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Teddy wished he’d brought his laptop. The detectives hadn’t wanted him to come, but they couldn’t legally stop him from following them to the veterinary hospital. He had to park across the street, though.
He’d known as soon as they mentioned the veterinarian that September’s cat Macy must be involved, but he couldn’t think why. Taking the cat seemed a direct dig at September, a way to keep her attention, or maybe gain leverage over her in some way. Of course the detectives focused on the human victim.
September had been desperate to collect her pet. He could see that now, though she’d tried to hide it from him. He should never have ignored her fear.
Detective Combs said she’d left home so quickly she didn’t pack or go back for her phone. To him, that sounded like running away. So who was chasing her? Maybe the same person who took the cat? If he’d stayed and heard her out, he could have persuaded her to go to the police, and maybe none of this would have happened.
Any mention of Molly’s illness made him crazy. He lashed out against the helpless feeling, and September had been the handy target. It wasn’t her fault Molly’s disease couldn’t be reversed. He’d gotten riled at the suggestion of finger-pointing blame even though Mr. Fish’s notes were anecdotal at best, based on rumor and supposition. Sylvester Sanger’s reputation tainted the story with a bad smell. Yet being able to do something in defense of Molly, even as ineffectual as running down a bogus story, gave him purpose. It was good to have a purpose again.
The poor vet tech had been beaten to death, and that trumped anything else. Whatever she’d gotten mixed up in, he knew it wasn’t her fault. September had worse luck than Job.
The EMTs had given up trying to resuscitate the technician by the time he’d arrived. Now Teddy sat in the clinic waiting room. A large plate glass window offered a clear view of Detective Gonzales doing whatever detectives do after a murder. Teddy wished they’d cover up the poor boy. Another person arrived, maybe the medical examiner, and conferred with Detective Gonzales before kneeling to examine the body.
Teddy clearly heard Detective Combs interviewing the veterinarian. They hadn’t bothered to shut the door to the examining room down a narrow hall where they conferred. Doc Eugene said the staff had departed by the time September arrived to pick up Macy, and only the technician and doctor had stayed to release patients.
“September wanted to get her cat, don’t know why the rush. She could have gotten him tomorrow but didn’t want to wait.” The veterinarian’s voice trembled, and then steadied. “We usually close at six p.m. on Thursdays, and office hours are limited over the weekend, but we ran late tonight.”
Detective Combs’s low voice kept a professional tone. “Did you see the attack?” Pause. “So what did you see?”
Teddy strained to hear.
“Tim offered to take the cat to the car while we finished talking. Timothy—that’s my technician. God, he’s worked here fifteen years!” The veterinarian needed a moment before he could go on.
“I know this is rough. Take your time.” The detective spoke with gentle encouragement, and soon the doctor calmed enough to go on.
“September had Shadow with her,” he said. “She’d already paid the bill, but wanted to know about the other cat she brought in. I’d left the chart in the back, and by the time I got it, Shadow started barking. Didn’t think much of it at first.” He laughed without humor. “This is a vet clinic, after all. But then September yelled, and I could tell the barks were serious.”
“Serious? How can you tell?”
“Detective Combs, dogs bark for lots of reasons: boredom, during play, excitement. Shadow’s barks meant business, they were alarm barks—something threatened or scared him.”
“Okay, so you heard some serious barks. What did you do?”
“Ran back to the front. Both September and the dog were outside, and Timothy was. . . Tim was hurt. On the ground.” He paused, and Teddy heard him blow his nose before continuing. “I grabbed some towels, a dog blanket I think, whatever I could find to cover him and keep him warm to counter shock. He tried to talk to September. I made him stop, tried to keep him calm, told him help was on the way. I called 911.”
“Did you see anybody else? Any other vehicle?”
“September said somebody in a truck fought Timothy to take Macy. Why would anyone steal a cat?” He blew his nose again. “Tim started to crash, so I gave CPR until the EMTs arrived. That’s when I realized September was gone.”
Teddy shook his head with dismay. September probably chased whoever took Macy, but leaving the scene made her appear guilty as hell.
Detective Combs said nothing for a moment, and then offered, “I’ve watched those dog shows on TV. Some dogs—cats too?—must be worth a lot of money.”
The veterinarian demurred. “Rare breeds go for a pretty penny, yes, but Maine Coon cats are pretty popular. Macy’s gorgeous, very nice example of the breed, but I don’t think he’s ever been shown.”
“Why does that matter? My mom had a cat. The vet told her Simba could produce a hellacious number of kittens if she wasn’t fixed. That’s a lot of potential cash.” Combs floated another speculation when the vet didn’t act convinced. “Locals know September won the lottery. Maybe somebody’s holding the cat for ransom.”
Teddy had thought of that. September would pay anything to keep Macy or Shadow safe.
The doctor agreed. “That makes more sense. Champions can produce some high-dollar litters, but that’s the exception with cats, not the norm. Macy’s neutered. He shouldn’t be bred anyway, not with his HCM—that’s a potentially heritable heart ailment.”
“Heart problems? Is that why September brought him in?”
“Yes. That, and the other cat. Belonged to...Wait a minute, I left the file out front.”
