by Ed McBain
The cop wanted to see a vendor’s license.
The Puerto Rican didn’t have a vendor’s license.
The cop said he was giving him a summons.
Somebody in the sidewalk crowd yelled, ‘Come on, you shit, it’s Christmas Eve!’
The cop yelled back, ‘You want a summons, too?’
Everybody in the crowd started razzing the cop.
That was when the Puerto Rican decided this would be a good time to make a break for it.
That was when Charlie came out of the store, carrying the sack of money.
The plan was to put the sack of money down near the kettle, where it would look like a Salvation Army prop.
The plan was for Charlie to disappear into the night, lootless.
The plan was for the Deaf Man to wait five minutes before picking up the sack and walking off with it.
That was the plan.
Until the Puerto Rican collided with Charlie as he was coming out of the store.
And the sack fell to the sidewalk.
And zippered plastic bags of money spilled out onto the sidewalk.
And the crowd thought Santa was distributing money for Christmas.
And the cop thought Santa was a fuckin’ thief.
The crowd surged forward toward the money on the sidewalk.
The cop’s pistol was already unholstered.
“Stop or I’ll shoot!’ he yelled at Santa. The crowd thought he was telling them to stop picking up the money.
The crowd yelled, ‘Fuck you, pig!’
The Puerto Rican was halfway up the block by then.
A gun suddenly appeared in Santa’s hand.
The Deaf Man winced when the cop fired at Charlie.
Charlie went ass over teacups onto the sidewalk, a bullet hole in his right shoulder.
A lady dropped a dime into the Salvation Army kettle.
‘God bless you,’ the Deaf Man said.
‘Sleep in heav-enn-lee pee-eeese,’ the cassette player blared, ‘slee-eeep in heav-enn-lee peace...’
Shit, the Deaf Man thought.
And then he melted away into the crowd.
* * * *
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Neither Carella nor Brown wanted to be working on Christmas Day.
They had both deliberately chosen to work the four-to-midnight on Christmas Eve so that they could spend the big day itself with their families. But at approximately seven last night a man named Charlie Henkins had inconsiderately held up Gruber’s department store, managing to kill two women in the process. Carella and Brown were catching when a frantic patrolman called in to say he’d just shot Santa Claus. The case was officially theirs, and that was why—at ten on Christmas morning—they were questioning Henkins in his room at Saint Jude’s Hospital.
‘I’m an innocent dupe,’ Henkins said.
He did look very innocent, Brown thought. In his white hospital tunic, his left shoulder bandaged, his blue eyes twinkling, his little potbelly round and soft under the sheet, he looked like an old Saint Nick without a beard and settling down for a long winter’s nap.
‘It was the other Santa Claus done it,’ Henkins said.
‘What other Santa Claus?’ Carella asked.
‘Arthur Drits,’ Henkins said.
Carella looked at Brown.
‘Let me get this straight,’ Carella said.
‘I’m an innocent dupe,’ Henkins said again.
‘What were you doing in that Santa Claus outfit?’ Carella said.
‘I was going to an orphanage to surprise the kiddies there.’
‘What orphanage?’ Brown said. ‘We don’t have any orphanages up here.’
‘I thought there was an orphanage up here.’
‘Were you taking a gun to the orphanage?’
‘That gun is not mine, officers,’ Henkins said.
‘Whose gun is it?’
‘Santa’s,’ Henkins said. ‘The other Santa.’
‘Let me get this straight,’ Carella said again. He was having a difficult time getting it straight. He knew only that Henkins had come out of Gruber’s with a sackful of zippered plastic bags containing—according to the count made before the cash was delivered to the property clerk’s office—eight hundred thousand, two hundred fifty-two dollars in cash plus a sizable number of personal checks. Henkins had drawn a gun —identified and tagged as a .32-caliber Smith & Wesson Regulation Police—and a silencer fitting that gun had been found in the cashier’s office at Gruber’s, alongside the body of one of the victims, a woman named Helen Ruggiero, who incidentally had four marijuana joints in her handbag. The police officer on duty had shouted the customary warning and then shot him. He was currently at Headquarters downtown, filling out all the papers that explained why he had drawn his service revolver in the first place and why he had fired it in the second place.
‘Let me explain it,’ Henkins said.
Brown knew he was about to tell a whopper.
‘I went in Gruber’s to use the facilities,’ Henkins said.
