He Who Hesitates

by Ed McBain

  "The logical place to start an investigation, though, is with the tenants of a building, those who would have had access—"

  "Oh, sure," Roger said.

  "—to the item or items stolen."

  "Sure."

  The room went silent again.

  "Mr. Broome, I wonder if you could tell us where you were last night."

  "What time last night?"

  "Well, let's start with dinner. Where did you have dinner?"

  "Gee, I don't remember," Roger said. "Someplace around here, a little Italian restaurant." He paused. "I'm not too familiar with the city, you see. I don't get in too often. I've only been here a few days this trip."

  "Doing what, Mr. Broome?"

  "Selling woodenware."

  "What's that, Mr. Broome? What kind of woodenware?"

  "We've got a little shop up home, we make coffee tables and bowls, spoons, things like that. We sell the stuff to places in the city. That's why I'm here."

  "When do you plan to go home?"

  "I really should be getting back tonight." Roger shrugged. "I sold all the stuff yesterday. I've really got no reason to hang around."

  "Where is that, Mr. Broome? Your home."

  "Carey." He paused. "It's near Huddleston," he said automatically.

  "Oh, yes," Hawes said.

  "You know it?"

  "I've skied Mount Torrance," Hawes said.

  "You have?"

  "Yes. Nice area up there."

  "Well, our shop is on 190, just east of Huddleston. The turnoff just before the mountain road."

  "Oh, yes," Hawes said.

  "How about that?" Roger said, and he smiled. "Small world."

  "It sure is," Hawes said, and returned the smile.

  "What time would you say you had dinner, Mr. Broome?" Willis asked.

  "Must've been about five."

  "So early?"

  "Well, we eat early back home, I guess I'm used to it." He shrugged.

  "What'd you do after dinner?"

  "Came back here."

  "What time was that?"

  "Six-thirty? Around then."

  "Did you stay in after that?"

  "No."

  "Where'd you go?"

  "To a bar."

  "Where?"

  "Right in the neighborhood, oh, no more'n six or seven blocks from here, walking south on Twelfth Street."

  "Would you remember the name of the bar?"

  "No, I'm sorry. I really went out for a walk. I only stopped in the bar because I was getting kind of chilly. I'm not usually a drinking man."

  "But you did have a drink with Mr. Shanahan just a little while ago, didn't you?" Hawes asked.

  "Oh, yeah, that," Roger said, and laughed. "We were celebrating."

  "Celebrating what?"

  "Well, I shouldn't even tell you this, you'll get the wrong idea."

  "What's that?" Hawes said, smiling.

  "Well, Fook doesn't care too much for Mrs. Dougherty, you know. He was glad somebody stole her old refrigerator." Roger laughed again. "So he wanted to have a few drinks to celebrate."

  "You don't think he stole it, do you?" Willis said.

  "Who? Fook? No." Roger shook his head. "Oh, no, he wouldn't do anything like that. He was just glad it happened, that's all. No. Listen, I don't mean to get Fook in trouble by what I said. He's a very nice person. He's not a thief, I can tell you that."

  "Mm-huh," Willis said. "What time did you leave the bar, Mr. Broome?"

  "Midnight? I don't know. About then."

  "Do you have a watch?"

  "No."

  "Then you're not sure it was midnight."

  "It must've been around then. I was pretty sleepy. I usually get pretty sleepy around that time."

  "Were you alone?" Hawes asked.

  "Yes," Roger said, and looked at the detectives squarely and wondered if they could tell he had just lied to them for the first time.

  "What'd you do when you left the bar?"

  "Came back here," Roger said. That was true, anyway. He had come back to the room.

  "And then what?"

  "I went to bed." That was true, too.

  "Did you go right to sleep?"

  "Well, not right off." He was still telling the truth. More or less.

  "When did you fall asleep?" Hawes asked.

  "Oh, I don't really remember. A half-hour, an hour. It's hard to tell just when you drop off, you know."

  "Mmm," Willis said, "it is. Did you hear anything strange while you were in bed trying to fall asleep?"

  "What do you mean, strange?"

