A Cat's Eye

"I-I-I don't know! I don't know! How many times do you have to ask me? I was walking to my job. While walking down the hill from my house, I noticed a strange car parked in the lot I had never seen before. When I walked past the car, I noticed a man lying on the ground next to the fence. I thought he was sleeping at first, but when I got closer, I saw... I saw... Oh, God! There was blood all over the place!  

His chalky white hands showed the truth. He was born with albinism, a rare condition in which the skin produces no melanin. In his extreme case, he lacked any pigment in his skin and had a purplish hue in his pale blue eyes. He always had straw-blond hair but chose to dye it brown when he moved away from his parent's home.     

"We need to know what happened to the man you found lying in the field dead with his throat sliced open. There are no witnesses, motives, or evidence except that he was holding his murder weapon in his left hand, and no one else saw his murdered body except you."

Tim's head tilted towards officer Diggins, shielding his chin from his cold shoulder. THERE ISN'T ANYTHING ELSE TO GIVE! Why don't you ask old busybody lady Hawkins across the street? She must have SEEN SOMETHING."  

Another interrogator answered the suspect. "We already interviewed Samantha Hawkins, who gave us some information. So it could be nothing, or something big, depending on what you tell us."  

The other interrogator, Tom Nickels, or "Tommy" by his friends, stood by the doorway, leaning against the white 8x10 wall. However, after years of depending on that same spot, he left a slight grey indentation where he always stood.

"Wha-what did she say? After his question, the irritated man turned his body toward the average-height skinny officer.  

Tommy could not help but take his eyes off the interrogated person's hands. Cresson's chalky white fingers were pressed so tightly under his armpits that you would have thought them out of a vice.

"What do you think she will say, Tim? Why not give us this detail you might remember now? Give us something that will make us trust you."

The young man shrugged, still tapping his foot. The habit still irritated officer Diggins, but not as much, for the young man was no longer tapping his knee under the table. 

"Ha," the man chuckled before making a disturbing answer. 

"Your wrong about that being no witnesses. Why didn't you ask the wild animals? Why don't you ask the cats?"

Nickels shook his head in agitation, then charged to the table, slamming his palms on the table.  

"We don't have time for this! A man is dead with his throat cut open, and you speak of cats?!"  

Defensively, Cresson leaped back, pinning his chair against the wall. Officer Dickens became pleased Tim stopped tapping his legs, bringing fear, not defiance, into the heart of the white-skinned albino.

"Yes, I mean, there are the cats! 

"Let me remind you, Tim, that the man's body was still warm when we arrived. So help us now, before this case grows cold."  

"Okay, okay, I will! Calm down!" Tim took a few breaths and began to speak, still shaking as he did so.  

"Before I start, I want a cigarette; no, give me the whole pack, and don't interrupt me. If I don't talk, you said we'll waste time, and the killer could still lurk in the area."

Nickels nodded his head, then headed out the door. I'll be back with the cigarettes and an ashtray. I needed to bring something back anyway."

Crack! Crack! Tim squeezed his knuckles, but only two of the ten cracked the booming sound. 

Cresson looked at the tape recorder on the table, staring at the device's red dot. "I'm going to start speaking for the "cats" now. But, I admit, I am disappointed in you."  

"Oh? Let's talk about it."

"After you hear my story, you'll understand why you failed as officers."

Robert wanted to jump the table and strangle the confession out of him, or at least give him a black eye to contrast his pale physique.  

"I won't interrupt."  

Cresson took meditative breaths, then talked.  

This story started three years ago when a big city guy wanted to buy land and build a home in our small, humble village.  I think Derrick was his name. 

Cresson tapped his fingers, then continued.  

"You know what, I am wrong about that. The population grew when the developers installed a 15 feet high fence around the vast property. You must protect your excavator and other hundreds of thousands of dollars, equipment, right?"

"Instead of a middle-aged single guy moving in, a colony of cats found their way inside the fence, providing excellent protection from predators and assholes that don't like black cats."

Cresson chuckled.  

"I think it's funny and sad at the same time how my block felt about our new "guests."  

Everyone knew Louis penny pinched his earnings, buying food on sale or having cheap dates with his wife. Ha, he refused to pay the ten-dollar entrance fee for his kids at the county fair when their friends offered to pay. Sad, their old man refused to accept their charity.  

While working at my ice cream shop, I heard Louis's kids never went on field trips. He believed, "I pay my taxes for this school, and I'll be damned if I give them an extra cent!"  

Still, Amy diligently fed those cats, but only twice a week.  

Diggens tapped his finger on the table while his posture slouched. Cresson picked up on his change of demeanor.

"This sounds pointless, I know, but trust me, every detail in this story counts, and I believe this story of the Stenson's is a corner piece of the puzzle to our town's murder."  

"Depriving food to these feral cats had its consequences. Before long, neighbors would complain loud meowing and hissing when the alpha cat would win the scraps left at the entrance. 

