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Returning to the house, we came upon Odelia, who gave us an inquiring look, but when I shook my head, she shook hers, indicating that so far her search had yielded nothing.

Gallagher Davenport, meanwhile, was still sipping from his glass of port, puffing from his cigar and looking about as placid as a man whose house is being invaded by the constabulary can look.

“I don’t kidnap cats, my dear sir,” he took great pains to explain to Uncle Alec. “I simply don’t. If I want a cat, I pay for it.”

“Where were you around nine o’clock?” asked the police chief sternly.

“Why, right here, of course.”

“Can anyone vouch for you?”

“My cats,” he said.

But when I looked where he was pointing, all I could see was a collection of stuffed Persians!

I shivered. If only he’d had a live cat on the premises, we could have talked to her, but these were all long past their expiration date!

And then suddenly a lot of phones started ringing: Odelia’s phone, Uncle Alec’s phone, and Chase’s phone. They all took them out simultaneously and glanced at the display.

“Is the search over?” asked Davenport.

“My people will stay here until Harriet is found,” said Uncle Alec, much to the man’s chagrin.

Odelia turned to us.“Let’s go,” she mouthed.

“But we haven’t found Harriet yet!” said Brutus.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

She removed herself from the small group standing in the entrance hall, and lowered her voice.“There’s been a murder!” she said.

Oh, dear.

“But I want to stay here,” said Brutus. “I need to find Harriet!”

It was a tough call, of course. Chances were that Harriet was still somewhere on the premises, well concealed and out of sight. But if a murder had been committed, and Odelia required our assistance, we couldn’t very well turn her down, now could we?

So in the end we told Brutus that we’d deal with this murder business first, and then return later tonight to look for Harriet.

The big cat could live with that, though he said he’d stay there and look on his own. “I’ll keep a close eye on this guy, and make sure he doesn’t stuff Harriet!”

Now there was something I hadn’t thought I’d hear when I woke up that morning.

CHAPTER 22

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“Do we know who the victim is?” I asked as Chase stepped on it.

Odelia gave her husband a look of significance, then said,“Jay Green.”

“Jay Green!” Dooley cried. “But we just saw him this afternoon!”

“Yeah, and now he’s been murdered,” said Odelia sadly. “And it looks as if Laia might be dead, too. Though that news hasn’t been confirmed yet.”

“Oh, no,” said Dooley. “Laia and Jay!” He shook his head. “They should have listened to you, Odelia. They should have gone to the police when you told them to. And now it’s too late.”

“We don’t know if that has anything to do with this,” said Odelia.

“What are they saying?” asked Chase.

“They’re shocked about what happened,” she relayed our words.

We arrived on Tucker Street, with its now familiar anti-cobblestone posters, and immediately made our way to the loft Jay and Laia shared. Out in front an ambulance idled at the curb, and I saw that Abe Cornwall’s car also stood parked nearby. All in all, there was a considerable police presence, and several of the neighbors had stepped out of their houses to see what was going on.

The room where we had spoken to Laia and Jay that afternoon was now a crime scene, the same way it had been the night before, when a breakin had been reported, only now the crime was even more grave.

In the center of the room, right next to the sofa where Jay had been seated when we last saw him, his body now lay in a puddle of blood, though of Laia there was no trace.

“Laia has been taken to the hospital,” one of Uncle Alec’s officers told us.

“Is she hurt?” asked Odelia anxiously.

“She was found unconscious, but from what I hear she’ll live.”

“Oh, thank God,” said Odelia.

Bent over Jay’s body stood Abe Cornwall, his hair looking as lively as ever.

“As if I didn’t have enough bodies to deal with,” he grumbled.

“So what happened, Abe?” asked Chase.

“It’s not pretty,” said Abe, casting a warning look in my direction for some reason.

“Best if you guys wait this one out,” Odelia announced softly, and ushered us out of the room like a couple of wayward children!

But before we left the room, I picked up a few words that told me she was probably right.

“Battered to a pulp… heavy blunt object… killer must have gone completely berserk…”

“So is he dead, you think, Max?” asked Dooley as we waited patiently in the corridor.

“Yes, I think it’s safe to say that he is, Dooley,” I said.

“Did his heart give out? Sometimes that happens to young men.”

“No, I don’t think his heart gave out. He was definitely murdered.”

“Oh, my. Well, that’s not very nice, is it?”

“Murder rarely is.”