The policeman stopped and turned, reaching out to grab her arm. “Miss, you need to enter your apartment immediately.”
Sally shied away before he could reach her. “Was it Mrs. Norris? What happened?”
“Miss - ”
“Sergeant!” barked a woman’s voice down the hall, outside 315. The policeman turned. Sally saw a hard-looking woman walk down the hallway toward them. The woman was in classic detective attire, almost cliche. A long tan trenchcoat flapped loosely behind her as she strode purposefully in their direction, thick black boots clunking with every step. The woman stopped in front of Sally - too close for Sally’s liking, but she stayed put. Women tended to be less grabby than men.
“Did you know the victim?” asked the woman. Her green eyes peered at Sally from under long red hair that was pulled back into a tight ponytail.
“Yes…well, no, not really,” said Sally. “But we were neighbors. We talked sometimes.”
“Where do you live?”
“314,” said Sally reluctantly.
“Do you mind if we step into your apartment and ask you some questions, miss…?”
Sally’s throat went dry. No one else had been in her apartment since she moved there. The space was too cramped, too tight. She hardly thought she could move without Touching someone.
“In…in my apartment?” she stammered.
“If that’s all right,” said the detective. “It’s certain to be less crowded than out here.”
The detective had a point. Police were constantly walking by, forcing Sally to lean away from them. But two other people in her apartment….
“Could it…just be you?” she asked the detective, trying not to glance at the barrel-chested officer who’d escorted her up. “There’s not much sitting room.”
“Oh, I can stand, miss,” said the officer kindly. “Don’t mind at all.”
“No!” Sally said, too nervously. She took a deep breath and pleaded, “Please. It’s a very small apartment.”
The detective looked at Sally, who was surprised to see a sudden flash of knowledge in her green eyes. The detective turned and took the policeman aside privately. She spoke to him in a low voice, but Sally’s ears were sharp.
“Probably a past assault victim,” the detective said quietly. “Doesn’t want a man inside. It’s fine. I’ll handle it.”
The policeman nodded, understanding. Sally realized they thought she was a rape victim. It was so ludicrous, it was almost funny. She’d never even been close to knowing the touch of a man, forceful or consensual. The detective turned back to her.
“All right. Just you and me, miss…?” she tried again.
“Laurel,” Sally said. “Sally Laurel.”
“A pleasure to meet you, miss Laurel,” said the detective, holding out her hand to shake. Sally only stared at it awkwardly. After an uncomfortable second or two, the detective lowered her hand. “I’m Detective Jeeves.”
“Jeeves?” said Sally, giggling. She stifled it immediately, realizing how rude she was being. She wasn’t used to this much chatter.
But the detective only grinned wryly. “Afraid so. Can’t choose the name you’re born with, unfortunately. Got to find me someone to marry one of these days and take care of it. Isn’t that right, Hendricks?” she asked, slapping the officer in the gut with the back of her hand, causing him to exhale sharply with a whoof!
“Sure, detective,” he said, rubbing the sting out of his belly.
“If you’ll lead the way?” said Jeeves.
Sally did.
***
Detective Jeeves entered and Sally ushered her to the couch, choosing to lean awkwardly against the wall. The detective looked puzzled at that, but let it go.
“So, do you have a first name?” asked Sally, quietly and timidly. She didn’t want to have to try not to laugh every time she called the woman Detective Jeeves.
She received a warm, genuine smile in response. “Liv,” said the detective. “Olivia, really, but I prefer Liv.”
“Like Liv Tyler!” said Sally, excitedly.
Liv smiled at her patiently, like she was a child. “Yes, exactly,” she said. “Like Liv Tyler.”
Sally felt her ears burn as she realized how ridiculous she sounded. She so rarely talked to anyone, her social graces were more than a little rusty. She couldn’t remember a conversation she’d had in the last ten years that had gone on for more than five minutes. She tried to hide her embarrassment behind her old, familiar mask of timidity.
“So how can I help you, detective?”