‘What facilities?’
‘I went up the sixth floor to take a leak.’
‘Then what?’
‘I ran into Drits in the men’s room.’
‘Arthur Drits.’
‘Arthur Drits, who I knew from long ago.’
‘Yeah, go ahead,’ Brown said.
‘Drits was dressed as Santa Claus. Also he had the gun you’re now saying was my gun.’
‘How’d you get the gun?’
‘Drits gave it to me.’
‘Why?’
‘He said, “Merry Christmas,” and gave it to me.’
‘So you took it.’
‘It was a present.’
‘So when you came out of Gruber’s you had the gun.’
‘Exactly.’
‘And you pulled the gun.’
‘Only to give it to the police officer, because by then I was having second thoughts about it.’
‘What kind of second thoughts?’
‘Who knew but what that gun may have been used in a crime of some sort?’
‘Who indeed?’ Brown said.
‘Where’d you get the sackful of money?’ Carella asked.
‘That was the Puerto Rican’s.’
‘What Puerto Rican?’
‘The one with all the wrist watches. He had the watches in the sack. When he bumped into me, the watches and the money fell out of the sack.’
‘So the gun belonged to Drits, and the sack belonged to the Puerto Rican.’
‘You’ve got it,’ Henkins said. I’m an innocent dupe’
Carella looked at Brown again.
‘There are barbarians in this city,’ Henkins said. ‘You should have seen all those people scrambling to pick up that money.’ He shook his head. ‘On Christmas Eve!’
‘Let’s talk about this Arthur Drits character,’ Brown said.
‘Yes, sir,’ Henkins said.
‘You say he was a friend of yours?’
‘An acquaintance, sir,’ Henkins said.
Brown knew from all the ‘sirs’ that he was onto something.
‘You said you knew him from long ago.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘How long ago?’
‘Oh, four or five years ago.’
‘And you ran into him accidentally in the men’s room at Gruber’s.’
‘That is exactly what happened, sir,’ Henkins said. ‘I swear on my mother’s eyes.’
‘Leave your mother out of this,’ Brown said.
‘My mother happens to be dead,’ Henkins said.
‘So are two people in Gruber’s cashier’s office,’ Brown said. ‘Who were killed with the gun you were carrying.’
‘Drits’s gun,’ Henkins said.
‘Who you met long ago.’
‘Four, five years ago.’
‘Where?’ Brown said.
‘Where what, sir?’
‘Where’d you meet him?’
‘Well, si
r, that’s difficult to remember.’
‘Try,’ Brown said.
‘I really couldn’t say.’
Brown looked at Carella.
‘You understand,’ Carella said, ‘that we’re talking two counts of homicide here, don’t you? Plus…’
‘Drits must have killed those two people,’ Henkins said.
‘Where’d you meet this Drits?’ Carella said. ‘If he exists.’
Henkins hesitated.
‘Forget it,’ Brown said to Carella and then turned to Henkins. ‘You’re under arrest, Mr. Henkins. We’re charging you with two counts of homicide and one count of armed robbery. In accordance with the Supreme Court ruling in Miranda-Escobedo...’
‘Hey, hold it just a minute,’ Henkins said. ‘I’m a fuckin’ innocent dupe here.’
‘It was Drits and the Puerto Rican, right?’ Carella said.
‘It was Drits gave me the gun. I don’t know where the Puerto Rican got all that money those animals were scrambling for.’
‘Where’d you meet him?’ Brown said.
‘On the sidewalk outside. He crashed into me on...’
‘Not the Puerto Rican,’ Brown shouted, ‘Drits! Where the fuck did you meet him? Was he in on this with you? Did the two Santa Claus outfits have something to do with... ?’
‘I told you once, I’ll tell you again. I was taking a leak in the men’s room when Drits...’
‘The first time!’ Brown shouted. ‘Where’d you meet him the first time?’
‘Well...’
‘Make it fast,’ Brown said. ‘My Christmas is waiting.’
‘Castleview, okay?’ Henkins said.
‘You did time at Castleview?’
‘A little.’
‘How much?’
‘I grossed twenty.’
‘For what?’
‘Well ... I got thirsty one night.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I went in this liquor store.’
‘Where?’
‘Calm’s Point.’
‘And?’
‘I asked the guy for a fifth of Gordon’s.’
‘And?’
‘He didn’t want to give it to me.’
‘So?’
