Big Tom's Arc

Chapter 2 of 6

Big Tom knew watching wasn't enough anymore. He needed to understand how detectives actually worked. The tabby padded through the morning fog toward the police station on Commercial Street. His paws made no sound on the wet stones. Outside the brick building, he found a coal chute that led to the basement. He squeezed through and landed in darkness. Voices drifted from above—men talking about evidence and witnesses. Tom crept up wooden stairs until he reached a gap in the floorboards. Through it, he watched the detective spread papers across a desk. Maps. Notes. Drawings of the streets where women had disappeared. This was how humans hunted killers—with ink and paper, not teeth and claws. Tom's orange eyes narrowed as he memorized the marked locations. He would need to learn this language of lines and symbols if he wanted to guide the detective to the right place. The basement held rows of filing cabinets and shelves stacked with paper. Tom dropped down from the stairs and moved between them. Each cabinet had labels he couldn't read, but he could see the patterns. Numbers. Letters. Order. He pushed against one drawer until it opened a crack. Inside were reports tied with string, each one documenting crimes and investigations. The detective's methods were here, recorded in ink. Tom couldn't read the words, but he studied the papers the way he'd study tracks in mud. The ones with the most wear had been touched often—cases the detective returned to again and again. Those were the important ones. Tom memorized which drawers held them. Now he knew where the detective kept his knowledge. When the time came, Tom would find a way to connect what he knew about the killer to what lived in these files. Tom left through the coal chute as quietly as he'd entered. He needed a place to store what he'd learned and watch the streets safely. Near an abandoned yard, he found a grey cat house that humans had built and forgotten. The paint was chipped but the structure was solid. Inside, he discovered a small oak cabinet with compartments perfect for hiding things. Tom dragged scraps of cloth through the entrance and stuffed them into the cabinet's openings. He could keep dry here when it rained. He could watch the detective's routes from the doorway. And when he needed to leave markers or items where the detective would find them, he'd have a base to return to. The first steps were complete. He knew where the detective kept his records. He knew the patterns of the investigation. Now he just needed to wait for the right moment to bring the two hunters together. Over the next week, Tom began collecting evidence the detective might need. A button from the killer's coat, caught on a fence near where a woman had vanished. A scrap of fabric that still held the man's scent. Tom carried each item back to his base and tucked them into a wicker basket he'd found behind a bakery. The basket sat just outside the cat house, hidden beneath a corner of the oak cabinet he'd dragged partway through the entrance. Rain couldn't reach the basket there, and no other cats would think to look inside. Each piece of evidence was a word Tom couldn't speak but the detective could read. When the time was right, Tom would lead the man to this collection. The detective would understand what the items meant. And then the hunt could truly begin.