Killer's Choice

by Ed McBain

'When I was a boy,' Carella said, 'I used to eat steps, too. Sidewalks, too.'

  'No more now,' Kling said. 'You're up for pension, aren't you?'

  'Sure.'

  'How old are you anyway, Steve?' Kling asked. 'Sixty-eight?'

  'Sixty-nine,' Carella said.

  'Sure. You look pretty good, though, I have to admit it. You don't look too bad at all.'

  'Clean living,' Carella said.

  They had reached Heaven's Hall. They could hear the inimitable sound of pool balls being knocked around on green felt. Together they walked to the small booth at the entrance to the place. The booth was really an L-shaped glass-fronted cigar stand. A bald-headed man and a light panel for the tables were behind the stand. The bald-headed man didn't even look up when they approached. He had the drawer of the cash register open, and he was counting money.

  When he finished, Carella asked, 'Good day?'

  'Comme ci, comme ça,' the bald-headed man said. 'If you want a table, you got to wait. I'm all full up.' He shifted his cigar butt to the other side of his mouth.

  'We don't want a table,' Carella said.

  'No? So what do you want?'

  'A man named Frank Abelson.'

  'What for?'

  'Police,' Carella said. He flashed the tin.

  'What'd he do?'

  'Just want to ask him a few questions,' Carella said.

  'What about?'

  'Routine.'

  'What kind of routine?'

  'Routine routine,' Carella said.

  'It ain't about…'

  'About what?'

  'Nothing.' The bald-headed man looked worried.

  'What's the matter?'

  'Nothing. My name's Fink. Baldy Fink. That's a funny name, ain't it?'

  'Yeah,' Carella said.

  'Ring a bell?'

  'What?'

  'The name. Baldy Fink. Ring a bell?'

  'No. Should it?'

  'This ain't about the… uh… it ain't, huh?'

  'The what?' Carella asked.

  'Baldy Fink don't ring a bell, huh?'

  'No.'

  'You know this guy at the 87th? You from the 87th?'

  'Yeah.'

  'Havilland? Roger Havilland? He's a bull. You know him?'

  Kling looked at Carella. 'Yeah, we know him.'

  'Well… uh… how much do you guys tell each other? I mean, what kind of arrangements do you have going?'

  'I don't understand,' Carella said.

  'I mean… do you split, or what?'

  'Split what?'

  'The take.'

  'What take?'

  'Come on, you ain't that young a cop,' Fink said.

  'You were paying Havilland?' Carella asked.

  'Sure.'

  'What for?'

  'The crap games.'

  'You run crap games here, do you?'

  'Sure. It's okay. Havilland said it was okay. He said no cops would bother me.'

  'Havilland's dead,' Kling said.

  Fink opened his mouth. 'Yeah?'

  'Yeah.'

  'Oh, I see. You come to take over, huh?' Fink shrugged. 'Okay, suits me. I don't care who gets it, long as I'm left alone. Same deal as with him?'

  'Not exactly,' Carella said.

  'More?'

  'Not exactly.'

  'What then?'

  'No more crap games,' Carella said.

  'Huh?'

  'No more crap games.'

  'Why the hell not?'

  'New administration,' Carella said.

  'Ah, come on. Hey, that ain't nice. I mean, you sucked me right into this.'

  'You did all the talking, Fink,' Carella said. 'We only listened.'

  'Sure, so what kind of a way is that to act? Don't you want what Havilland was getting?'

  'No.'

  'Come on.'

  'No,' Carella said. 'Call off the crap games. Find another sewer.'

  'Argh, shat, you guys,' Fink said disgustedly.

  'Where's Abelson?'

  'Table number three. He don't like to be disturbed when he's shootin' pool.'

  'That's too bad,' Carella said, and he and Kling walked over to table number three. There was only one man shooting at the table. He wore a white shirt and a blue weskit open over the shirt. His sleeves were rolled up. He had dark hair with a pronounced widow's peak, and sharp brown eyes. Even though he was alone at the table, he called off all his shots aloud.

  'Six in the corner,' he said. He shot, and the cue ball hit the six. The six went straight for the corner pocket and the cue stopped on a dime behind the thirteen ball.

  'Thirteen in the side,' Abelson said.