‘I had to persuade him.’
‘How’d you persuade him? With a gun?’
‘Well, I suppose you could call it a gun.’
‘What would you call it?’
‘I suppose I would call it a gun.’
‘What did the judge call it?’
‘Well, a gun.’
‘So this was an armed robbery.’
‘That’s what they said it was.’
‘And you drew twenty for it.’
‘I only done eight.’
‘So now you’re back at the same old stand again, huh?’
‘I keep tellin’ you it was Drits’s gun. It must’ve been Drits who shot those two ladies. If I’da known the gun was hot, I’d never have taken it.’
‘Who said they were ladies?’ Brown asked.
‘What?’
‘Who said the two dead people in the cashier’s office were ladies?’
Henkins blinked.
‘You want to tell us about it?’ Carella said.
The room went silent. The detectives waited.
‘Dennis must’ve shot those two ladies,’ Henkins said.
‘Dennis who?’
‘Dennis Dove. He must’ve been the one who went in the cashier’s office and shot those two ladies. I was nowhere near the place when the robbery went down. I was waiting on the ground floor. I didn’t even know a robbery was happening. All I was supposed to do was wait for Dennis and take the gun and the sack...’
‘Wait a minute,’ Carella said, ‘let me get this straight.’ He was having difficulty getting it straight again.
‘Dennis asked me to do him a favor, that’s all,’ Henkins said. His twinkling blue eyes were darting frantically. ‘What he asked me to do was wait downstairs and take this sack he wanted me to bring to the orphanage...’
‘The orphanage again,’ Brown said.
‘... to give to the little kiddies there on Christmas Eve.’
‘And the gun?’
‘I don’t know how Drits got the gun. Maybe he was in on it, too. An ex-con, you know?’ Henkins said, and shrugged.
‘Is that why he was in Castleview? For armed robbery?’
‘No, he digs kids.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Short eyes, you know?’
‘A child molester?’
‘Yeah.’ Henkins shrugged again.
‘But you think he was in on this robbery with Dove, huh?’
‘Musta been, don’t you think?’ Henkins said. ‘Otherwise, how’d he get the gun?’
‘But you were on the ground floor.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Nowhere near the cashier’s office.’
‘That’s right.’
‘The cashier’s office is on the sixth floor,’ Brown said.
‘So’s the men’s room,’ Carella said.
‘Coincidence, pure and simple,’ Henkins said.
‘Bullshit, pure and simple,’ Brown said.
‘Who’s Dennis Dove?’ Carella asked.
‘Guy I met a while back. Asked me to do him this favor on Christmas Eve.’
‘Is that his full name? Dennis Dove?’
‘Far as I know.’
‘Where does he live?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What does he look like?’
‘He’s a big tall blond guy,’ Henkins said. ‘Wears a hearing aid.’
Both detectives looked at each other at exactly the same moment.
‘A while back when?’ Brown asked.
‘Huh?’ Henkins said.
‘When you met him.’
‘October sometime. When Lizzie was filling us in.’
‘Lizzie who?’ Carella asked. He had the sinking feeling that Henkins was not talking about Lizzie Borden.
‘Some broad he was banging. Crazy about him. She used to work at Gruber’s. Not that I knew what they were planning. I was only there because they wanted me to do them a favor, you see. Whatever else...’
‘Lizzie who?’ Carella asked again.
‘Turner,’ Henkins said.
* * * *
So there they were.
And where they were...
They didn’t know where they were.
It seemed as though the Deaf Man had been behind the armed robbery at Gruber’s. It further seemed that Elizabeth Turner had worked at Gruber’s—they would check to see if she had worked in the cashier’s office, a likelihood considering her past employment—and that she had been intimate with the Deaf Man. They did not know how she had met the Deaf Man. They knew for certain that Henkins was lying through his teeth about the robbery itself—the murder weapon had been in his possession, and only his fingerprints were on the gun—but they didn’t know if he was also lying about this person named Dennis Dove, whose description fit the Deaf Man’s. He could not have pulled the name Lizzie Turner out of a hat, though. And on the night of her murder a man fitting the Deaf Man’s description had been seen carrying a woman fitting Elizabeth Turner’s description. It seemed to make sense. Sort of.
But what did the Gruber’s job have to do with the notes the Deaf Man had been sending them?
Nothing that they could see.
Two nightsticks.
Three pairs of handcuffs.