 We all called this alpha Zeus, me included. You could tell Zeus apart from the others because he was the only one with the white stripe.  

"Finally, the woman found a new favorite, a female cat she named Hera, the wife of Zeus. But, this cat was pregnant and needed the extra calories. Being a closet animal lover, I also fed the cats for a while. There were others, too. "  

The young man leaned on his elbow, rubbing his hairline with his thumb and pointer finger facing the light-grey table.  

"Oh, well, we all could agree; the more calories, the more kittens. But, did you know that one female cat, known as a "queen," could have more than 100 kittens in her lifetime?! Do you know how many kittens Hera had in that one litter?! Ten! Ten kittens! Don't get me wrong, giving birth is beautiful, but with all the annoyances going on? Lord have mercy!"  

Officer Diggens broke his promise of silence, but he figured it necessary for a potential lead. "Apologies for interrupting, but who were the others that fed the cats? You said that you did even though it seems they bothered you so much."

The young man sat straight, clasping his hands sideways, showing a neutral look.  

You know what, I'm glad you asked that. Others provided them with nourishment, while others refused. I'll start with the ones that did and those I think didn't.  I won't name everyone, only those who were too involved in the cats and could be the killer. Of course, I am excluding myself as a suspect." 

Diggens inquired, "Who are they, and why do you think they had something to do with the out-of-towner's murder?"

"I will tell you their names. But, before I continue, I urge you to bring in and interview the old lady Samantha Hawkins, Gerald Bernard, Stacy Greenwall, and Nicolas Brzezinski."

"Why? We can't bring them in without probable cause."

"First, they were obsessed with the cats living in the victim's location, and after they killed him, they could easily escape to their homes unnoticed."

Second, they performed vandalism on each other's property but never called the police. Finally, add animal cruelty. I hear hurting animals is a sign a person will kill, right?"

Robert rubbed his grey mustache, then agreed. "I'll have Nickols contact the suspect when he comes back." 

"I will start with Stacy Greenwall. Now she was a significant cat enthusiast. I mean, whenever I would serve customers at the ice cream shop, all she would talk about was cats, cats, kittens, and more cats! It was annoying to the customers and me!"  

Could you believe my supervisor threatened to fire me?!

I can tell you, I did not want to cuss her out, but I had to! It's a small town and not any career opportunities, right? I'll tell you, and I wanted to hit her! Cresson paused, tapping his fingers.  

"Who did you punch, Tim? Did you hit your victim before you killed him?"  

Nickels entered at an inopportune time.

Tim snapped at the cop, thumping the table with his knee.  

"You don't know what I've been through or what I have been saying while you were gone! But then, Cresson and Nickels exchanged foul language, making Robert Diggens nervous he might lose his progress.

"Cresson, Nickels, stop! We're getting nowhere with this! So let's take a deep breath as my psychologist taught me, and we can continue."

Nickels sat down, staring at Cresson with a nasty look. Tim stared back, lowering his forehead at the hot-head interrogator's nose level. But Nickels did not come in empty-handed.  

In his possession are pictures of the deceased and the crime scene. Also, sealed in an evidence bag, out of sight of the pale man across the table, contained the murder weapon.

"Ha, my favorites. How did you know?" Tim opened the pack of smokes, noticing there were a few missing.

Thank the secretary, Nickels replied with a benign smile.

"After I tell my story and get out of this place, I will."

Without another hitch, Cresson told his tale, and Nickols brought in the possible suspects while he told the story. 

"Where was I? Oh, I was telling you how my neighbor Greenwall kept bothering me at work.  

Anyway, when my car went into repair, these conversations became worse. I appreciate her picking me up from work, but after a week of grumbling. 

"My final straw was when she complained that the other suspect, Gerald Bernard, would make the argument, let these cats alone! They eat all the mice; you crazy! I want more of them, more of them!"

She'd screech back; I'm rescuing them, not killing them!  Have you ever heard of the C.N.R. program? Catch, neuter, return! As for the kittens, Complain all you want; I'm taking them to animal rescue!" 

Despite Gerald being unstable from a head injury, she set up traps all over her yard and outside the fence. She even had some neighbors do the same thing. But, to the dismay of Gerald, her plan worked. He wasn't upset about neighbors adopting the kittens per se, but he was infuriated about her treatment of the adults. She caught Hera, the ten kitten cat, and had her spayed.  

The young man shook his head and took a long puff of his cigarette. Then, he began shaking again, not from the nicotine bellowing through his system.

Soon after, things got strange. First, threats against Stacy happened, and then she against him. Next, Stacy had her garbage thrown on her lawn, and then there was the vandalism done to Gerald's home. No one saw anything, of course; even that neighborhood watch lady didn't see anything.  

Strange Hawkins didn't see anything. Despite her husband dying.

Cresson shook his head, taking several long drags from his cigarette. He was shaking more than before, and his eyes bulged out of their sockets.  

