Free Deadly Justice by William Bernhardt Page A

of the X-ray room. He wished he could follow up on this lead right away, but unfortunately there was a switchboard waiting for him and he was already late. That was all right; he’d probably have more luck after midnight anyway.
    He could understand why no one else knew what to do with the tattoo. They probably classified it as a detail that could confirm a suspected identity, but was of no value in identifying an unknown.
    And that’s where they were wrong. Maybe the tattoo didn’t mean anything to the hotshot detectives, but it meant a lot to Torrdinson. Especially combined with what he had figured out already.
    Tonight he was going to get lucky.

12
    B EN WAS SLEEPING, OR attempting to, when he felt something cold and wet brush against his face.
    “What the…!” His eyes opened. It was Giselle, the huge black cat Christina had gifted him with last year. She was standing on his chest, two paws around his neck, rubbing her wet nose against his cheek.
    “Maybe you don’t understand, Giselle. I already have an alarm clock. And it’s not set to go off for another hour and a half.”
    Giselle wedged her furry head into the crook of his neck and purred.
    “What’s the urgency? I just fed you last night.” He sighed. “Oh, very well. I might as well have a baby.”
    He hauled himself out of bed, threw on a robe, and walked into the kitchenette of his small apartment.
    Giselle followed along, close at his heels. Reaching into the topmost cupboard, Ben withdrew a can of Feline’s Fancy and opened it.
    The distinctively fishy aroma filled the room. Giselle raised her head and looked up at Ben expectantly.
    “All right, Giselle, let’s try Stunt A again.” He patted his shoulder with his free hand. “Jump.”
    He waited. Nothing happened. “Jump, Giselle. Jump.” He waited. Still nothing happened.
    “Giselle, the idea is for you to leap into my arms. Then, as a reward, I give you some food. There’s no reason why you can’t master these simple tricks. Now jump !”
    Giselle padded over to her cat-food bowl, plopped her considerable weight down, and waited.
    “C’mon, don’t be so lazy. Work for your dinner. Jump!”
    Giselle lifted her head ever so slightly and stared at him with wide, hungry eyes. A small, pathetic mewling emerged.
    “Oh, all right then.” He bent down and scraped the cat food into her bowl. As soon as he was done, Giselle dipped her head in and began to eat. The mewling converted to a soft purr.
    “Yeah, well,” Ben said, straightening his robe, “we’ll work on the jumping tonight. Next time, no exceptions.” He put a Christine Lavin CD on, then, from a cabinet beside his refrigerator, pulled down a cereal bowl and a box of Cap’n Crunch. On second thought, he dispensed with the bowl and ate it right out of the box. He plucked a mildly dirty glass from the sink and poured himself a glass of chocolate milk. In one satisfying swallow, he downed half the glass, then licked the brown chocolaty mustache from his upper lip.
    There was a gentle knock on his front door. Ben checked the oven clock: barely six-thirty.
    He opened the door and found his landlady outside.
    “Good morning, Mrs. Marmelstein.”
    “I understand you have a new job, Ben.”
    “True. With the legal department of the Apollo Consortium. Looks like I finally made the big time.”
    She sniffed. “I guess that explains why you didn’t come by to check my books last night.”
    “Ohmigosh.” Ben tried to assist Mrs. Marmelstein whenever he could by managing her business affairs, such as they were. Mrs. Marmelstein had lived comfortably off her late husband’s oil holdings—till they gave out. Her wealth had long since been depleted, but she hadn’t quite figured that out yet.
    “I’m sorry, Mrs. Marmelstein. I had to work late at the office last night and—”
    “And I was left on my own to deal with Mr. Perry.”
    Mr. Perry was the downstairs roomer, a man Ben had never met. “What’s his complaint this