  'Frank Abelson?' Kling asked.

  'Yeah. Quiet a minute. Thirteen in the side.' He shot and sank the thirteen ball. The cue ball hit the cushion, ricocheted, and rolled over to the eight ball.

  'Eight in the…'

  'Hold your game a minute, Abelson,' Kling said.

  Abelson looked up. 'Who says?'

  'Police,' Kling answered.

  Abelson walked to one end of the table. He picked up the chalk and began chalking the end of his stick. 'I was wondering when you'd get around to me,' he said. 'I can listen while I play.'

  He stepped behind the cue ball, ducked below the table so that his eyes were level with the rim. 'Eight in the far corner,' he said. He took his position and triggered off the cue. The eight shot for the far corner in a straight line.

  'Why'd you figure we'd get around to you?'

  'This is about Annie, isn't it?'

  'Yes.'

  'So? It figures. I took her out. So here you are. What do you want to know?'

  'You can start by telling us where you were on the night she was killed.'

  'What night was that?' Abelson asked. 'Eleven in the corner.' He shot.

  'The night of June 10th.'

  'What night was that? I mean like Monday, Tuesday, you know.'

  'Monday.'

  'Jeez, that's a hard night to figure. Four in the side.' He shot, and then chalked his stick again. 'Who the hell remembers?'

  'It was a week ago yesterday,' Kling reminded him.

  'A week ago yesterday. Lemme see. Five in the same pocket.' He studied the shot. 'No, make it in the corner. No, leave it in the side.'

  'A buck you don't make it,' Carella said.

  'I don't take candy from babies,' Abelson said. He shot. The five ball disappeared into the side pocket. 'See?'

  'You play here a lot?'

  'A little.'

  'You're pretty good.'

  'I'm okay.' Abelson studied the table. 'Bank the deuce into this side,' he said.

  'What about the night of June 10th?'

  'I'm thinking,' Abelson said. He shot and missed the pocket by a hair. 'Dammit,' he said. 'You're throwing me off my game.'

  'That's a real shame,' Kling said. 'Tell us about the 10th.'

  'I was busy.'

  'Doing what?'

  'Yeah, I remember now.'

  'What were you doing?'

  'What the hell difference does it make? I was nowhere near that liquor shop.'

  'What were you doing?'

  Abelson lowered his voice. 'You guys in on the fix?'

  'The Havilland deal?'

  'Yeah.'

  'No.'

  'Oh. Oh,' Abelson said.

  'Was there a crap game here that Monday night?'

  'Well…'

  'We know about the fix. It's okay,' Kling said.

  'Well, yeah, there was a sort of a game. I cleaned up, kind of.'

  'How much?'

  'Five bills. That's okay, ain't it? I mean for a small-time game.'

  'Yeah, pretty good. Don't forget to declare it.'

  'Oh, I won't. Honest, that's me. Legal.'

  'What time'd you get here?'

  'About eight.'

  'And you left?'

  'Around two in the morning.'

  'You were here all that time?'

  'Sure. I was hot.'

  'I
suppose you were seen here all that time.'

  'Sure.'

  'Fink see you?'

  'Sure. Him and a lot of other guys.'

  'How well did you know Annie?'

  'Pretty well. Dated her on and off.' Abelson blinked. 'Ain't you gonna check my alibi?'

  'We'll get to it. How well is pretty well?'

  'You know. Pretty well.'

  'Did you ever plank her?'

  'Hey, what the hell kind of a question is that?'

  'We'd like to know,' Carella said.

  'Why?'

  'We'd like to know. You care to tell us?'

  'Yeah, I did.' He shook his head. 'Boy, you guys don't believe in nothing private, do you? Nothing sacred.'

  'Did you know she was being kept by somebody?'

  'Who? Who, Annie? You kidding?'

  'We're serious.'

  'No, I didn't know that. I kinda liked her. She was a nice doll.'

  'Where'd you meet?'

  'Shootin' pool, how d'you like that? She shoots pool. What a crazy doll, she was. Pep, you know. She come in this pool hall, not this one, another one called Mickey's. You know Mickey's? Well, she come in there one night, wearin' this dress cut to here, I swear it. She gets herself a table, racks them up, and starts sinkin' them like she's been workin' the tables all her life. What a crazy doll! Every time she leaned over that table to make a shot, every eye in the place popped out. What a doll! I kinda liked her.'

