"But-"

"I see Gedding at ten."

"Meet for lunch?"

"Say, one o'clock at Moreno's."

"One o'clock." Clyde hung up, glancing toward Joe.

But Joe Grey wasn't there. Through the kitchen window Clyde saw a gray streak vanish over the fence, heading into the village. Clyde stood looking, swearing softly, but he didn't open the door to shout after Joe.

What good would it do? He couldn't make Joe come back. And, under the present circumstances, he guessed he didn't want to.

If Joe could help Harper, Clyde promised himself he'd never again make one disparaging, discouraging, cutting remark aimed at the tomcat. Would never again tease either Joe or Dulcie. He was, in fact, so upset about Harper that he poured coffee on his cereal and had eaten half the bowl before he realized how strange it tasted.

By the time Max Harper entered Lowell Gedding's office at ten, the two sleuths in question had concealed themselves handily behind a Chinese planter of maidenhair fern, on the wide ledge inside the city attorney's bay window.

Gedding didn't like screens on his windows, nor were screens needed in Molena Point. The sea wind kept flies away. And the decorative burglar grid that covered the window offered ample security. The window could safely remain open, allowing access to no living creature larger than, say, your ordinary house cat.

The morning sun washed pleasantly across the white walls of Gedding's office and across the pale Mexican-tile floor. A white, hand-woven rug was positioned on the amber tiles directly in front of Gedding's dark antique desk. Three walls were bare. On the fourth expanse hung five black-and-white Ansel Adams photographs: stark, hard-edged studies of sand dunes, magnificent in their simplicity.

Gedding sat behind his desk, relaxed and cool. He was a slim, bald, deeply tanned man in his sixties, with the look of the military about him. His gaze was direct, his body well honed, easy in its nicely tailored business suit of a dark, thin fabric. His green eyes were intense.

"Sit down, Max. I gather this is about the Marner murders."

Harper nodded.

"You have nothing further on Dillon Thurwell?"

"Nothing. Search parties are out, her picture on the Web and to the wire services. We-the department has the murder weapon."

Gedding leaned forward.

"Detective Davis found it yesterday. They got the lab report back this morning. The blood of both victims was on it."

"And?"

"It is a butcher knife from my kitchen. It was found in my hay shed."

"Is it a common make, a knife that could be duplicated?"

"It is a one-of-a-kind carving knife made in Sweden. Swedish steel, hand-carved bone handle and silver inlay."

Gedding looked deeply at Harper. "Why would someone set you up, Max, but do it so obviously? Had you missed the knife prior to the murder?"

"I hadn't used anything out of that drawer in weeks except a couple of paring knives. It could have been gone for some time."

"It's not like you not to remember details."

"In your own house? In a place you're so used to, you stop seeing things?"

"I suppose. So what now? You've already removed yourself from the case. You're not here to ask for administrative leave?"

"Exactly why I'm here. Someone took that knife from the house. Someone either borrowed my horse or came up with a set of matching shoes for his own horse, and marked both shoes. Someone with a pair of boots like mine, the soles worn into the same indentations."

"You've checked the house for any signs of break-in."

"The detectives have been over it three times."

"No one has a key?"

"No one."

"Surely a houseguest or dinner guest could have taken the knife, anyone coming in. Have you made a list of who's been there?"

Harper handed a list across the desk. "Everyone who's been in my house the last three months. A few close friends and the plumber. You can see I have a big social life.

"I don't think the killer's name is there. No one comes in my place, Lowell, except friends I trust fully."

"That include Crystal Ryder?"

"She…" Max hesitated. "She's been up at my place three times, uninvited. She didn't go in the house any time-that I know of."

"Could she have gone in?"

"Yes, I suppose she could have. While I was feeding or working with the horses. I didn't like her coming up there. When she showed up, I went on with my work."

"That's why she isn't on the list." Gedding's tone was cool.

"Exactly why. Because she wasn't inside, to my knowledge."

"That's not the way I heard the story. Talk in the village has you two pretty close."

"Put her on the list," Harper said. "Make a notation that I never saw her go inside, never saw her inside the house."

Gedding leaned back in his chair. "I've received two anonymous phone calls that when you left the restaurant, the day of the murder, you were seen riding your buckskin up the mountain following Helen and Ruthie and Dillon. Riding up the mountain, Max, away from your place, not down the hills toward home as you said in your statement."

"There's nothing I can say to that, Lowell. It isn't true. I didn't do that. I went directly home, took care of Bucky and the other animals. Answered the phone-that tip about Baker. I showered and dressed, and headed for Baker's place. You've read my statement."

Gedding sighed. "And you have no changes to make to that statement?"

"None."

"It's turning into a tangle. The best bet-not that I think your people can't handle it, but to get them off the hot seat-would be to call in an outside detective."

Harper nodded. "I think you have to do that. Someone on loan from another district."

"I can talk to San Francisco. I have a friend in the department there. Good detective-Dallas Garza. The family has a weekend cottage down here. I'm sure he'd welcome a change of scene."

Behind the Chinese planter, narrowed yellow eyes met blazing green eyes. Neither Joe nor Dulcie had thought of an outside investigator.

And how had Gedding come up with a candidate so fast?

The cats had thought there was mutual trust here. Joe had heard Harper tell Clyde, more than once, how Gedding had stood by him when the mayor or city council meddled in police business.

What bothered Joe was, one council member had pushed hard to hire Gedding. And that man wanted Harper out of the department. So where did Gedding's loyalties lie?

"Garza's brother-in-law," Gedding said, "is chief U.S. probation officer in San Francisco. I believe Wilma Getz worked with him before she retired. Garza's niece-she's the interior designer that Kate Osborne works for. But you know the family-they have a weekend cottage in the village. Kate and Hanni, when they were small, used to play together."

"I know who they are," Harper said stiffly. "Should I say, small world," he added dryly.

Gedding shrugged and straightened the papers on his desk. "Have you made any other arrangements?"

"When your man arrives, Ray and Davis are prepared to step off the case, if he so chooses. I've put Lieutenant Brennan in charge of the department.

"As for my personal life, I don't plan to stay at home. I've taken my horses up to Campbell Ranch, they'll keep them ridden. As long as I live alone and isolated, there'll be a shadow on my activities. I'm locking up my place and moving in with Clyde. Unless," Harper said with a twisted smile, "unless you plan to put a leg bracelet on me."

Joe Grey felt his belly lurch. Though Harper was joking, the thought of an the electronic monitor made him twitch. If Harper had to phone the station for permission to walk out his front door, he might as well be locked in a steel kennel.

It was noon when Clyde left Gedding's office, now on official leave. The cats were about to slip out through the window when Gedding made a long-distance call; they subsided again, beneath the potted fern.