The Black Cat (11 page)

The old dog in the doorway was making a valiant attempt to keep his legs upright and steady, but the effort was too much and they buckled and he had to lie down.

The doorway belonged to a leather goods shop in the Farringdon Road, which Jury was passing as he walked through Clerkenwell. The metal gate was pulled across the store’s front. In the window was a host of hard-sided and expensive suitcases. There was a whole suite of cases in a dark red. Who would need all of those bags for a trip?

Jury knelt beside the dog. “Hey, boy.” Tentatively, he reached out his hand and ran it over the dog’s side. He could have counted the ribs. The dog’s coat, black and white with brownish markings, was dry, the hairs coming off into Jury’s hand. Perhaps the dog had mange; certainly he needed looking after.

He looked up and down the street, a busy street, for the nearest source of food and saw the McDonald’s he and Wiggins had stopped in not many weeks before. That at least would be quick.

Inside, he ordered three burgers and bottled water and asked the girl, eyes like dry ice, if they had any sort of bowl he could use for the water. She went on chewing her gum and looking at him as if she didn’t know what bowls were for. When he suggested soup, a little life came into her eyes and she scouted for one. He paid, took the sack, and left.

The dog still lay in the same place, shadows pooling around him. Jury started with the water. He poured some in the bowl and put it directly under the dog’s nose. When he began drinking and then slurping the water, Jury set the bowl on the stoop. The dog kept on drinking. Jury broke the meat up into small pieces and put it on a napkin. The dog sniffed but wouldn’t eat.

This lack of interest in the food worried Jury. The dog needed a vet and probably fast. He took out his mobile, hoping the battery hadn’t run down completely, which it had. Damn. Then he thought of the cabdriver who’d taken him to Bidwell Street. The Knowledge. He picked up the dog, the bowl, and the bottle of water, stuck the beef rolled in a couple of napkins into his raincoat pocket.

The dog weighed very little and was easy to carry. On Clerkenwell Road, Jury found a stopped cab and asked the driver about an animal hospital or vet that might be open this time of night.

“Your dog taken sick, has he?”

“Yes. Very sick.” Indeed, the dog seemed not to notice, and certainly not to reckon with, the forced ride in a black cab.

“Not to worry, mate. We’ll find one. Right off, I know there’s one in Islington along the North Road.”

That one turned out to be closed, but the driver knew of another he was sure was open all hours.

Jury certainly hoped so.

And thank God for “the Knowledge.”

It was the All-Hours Animal Hospital, and its lights were on, blazing in the darkness.

Jury thanked the cabbie, gave him a huge tip, and complimented him on his knowledge.

“Well, we’d be a sorry lot without it. Night, mate.”

Jury watched him speed off, not knowing, probably, how many people he had helped and would help, driving around with the knowledge of all of London in his head.

To the receptionist behind the counter, too young to look so sour, Jury said the dog needed attention right away. There were several people in the waiting room, and this girl wasn’t helping.

“Just take a seat.” She didn’t look up from her crossword puzzle.

“The dog’s in a very bad way; I-”

Now she looked up. “Why’d you wait so long to bring it in, then?”

“Because I had to comb all of the doorways in Clerkenwell before I found one with a sick dog in it.” Jury didn’t try to mute his voice. He heard a giggle behind him.

The girl was not used to back talk from a patient’s handler, considering she held sway over the appointment book, and gave him a frosty look. Then she backed off and went through a door.

Jury sat down with the dog by an elderly woman in a crisp black suit who was still keeping up appearances as if there were hope. After a moment or two, she laid a hand on the dog’s head and its eyes fluttered open. “Poor thing. Did you really find him in a doorway?”

Jury smiled, finding the source of the giggle. “I did. In Clerkenwell.”

“One can find just about anything there.”

He laughed. “I know what you mean.”

“And you’re right; he really does need attention. But he looks like a beautiful dog, really. A breed I’m unfamiliar with.”

The receptionist was now standing in the doorway to the back rooms and calling, “Mrs. Bromley!” as if wanting to squash any friendly interaction with this man. “The doctor can see Silky now.”

“My cat,” she whispered to Jury. But instead of rising, Mrs. Bromley called back, “This gentleman can have my spot. His dog needs a doctor more than Silky does.”