  'She never told you about a man named Phelps?'

  'No.'

  'You knew she was divorced?'

  'Oh, sure. I used to go for her at the house, you know? I even met the kid. Monica. A nice little kid. I used to bring the kid things sometimes. Candy. A doll, once. Like that. She was a crazy little kid, that kid. Crazy. I mean, like gone. Not nuts.'

  'Sure.'

  'I kinda liked her, too.'

  'Ever think of marrying Annie?'

  'I didn't like her that much, mister,' Abelson said.

  'She ever mention any enemies to you?'

  'Nope.'

  'Anyone she was afraid of?'

  'Nope.'

  'When did you see her last?'

  'Well, I went over to the funeral parlour, to pay my respects.'

  'Alive, I mean.'

  'A few weeks ago. Wait, it was the first of the month. June 1st, I remember. Somebody made some comment about it being June already. June 1st. It was a Saturday night.'

  'Did she mention anything about a letter she'd received?'

  'No.'

  'Did you call her after that night?'

  'Yeah, I spoke to her a couple of times.'

  'Did she mention a letter during those conversations?'

  'Not that I remember.'

  'Did you call her any time after June 6th?' Kling asked.

  'Yeah, maybe. I think so.'

  'Mention a letter?'

  'No.'

  'Did you know a man named Arthur Cordis?'

  'Nope.'

  'A man named Jamie?'

  'Nope. Well, wait. Jamie what?'

  'We don't know his last name.'

  'No. I know some Jimmys, but they don't call themselves Jamies. Besides, they're nobody Annie knew. No, I'm sorry. You gonna check my alibi?'

  'Yeah,' Carella said. 'She didn't seem worried about anything when you saw her? Nobody'd been bothering her, or threatening her, or anything?'

  'She didn't say nothing about it. She seemed pretty happy. We had a ball. She was a real crazy doll. You shoulda seen her shoot pool, I mean it. She shot pool better than any guy I know. Except me. She was a real good pool player. Crazy. Crazy.'

  'You don't have any idea who might have done this to her, huh, Abelson?'

  'None. She was a crazy doll. Who'd wanta kill her? It's a shame. It's really a goddamn shame. I kinda liked her, you know? I really kinda liked her a lot.'

  'Well, thanks a lot, Abelson,' the detectives said, and they walked over to where Baldy Fink was recounting his money.

  'Was Abelson at the crap game last Monday night?' Kling asked.

  'Yeah,' Fink said.

  'From what time to what time?'

  'Got here about eight-thirty, left sometime in the morning.'

  'What time?'

  'Two, three. Somewhere around there.'

  'Did he leave at all during that time?'

  'Leave? He was hot as a pistol. He won close to half a grand. When you asked about him, that's what I thought it was about. The crap game. He was here all night. That's what I thought it was about. Listen, can't you guys change your mind?'

  'Anybody else see him here all night?'

  'A hundred guys.'

  'Who?'

  'Some of those guys right there,' Fink said. 'Table four.'

  Kling walked over to the table and began talking to the players.

  'Can't we fix this up?' Fink asked. 'What the hell, are you so honest?'

  'It's not that I'm honest,' Carella said. 'I don't want to destroy your faith. I'm as crooked as every other cop you ever met. It's just that I've got bigger things going for me. I can't be bothered with small potatoes.'

  'Oh,' Fink said, satisfied. 'Oh, I see. Well, that explains it. I thought there was something fishy, you know? A cop who wouldn't take. I figured there was something. Listen, why don't you send around a bull who maybe ain't got such big things going for hire, huh? I mean, like this'll be a big pain in the ass to change the game someplace else, you know?'

  'Sure, And also you wouldn't get the house cut.'

  'Certainly. You understand. I got a big overhead here. A very big overhead. Find me a small potatoes cop, huh?'

  'I'll look around,' Carella said. 'In the meantime, no game.'

  'Thanks,' Fink said, pleased. 'Thanks a million.'

  Kling came back to the booth.

  'It checks out,' he said. 'Abelson's clean.'

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The killer of Annie Boone must have been getting worried.

