grip his medium point blue pens and press so hard, as if to savor making indentations in the soft grey surface beneath. After coming back from an interview or profile meeting, Brownlee would watch the detective rummage for a patch of desk surface, and fill out those reports. It was totally unnecessary in this day and age of computers, which of course could be altered with a keystroke.
The good old days.
He was struck by how heavy Clark had gotten. He’d gained as much weight as Brownlee had lost. Riverton stood and extended his hand.
“Austin. Good to see you. We’re overdue.” He pointed to a chair and Dr. Brownlee sat down as the metal groaned beneath him. He suspected these chairs were uncomfortable for a reason. Riverton wasn’t the chit-chat type of cop.
“Thanks, Clark. Sorry to bother you on a Sunday,” Brownlee said while rearranging his legs. It did no good. He decided to get right to it. “I’ve got something going on.”
“Okay. Saw the report about your daughter’s cat. Not good. Not good at all.”
“Agreed. That’s why I’m here.”
A series of rings distracted Riverton. He wrinkled his forehead as he searched the outside nearly deserted room. Several lines ringing continued. He swore.
“Just a minute, Austin. I gotta get someone on these damned phones. Been crazy over here all morning.”
He yelled at one of the female staff. “Helen, the phones!”
She delivered him a murderous look while she slowly ambled toward a headset. A pair of detectives were drinking coffee in another office and came out to give her a hand.
“Thanks, guys.”
Riverton closed the door behind him, adjusted his wrinkled tie, and deposited his frame in the cracked leather swivel chair. He gave full attention to his friend. “Sorry.”
Brownlee looked at his lap, pulling out a plastic baggie containing two envelopes. He handed them across the desk. “You’ll want to look at these. I got them yesterday.”
The detective slipped on a pair of gloves and opened the sealed freezer bag. Side by side, he laid each letter over the envelopes they came in, and looked back and forth between them.
“Jeez, Austin.”
Brownlee began, “I got the first one on Wednesday of last week, but tossed it. These two came yesterday morning. I opened them after we found the cat.”
“They came after the cat was killed?”
“No. They were already at my house when I found the cat.” Brownlee took a smaller baggie out of his inside jacket pocket. “And then I got this one first thing this morning. It didn’t come in the mail, of course. It was left in my box sometime last night or this morning.”
Clark opened the offered bag and laid the contents on top. There was a photocopy of a picture. A man’s muscular fist was around the neck of a grey and white tabby cat. The cat’s body was limp. A tattoo of a three-toed frog tracks extended from the man’s wrist to the inside of his elbow.
“I’ve seen this tat before,” Riverton said.
“Where?” Dr. Brownlee asked.
Riverton fired a look that drilled all the way to Brownlee’s soul. “On my dead brother-in-law.”
Brownlee didn’t know what to say.
“He was in the Navy. Special Forces. In Afghanistan, about four years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
Riverton looked back at the picture in his hands.
“That was—is—Noodles, Libby’s cat,” Brownlee said.
Riverton slowly shook his head. “He’s one sick bastard.”
Brownlee knew by the expression on Riverton’s face this wasn’t going to have a happy ending. “I gotta ask you, Austin. Why the hell did you wait until you had a dead cat and three letters to show me?”
His shrugged. Denial? Yeah, probably. He felt tired, defeated. “No reason, Clark. Just thought it would blow over.”
“And the last time one of these fuckers just rode off into the sunset without killing someone human, was when, exactly?”
Did Riverton think he was an idiot? His right eye twitched.
“Austin, look, I know you are one
The good old days.
He was struck by how heavy Clark had gotten. He’d gained as much weight as Brownlee had lost. Riverton stood and extended his hand.
“Austin. Good to see you. We’re overdue.” He pointed to a chair and Dr. Brownlee sat down as the metal groaned beneath him. He suspected these chairs were uncomfortable for a reason. Riverton wasn’t the chit-chat type of cop.
“Thanks, Clark. Sorry to bother you on a Sunday,” Brownlee said while rearranging his legs. It did no good. He decided to get right to it. “I’ve got something going on.”
“Okay. Saw the report about your daughter’s cat. Not good. Not good at all.”
“Agreed. That’s why I’m here.”
A series of rings distracted Riverton. He wrinkled his forehead as he searched the outside nearly deserted room. Several lines ringing continued. He swore.
“Just a minute, Austin. I gotta get someone on these damned phones. Been crazy over here all morning.”
He yelled at one of the female staff. “Helen, the phones!”
She delivered him a murderous look while she slowly ambled toward a headset. A pair of detectives were drinking coffee in another office and came out to give her a hand.
“Thanks, guys.”
Riverton closed the door behind him, adjusted his wrinkled tie, and deposited his frame in the cracked leather swivel chair. He gave full attention to his friend. “Sorry.”
Brownlee looked at his lap, pulling out a plastic baggie containing two envelopes. He handed them across the desk. “You’ll want to look at these. I got them yesterday.”
The detective slipped on a pair of gloves and opened the sealed freezer bag. Side by side, he laid each letter over the envelopes they came in, and looked back and forth between them.
“Jeez, Austin.”
Brownlee began, “I got the first one on Wednesday of last week, but tossed it. These two came yesterday morning. I opened them after we found the cat.”
“They came after the cat was killed?”
“No. They were already at my house when I found the cat.” Brownlee took a smaller baggie out of his inside jacket pocket. “And then I got this one first thing this morning. It didn’t come in the mail, of course. It was left in my box sometime last night or this morning.”
Clark opened the offered bag and laid the contents on top. There was a photocopy of a picture. A man’s muscular fist was around the neck of a grey and white tabby cat. The cat’s body was limp. A tattoo of a three-toed frog tracks extended from the man’s wrist to the inside of his elbow.
“I’ve seen this tat before,” Riverton said.
“Where?” Dr. Brownlee asked.
Riverton fired a look that drilled all the way to Brownlee’s soul. “On my dead brother-in-law.”
Brownlee didn’t know what to say.
“He was in the Navy. Special Forces. In Afghanistan, about four years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
Riverton looked back at the picture in his hands.
“That was—is—Noodles, Libby’s cat,” Brownlee said.
Riverton slowly shook his head. “He’s one sick bastard.”
Brownlee knew by the expression on Riverton’s face this wasn’t going to have a happy ending. “I gotta ask you, Austin. Why the hell did you wait until you had a dead cat and three letters to show me?”
His shrugged. Denial? Yeah, probably. He felt tired, defeated. “No reason, Clark. Just thought it would blow over.”
“And the last time one of these fuckers just rode off into the sunset without killing someone human, was when, exactly?”
Did Riverton think he was an idiot? His right eye twitched.
“Austin, look, I know you are one
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