“But Dr. Kavitz-”

The lady rose. “Maureen-” She was no more than five one or two, but Maureen didn’t want to mess with her, that was clear. She had about her some granite quality Maureen would break her hand on if she tried.

“All right, all right,” said Maureen. Then she nodded to Jury, “Come on, then.”

Jury’s smile was genuinely brighter when he thanked Mrs. Bromley.

“I just hope your dog will be all right,” she said.

Dr. Kavitz’s temperament was considerably sunnier than Maureen’s as he set about his examination, palpating here, listening there, prodding, reflecting, sometimes squint-eyed, as if to see the outlines of an abstract painting or to hear a note of some fading music. There was artistry involved.

More probing, more puzzlement, turning to look at the blank wall. Dr. Kavitz nodded and stood right where he’d been leaning over the dog. “He’s quite sound, really. Terribly dehydrated-”

“I gave him water; he drank a lot.”

“Good. But he’ll need to take some intravenously. And he needs food.”

“He wouldn’t eat.” Jury pulled the minced beef out of his pocket. “Maybe this wasn’t the best thing.”

Kavitz smiled. “Not surprising he wouldn’t eat it; he’d have lost his appetite.” He was scratching the dog’s neck. The dog had his eyes wide open now. “What we’ll do is keep him overnight, get him hydrated and eating. We’ll see how he does. It was his brilliant luck, you finding him. I’m afraid he’d have been dead by the morning.”

It made Jury’s blood run cold, that it was so close. “He didn’t look like he’d last very long.”

“No. Well, you can be thinking of what to do with him. There’s the RSPCA, of course, or one of the animal refuge places. If you can’t keep him yourself, that might be the solution.” Dr. Kavitz regarded the dog. “You know, I’ve a person who’s been looking for one of these. I can get on to her about him.”

Jury was puzzled. “One of these?”

“He’s an Appenzell, you know, one of the mountain dogs. A cattle dog. But this one-the Appenzell-is the hardest of the lot to find.”

“You mean, he’s purebred?”

“Oh, yes. And as I said, they’re not common.”

“What would such a dog be doing in a doorway? And with no tags or anything?”

Dr. Kavitz shrugged. “Got lost, maybe. And he did at one time have identification. A collar.” The doctor indicated a line round the neck where the coat looked worn. “Somehow, he lost it. Or someone took it off. It’s possible his owner took off the collar and dumped him.” Dr. Kavitz shook his head sadly. “A dog like this.”

Anything’s likely, thought Jury. He knew what people were capable of. “But more likely he could have got away, as you said. I think I should put an ad in the paper, shouldn’t I?”

“Good idea.”

Jury patted the dog, said, “All right, then. I’ll be back tomorrow morning to pick him up.” He thanked Dr. Kavitz, turned to leave. Behind him, he heard a woof.

Dr. Kavitz laughed. “Appenzells bark like hell. Our friend here’s just warming up. Good night.”

“Good night, Doctor. Thanks.”

Jury left the building, stood on the dark street for a while, feeling a little better.

There were times when you just had to save something.

“A dog?” said Carole-anne, and then said it again. “A dog?” Her gaze slid around the room as if one would jump out and verify Jury’s announcement. When one didn’t, she said, “We’ve got a dog.”

“‘We’ do not.” Jury pointed to the ceiling and the flat over his head. “Stone is Stan Keeler’s dog. We do not have a dog.”

Carole-anne was filing her nails with a huge four-grain file. Jury had suggested she bake it in a cake in case he landed in the nick.

“But we don’t need another dog. Especially not one that’s washed up from God knows where.”

Jury had been drinking his morning cup of tea prior to going to Dr. Kavitz’s. Carole-anne was not one to accept change, any change, in the dynamic of their four-flat terraced house: four flats, four tenants. Five, if one included the dog, Stone. That was it, and thus it would remain. Forever.

“I’m surprised,” said Jury, “that you’re not more sympathetic to the plight of homeless animals.” No, he wasn’t. Carole-anne had to see homelessness in situ. An actual dog in trouble would arouse her sympathy. She was no good at dealing with abstractions, such as “homelessness.”

“You’re gone all day. What’s the poor dog to do?”

“Go on walks with you and Stone.”