Everything went crazy when we found the first dead cat along the alleyway.

Tim intermittently smoked more, gathering ashes as much as a Cuban cigar as he told of the horror.

"At first, I thought not much of it. Nature happens, right? Animals die, just like people. Then, however, whenever I walked to work, every one of these neighbors I mentioned changed for the worse. 

 Gerald decided it was best to bring back the animal instinct in the rescued cats. Would you have him arrested if he threw a wounded mouse at your rescue kitten for a feast? Huh? I would have."

Before that cat died, they would creep around, paying little attention to people until old lady Hawkins spotted the poisoned cat. Then, you could tell by the foaming of its mouth she would say!  

Tim spoke to the detective, telling more strange tales of dead cats mutilated as though they were ritualistic. Some cats were thrown in the dumpster by the possible killer.  

Soon entered Tommy Nickels, having brought back the suspects. It was surprising how cooperative they were with the officers, even the truth about the vandalism. However, they were quick to point fingers at who murdered the cats, and the interloping victim, Bruce Finnegan.

Samantha Hawkins pointed at Tim Cresson, adding, "I saw him run from the body! He ran away, I tell you, with blood on his hands! I saw him wash his hands from the hose on the sideyard! 

After interrogating Tim Cresson, he admitted he tried to shake the body awake and to avoid suspicion and ran away from the scene, fearing he could be killed next. Then, he washed the blood off his hands before calling 9-1-1.  

Gerald Bernard pointed his finger at Stacy, Tim Cresson, and the neighborhood! He even came up with a conspiracy theory about a cult in town. 

However, he made a credible claim that Stacy captured and then tortured the cats, and while harming the animal, Bruce Finnegan confronted her and was killed.  

Stacy pointed her finger at Gerald but was cleared of wrongdoing after phone records exonerated him for calling his son at the time of the murder.  

Then there was Nicolas Brzezinski, a strange, superstitious native Polish man who was so scared a black cat would cause him severe bad luck he never went around the fenced-in area.  

He had been guilty, but not of murder the interloper's murder, but did admit to poisoning a cat.

"I didn't mean for the cat to die, but to make it sick so he and his cat friends would be too scared to come around my property! I don't care; I don't ever want to have bad luck!

However, he did go near the fence but did not interact with the cats. To avoid seeing them, he went through the back alley, hopped over Samantha's fence, and then was welcomed through her backdoor.  

Samantha Hawkins tolerated his strange behavior because she had superstitions, but not of black cats, so she claimed.  

"Do you know of Polish superstitions? She had all of them when it came to the deceased. For instance, she covered the mirrors and windows from her entranceway and throughout her house so no ghost would make a home in the mirror, lest she is haunted. Also, she turned her chairs upside down, so the spirit would not wish to stay, as a sign he was not welcome in the house. Huh, she even had her clocks stopped when her husband died."

Nickels had a revelation after Brzezinski described her superstitious behavior.  

"Funny thing that Hawkins did not cover the mirrors and windows after her husband's death, only after they found that unfortunate man's murder. Seems a bit suspicious, huh? I know the van blocked her view, but how could she NOT see anything suspicious? But, of course, it's common knowledge to everyone in our town that she always stares out that window."

"She has been acting suspicious. After looking better at the supposed murder weapon, we found that the victim's wound was too deep for the knife, found small, flimsy, and dull."

You know, she left her door cracked open. So you could get probable cause to look for evidence, no?  

Nickels shrugged, then thought it could be a big break in the case. 

"Oh, by the way, detective, the reason the person would have a weapon in hand would be to defend himself. But could it be the murder weapon? From what I saw, that flimsy knife could not cut a stick of butter! 

Nickels replied, grinning, "The police department will do a wellness check."  

The police department did a "wellness check" shortly after Nickels entered the interrogation room with unsuspecting news.

"Tim Cresson, you are free to go."  

Tim jerked his shoulders back in shock at the news. What does this mean? You found the killer, didn't you? Ha, I told you it wasn't me."

Nickels nodded his head, explaining the "detail" that exonerated him.  

"You see, the murder weapon was not the murder weapon. Samantha planted a thin knife to trick the police."

"Wow, why would she do that?!"

"Superstition got her caught. She left one mirror open, with a picture of her husband and the actual murder weapon, still bloody from her kill."

"Also, we found the mutilated carcasses of the neighborhood cats. Hawkins left a few cages to cover for Stacy Greenwall's C.N.R. project.

Motive? Her husband died of a heart attack after one of those cats circled his path. From then on, she blamed them for his death.  

The victim stopped after witnessing the older woman torturing a cat through one of the cages. She panicked when she saw him, then slit his throat when he was in a vulnerable position."

"Thank God they caught the killer," replied Cresson."

"Good luck added Diggins."  

"Cresson smirked, then said, "I'll make sure to thank the receptionist when I leave."