Big Tom's Arc

Chapter 4 of 6

Tom's network was complete, but he still needed one more thing—a way to mark the streets themselves. He slipped through the back alleys until he found what he'd been searching for. Chalk dust covered the ground near a factory wall where workers had drawn their shift schedules. Tom rolled in it until his grey fur turned pale on one side. Then he rubbed against the corner of a building where the killer had passed three nights before. The white streak would catch light from the street lamps. The detective would see it if he looked close enough. Tom moved to the next corner and did it again. Each mark was a breadcrumb, a trail written in fur and dust that only someone watching carefully would notice. By dawn, Tom had marked six corners between the docks and the square. The path was laid. Now he just had to wait for the detective to follow it. The sun rose and turned the fog orange. Tom padded through a narrow passage between two houses. A statue stood in a small alcove ahead—the figure of Mary carved in pale stone. Ivy climbed the iron fence behind her, green leaves threading through the black metal bars. Tom had passed this spot a dozen times, but now he saw it differently. The ivy softened the hard edges of the fence. It made the place look peaceful instead of trapped. The killer walked past places like this without noticing them. But the detective might stop here. Might see the white chalk mark Tom had left on the statue's base. The mark pointed toward the next corner, the next clue. Tom crossed into the square where people gathered each morning. Weeds pushed through cracks in the cobblestones near the fountain. Their thin stalks bent under boots but never broke. Tom watched a man step on one and keep walking. The weed sprang back up. It bloomed with small purple flowers that caught drops of morning dew. The city tried to crush these plants, but they survived anyway. Tom understood that kind of stubbornness. He was just a cat leaving marks in chalk and collecting scraps in a basket. But he would survive long enough to finish what he started. A crowd formed near the corner. Tom climbed onto a barrel to see better. A man in a top hat and waistcoat stood on a wooden box, his arms spread wide as he spoke to the people below. His voice carried across the square, talking about justice and safety in the streets. The people listened and nodded. Tom's ears flicked forward. This man drew attention every morning at the same spot. The detective would know this place. Would use it to check the time and watch the crowds. Tom could leave his next mark here, right where the wooden box sat. The orator would never notice a white streak on the stones beneath his feet. But the detective would. The trail was almost complete now. Tom just needed one more night to finish it.