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“She wants to take a closer look at the fence,” I said. “Remember the witness who came forward and said he saw Jeb and Camilla arguing, and then he actually saw Jeb attack Camilla? Well, the only way he could have seen that was if he was standing out there, looking in through a hole in the fence.”

Dooley’s attention was momentarily snagged by a couple of birds tweeting and twittering up a storm in a nearby tree, and I rolled my eyes. And as Odelia checked the fence, I followed close behind. Gran, meanwhile, was still sleeping in the car, her mouth open, and snoring like a lumberjack cutting a particularly thick piece of log. Whatever was in those pills she took, instead of bucking her up, they’d put her to sleep!

“I don’t see it,” said Odelia as we snuck closer to the fence. “Oh, there it is. See? There’s a hole.”

Actually, I couldn’t see, for I’m a lot shorter and closer to the ground than she is. When I reminded her of this fact, she apologized and picked me up. And then I saw it, too. There was a hole in the fence that offered a perfect view of Jeb’s so-called private lodge. From that particular vantage point, anyonecould have looked in.

“So this witness was right,” said Odelia. “Too bad he chose to remain anonymous.”

“If he was walking his dog, it must be someone who lives around here,” I said.

“Good point, and I’m sure Uncle Alec and Chase thought of that, too.”

I suddenly noticed something odd.“That hole looks so nice and round. Is that normal?”

We moved closer, Odelia and me both studying the hole in more detail.

The fence was a chain-link contraption, covered with a sheet of dark green plastic to shield the area off from unwanted lookie-loos. But in the exact spot where Jeb’s living room was, someone had cut a round hole of about a foot diameter.

Odelia crouched down and checked the ground, putting me down as well. There were green plastic shavings right below the hole. She checked them.

“These look pretty recent,” she said.

“So what does that mean?”

She got up.“It means that someone wanted to spy on Jeb Pott. And that someone knew exactly where Jeb was going to be.”

“Could be a reporter,” I suggested. “Or a paparazzo.”

“Could be,” she agreed. “Or it could be someone who wanted to keep an eye on Jeb for a different reason.”

“Like our Mr. Animal. The one Jeb owed money to?”

“You’re right. Loan sharks want to keep an eye on their victims. Just in case they decide to make a run for it without paying. This Animal could have sent one of his goons out here to keep an eye on Jeb. And cut a neat hole in the fence just for that purpose.”

It sounded reasonable, but still didn’t explain… “Could it be that this goon was the one who called in the attack? It would stand to reason he wouldn’t want his identity revealed to the police. Not if he was spying on Jeb.”

“Do loan sharks care if their clients murder people?” asked Odelia, more to herself than to me.

“I would think so. A client in jail is a client who can’t pay what he owes, and he can’t be reached to put the squeeze on either. So it would be in the loan shark’s best interest to prevent his client from going to prison.”

“Loan sharks are usually part of a criminal organization. Their reach extends inside most prisons, so I don’t think that would matter a great deal. No, this would have to be a loan shark with a conscience, which seems at odds with the profession.”

“And the name. Animal,” I reminded her.

She suddenly glanced across the street.“I like this idea of a neighbor a lot more, actually. Someone walking their dog. Which would put him in any of these houses. Lots of people don’t want to get involved with the police, or see their names printed in the newspapers. People like their privacy, and coming forward as a witness carries a certain risk. Testimony in court, maybe, scrutiny from the press, potential backlash at work, etcetera. I would understand why this person would choose to remain anonymous. What bugs me is the burner phone. Why would a person walking their dog carry a burner phone? That doesn’t fit with the idea that this is an ordinary neighbor, concerned about Camilla.”

She was following a certain train of thought, I could tell, and suddenly turned and crossed the street, walking straight up the house located there. I followed her, hissing,“Dooley. Leave those birds alone!”

“Huh?” said Dooley, clearly in the throes of the bird spectacle.

For some reason birds flitting about in trees exact a powerful fascination on us cats. We can stare at them for hours upon hours. But now was not the time to practice ornithology. Now was the time to assist Odelia, who was clearly onto something.

“What about Gran?” asked Dooley, hurrying after us.

“Oh, she’s fine,” I said. “Sleeping off her ecstasy bender.”

Odelia glanced through the windows of the house across the street. This was a more modest structure, compared to the place where Helena and her daughter lived. It was built flush with the road, without a front yard, and barely big enough to house a family.