration of burgled cats.

Burgled? Chief Jacobs repeated. I was joking, Frank.

I know, Detective Primrose said, But based on what the officers I’ve talked with have said, the cats seem to have been taken out of their owners’ homes without any indication of a break in. The victims who did a more thorough search of their homes also found other items missing. Personal things like wedding albums, diaries, journals, scrapbooks—one even said her divorce papers had disappeared off her table. She had received them that morning, signed them, and went out to get a burger. When she got back, her cat was gone and so were the divorce papers. She was not at all happy about that, either.

No sign of forced entry? Chief Jacobs asked. There has to be forensics.

Detective Primrose shook his head. The officers couldn’t find any when they did a routine, cursory examination.

Well, Chief Jacobs said, frowning. A few seconds later, he took out his cell phone and punched in a number. I want you to check something, he said while it rang. Find out if the tenants in her building who don’t have cats are missing anything like that. He turned his attention to his phone and said, Hi Gina. This is Uncle Dan. Are you at home?… Good, good. I’m sending over Detective Primrose. I think you know him?… That’s right, Frank.… Yes, yes, I know. Look, Gina, I want you to do something before he gets there. I want you to check to see if anything else is missing. No, no, personal items, like a diary, journal, scrapbook—… That’s right. See if anything like that is missing. Have your friend—what’s her name again? Louise?… Yes, have Louisa check, too. In fact, call your super and tell him to ring everyone in the building and have them do it, too…. Yes, even those who don’t have missing cats. Frank will be over in about twenty minutes…. Okay. Goodbye.

I’ll get going, Detective Primrose said, rising.

Frank, Chief Jacobs said. I have a stinky suspicion that something bizarre is going on. Find out what it is.

I will, Dan, he nodded and moved toward the door.

And Frank, Chief Jacobs said, looking up. Take Albert with you. If someone’s been in Gina’s apartment…. Have him do a complete forensic assessment.

Sure, Dan, Detective Primrose said, quietly opening the door and walking out.

How can I justify the expense, Chief Jacobs wondered, glancing down at the unappealing reports on his desk….

FOUR

Elmhurst Apartments was a sprawling three story brick building with burgundy tiled roof and peach trim. It took up most of the block, and the parking lot took up the rest. There were several open slots, and Detective Primrose parked in one near the front door. Albert, he said as he opened the door. Let’s take a look around out here before we go in. There may be footprints under the windows, broken twigs in that shrubbery, signs of the windows being jimmied—things like that.

Fingerprints on the eaves? Albert asked. Should I scan for body fluids?

If you have time, Detective Primrose said. We’re probably not looking for a Peeping Tom. Then he thought about it a moment and said, Then again, Peeping Toms can escalate….

And become cat burglars? Albert said, chuckling at his own joke.

Detective Primrose ignored the joke—it was getting old—and said, We’re going to talk to the Chief’s niece, Albert. Try to remember that.

We aren’t there yet, Albert muttered, getting his field kit out from the back seat.

Detective Primrose walked around the car and pointed at the far corner of the apartment building. Why don’t you start over there? he said. I’ll take a look at the windows over here and get the super to let us in.

Albert nodded, and hurried off to that end of the building. Detective Primrose watched until he reached it and had set down his kit, and then moved toward the front door to start his own investigation. The shrubbery was about chest high and, with the exception of the sidewalk, ran the full length of the building. It allowed little room for someone to pass between it and the building without leaving a noticeable trail. He reached out to touch it and found no thorns, but the twigs were rigid and almost as sharp as a blunt toothpick. They were uncomfortable but not sharp enough to draw blood. He moved to the first window, looked at the ground for footprints and found none. Then he stepped forward and tried to part the shrubs, and winced as the ends of the twigs poked into his hands. He pulled them back, took off his suit jacket and carefully draped it over the shrub. He leaned forward and peered at the base of the windowsill to see if there were any tool marks where someone might have jimmied it open.

Nothing.

He checked three more and decided to leave the rest to Albert. He was making good progress, and Detective Primrose called out, Found anything?

Albert shook his head. No.

Keep looking, he called. Then go around to the back. I’m going to talk with the super.

He went up to the front door and rang the buzzer for the super and waited. A few seconds passed, and a man’s voice asked, Yes?

Are you the super?

Yes.

