Free Spotted Cats by William G. Tapply

find out there?’ I said.
    Maroney shrugged. ‘A coupla dead Dobermans. I’ll give the dog officer a call, have him come by to pick them up. We’ll see if there’s some way they can be tested for a drug.’
    ‘Why is that important?’ said Lily.
    Maroney sighed. ‘If they were drugged, it tells us your burglars didn’t know how to talk to them. It also tells us the bad guys came prepared, knew what they were after, what they were doing, had the whole thing planned out, that they weren’t just beered-up kids on a lark, which I seriously doubt anyway.’
    After the cops left Lily called the hospital. I stood beside her while she nodded wordlessly at the telephone. When she hung up she turned to face me. I couldn’t read her expression.
    ‘Well?’ I said.
    She shook her head. ‘He’s in the operating room. They wouldn’t tell me anything else. It seems I’m not next of kin or something. He’s alive, I got that much out of them.’
    I nodded. I reached for her hand. She allowed me to squeeze it, then she moved away from me.
    ‘I’m going to change,’ she said. ‘I’m going to the hospital.’
    ‘It won’t do Jeff any good.’
    ‘It’ll do me some good.’
    About an hour later we were out back on the patio sipping coffee. Lily had changed into a narrow grey skirt and a yellow blouse. She was wearing heels. I had never seen her in heels before. She was attempting to summon up the courage to drive to Hyannis. When we heard the bell by the gate bong, she stood up and said, ‘I’ll get it,’ and I also stood and said, ‘I’ll go with you.’
    We walked through the house and down the path. In her heels, Lily was as tall as me. Two men stood outside the gate, one a portly guy with a bald head and round wire-rimmed glasses and the other a teenage boy who reminded me of Tom Cruise with acne. The older of the two blinked at us and said, ‘Dog officer. Francis Filmore.’
    Lily unlocked the gate and they came in. Francis Filmore spotted Ngwenya’s body sprawled by the path. He went to it and squatted down. ‘Aw, jeez,’ he said softly. He touched the dog’s black fur, already dulled by death.
    ‘Its throat was cut,’ I said.
    Filmore peered up at me. ‘Why do people do things like this?’
    I shrugged. ‘It was a robbery.’
    ‘So I heard. There’s another one?’
    I nodded and jerked my head in the direction of Tondo’s corpse up the path. Filmore stood up slowly. ‘Dobermans are nice dogs,’ he said to me.
    ‘I guess that depends on your definition.’
    ‘Smart, loyal, dependable.’
    ‘By that definition, I agree.’
    At that moment, a dark blue sedan pulled up beside Filmore’s wagon, and two men in suits got out. Lily went to the gate. One of them flipped a leather case open, showing her a shield. ‘Forensics,’ he said.
    She jerked her head up the path in the direction of the bungalow. ‘Up there.’
    The detective nodded, and he and his partner moved towards the house. Lily came back and stood beside me and the dog officer. The detectives exchanged hellos with Francis Filmore on their way by.
    ‘Road pizzas,’ said Filmore, after the forensics cops had disappeared into the house.
    I frowned at him. ‘Huh?’
    ‘Some people try to run dogs over,’ he said. ‘Also squirrels, coons, possums, housecats. Turtles and snakes and frogs, too. They think it’s sport. The kids around here, they like to cruise at night, see what they can run over. Dogs get them the most points. They have contests. Half a dozen kids in cars. End of the evening, they tote up their points. Loser buys a case of beer for all of ’em. They guzzle it down, then, lots of times, they end up as road pizzas themselves. Great sport.’
    ‘Some people deserve to have their throats cut,’ I said.
    Filmore nodded and sighed. To the boy he said, ‘Well, come on, Jackie. Let’s lug ’em out.’
    Jackie took Ngwenya’s front end and Filmore lifted the dog by its hind legs. Ngwenya’s body had already stiffened.