by Ed McBain
'She a member of the gang?'
'Yep.'
'But you don't know where she is, either, right?'
'Right man,' Henry said, and tried his balancing act again. This time he came almost close. But the knife toppled over again. 'Shit,' he said, and still did not look up at the detectives.
'And the other sister?'
'What other one is that?' Henry asked,
'Maria Lucia. The little sister.'
'What about her?'
'Got any idea where she is?'
'Nope,' Henry said.
'We know where she is,' Kling said.
'Yeah, where is she?'
'Right now she's at Washington Hospital, being treated for near-starvation.'
'What?' Henry said, and looked up for the first time.
There was no disguising the genuine surprise in his eyes. If Carella was reading Henry's face correctly, then Henry did not know the little girl had escaped the Sunday-night massacre. That had to be it. No matter what Henry had read in the newspapers, he had automatically assumed that the killers had wiped out the entire Portoles family, including little Maria Lucia.
'That's right,' Carella said, 'she's in the hospital. And before that, she was up in the squadroom telling us all about what happened last Sunday night, when Eduardo and Constantina Portoles got killed.'
'I don't know what you're talking about,' Henry said. He was wearing thick glasses, and his eyes looked inordinately large behind them. Now that he was looking directly up at the detectives, he refused to take his eyes from them, as though this were as great a challenge as trying to balance the knife on its tip.
'What's the cover-up for?' Kling asked. 'We're trying to find who killed them.'
Henry did not answer.
'You know they're dead, for Christ's sake, you had to have seen those pictures in the paper.'
'I didn't see nothing,' Henry said.
'What're you going to do, Henry? Go after them yourself?'
'I ain't going to do nothing,' Henry said.
'Are you the leader of this gang now?'
'I'm the secretary. I thought Pacho told you that.'
'Pacho's full of shit, and so are you. You're the president now, or the acting president, or whatever the hell they choose to call you till they can elect a new one. Eduardo's dead, and if you don't know who did it, you've got some pretty strong suspicions. You're going to try to handle this yourself, aren't you?'
'I don't know anything,' Henry said. 'I got no suspicions about nothing.'
'Murder's murder, Henry. Whether somebody else does it, or you do it, it's still murder.'
'So?'
'He's saying keep your nose clean,' Kling said. 'Leave this to us. We're working on it, and we'll take care of it.'
'Sure you will,' Henry said.
'Be smart, Henry,' Carella said. 'Instead of causing a lot of trouble for yourself, why don't you help us?'
'I got no help to give you,' Henry said.
'Okay, fine,' Carella said. 'We're heading over to Gateside Avenue, to talk to the Scarlet Avengers. Maybe they'll feel differently about it. Maybe they're not as dumb as you are.' He turned his back on Henry and started for the door.
'They're even dumber,' Henry said behind him.
We got the bug from one of these mail-order catalogs. You can get all kinds of surveillance equipment just by sending away for it. We paid for the bug with funds from the clique's treasury. We put the bug in the Gateside clubhouse long before I ordered the double-hit, and we put it in because it was essential to know what the other side was doing. We tried to get a bug in the Heads' clubhouse, too, but their security was tighter. It was a good thing we had that bug on Gateside, though, because that was how we kept track of the Scarlets' movements. Also, we heard the whole conversation you guys had with their war counselor.
We sent three guys to put in the bug, all of them minors. The reason for that is we figured if they got caught, if the Scarlets decided to blow the whistle and bring charges or whatever, then you guys would be dealing with three little kids, you dig? Like the courts go easy on little kids. And we figured if just these little kids were involved, it would be considered nothing more than a caper, and also you wouldn't be able to hang nothing on the rest of us. Because we're of age, you see. We would have to pay if we got caught doing something like that. It's illegal, ain't it? Putting in a wire? Ain't that illegal? Anyway, that's what we figured, and that's why we sent Little Anthony and two other juniors. It wasn't easy, putting in that bug on Gateside, I can tell you. They took a tremendous risk. They did it because they knew our clique was trying to make peace, and that it was essential to get all the information we needed. Here's how we brought it off.
