Call Me Cat (Call Me Cat Trilogy #1)(3)

The Price of Morals


"WHERE IS DETECTIVE Reynolds?"

The tall, muscular officer sitting in front of me frowned, which accentuated the dimple in his chin. "He's on vacation. I'm handling his cases while he's gone." He sounded tired and stressed and not inclined to listen to my problems, but I didn't care. If I'd learned anything since the night my parents were murdered it was that you had to make them listen.

I handed him the plastic baggie with the letter and envelope. "I touched it before I realized what it was, then only handled it with gloves to preserve any evidence."

He peered at me with cutting blue eyes that contrasted nicely with his dark hair sprinkled with a touch of grey at the temples. "What is it?"

"Another letter from the killer."

"What killer?"

I sighed. "Didn't you pull up my file?"

He shrugged. "I just got in."

I bristled at his arrogance as we sat at his less than tidy desk. "Officer… " I glanced at the papers stacked by his computer since he hadn't bothered to introduce himself… "Gray. I'm Catelyn Travis. Seven years ago, when I was fifteen, my parents were killed in front of me by the Midnight Murderer. I was left alive, and the killer was never caught, but every year on the anniversary of their death—"

"You get a letter." Gray skimmed through a folder. "Sent from different parts of the country. Always says the same thing, yeah, yeah, it's all here."

I pointed to the baggie in his hand. "It's from the killer."

"Or a prank."

"Who else would be so persistent? For so many years?"

"A bad prank then."

I tapped my foot, irritated after waiting three hours for this guy. Waiting amidst people who had forgotten how to shave and had likely pissed themselves, by the stench of it. The police department did nothing to soften the harsh edges of the environment. Everything smelled and looked run down.

"It's a clue to catch the bad guys," I said. "You know, what you guys are supposed to be getting paid to do."

"That's right, we are supposed to be getting paid, and I'm still waiting for my overtime. So unless you have information on a crime, let me be, let me do my job in peace."

How dare he take his frustration out on me? "Then do it, Officer. Catch the killer."

"It's Detective," he said gruffly. "Not Officer." An angry silence hung in the air. Then Gray sighed. "There's not much we can do with some paper in a baggie, but I'll talk to Reynolds, see if we can come up with something."

"There's a lot you can do with'some paper,'" I said with air quotes. "First, you could find out this stationary is rare and only printed by a privately owned company in Venice, Italy. It's expensive coated paper with a custom watermark. Whoever is sending these clearly has wealth and connections. They also travel, or have brought someone in on their schemes to mail the letters for them. You could test it for prints, for saliva DNA, for the ink of the printer, though that will likely not lead anywhere. You could subpoena the stationary company for a list of their clients both here and overseas and see if anyone might match the profile created about my parents' murderer. You could do quite a bit with 'some paper' if you gave a rat's ass about solving cases."

He whistled. "Thanks, Sherlock."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing." The detective sighed again, sinking into his chair as if sinking into a hot bath. "Miss Travis, I know this must be hard for you, but yours is a cold case. The Midnight Murderer had his fun with a few high profile killings, but he's either dead or so underground we'll never find him. We had our top guys on it and they got nowhere. Watching a few episodes of Law & Order doesn't make you a legal expert." He stood to dismiss me, but I refused to stand.

"No, it doesn't. But you know what does?" I cocked my head and stared at him. "A degree in Criminal Justice and Criminal Psychology from Harvard University followed by law school at Harvard Law School. How much education do you have, Detective?"

"I have real world experience. Look, I'll file this with your case and talk to Reynolds when he gets in. If it makes you feel better, get an escort to and from your car at night and keep your doors locked. If this guy had wanted to try something, he would have done it by now."

I left his office fuming, the taste of ash in my mouth.

I made sure to lock my apartment, and dropped my bags by the couch when my phone rang. I assumed it was Bridgette. "Oh my God, they just breed those *s dumber and dumber," I said.

Silence.

"Hello? Bridgette?"

"Miss Travis. This is Donna from The Pleasure Palace. You left a message on our voicemail about a potential job? Well, we liked the sound of your voice, and we're calling to see if you're interested in working for us." Donna's words rolled off the tongue with a faint foreign accent I couldn't place.

I sank into my pink shabby-chic living room chair. "What's your company called again? The Pleasure Palace? This is for that telemarketing job?"

"I suppose you could say that. We're a phone sex company, Miss Travis, and we're looking for women, and men, with sexy voices who like to act. You'd engage in various sexual fantasies with clients over the phone. In exchange, you'd receive one dollar for every minute you are on the call, which is higher than many companies in our industry are paying right now."