Free The Cat Dancers by P.T. Deutermann

such a way that it couldn’t be traced back to you? I mean, I don’t know dick about it, but it seems to me that if you weren’t a computer expert, you’d have to hire somebody to set that up. Otherwise, it would come back all over you. Wouldn’t it?”
    “He would have to know a lot,” Kenny said, “ and have access to a pretty damned good computer to do it by himself. Not to mention capturing K-Dog, holding him in some remote place, building an electric chair, getting enough power to run it, then filming it with a digital camera, and then formatting that for Web play.”
    Cam walked around the dining room, thinking out loud. “Marlor’s an environmental-science guy. Plus, he’s a doctoral candidate in science, which means he’s done everything for his Ph.D. except his dissertation. So he has to be competent in terms of computers and Web research.”
    “I keep looking at motive,” Kenny said. “Nobody else really has the motive.”
    “I’ll grant you that,” Cam replied. “Except maybe that bloodthirsty Indian woman. So, okay, let’s work it that way—make the assumption it’s him, then focus on the other two legs: opportunity and means. Unless, of course, Tony and Horace bring us word of a living, breathing K-Dog.”
    “I’m not holding my breath,” Kenny said.
    “If you’re right, neither is K-Dog.”

11
    THE BANK MANAGER TURNED out to be a stunning redhead in her thirties. She did not look like any bank manager Cam had ever seen. Even Kenny, the professional pussy hound, was momentarily speechless.
    “How can I help you, Officers?” she asked, slipping behind her desk and treating Kenny in particular to a dazzling display of legs.
    They had called in advance, and now Cam produced the search warrant, which she actually read. Kenny had a barely disguised grin on his face as he studied her, and Cam could see that she was fully aware of Kenny.
    “Okay,” she said, “I brought up his records.” She tapped a computer keyboard on her desk. “Savings account, checking account, some CDs, and just over a quarter of a million in a retirement account. Twenty and change in savings, and his Duke Energy pension is direct-deposited in his checking account on the fifth of every month.”
    “We’re trying to locate Mr. Marlor,” Cam said. “We’ve talked to his sister and the lady who’s taking care of his house. What we get is that he just left for parts unknown. Can the checking account help us out?”
    “What period of time?” she asked.
    “He’s been gone for about eight weeks. That far back.”
    She clicked some more and then studied the screen. “I don’t think so. He’s got the recurring bills on electronic bill payer. There’s no mortgage. I see some checks signed by Mr. Marlor and then endorsed by Mrs. Watkins—a neighbor, whose name is on the joint account—and there’re a few checks made out to other people. We autotransfer all but seven hundred from checking over to savings at the end of each month.”

    “Anything signed by him in that time frame?”
    She scrolled through images of the checks. “Nope,” she said. “He executed the new signature cards for the account almost … You’re right—it was eight weeks ago.”
    “Where do his statements go?” Kenny asked.
    She finally looked directly at him, and Cam saw Kenny give her his most winning smile. She blinked once before answering. Kenny had that effect on some women—okay, on most women—although this one was wearing both a wedding and an engagement ring. “The statements are generated but not mailed,” she said, clearing her throat. “Our customers can arrange it that way if they want.”
    “Can they be accessed via the Net?” Kenny asked.
    “That, too, has to be prearranged, but, yes, our customers can do anything they need to do electronically except for the signature cards.”
    “Okay, so has there been any electronic action on any of his accounts?”
    She tore her eyes away from Kenny and went back to