We stoned the building.
That was our diversion, to get the Scarlets out so we could get in. We already had the wire strung up over the roof. All we had to do was get in the clubhouse some way, and plant the bug. We done this just before Christmas. Man, we busted every window on the face of that building! Them Scarlets came running out of there, man, you'd think the place was on fire! They chased us up the blocks while meanwhile Little Anthony and the other two juniors rigged the wire. You know that big piece of cardboard they got nailed to the wall? With their club rules on it? They stuck the bug right behind their rules. I got such a laugh when they told me where they put it! That was adding insult to injury, am I right?
The bug was very valuable to us. It was through the bug that we found out the president of the Scarlets was staying home with his wife on the night we planned the hit. We didn't know they had a baby. Them Scarlets like to keep themselves secret and private, as if they got a lot to hide. The baby was just an accident. If we'd picked up anything about a baby on the bug, we probably would've tried to hit Atkins in the street. The hit wasn't designed to get no innocent bystanders. But you make a protective hit like that, you can't expect absolute accuracy all the time. Besides, like I told you, Chingo thinks maybe a wild shot from Atkins' own piece was what killed the kid. You should hear some of the stuff we picked up on that bug. I always knew those niggers were bums, but some of the things they done in their clubhouse were unbelievable. Dirty, you know what I mean? Just plain dirty.
The day you went to Gateside, I was listening personally. I heard the whole conversation you had with the Scarlets' war counselor, this guy who calls himself Mighty Man. He never wanted peace from the beginning. He kept saying he wanted peace, sure. But it was his kind of peace. And what kind of peace would that have been? Our clique wanted the kind of peace that would last forever. That's what we were trying to achieve. Right from the beginning. We didn't create what's in this neighborhood, you know. We inherited it. And it stunk, and we were trying to find a decent, honorable way out of it. If the Scarlets and the Heads had been trying to find the same kind of peace, we wouldn't be having all the trouble we've got now. I got nothing to be ashamed of. What I done was right. It was the other cliques who couldn't understand and who wouldn't cooperate. It's honor that was at stake. The clique's honor and my own honor as the president. But just try to explain that to some of these dopes.
Anyway, the day you went up there, I was listening. And it went just the way I figured it would. The Scarlets wouldn't have nothing to do with you, they wouldn't give you the right time of day. They knew who was responsible for what happened to their president, and they were going to take care of it by themselves, without no help from the fuzz. And I heard you when you told them you'd got the same reaction from this four-eyed kid Henry who's running the Heads, and I heard you when you said they were all being stupid and just asking for trouble. I don't like the Scarlets, and I don't trust none of them as far as I can throw them. But I got to admit they done the right thing that day when they told you to keep out of it, it was none of your business.
I didn't know at the time exactly how they planned to handle it, but I figured it would be some kind of retaliation strike. I wasn't worried. I knew we could take whatever the Scarlets and the Head
s together had to dish out. We're a strong clique, man. We got the biggest arsenal in all Riverhead, second to none. There's a clique in Calm's Point just about as strong as us, but that's it in the whole city. We got the power, and we also got the restraint to know when to use it and when not. That's a big responsibility. When you left Gateside that day, I figured we wouldn't have no trouble from you, we wouldn't be linked in no way by anything either the Heads or the Scarlets had told you. We were clean and away, and we were capable of standing up to anything either of the two cliques could throw at us.
But that was before Midge made her second dumb move, and changed the picture entirely.
Chapter Five
The police in the bordering state found the body of the dead girl in a clump of woods outside the little town of Turman. Her throat had been slit from ear to ear, and her back was welted with what appeared to be marks left by a lash or a strap. An alert detective, recalling an all-points bulletin from across the river, noticed that the girl was wearing a wrist locket with the name MIDGE engraved on it. He checked his memory back at the office, and put in a call to the 87th Squad.
