Chapter 18

Cat sat in the station manager’s office, explaining her side of the confrontation with Rick from the night before. It appeared to Cat that nothing she said was convincing Mr. Davidson of her innocence and Rick’s guilt. His eyes never stayed on hers for long as she tried to explain. He was a weasel.

“It isn’t that I believe either story over the other, Cat. I just think it would be in the best interest of the station if you and Rick didn’t work so closely together from now on. We will find a suitable replacement for the producer and in the mean time Pat can handle the calls. When he isn’t here, you will just have to run a regular music shift with news and weather without the live call-ins.”

Cat bit her tongue and pressed her lips together firmly to keep from spewing all over him. “I agree with your decision about removing Rick. Pat only works two days a week, though. I have sold advertising spots for that live show, Mr. Davidson. The station will lose money, and I will lose my commission from those sales. Doesn’t that count for anything?” She could feel the heat beneath the collar of her sweater.

Davidson held his fat hands up in defense, “For now, that’s the best I can do. If there isn’t anything else, I have other things to attend to.”

Cat was fuming at being dismissed in such a manner. She quickly left his office and made her way to the break room where she searched for something to punch. Her tears were near the surface – she was struggling to keep them contained, making her throat burn. She stood clinching her jaw and fists, staring out the grimy window in the break room when she heard a commotion up front.

When the warrant team arrived, Bronson and Sullivan converged on the radio station with zest. They entered the building practically at a run producing a copy of the warrant to the receptionist who took off down the hall towards the station manager’s office. Without waiting for her to return, they strode to Rick’s office and knocked loudly on the door. The receptionist and station manager met them outside Rick’s office and produced a key that allowed them access.

Once inside, they began a systematic search and seizure, tagging and bagging evidence as they went along. They were informed by Mr. Davidson that Rick had called in sick. Immediately, that information was relayed to the warrant team at Rick’s residence.

After nearly three hours at the radio station, Sullivan, Bronson and their teams, left. In their wake was a mess that would take several people, several hours to clean up. Before departing the radio station for a rendezvous with the other warrant team, Sullivan motioned for Cat to come out of the sound booth. They stood in the hall and briefly discussed getting together after she got off work.

“I don’t know Detective; it doesn’t sound like a good idea to me.” She reminded him of what he had said the night before and what he had implied in the parking lot.

“Cat, please call me Tom. I know what I said last night, and I have apologized for what I said earlier. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

She stopped him with a flat, dead stare.

“Oh yes, you did. You basically said I was an idiot for going out with a guy who I should have realized was a rapist.”

Before she could continue, he interrupted by saying, “I only meant to…”

Cat was shaking her head no and through narrowed angry eyes sliced him in two by saying, “You only meant to make me feel like a fool. I shouldn’t have even told you about Warren to begin with.”

Sullivan insisted he didn’t mean to make her feel foolish. He tried to explain, to apologize again and then giving up, he grabbed Cat’s hand and just held it gently.

“I’m sorry. Okay?”

The pleading look on his face and in his eyes had Cat easing back. “Okay,” she finally said as she dropped her eyes to their joined hands. Pat poked his head out of the control room then.

“You’re back on in thirty.” Then he disappeared back in the room.

“He means thirty seconds,” Cat clarified.

She asked if Sullivan would meet her at the radio station at midnight again, and he said he would.

“I don’t want to find you wrestling with anyone else when I get here, though,” he joked as let go of her thin fingers and waved goodbye. She laughed and went back to work.

“That police detective really likes you, Cat,” Pat commented through her headset.

She smiled at him and gave him a thumbs up as she brought her mic volume up and began the top of the hour state and local news. About an hour into the show, a caller told Pat he wanted to request a song for his girlfriend and gave Lewis as his name. When he was live on the air with Cat, however, his story changed dramatically. “Hey, Kitty Cat,” he purred into the phone.

“How’s your little dog doing? Did I kill that mutt or what?” Cat froze.

Not only could she not speak, but the world was spinning violently around her. Her head jerked up to see Pat tapping furiously at the window. He didn’t know what to do. Before the long silent pause ended, the caller managed to ask one more frightening question.

“I have your bracelet. Want me to bring it back?”

Pat finally realized he needed to disconnect. He went straight to a commercial that would run for sixty seconds and rushed in to the sound booth where Cat was violently throwing up in the trash can.

“I am so sorry, Cat. I didn’t know what to do. How can I help you? I am so sorry.”