Teddy pretended to read the Humphrey Fish pages when the veterinarian walked behind the front counter. Detective Combs hurried after, saw Teddy in the waiting room, and scowled. “Go home. This is a matter for the police.” He paused. “That’s my file.”
Teddy stood, and pushed his glasses up his nose. “I know, Detective, figured you’d need it. But September’s like a daughter to me. I want to help.”
“Help by going home. Leave the file with me.” He turned to the veterinarian as the doctor riffled through a stack of color-coded paper files.
“Here it is. Sylvester Sanger’s cat.”
“What?” Teddy hurried to the counter, and set Fish’s file on the ledge.
“Damn, she mentioned Sly’s cat this morning, I totally forgot.” Detective Combs’s words ran over Teddy’s.
Teddy leaned against the tall counter. His mouth had gone dry and he licked his lips before he could manage to speak. Blood from the dead technician stained Doc Eugene’s white coat. “What’s wrong with it? The cat, that is, why’s it sick?” He imagined the file’s information scorched his hands, and dropped it on the counter.
The veterinarian frowned. He saw Teddy stare at the red stains, and shrugged out of the white coat and stuffed it into a garbage can. “You a friend of September, huh? That’s good. I think she needs friends, but be careful. Her friends have a way of getting hurt.”
Detective Combs flinched, and Teddy wondered how close a friend the detective had become. He knew the veterinarian’s murdered wife had been September’s friend, too.
“This could be related, Detective.” Teddy angrily slapped the folder against the counter. He waited for the doctor to open the file, but Doc Eugene eyeballed the file like it was a snake.
Detective Combs shoved the file closer. “He’s right. Sylvester Sanger disappeared this morning. He left his cat with September, said he’d been researching some weird new animal disease. We never found Sly’s notes. This supposedly is a recap.”
“New critter disease? Don’t know if it’s new. I’ve got my own ideas about that.” The veterinarian opened the file and began to read. “Uh huh, uh huh. Yep. That’s what I’ve seen, too. But mostly in dogs.” He pushed it aside and opened up the clinic’s file on Sylvester’s pet cat. “This is the first cat case I’ve seen. It’s more obvious with dogs. Cats hide, or they wander off and disappear. People notice when dogs forget house training or tricks they’ve always known.” He rubbed his face. “I understand from a few clients they’ve seen similar behaviors in wildlife, but that’s purely anecdotal. I couldn’t confirm or deny that.”
Teddy pressed for more details. “September told me cats and dogs can get Alzheimer’s, like people. They forget things, get senile.”
The veterinarian shook his head. “Not exactly. Yes, they can develop brain changes as they age, and some of the amyloid brain deposits are similar to the human Alzheimer’s disease. This is different, though.” He sounded puzzled. “Cognitive disorder in pets happens with the really old ones. That would be dogs aged nine or more, and cats older than fourteen or so.” He tapped the cat’s file. “This new syndrome affects old pets, too, but not exclusively. Mr. Sanger’s cat Pinkerton is three or four—now, I wouldn’t know for sure if it’s the same thing without an examination of the brain changes. But I had a dog come in recently, and the owner authorized the necropsy after euthanasia. I’m still teasing out information on that, sent some slides to pathology, but it has me concerned.”
“Is it contagious?” Teddy held his breath.
“Contagious?” The veterinarian looked up sharply. “You mean from pets to people? No.”
The front door of the clinic squealed open and Detective Gonzales entered. “You want to see him before they take him away?”
“Be right there.” Detective Combs turned back to Teddy. “Like I said, you should let the police handle this. Or turn it over to Parks and Wildlife.”
The veterinarian shook his head. “Actually, the county health department should be told. If the pathology comes back as I suspect, the CDC will take over the whole thing.”
Detective Gonzales perked up. “Health department?”
“CDC? I thought you said it’s not contagious?” Combs shrugged. “It’s Sly’s pet theories about the sick critters, maybe connected with this mess. Could tie in with the perp taking September’s cat.”
Sighing, the doctor rubbed at a stain that had bled through to his shirt. “Don’t want to speculate too much, or cause a panic. But it’s likely some sort of environmental contamination. Probably food. Pet food contamination can affect pet owners, too.”
Gonzales nodded. “There was a big scare a few years back with pet food being recalled. Like that?” He paused, opened the door and called, “Hold up, we’ll be there in a minute.” He shut the door and told Combs, “They want to roll. Why don’t you take a gander, and I’ll finish up in here.”
Combs headed out the door. Teddy saw him hurry to the body.
Gonzales crossed to the counter and leaned on it, standing beside Teddy. The small detective made Teddy feel tall, even with his old man stoop. “So it’s not contagious to people, but could cause problems if they’re also exposed by handling contaminated food. Like salmonella or E coli. Damn, need to call Mercedes—my wife—and tell her to watch the kids around the dog food.”
Teddy wished they’d be quiet. He remembered something, a connection with food and memory, but couldn’t quite recall. Wait, had his memory jumped the tracks, too? Would he join Molly in madness?
And there it was. His heart pounded and he put a hand to his chest. He whispered the words. “Mad cow disease?”
