Swanson came out of one of the bedrooms. “Guess what I found, Sergeant?”

Without turning around, Decker said, “A cat.”

Swanson didn’t answer right away. “How’d you know?”

“Litter box and food bowl in the kitchen.” Decker faced Swanson, who was holding a gray kitten with black stripes. He chucked the animal’s chin. “Cute little bugger. That what they call a tiger cat?”

“I’m not up on my cats,” Swanson said.

“Just his pussies,” Kovacs said.

The uniforms broke into laughter.

Decker said, “Was the cat locked in the room?”

“Yeah, the door was closed, come to think of it,” Swanson said.

“Either of you find anything else that moved?”

Kovacs shook his head.

“Looks like the place is empty. You two can report back to your regular duty.”

“What do we do about this?” Kovacs held up the cat.

“Just leave it here. I’ll take care of it.”

Swanson lowered the animal onto the floor. The kitten immediately made a mad dash for its divided food dish. There was water in one compartment, but the food side was empty. It meowed plaintively.

“I think it’s hungry,” Swanson said.

“Appears to be the case,” Decker said.

“You need to feed the kitty,” Kovacs said, then laughed at his own joke.

Decker slipped on gloves, then opened several cabinet doors until he found a box of cat food. “See you, fellas.”

After the uniforms left, Decker poured the food into the bowl and watched the kitten stuff its face. Then he took out his notebook.

His overall impression was that the apartment had been expecting its tenant to return home. The cat, of course, suggested that. If Marie hadn’t returned home soon, the poor animal might have starved. Ironstone dishes were stacked neatly in the drainer; two hardback library books were lying on the dinette table. Decker read the titles:

Being Single in the Nineties: A New, Revitalized Look at the Feminist Movement.

Adult Daughters, Child Mothers: When Nurturant Roles Are Reversed.

Seemed like Marie was doing some soul-searching.

Taped to the refrigerator was a reminder note—3 P.M. with Paula. He found today’s date in Bellson’s calendar—PD at 3 marked in red.

Three P.M. was a ways off. If Marie didn’t show up, most likely Paula D. would call her up and ask what happened. He wondered if Marie had an answering machine. Scanning the living room, Decker located the phone attached to a machine. A red zero showed on the message window.

No one had called last night while Marie was working. Or someone had called and the messages had been listened to and rewound.