“Please, just call me Liv. And I want to know anything you can tell us about Mrs. Norris that might help. For starters, is there a Mr. Norris?”
“No,” Sally shook her head. “I’m pretty sure she’s a widow. Was a widow, I guess. If Mr. Norris is still alive, I’ve never seen him. Then again I…I don’t get out much,” she finished lamely.
Liv eyed the television, and Sally suspected she guessed a lot from it. Sally knew the real world wasn’t exactly CSI, but cops were still a pretty observant bunch.
“Where were you this evening, Miss Laurel?”
“At work,” Sally said simply.
“And others can confirm that?” asked Liv, not unkindly.
“Yes.”
“Okay. I’ll need the name of your company to double check. Sorry,” said Liv. She looked like she meant it.
“It’s fine,” said Sally. “I understand.”
“So what else can you tell me?” asked Liv, switching subjects before the uncomfortable silence drifted to full-on awkward.
“Not much,” said Sally, trying to think. “She had a cat.”
“We found it. It’ll be going to a shelter,” said Liv. “Unless you’d like to take it in?”
“No, thank you,” said Sally. Animals were even harder for Sally to deal with than humans. Their minds worked in a completely different way, a way she found difficult to understand.
“Mrs. Norris had two small marks on her neck,” said Liv. “Not wounds, exactly, more like a necklace had been pulled off of her. Do you remember if she wore one?”
“Oh, yes,” said Sally. “She always wore it. It was a small figure eight turned on its side. Like the symbol for infinity. It was silver. She hated gold jewelery, said it didn’t work with her skin. Except her wedding band.” Sally paused, amazed to find herself tearing up. She hadn’t known Mrs. Norris very well, but the older woman had been nice. She always had some kind words to spare for Sally; telling her how pretty she was; saying it was a shame Sally couldn’t find a nice man to settle down with.
Sally realized with shock that her connection with Mrs. Norris, tenuous as it had been, had been one of the strongest she’d had with anyone since moving to Los Angeles. And now she was gone.
Two tears rolled down her cheek, but then she had herself under control. Sally had spent months crying herself to sleep after she’d run away. Eventually she’d had to learn to control her grief out of sheer necessity to stay hydrated.
Liv stood up and started to come to her, to comfort her. Sally pulled away. “I’m fine,” she said. “Really. Thank you.”
Liv hesitated, but sat back down. Sally was grateful the woman seemed to respect her desire to avoid contact without prying for the reasons why.
“All right,” said Liv. “Anything else? Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt her?”
“No,” said Sally truthfully. “I think she spent most of her time in her apartment. She was kind of a loner.” Like me, she thought, but did not say.
“All right,” said Liv. She stood and moved toward the door. “There’s a good chance you may think of something in the next few days. The human mind works like that. You try to think of something, even if it can’t pull up the answer, you’ve set the wheels turning and something could come tumbling out later. If that happens,” she said, pulling out a card and handing it to Sally, “you call me. Okay?”
“Okay.” Sally took the card, being careful t
o keep her fingertips away from Liv’s. “I will.”
“Thank you, Miss Laurel,” said Liv. “I appreciate it.”
Sally closed the door softly behind the detective.
She felt physically and emotionally exhausted, as though she’d just run a marathon and taken an algebra exam afterward. That was the most she’d spoken to anyone in the last six months, a year maybe. She plopped down on the couch and flicked on her big screen, turning on last night’s Daily Show.
But she wasn’t watching the TV. Her mind was on Mrs. Norris. Sally could tell from her conversation with the detective that the cops had no leads on the old lady’s murder. They weren’t likely to get any. The apartment had no surveillance cameras, and the lack of tenants meant the chances of anyone having seen anything were slim.
Sally wanted them to find the killer. Not for her own safety - she doubted the murderer would be stupid enough to strike in the same building twice - but for Mrs. Norris. She had been a kind old lady. She deserved better.
An idea sparked in Sally’s mind.
What if I try to find him?
Immediately she shut the thought down. It was ridiculous. How could she hope to succeed if the cops failed?