  The killer had no reason to worry because the police were nowhere near yet. But the killer remembered something and anticipated the police, and made a phone call—and perhaps that was a mistake.

  The killer called the child.

  The killer called Monica.

  The killer asked her not to tell her grandmother she had spoken to anyone, but she told her grandmother anyway, and that was why she got a visit from Carella and Kling.

  She recognized Kling the moment he came into the room.

  She said, 'Hi, ja find her?'

  'Not yet,' Kling said. He assumed the child still didn't know about her mother. Or if she did, she had adjusted to it miraculously well. 'This is Detective Carella, Monica,' Kling said.

  'How do you do?' Monica asked.

  'I hope this won't be a gruelling experience for her,' Mrs Travail said. 'She's only a child.'

  'We only want to ask a few questions, Mrs Travail,' Kling said. 'This is Detective Carella.'

  'Yes,' Mrs Travail said, nodding briefly at Carella. 'May I stay?'

  'Certainly,' Carella said, and he smiled at Mrs Travail, and Kling noticed that she responded warmly to his smile, and he wondered what it was about Carella that made women respond warmly to his smile. He consoled himself with the knowledge that he still had Monica.

  'You say the child received a phone call this morning, is that right?' Kling asked.

  'Yes,' Mrs Travail answered. 'So she says.'

  'Well, I did,' Monica answered.

  'I don't question it,' Mrs Travail said. She turned to the detectives. 'It's just that she seems rather vague about it.'

  'What does vague mean?' Monica asked.

  'Did you receive a phone call?' Kling asked, smiling.

  'Sure, I did.'

  'What time was this? '

  'I don't know.'

  'She can't tell time,' Mrs Travail said. 'It was this morning sometime. I kept her home from school because she has the sniffles. Besides… I'm not too sure I trust her f-a-t-h-e-r.'

  '
Father,' Monica said, reading the spelling.

  'After what happened, he may try to seize her. I'm not too keen on letting her out of the house.'

  'Do you think whoever called knew she was home?'

  'I'm sure I don't know,' Mrs Travail said.

  'Did this person who called ask for you, honey?' Kling asked.

  'Yep. The person said, "Is this Monica Boone?" and I said Yes, this is Monica Boone. That's how we started the conversation.'

  'Where was your grandmother?' Carella asked.

  'I was down doing some shopping,' Mrs Travail answered.

  'This person who called,' Kling said. 'Was it a man or a woman?'

  'I don't know,' Monica said.

  'Didn't you talk to the person?'

  'Yes.'

  'Well, was it a man or a woman?'

  'I don't know.'

  'This is what I meant about her being vague,' Mrs Travail said.

  'What does vague mean?' Monica asked again.

  'It means you're not sure, honey,' Kling said.

  'Well, I'm not sure,' Monica said, nodding.

  'Had you ever heard this person's voice before?'

  'No.'

  'This was the first time?'

  'Yes.'

  'What kind of a voice was it?'

  'I don't know.'

  'Well, you said you couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. Was it a deep voice?'

  'Sort of.'

  'Like a man's?'

  'Sort of.'

  'But you're not sure?'

  'No. It could have been a lady, too. It was hard to tell. It sounded as if the voice was coming… I don't know… through a long box or something. It was funny.'

  'Through a handkerchief?' Kling asked Carella.

  'Possibly. What did this person say to you, Monica?'

  'Well, let me see. First it said, "Is this Monica Boone?" and I said Yes, this is Monica Boone. Then it said, "How are you, Monica?" and I said I'm fine, thank you, how are you? Grandmother told me to always be polite on the phone.'

  'Then what?'

  'Then it said…'

  'This person?'

  'Yes. I don't know whether to say him or her.'

  'You can say "it",' Kling said.

  'Well, it said, "Would you like to be a good little girl?" So naturally I said Yes I'd like to be a good little girl. Then it said, "Are you a smart little girl?" I don't like to boast, but I said I was a smart little girl.'

  'Then what?'

  'Then it said, "Your mother got a letter a week or so ago. In a blue envelope. Did you see it around the house any place?" Well, I couldn't remember seeing it, but I said, Maybe, who's this?'

  'And what did the person say?'

  'The person said, "It doesn't matter who this is, Monica. This is a friend of Mommy's." So I said Who?'