  "Any strange noises."

  "Well, what kind of noises?"

  "Anything out of the ordinary," Hawes said.

  "No, I didn't hear anything."

  "Anything wake you during the night?"

  "No."

  "You didn't hear any noises in the street outside, you know, maybe men's voices, or the sound of someone struggling with a heavy load, anything like that?"

  "No, I didn't."

  "Or something being dragged or pulled?"

  "No. This is the third floor," Roger said. "Be pretty hard to hear anything like that, even if I wasn't asleep." He paused. "I'm a pretty sound sleeper." He paused again. "Excuse me, but would you know what time it is?"

  Willis looked at his watch. "Three-ten," he said.

  "Thank you."

  "Do you have an appointment, Mr. Broome?"

  "Yeah, I'm supposed to meet somebody."

  "What do you suppose that refrigerator was worth?" Hawes asked suddenly.

  "I don't know," Roger said. "I never saw it."

  "Have you ever been down in the basement of this building?"

  "No," Roger said.

  "Mrs. Dougherty says it was worth about fifty dollars," Willis said. "Do you agree with her?"

  "I never saw it," Roger said, "so I couldn't say. Fook says it wasn't worth more than a few dollars."

  "The only reason we bring up the value," Willis said, "is that it would make a difference in the charge."

  "The charge?"

  "Yes, the criminal charge. If the value was under twenty-five dollars, it would be petit larceny. That's only a misdemeanor."

  "I see," Roger said.

  "If the crime's committed at night, and the property is taken from the person of another," Willis went on, "that's automatically grand larceny. But if it was taken from a dwelling place . . ." Willis paused. "Somebody's house, you know?"

  "Yes?"

  "Yes, and at night also, then the value has to be more than twenty-five dollars for it to be grand larceny."

  "Oh," Roger said.

  "Yeah. Grand larceny's a felony, you know. You can get up to ten years on a grand larceny conviction."

  "Is that right?" Roger said. "For a measly twenty-five dollars? Boy!" He shook his head.

  "Oh, sure," Willis said. He looked at Hawes. "You got any questions, Cotton?"

  "Are those the only windows?" Hawes asked.

  "Those?" Roger said. "Yes, they're the only ones."

  "You don't have any facing on the back yard?"

  "No."

  "I just can't see anybody hauling that heavy refrigerator all the way out to the front of the building," Hawes said. "A car or a truck must have backed into the alley to the basement door. That's what I think." He shrugged. "Well, Mr. Broome wouldn't have heard it, anyway. His windows face the front."

  "That's right," Roger said.

  Willis sighed. "You've been very cooperative, Mr. Brome. Thank you very much."

  "I hope we haven't kept you from your appointment," Hawes said.

  "No, I'm supposed to meet her at three-thirty," Roger said.

  "Thanks again," Willis said.

  "Glad to help," Roger said. He walked them to the door. "Will you be needing anything else from me?"

  "No, I don't think so," Hawes said. He turned to Willis. "Hal?"

  "I don't think so, Mr. Broome. I hope you understand we had to make a routine
check of all the—"

  "Oh, sure," Roger said.

  "Chances are this was a neighborhood junkie," Hawes said.

  "Or a kid. Sometimes it's kids," Willis said.

  "We get a lot of little thefts," Hawes said. "Not much we can do about them unless we're lucky enough to turn up a witness."

  "Or sometimes we'll catch some guy, oh, maybe six months from now — on something else, you understand — and he'll tell us all about having swiped a refrigerator from a basement back in February. That's the way it goes." Willis smiled. "We try to keep up with it."

  "Well, I wish you luck," Roger said. He opened the door.

  "As far as you're concerned though," Hawes said, "you can forget all about it. Go home, stay a few days, entirely up to you. We won't be bothering you any further."

  "Well, thank you," Roger said.

  "Thank you for your time, sir," Hawes said.

  "Thank you," Willis said.

  They both went out. Roger closed the door behind them. He waited until he could no longer hear their footsteps, and then he locked the door.

  Molly's scarf was in the bottom drawer of his dresser.