Because you have something they don’t.
Shut up! she screamed at herself. Her ability gave her an edge, sure, but the idea that was slowly forming in her mind involved Touching others voluntarily, an unthinkable thought. Besides, she didn’t have the years of experience the cops did to put all the pieces together, even if she did learn something they couldn’t.
But if you did learn something, you could tell them.
That gave her pause. What if she used her ability to poke around and try to learn something, and then relayed whatever she learned to Liv? If she covered her tracks well, Liv wouldn’t suspect where the information was coming from. Though she mentally recoiled at the idea of Touching others on purpose, maybe she could do it. Maybe she could help. Maybe she could find the person who killed Mrs. Norris.
That night, for the first time she could remember since she first Touched someone, Sally went to sleep smiling.
SHELTER
SALLY STEPPED OUT OF HER apartment. It was getting on towards evening. She’d gotten a good day’s sleep and had woken up fresh and full of energy. For the first time in a long time, she had something to do, and the feeling invigorated her.
Now she just had to figure out where to start.
She checked the hallway. The cops were long gone. Mrs. Norris’ apartment door was closed, probably locked, and there was yellow police tape draped across it in an X.
But seeing Mrs. Norris’ apartment gave Sally a mental jolt, and she remembered: The cat.
It would be unpleasant. Animals were worse than humans. But if the cat had witnessed the murder, maybe she could get the information she needed from it.
She went to a pay phone near the apartment. Sally had never had a cell phone - she had no one to talk to. She put in a couple of quarters, pulled out Liv’s card and dialed the number.
“Hello?”
“Hi. Is this Liv?” Sally asked.
“Yes, who’s this?”
“It’s Sally Laurel. From the apartment.”
“Miss Laurel,” said Liv, sounding surprised. “How can I help you?”
“I think I’ve changed my mind about Mrs. Norris’ cat,” said Sally. “Could you tell me the name of the shelter it was brought to?”
“Oh, shoot,” said Liv. “One second.” There was a clunk as the phone was put down, and Sally could hear her speaking to someone in the background. After a moment she picked the phone back up. “It was the Burbank animal shelter.”
“Okay, thank you,” said Sally.
“Miss Laurel, I’d hurry if I were you,” Liv said. “That’s a kill shelter, and from what I know, they’re usually pretty full.”
Sally’s heart skipped a beat. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll let you know if I find out anything about Mrs. Norris.”
Silence, then Liv’s confused voice: “From the cat?”
Sally winced. Idiot. “No, I mean, just in general,” she stammered. “If anyone mentions anything.”
“Thanks, Miss Laurel,” said Liv, “but we did some pretty thorough questioning. No one seemed to know anything.”
“Okay,” said Sally. “Got to go.”
She hung up. She ran back to her apartment to google the address for the shelter, then dashed to her car, hoping she wasn’t too late.
***
Sally pulled up to the shelter, her tires screeching slightly as she stopped. She ran into the front office and was out of breath when she reached the counter. Jogging wasn’t exactly part of her routine. The woman behind the counter looked up at her with an arched eyebrow. Her name tag said “Virginia.”
“There was a cat brought in yesterday,” Sally said, panting. “I need to see it.”
“Oh, sure,” said the woman, her other eyebrow leaping up to join its twin. “The cat from yesterday. I remember that one.”
Sally stared at her, completely nonplussed.
“Lady, we get dozens of animals a day.” The woman spoke as though Sally were an idiot. “Plus, I’m a volunteer. I wasn’t even here yesterday. So you’re going to need to give me a little bit more to go on.”
“Of course,” said Sally, blushing and feeling stupid. “It was a thin grey cat. Black leather collar with no name tag. The cops brought it in.”
“Virginia” looked at a form on her desk. Sally was surprised to find herself staring at the woman. It occurred to her that she met new people so rarely, everyone she’d spoken to in the last forty-eight hours seemed intensely interesting. Virginia, for example. She had to be out of her twenties, but there was a youthful energy about her that made her seem as vital and alive as a teenager. Her face looked wise, but not jaded. Sally found herself wanting to talk to the woman, to try and isolate what it was that was so interesting about her. She hadn’t wanted to start a conversation with someone since she didn’t know when.