He kept saying how sorry he was over and over as he held her hair back away from her face. He reached for a roll of paper towels that sat next to the ancient record player. The phone lights were all lit up with callers, and the commercial was coming to an end. She pointed to the sound board as she dropped to her knees and leaned closer to the trash can.

“Go start some music,” she choked, “any music. I have a CD ready in player number two.” Gasping for air, she rushed with the instructions, “just push play and roll the sound up on the number two controller,” she gagged again.

Dry heaves wracked her body as she crawled towards her purse that hung on the back of her chair. After getting the music started, Pat rushed back to Cat’s side.

“What are you looking for?” he asked excitedly. He helped her get her purse off the chair and unzipped it for her.

“My phone! Get my phone!” she gagged.

“You need some water. Stay right there.”

Pat rushed from the room to the bottled water holder and pulled a paper cup out of the dispenser. He filled it with cold water and rushed back, forcing Cat to drink it. Then he ran to get wet paper towels for her face. She wiped her face with one and folded the other, putting it on her forehead.

“Thanks, Pat,” she murmured weakly.

The phone lines were still lit up and the music ended before Cat could compose herself. Pat scrambled around to find another music CD, put it in player number three, pushed play and lifted the volume control. There was a full twenty seconds of dead air before the first notes began to play.

Pat sank on the floor next to Cat as she called Sullivan. She told him what had happened. Sullivan said he was back en route. Since she always recorded her show, he was going to get a copy of the call.

Pat and Cat were sitting on the floor wondering what to do next when the door flung open. “What in the hell is going on in here?” Mr. Davidson demanded.

He stood with his hands out waiting for an answer. “Well?” he shouted loudly. Pat tried to explain, but was rudely cut off by Mr. Davidson.

“Get up off the floor!” he shouted at Cat. But she just sat there looking at him blankly until he screamed, “You know what? You’re fired!”

He stalked to the control room, picked up the phone and started making phone calls.

Cat looked at Pat, but no tears came. She felt nothing so nothing came out of her mouth. Pat helped her up and sat her back in her chair, but she made no move to take over the controls. So Pat pulled the extra chair to the desk and worked the sound board from there. He played music, gave the weather and news at the top and bottom of the hour. When Sullivan showed up, he tried getting Cat to talk, but she could hardly speak. The dry heaves she had suffered earlier returned each time she tried to tell him what had happened.

Sullivan called Susan and asked her to come to the station. When she arrived, Sullivan left Cat in her care. Mr. Davidson had retreated to his office, so Sullivan stalked in unannounced and asked for a copy of the show. After being denied, Sullivan walked to the door as if he were leaving then stopped and shut the door, turning the lock before he turned back to Davidson.

Fire lit his eyes an eerie golden color as he walked briskly back over to Davidson’s desk and around the side. He spun Davidson in his chair with his foot, pushing the large leather chair and Davidson’s fat body against the wall violently. Resting his foot on the chair between Davidson’s legs, dangerously close to the family jewels, Sullivan asked politely again for a copy of Cat’s show. He explained the situation in a manner that Davidson and his tax-evading ways would understand.

“Fine. I’ll have Pat make you a copy,” Davidson consented as he continued cupping his crotch with his hands for protection. He wiped his upper lip with the sleeve of his shirt and sighed as Sullivan retreated to find Pat.

Meanwhile, Susan had gotten Cat out of the building and into her car and was preparing to take Cat back to her place, when Sullivan stopped them. He lowered his tall frame to a squatting position next to the open passenger door where Cat sat catatonically. He looked into her eyes and saw no hope in them.

“Listen to me, Cat. We are going to find this guy. I have my team working on a warrant for the phone records as we speak. I want you to go on home with Susan and stay there until I come. Okay?”

He got no response even when he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her knuckles. He buckled her seatbelt and resisted the urge to kiss her lips before shutting the door.

“Take good care of her. Call me the minute you get there and don’t let anyone in except her folks, okay?”

Susan nodded, “She’ll be fine. We’ll call you in a few minutes,” Susan reassured him. She hopped in, buckled up and put the car in gear. They had barely gotten out of sight when Sullivan’s phone rang. It was his partner.

“I just got the message. Where are we meeting?” Bronson asked enthusiastically.

“Headquarters, for starters.” Sullivan briefed him on what had transpired. They agreed that they would bring in Chaz Rodriquez, Warren Garrison and Rick Hurley for formal interviews. Sullivan made the calls to get the men rounded up and brought to police headquarters.

After hearing the tape of the radio show and getting his copy, Sullivan made some calls to the phone company and the on-call judge. He began the tedious process of getting a warrant for the phone records.