  10

  They had come back to the room at a little past midnight, coming quietly up the steps to the third floor, walking past Fook's apartment, and then pausing silently outside Roger's room as he searched for his key and unlocked the door. They stepped inside, and he closed the door behind them, shutting out the light from the hallway. They stood in darkness for several seconds while he groped for the light switch just inside the door. When the light went on, Molly seemed surprised that he hadn't tried to kiss her in the dark.

  "This is very nice," she said, looking around the room. "Very nice."

  "Thank you," he said. They were both whispering. No one had seen them come into the building, and no one knew she was here in the room with him, but they whispered nonetheless, as though the entire building knew they were alone together, as though each and every one of the tenants was eavesdropping.

  "It's not too small at all," Molly said.

  "No, it's all right. Plenty of room for just one person."

  "That's right," Molly said. She took off her coat and scarf and put them over the arm of the easy chair. "Well," she said, "this is really nice. Maybe I'll move. Do you think there are any vacancies?"

  "Gee, I wouldn't know," Roger said. "But actually, this room'll be empty tomorrow, you know. I'll be going back to Carey tomorrow."

  "That's right," she said, "I almost forgot."

  "Yeah," Roger said, and nodded.

  She sat on the edge of the bed. "It's too bad you're going back so soon," she said.

  "Well, there's really no reason for me to stay any longer, you know. My mother's expecting me, so really I have to—"

  "Oh, sure," Molly said. "This is very comfortable. The bed."

  "Yeah, it's not a bad bed," Roger said.

  "It seems very comfortable. I hate lumpy mattresses, don't you?"

  "Yes."

  "Or ones that are too soft."

  "This one is pretty good, actually," Roger said. "You get a good night's sleep on it."

  Molly leaned back suddenly, swinging her legs up on to the bed and stretching her arms over her head. "Mmmm," she said, "this sure feels good." She smiled at Roger. "I'd better be careful or I'll fall asleep."

  "Well," Roger said, and smiled.

  "Do you know what gets me about looking for a job?" she asked.

  "No what?"

  "My feet. They're killing me. Would you mind if I took off my shoes?"

  "No, not at all."

  "I'll be leaving in a minute," she said, sitting up, and crossing her legs, and taking off first one high-heeled pump and then the other. "But while I'm here I might as well take advantage of the opportunity, huh?"

  "Sure," Roger said.

  "Ahhhhh," she said, and wiggled her toes. "Ahhhh, that feels good." She put her arms behind her, the elbows locked, and stared up at him. "Aren't you going to take off your coat?" she asked.

  "What? Oh. Oh, I thought—"

  "I've got a few minutes," she said. "We don't have to rush right out again. I mean, not unless you want to."

  "No, no," Roger said.

  "Besides, it feels so good with these shoes off," she said, and smiled.

  "Just make yourself comfortable," he said. He took off his coat and went to the closet with it. "I'm sorry I can't offer you a drink or anything, but I haven't got any in the room."

  "Oh, that's all right," she said. "I don't drink much anyway."

  He hung his coat on a hanger, and then took Molly's from the chair and put it over his on the same hanger. He looped her scarf over the hanger hook, and put everything back in the closet. "If the liquor stores were open," he said, "I'd go down for some. But I think—"

  "No, I don't mind. I hope I didn't give you the impression that I drink a lot."

  "No, I didn't get that impression."

  "Because I usually don't, except socially. It's been so depressing, though, marching around this city and not being able to find anything. It can get really depressing, I mean it."

  "I can imagine," Roger said.

  "Boy, it's good to get out of those shoes," she said, and she leaned back, propping herself on one elbow so she could watch him. She smiled. "Is that the only light in here?" she asked.

  "What?"

  "The light. It's kind of harsh."

  "There's a lamp on the dresser," Roger said. "Would you like it better if I—"

  "Please. It's just that lying back like this, I'm looking right up into the light there.".

  "I'll just put this one on," Roger said, and went to the dresser. He turned on the small lamp, and then flicked out the overhead light. "How's that?"

  "Better," she said. "Much better."

  She closed her eyes. The room was silent.

