Chapter 7 - The Unseen Witness
Amanda stopped crying. She dropped her hands from her face, staring at me as if I had suddenly started speaking a foreign language.
"A... a cat?" she whispered.
"Yes," I said, pointing toward the pharmacy awning where the gray-and-white animal was still sitting. "That stray right there. It came across Elm Street, bit my pant leg, pulled me toward your car, and wouldn't leave until I looked through your window."
Amanda turned her head slowly, looking at the thin, dusty animal resting on the shaded concrete. The cat didn't move. It simply returned her gaze, its pale green eyes unblinking in the harsh light.
"That's... that's impossible," Amanda breathed, her voice trembling. "It's just a street cat..."
"It saved your daughter's life," I said flatly. "Because if I had walked to my patrol car and driven away, Clara would have been dead before you finished paying for your prescription."
I turned to Marcus. "Take her statement, secure the vehicle, and call a flatbed to impound it for evidence. I'm taking the preliminary report to County General, and then Child Protective Services is going to need a full debrief."
"Copy that," Marcus said, taking out his cuffs. "Amanda, stand up for me, please. You're being placed under investigative detention for felony child endangerment."
As Marcus helped the weeping woman to her feet and guided her toward his patrol car, I walked over to the pharmacy awning.
The cat didn't run when I approached. It remained sitting on the concrete, its chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm now that the air under the shade was slightly cooler. I crouched down in front of it, placing my gloved hands on my knees.
Up close, I could see the story of its life written on its body. The notch in its ear was old and scarred. There were tiny patches of missing fur on its left flank from old fights, and its white paws were stained with grease from sleeping under parked engines. It was an animal that had survived on the margins of the city, ignored by thousands of people who walked past it every day.
"You did good, buddy," I said softly.
I reached into my shirt pocket, pulled out a small piece of dried beef jerky I had saved from my morning break, and offered it on my open palm.
The cat leaned forward, sniffed the meat carefully with its pink nose, then took it gently from my fingers with its front teeth. It didn't bolt away to eat it; it sat right there on the shade-cooled concrete, chewing slowly while watching me.
"Officer!" the old man from the pharmacy called out, walking over with his cane. "Is the baby going to make it?"
"She's alive," I said, standing up. "EMS has her on the way to the hospital."
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"Thank God," the old man murmured, looking at the broken glass near the sedan. "I saw that cat pulling on your leg earlier. I thought the poor thing was sick."
"It wasn't sick," I said, looking down at my torn, dirt-stained pant leg where the cat's teeth had left small indentations in the heavy cotton. "It was the only one paying attention."