This is Detective Primrose. I need to talk to you.

I’ll be right out, the super said.

While he waited, Detective Primrose examined the front door. It had a key card lock, but there didn’t seem to be any signs of tampering. He looked up and decided there was more than enough lighting—if the bulbs worked. It would be a difficult place to burgle, even at night, but not impossible.

The door opened, and the super said, Detective? He looked about sixty, gray hair, thin build, five nine, one-sixty-five, brown eyes, blue jeans, light-brown button shirt with a collar.

Detective Primrose took his badge out of his pocket and showed it to him. Do the lights work?

Yes, the super said. They’re on a timer.

Are there security cameras?

He shook his head.

Did Gina Andrews call you?

Yes, he said. He held out his hand. I’m Tom, Tom Griffin.

Detective Primrose shook it and nodded. Have you talked to the other tenants about missing items?

I’ve talked with the tenants with cats, he said. They’re all missing.

You were supposed to call all of your tenants, Detective Primrose said, to find out if they are missing any personal items. Diaries, wedding albums, journals—that kind of thing. A lot of the people who have reported missing cats have also had other things taken, the kind of things they might not notice right away.

The super frowned. That doesn’t make any sense.

Not to us, either, Detective Primrose admitted. But it does to someone.

Albert joined them at the door and said, I didn’t see anything on this side, he said. But out back, there are footprints and a collection of bodily fluids by the third window in from that side.

Who’s apartment is that? Detective Primrose said.

Third in would be Allison Harris. Why?

You should tell her to put her shades down, especially at night, Albert said. Someone’s been masturbating outside her window. I collected samples.

Detective Primrose took out his notebook and jotted down a note to tell the patrol officers to keep an eye out for the peeper. Hopefully, they would catch him before it escalated into something more serious. True, most peepers were relatively harmless, but it would be a good idea to find out who he is. Allison Harris deserved her privacy.

Why don’t you show me where Gina Andrews’ apartment is and make those calls. Tell the tenants I’ll meet them out front in half an hour.

All right, the super said. The elevator is at the end of the hall. Take it to the second floor—it’s the B button. Her apartment is the one to the right when you exit the elevator. It’s 2B.

Thank you, Mr. Griffin. Meet us back here in half an hour.

When they were in the elevator, Detective Primrose turned to Albert and said, Did you notice his reaction when you told him about someone masturbating outside that window?

He was shocked, Albert said. "I don’t think he realized there was a peeper.

No, Detective Primrose corrected. He was shocked because he’s the peeper.

How do you know? Albert asked.

He wasn’t surprised. If he had been, he would have commented on it. Instead, he just stood there uncomfortably waiting for us to say something else.

The elevator door opened, and they stepped out. The door to 2B was only a few feet away, and Detective Primrose knocked on it. It opened almost immediately, and a lovely young woman with long blonde hair, light brown eyes, trim figure, five eleven, dark blue slacks, frilly pink blouse, and low-heeled shoes said, Hello?

Before he could answer, Gina looked around the corner and half-shouted, Hi Frank! Come on in.

The tall woman turned and walked back into the apartment, with Detective Primrose and Albert close behind. The woman led them into a cozy living room where half a dozen people were sitting. Gina was handing out glasses and pouring something orange from a pitcher. Would you like some Kool-Aid, Frank? She asked, her black hair swishing a bit against her collar and large loop earring. She smiled easily, but it was a bit strained, forced. It had been a few years since he had seen her, and she had blossomed remarkably in those two years, even though she hadn’t gotten much taller—five feet and a whisper—and what weight she had put on was distributed nicely.

Detective Primrose smiled and shook his head, both to clear it of the current image and the one with the braces and bony frame he had remembered. No thank you, Gina, he said. I assume these are the other tenants you mentioned? The ones with cats missing?

Yes, she said. We thought it would be easier for you to talk to us if we were all in one place. Since you were coming here, she shrugged. Jimmy, why don’t you give him the flyers?

Sure, Jimmy, a boy in blue jeans and wrinkled brown t-shirt with an emblem on it that was obscured by the flyers he picked up and held out in front of him. Here, he said, giving them to Detective Primrose. Blue eyes, gap between his front teeth, short-cropped hair, breath smelling of oranges, Kool-Aid moustache. These are our cats. Can you find them for us?