  "Mmm," she said. She stretched and then leaned back and said, "I really better be careful or I will fall asleep."

  "It's early yet," Roger said.

  "The night is young, huh?" she said, and giggled. "Be funny if your landlady walked in here tomorrow morning and found a strange girl in your bed, wouldn't it?"

  "Well, she never walks in," Roger said. "Nobody ever bothers you here."

  "You mean you've had strange girls in here before?"

  "No, I didn't mean that," Roger said.

  The girl giggled. "I know. I'm teasing." She opened her eyes and looked at him solemnly. "I'm a big tease."

  Roger said nothing.

  "Though not that way," Molly said. She paused. "Do you know what I mean?"

  "I'm not sure."

  She smiled briefly, and then sat up suddenly, swung her legs over the side of the bed and said, "I'm getting your bedspread all wrinkled. Your landlady won't like that a bit. I mean, she may not object to girls in your room, but I'll bet she doesn't like a wrinkled bedspread or lipstick all over the pillow."

  "Well, she's never found any lipstick on the pillow," Roger said, and smiled.

  "No, and we're not going to give her any to find, either." She padded to the dresser in her stockinged feet, opened her bag, took out a Kleenex, and leaned close to the mirror. She wiped off her lipstick quickly, and then put the tissue back into her bag. "There," she said, and smiled at him. He was beginning to dislike the way she was making herself so comfortable, the way she was moving around the room so easily and naturally, as if she owned the place. He watched her as she went to the bed and pulled back the bedspread and fluffed up the pillows. "There," she said again, and sat on the edge of the bed.

  She smiled at him.

  "Well," she said, "here we are."

  The room was silent again. She stared at him levelly.

  "Do you want to make love to me?" she asked.

  "That's not why I brought you up here," he said quickly.

  The smile was still on her face, but it seemed to have weakened somewhat, as though his words had embarrassed her, or injured her. He didn't want to make her f
eel bad, and he certainly didn't want to hurt her. But at the same time, he didn't particularly feel like getting involved with her, not in that way, not with a girl as plain as she was.

  "I mean, I didn't bring you up here to take advantage of you," he said gallantly. "I only wanted to show you the room because you said maybe you—"

  "I know."

  "—might want to move if it was a good-sized room."

  "It's a good-sized room," she said.

  "But, believe me, I wasn't planning—"

  "And it's a very comfortable bed," she said.

  "—on taking advantage of you, if that's what you thought."

  "That's not what I thought."

  "Good because—"

  "I didn't think you'd take advantage of me."

  "Good because—"

  "It wouldn't be taking advantage of me," Molly said flatly.

  He looked at her silently.

  "I have a lot to give," she said.

  He did not answer her.

  She stood up suddenly and pulled the flaps of her blouse out of the black skirt. Slowly, she began unbuttoning the blouse. There was something ludicrous about her performance. She stood alongside the bed with her head erect, the flaming red hair burnished in the glow of the single lamp on the dresser, her hands slowly unbuttoning the blouse, staring at him, her eyes serious and solemn in the plain face, the fake eyelashes, the penciled eyebrows, the pointed fake breasts in the padded bra slowly revealed as her hands worked the buttons at the front of the blouse. She threw the blouse and the bra onto the bed behind her and then unzipped the skirt and stepped out of it. He felt nothing. He looked at her as she took off the rest of her clothing and moved toward him, an oddly shaped woman with tiny breasts, large bursting nipples, wide in the hips, far too wide in the behind, thick in the thigh and ankle, there was nothing exciting about her, nothing attractive about her, he felt no desire at all for her. She moved into his arms. She was very warm.

  They whispered in the night.

  "I sometimes feel all alone in the world," she said.

  "I do, too."

  "I don't mean alone just because I have no parents, or because Doris went off to Hawaii, not that way, not that kind of alone. I mean really alone."

  "Yes."

  "Alone inside," she said.

  "Yes."

  "Even when I'm surrounded by people. Even when there are people everywhere around me, like in that bar tonight, before I met you."

  "I almost didn't come over to you."

  "Because I'm not pretty," she said.