She flounced on the sofa. Only Carole-anne could come up with a real flounce-sending up little tufts of dust, bobbing her ginger hair into waves and curls, derigging cushion arrangements. Jury enjoyed the flouncing.

“Don’t forget, will you, that I have a job, too,” she said.

“Yes, but it’s more haphazard than mine.” Could any work be more haphazard than his?

“Haphazard? That’s what you’re calling it? Andrew has us on a very tight schedule.”

Andrew was Andrew Starr, owner of Starrdust, the little shop in Covent Garden where she worked. “Andrew,” said Jury, “has the moon, sun, stars, and peripheral planets on a tight schedule, but not his employees.” Andrew was an astrologist, a very popular one. Possibly because he really was an astrologist, a meter-out of good and bad fortunes, but mostly good. “All I mean is, your schedule is more flexible than mine.”

Jury wondered why he was winding her up. He had just that morning put ads in the papers. The dog would probably never see this house or his flat. He would be taking it straightaway to the shelter that Dr. Kavitz had mentioned. He must be telling Carole-anne about the dog just in case. In case of what?

“Anyway, I’ve got to pick him up at the vet’s this morning.” He had his raincoat on and his keys in hand. Was she going to leave? Apparently not.

She sat there filing away. “Ta, then.”

“Don’t bother getting up. I’ll see myself out.”

Jury was surprised at the change in the dog: the coat was softer, with even a hint of shine to it. And the dog’s face, his whole head, was structurally beautiful. Jury didn’t know why he hadn’t seen that.

“Astonishing powers of recovery,” said Dr. Kavitz. “Incredible resilience. These dogs are extremely tough and hardy. But the thing is, they’re not meant to be an urban dog. They need a farm, something like that.”

Jury said, “I put an ad in the Times and Telegraph. I was wondering, if somebody answers the ad, how will I know they’re really the owners? You know the way dogs get stolen and sold for research. And I couldn’t put a price on him because I’m looking for his owner.” He felt absurd. A detective superintendent and he couldn’t sort bogus claims of identity from the real thing? Good Lord.

“Good question. In the ad you placed, how did you describe him?” The doctor was checking the dog’s teeth.

“Well, I said midsized, black, white, copper coat, collar missing. Found in the Farringdon Road.”

“You didn’t say he was an Appenzell mountain dog.”

“No.”

“That should do it, then. Anyone calls, ask them the breed. It’s rare, so if they’re guessing, they’ll never get it. And if they say they’re speaking for the real owner and don’t know the breed, well, you know where you can stick that one, I’m sure.”

Jury smiled. “I do.”

The doctor had placed the dog in a large dog carrier, holes cut into it for seeing out as well as for breathing.

Jury took it from him and thanked him again for all the trouble he’d taken.

“If I can’t take a little trouble, I shouldn’t be in this business, should I? Emergencies are common; I imagine you face the same thing-one emergency after another. Here’s the address of the place in Battersea, True Friends shelter. I’ll call them up and tell them you’re coming; that is, if you like.”

“Yes. That would be fine.”

“Okay, good luck, then.” He reached his finger in to let the dog give him one last lick. “Swear to God, if I didn’t live in a tiny little mews house, I’d take him, myself. But they need space. That might be what happened: dog got bored, couldn’t stand it, ran off, then couldn’t get back.”

Jury thought Dr. Kavitz seemed not to want to let go.

The girl in the reception area of True Friends was a great improvement over the one in Dr. Kavitz’s. Her pleasant, almost sunny disposition was more in keeping with animal rescue, thought Jury.

She was telling him Dr. Kavitz had rung and told her about the dog. “Hello,” she said to him, opening the carrier and running her hand over his back. “You found him in a doorway, he said.” She had the dog out, and his eves-they were a beautiful walnut color-almost sparkled. She picked him up and put him over her shoulder while she filled out some kind of form. On the counter beside the forms was a little stack of white caps with “True Friends” written along the side in dark blue.

“Did he tell you he’s an Appenzell mountain dog? And we think he might have just run off, looking for something interesting to do.”

She laughed. “Mountain dogs aren’t best kept in the city, or even the suburbs.”

“No. The thing is, given he’s pretty valuable, I’d think he had an owner somewhere looking for him, so I put ads in the papers.”