I’ll try, Jimmy, Detective Primrose said, smiling reassuringly as he accepted the flyers. He glanced through them. Half male, half female, he thought. Several varieties. Different ages. No immediately apparent pattern.

This is Fillipa, Gina continued, putting her hands on the shoulders of a thirty-something Hispanic woman wringing her hands, her face scrunching up as her brow furrowed and she ground her teeth. They took her green card, Frank. How could someone be so cruel? She shook her head as she massaged Fillipa’s shoulders. You can do something about that, can’t you?

Detective Primrose frowned. You’ll have to contact immigration. I’m sure they have a record of it, and once you file a police report about the theft, they’ll be able to sort things out for you. He took out his notebook and began writing. Last name? Address? Fillipa provided the information and he turned to the others. Have any of the rest of you had something taken besides your cat?

My diary is gone, Gina said. I keep it under my pillow. I know it was there last night because I wrote something in it.

Gina, this is Albert. He’s a forensics expert. Would you mind if he took a look at your bedroom to see if he can find anything?

Well… Gina hesitated. I suppose so.

Don’t worry, Albert said. I won’t look anywhere you don’t want me to. We can start with where you kept your diary. You can stay with me the whole time if you’d like.

My family bible is missing, the balding, middle-aged man said, shaking his head. It was difficult to determine his height, since he was sitting down, but he was obviously overweight, and the black T-shirt advertized The Lord of the Rings. It had a stain—mustard?—just above Frodo’s ear. It’s been with us Gundersons since 1732. I know it was in my safe before I left this morning; I saw it in there when I got money out to buy the comics. There were a lot of personal items pressed between its leaves—my birth certificate, my parent’s wedding license, my grandparents’—

You can provide a complete list later, Detective Primrose said. For now, I’d like to have names and addresses—apartment numbers if you live in the building—and a general idea of what was taken. Specifics— He looked at the flyers dangling from his grip and said, Here, write them on the back of your flyer. He took out an extra pen and gave it to the man.

Phil Gunderson, he said. I’m in 1A, right by the back exit. Detective Primrose jotted down the information in his own version of shorthand.

Jimmy, the boy said. I live just down the hall in 16B. I don’t know if anything else was taken. He looked sheepish, his skinny shoulders scrunching up as he spoke. He looked about twelve, but children his age were always difficult to pin down. I haven’t cleaned my room in a while, he added.

Jimmy—? Detective Primrose prompted.

James Abner McDougal.

Louisa Anderson, said the tall young blonde who had answered the door, 22B. I couldn’t find my senior yearbook. It was the one with all the notes from my friends and classmates. I can’t say when it disappeared, though; I haven’t looked at it in months.

Madge McDougal, the older woman said. 13A. I’m Jimmy’s grandma. I’d rather not say what was taken.

Why?

It’s, she looked at her grandson, … too personal.

All right, he said. We can talk about it in private, later. When did the cats disappear?

We’ve talked about that, Louisa said. I was at work from ten to two. Madge and Jimmy were eating lunch at Hadley’s. Fillipa—

Hadley’s? Detective Primrose prompted.

Hadley’s Bar & Grill. It’s two blocks east, she said. They have a great deal for burgers and fries.

He made a note of it, in case he was still in the area at lunchtime. Go on, he prompted.

Gina had stepped out of her apartment to check her mailbox. She was only gone for a few minutes. Fillipa went for a walk, and Phil was at the comic store.

Today’s when the new releases come out, he said. I have a standing order for the ones I collect. It opens at ten, and the UPS truck usually shows up about eleven. It takes Bud—he’s the owner—up to an hour to sort through the inventory for the ones with the highest quality—Gemstone is best, but it is almost never achieved; transportation and exposure to air reduces the quality to Mint almost immediately. Then he has to package them in vacuum-sealed plastic boxes to preserve their mint condition. I got home about one thirty.

So, Detective Primrose said, The window of opportunity is shortest for Gina. Were your doors locked at the time of the theft?

Yes, Louisa, Madge, and Phil said, their voices discordant.

Si, Fillipa said.

Of course, Gina said as she and Albert came back to the living room.

Albert went to the door, opened it, and examined the lock with a magnifying lens.

I left my window open, Jimmy said. "He could have gotten out that way. He usually doesn’t go very