Virginia tapped an entry in the form on her clipboard. “Okay. It looks like this one. We take collars off when they come in, but if you saw the cat, would you recognize it?”
“Yes,” Sally nodded.
“All righty. Come with me.”
The woman led her to a door that opened into the rear of the shelter where the animals were kept. She held it open and waved her arm for Sally to enter, but Sally hesitated. The doorway was narrow, and she didn’t want to brush Virginia as she passed.
“Oh, no, you go,” Sally stammered, waving her on. The woman looked at her oddly, but stepped through.
Cages were stacked high in the room, most of them occupied. As soon as they entered, a cacophony of noise erupted: barks, growls, meows and yowls. The way the cages were stacked left narrow aisles between them, forcing Sally to walk behind the woman single file. She tried to pull her arms into her body so she didn’t brush against the animals on either side. She was so focused on not touching them, she nearly bumped into Virginia when she stopped.
“Here we go,” Virginia said.
There the cat was. It was reclining on its side, looking up at them with lazy interest. The woman leaned over and put her hand against the cage, prompting the cat to walk over and rub itself against the fingers she pushed through the bars.
“Cute little guy,” said the woman. Sally realized she hadn’t known whether the cat was male or female. “So, you ready to take him now?”
Sally balked. She’d intended to see the cat and Touch it, but she didn’t actually want to adopt it. But now that she was here, staring it in the face, she hesitated.
“Can I hold him first?” she asked.
“Of course,” the girl said. She opened the cage door.
Hesitantly, Sally reached in and put her hand on the cat’s head.
***
Hunger. Noise. Other cats, and dogs. So many new scents.
It is the human. The one who lives in the den near the food-h
uman.
Her hand is gentle. She does not have food. If I purr she may bring some. That is what the food-human did, but the food-human is gone.
Hunger. I smelled the scent of the one who did it when I woke in the bedroom. He made no mouth-noises but I could smell him. I smelled the death of the food-human but I was in the bedroom. I could not get out.
Hunger. Perhaps this human will become my new food-human.
***
Sally pulled back, disappointed and blinking hard. It was always disorienting how animal minds were so alien to her - their thoughts were an assault of images that her mind desperately tried to translate into words. And the only thing she’d learned from Touching the cat was that it was a man who had killed Mrs. Norris. Great, she thought sarcastically, that narrows it down.
“Are you okay?” asked Virginia, seeing Sally’s sour face.
“Fine,” Sally replied, putting up a smile to prove it.
“So are you taking the little guy home?” The woman picked the cat up and cradled him in her arms. It made such a cute picture that Sally’s heart began to melt. But how could she take care of an animal, when she couldn’t even come into contact with it? She had plenty of spare time and enough extra money to feed it, but....
“I don’t know,” said Sally. “I’m not sure I can take this on.”
Virginia sighed, then looked her in the eye. “Listen. I try not to push the issue if someone doubts they can take care of an animal. People who aren’t sure usually aren’t good caretakers. But this is a kill shelter, you know? If you don’t take him, he’ll be toast in a day. Please, just give it a shot. You can bring him back if it doesn’t work out, and then at least you’ll reset the timer.”
Sally pictured the cat being taken into a sterile vet’s office and given an injection, slowly falling to sleep and never waking up. She almost snatched the cat up, feeling a strange urge to protect it. That was unusual, but she was going through a lot of confusing emotions recently.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll take him.”
“Great!” said Virginia, beaming. Sally was struck again by the youthful beauty that stood in contrast to the wisdom in the woman’s eyes. “Do you have a cage? We sell them, but the shelter jacks up the price. The owner’s kind of a dick.”
“I don’t,” said Sally. “I’ll just buy one. I have to get to work soon and I don’t want to have to run out to a pet store.”