She nodded, raised her face a bit, and looked round at the dog. “He’s quite beautiful, isn’t he? Well, you did the right thing. This dog”-which was still across her shoulder-“will have no trouble at all in getting adopted. And also, he likes you.” She put another word down on her form.

“Me? Likes me? That’s not my shoulder he’s sprawled on. If it’s the dog’s happiness that concerns you, then you’ll have to come along, too.”

She blushed. Then she cocked her head and looked at Jury. “I know you can’t take on the dog permanently, but we’ve a foster program here where a person gives the animal-the dog or cat-shelter for a short time while we find a home for it.”

“The trouble is, I have a very irregular schedule and I’m out most of the time-”

She looked so pained, and so in extremis, he’d have felt like a heel not to fall in with this plan. “Yes, okay, I could do that.”

Beaming as if the sun had risen, she said, “That’s really nice of you, sir. I’ll just make arrangements.”

She was about to go off when Jury stopped her. “I can’t take him with me right this minute. I’m leaving town. It might be a couple of days until I can get back.”

The sun sank. “Oh.”

Again, he felt like a heel. But he hadn’t been lying. Somehow he felt this girl was always being lied to. He could imagine someone bringing in a great strapping animal who looked as though his last meal had been taken five minutes ago, claiming he’d “just found him in the streets” and dumping him.

Yes, she must have been through this time and time again. I’ll be back, but never coming back. He took out his ID. “The thing is, I’m a policeman and I have a case that takes me out of London.”

Her eyes widened as she looked at the ID.

“That’s all right, then, Mr.-Inspector…”

“Jury. Superintendent Jury. I really will come back.”

“Well, we’d be pleased to keep him until you do.” She had her arms around the dog now, lifting him off the counter. “He needs a name. I guess you haven’t named him yet. What can we call him?”

“I don’t know. What’s your name?”

She giggled. “Joely. But I’m a girl.”

“I can see that. What a gorgeous name. Well, how about Joey?”

Joely looked into the dog’s eyes, as if measuring him for this name. “Joey.” She nodded in approval. “He’s got his rabies tag now, but he needs a collar.”

“With his name on it, yes.”

She looked at Jury for a long moment, frowning and thinking. Then her face cleared and she said, “I know! Wait here.” She carried the dog off with her. In a moment she was back with a cigar box, which she plopped on the counter, together with the dog. “When we find dogs, sometimes they have collars that we take off and save-here!” She turned an old leather collar with a small metal plate on it so that Jury could see it.

“Joe, it says. Now, wait.” Here she took a small, sharp tool and scraped away on the end of the name, adding a “y.” “I use this for different things on metal. Well, it doesn’t look very professional, but-” She held it up for Jury (and Joey) to see.

Jury smiled. It was indeed not very professional, but the “y” was certainly workmanlike. “That’s brilliant.” The dog didn’t resist at all as Jury put the collar round his neck.

They both admired her handiwork. She asked, “Did Dr. Kavitz tell you about mountain dogs?”

“A little. He said this particular kind-Appenzell?-is rare.”

“It is in London, that’s for sure. Here-” She pushed the filled-in form toward him. “Would you just sign here? And date it?” As Jury did this, she said: “They’re herding dogs. You know, cattle, sheep, goats, and so forth. They’re very active. I can see if you live in a flat, you’d probably be better off with another kind of dog.”

She appeared to have forgotten what had landed him this one. He hadn’t been looking for a dog at all. When he finished, she took back the form, impulsively snatched up one of the white caps, handed it to him, and said, laughing, “I don’t suppose you know anyone with a lot of land and some sheep or goats, do you?”

Jury put on the cap, thought for a moment, and smiled. “Funny you should ask that.”

His mobile was trilling as he was letting himself into his flat.

“Jury.”

“It’s me, guv. We did the door-to-door, found three tenants home, but no one who knows who she is. I wonder if maybe this grocer made a mistake.”

“No. He was quite deliberate about her. She bought not just cigarettes but bread and milk and so forth. Not purchases you’d make if you were going to another part of the city. I could be wrong in assuming she must live in Bidwell Street, though. She could live several streets away.” He thought for a moment. “Or quite possibly she visits a friend who lives there.”

“That’s a distinct possibility. Or perhaps she takes care of someone. Anyway, I’ll keep checking. ’Bye.”