The River Harb was icebound almost shore-to-shore when Carella and Kling drove across the Hamilton Bridge early that Friday morning, January 11. Kling was driving. Carella was on the seat beside him, trying to adjust the heater in the ancient car. The automobile, one of the three assigned to the squad, had seen far better days. Either of the detectives would have preferred driving his own car, except that putting in chits for gasoline expenditures had become a big departmental hassle in recent weeks, and it was simpler to drive one of the assigned Police Department vehicles, which came equipped with a full tank of gas in the morning.
'I think I figured it out,' Kling said.
'The whole case, or what?' Carella asked,
'What he meant.'
'Who?'
'Pacho. When he took us up the stairs, and this other kid challenged him. Remember? True Blue, the other kid.'
'Yes, I remember.'
'He asked Pacho for the password, remember? And Pacho said, "The nutter is our dame." It's been bothering me, but I think I finally doped it out.'
'Yeah?' Carella said.
'Yeah. They've got gargoyles painted on the backs of those white coats, am I right?'
'Uh-huh.'
'Okay, so where do you find gargoyles?'
'On buildings.'
'What kind of buildings?'
'All kinds of buildings.'
'Steve, which building in the whole world is the most famous for its gargoyles?'
'I have no idea.'
'Come on, you know the building.'
'I do not know the building.'
'Notre Dame,' Kling said. Proud of his deductive feat, grinning, he turned his eyes momentarily to Carella. 'You get it?' he said.
'No,' Carella said.
'The nutter is our dame,' Kling said, looking again at the road ahead. 'The notre is our dame. You get it now?'
'That's ridiculous,' Carella said.
'I'll bet it's what he meant.'
'Okay, fine.'
'Anyway, it was bothering me, and it's not any more.'
'Good. What's wrong with this heater, would you happen to know that?'
'No. Something else has been bothering me, too, Steve.'
'What? I know, don't tell me. You've been trying to learn how to balance a knife on the tip of its blade.'
'No. It's Augusta. I'm thinking of asking her to marry me.'
'Yeah?' Carella said, surprised.
'Yeah,' Kling said, and nodded.
He was referring to Augusta Blair, a red-headed photographer's model he had met nine months ago while investigating a burglary. Carella knew better than to make some wise-ass remark when Kling was apparently so serious. The squadroom banter about the frequent calls from 'Gussie' (as Kling's colleagues called her) had achieved almost monumental proportions in the past two months, but they hardly seemed appropriate in the one-to-one intimacy of an automobile whose windows, except for the windshield, were entirely covered with rime. Carella busied himself with the heater.
'What do you think?' Kling asked.
'Well, I don't know. Do you think she'll say yes?'
'Oh, yeah, I think she'll say yes.'
'Well then, ask her.'
'Well,' Kling said, and fell silent.
They had come through the tollbooth. Behind them, Isola thrust its jagged peaks and minarets into a leaden sky. Ahead, the terrain consisted of rolling smoke-colored hills through which the road to Turman snaked its lazy way.
'The thing is,' Kling said at last, 'I'm a little scared.'
'Of what?' Carella asked.
'Of getting married. I mean, it's… well… it's a very serious commitment, you know.'
'Yes, I know,' Carella said. He could not quite understand Kling's hesitancy. If he really wanted to marry Gussie, why the doubts? And if there were doubts, then did he really want to marry her?
'What's it like?' Kling asked,
'What's what like?'
'Being married.'
'I can only tell you what it's like being married to Teddy,' Carella said.
'Yeah, what's it like?'
'It's wonderful.'
'Mmm,' Kling said. 'Because, suppose you get married and then you find out it isn't the same as when you weren't married?'
'What isn't the same?'
'Everything.'
'Like what?'
'Like, well, for example, suppose, well, that, well, the sex isn't the same?'
'Why should it be any different?'
'I don't know,' Kling said, and shrugged.
'What's the marriage certificate got to do with it?'
'I don't know,' Kling said, and shrugged again. 'Is it the same? The sex?'
'Sure,' Carella said.
'I don't mean to get personal…'
'No, no.'
'But it's the same, huh?'
'Sure, it's the same.'
'And the rest? I mean, you know, do you still have fun?'
'Fun?'
'Yeah.'
'Sure, we have fun.'
'Like before?'
'Better than before.'
'Because we have a lot of fun together,' Kling said. 'Augusta and I. A lot of fun.'
'That's good,' Carella said.
'Yes, it's very good. That two people can enjoy things together. I think that's very good, Steve, don't you?'
'Yes, I think it's very good when that happens between two people.'
'Not that we don't have fights,' Kling said.
'Well, everybody has fights. Any two people…'
'Yes, but not too many.'
'No, no.'
'And our… our personal relationship is very good. We're very good together.'
'Mmm.'
'The sex I mean,' Kling said quickly, and suddenly seemed very intent on the road ahead. 'That's very good between us.'
'Mmm, well, good. That's good.'
'Though not always. I mean, sometimes it's not as good as other times.'
'Yes, well, that's natural,' Carella said.
'But most of the time…'
'Yes, sure.'
'Most of the time, we really do enjoy it.'
'Sure,' Carella said.
'And we love each other. That's important.'
'That's the single most important thing,' Carella said.
'Yes, I think so.'
'No question.'
'It is the single most important thing,' Kling said. 'It's what makes everything else seem right. The decisions we make together, the things we do together, even the fights we have together. It's the fact that we love each other… well… that's what makes it work, you see.'
'Yes,' Carella said.
'So you think I should marry her?'
'It sounds like you're married already,' Carella said.
Kling turned abruptly from the wheel to see whether or not Carella was smiling. Carella was not. He was hunched on the s
eat with his feet propped up against the clattering heater, and his hands tucked under his arms, and his chin ducked into the upturned collar of his coat.
'I suppose it is sort of like being married,' Kling said, turning his attention to the road again. 'But not exactly.'
'Well, how's it any different?' Carella said.
'Well, I don't know. That's what I'm asking you.'
'Well, I don't see any difference.'
'Then why should we get married?' Kling asked.
'Jesus, Bert, I don't know,' Carella said. 'If you want to get married, get married. If you don't, then stay the way you are.'
'Why'd you get married?'
Carella thought for a long time. Then he said, 'Because I couldn't bear the thought of any other man ever touching Teddy.'
Kling nodded.
He said nothing more all the way to Turman.
The detective's name was Al Grundy. He first took them to the hospital mortuary to show them the girl's body, and then he drove them out to where the corpse had been found. The initial discovery had been made by two teen-age boys cutting through the woods on their way to school. One of them had stayed with the dead girl, nervously waiting some ten feet from where the body lay partially covered with leaves that had fallen in October and were now moldering and wet. The other had raced to the nearest pay telephone and called the police, who responded within four minutes. There were tire tracks in the wet leaves, and it was assumed that the body had been transported to this isolated glade from someplace else.
'Think it's the girl you're looking for?' Grundy asked.
He was a huge black-haired man with light-blue eyes, freckles spattered across the bridge of his nose. He could not have been older than twenty-five or -six. Standing beside him, Kling suddenly felt ancient, suddenly felt it was time he did get married, and had kids, and became a grandfather.
'Maybe,' Carella said. 'Have you got a last name for her? Was she carrying any identification?'
'Nothing but the locket on her wrist.'
'No handbag?'
'Nothing.'
'Any houses nearby?'
'Just the one over the knoll there. Doubt if anyone could've seen anything from there. Because of the way the ground slopes.'
'The road we came in on, is that the only access road?'