by Ed McBain
It was just beginning to snow.
* * * *
13
Chastity Kerr was the sort of big-boned person Melissa had said her sister was. Tall, sturdy but not fat, she gave the impression of a woman capable of handling any physical task a man could, only better. Blonde and suntanned - she explained that she and her husband had just come back from two weeks at Curtain Bluff on Antigua - she offered Carella a cup of coffee and then sat with him at a small table in the kitchen alcove overlooking Grover Park.
It was still snowing outside.
'Two days ago, I was lying under a palm tree sipping a frozen daiquiri,' she said. 'Look at this, willya?'
Carella looked at it.
It did not make him happy.
The plows wouldn't come out until the snow stopped, and it showed no sign of doing that.
'Mrs Kerr,' he said, 'the reason I'm here . . .'
'Chastity, please,' she said. 'If you have a name like Chastity, you either use it a lot, or else you ignore it or change it. My sisters and I use our names, I think to spite our father, who chose them. I should tell you that there are four girls in our family, and they're named, in order, Verity, Piety, Chastity - that's me - and guess what he named the fourth one?'
'Sneezy,' Carella said.
'No. Generosity. Can you believe he had the temerity?
Carella smiled. 'Anyway, Mrs Kerr,' he said, 'what I'm . . .'
'Chastity, please.'
'Well, what I'm trying to do, I'd like to pinpoint the time Peter Hodding called home on New Year's Eve. To talk to the murdered girl.'
'Oh, my, New Year's Eve,' Chastity said, and rolled her eyes.
'Yes, I know.'
'Not a night when one normally tracks comings and goings, is it?'
'Not normally.'
'What lime did he give you?'
'Well, I'd rather you told me'
'Big rush for the phone,' Chastity said. 'I know I tried to get through to my sister in Chicago shortly after midnight, but all circuits were busy. I don't think anyone was getting through to anywhere. At least, that's my recollection.'
'When do you think Mr Hodding placed his call?'
'I'm trying to remember.'
Carella waited.
Chastity was thinking furiously.
'He was in the guest bedroom,' she said, nodding, 'that's right.'
'Mr Hodding?'
'Yes, he was using the extension in there.'
'And this was when?'
'Well, that's what I'm trying to do, place the time. I know he told her he'd been trying to reach her, but the line was busy.'
'Told who?'
'The sitter. When he finally got through.'
'Told her the line had been busy? Or the circuits?'
'I'm sure he said the line.'
'That would've been her father calling.'
'Well, I don't know what you're talking about, so I can't really comment.'
'I'm thinking out loud,' Carella said. 'How'd you happen to hear this conversation?'
'I was in the room next door. Checking on my daughter. I have an eight-year-old daughter. The door between the rooms was open, and I ... well, there you are.'
'Where?' Carella said, and smiled.
'I'd just got through to my sister, and she'd given me a hassle about not calling sooner. Said it was a tradition to call at midnight, and that was half an hour ago. And I went in to check Jennifer right after that. So it must've been a little past twelve-thirty.'
'When you overheard Peter Hodding on the telephone.'
'Yes.'
'How much of the conversation did you hear?'
'Well, all of it, I suppose. From the beginning. From when he said, "Annie…"'
'Then this definitely was the call to the sitter.'
'Oh, yes. No question. "Annie, it's me," he said, and went on from there.'
'"Annie, it's me."'
'Yes.'
'Not, "Annie, it's Mr Hodding"?'
'No, "Annie, it's me." I guess she knew his voice.'
'Yes. Then what?'
'Then he said he'd been trying to get through but the line was busy . . .'
'Uh-huh.'
'And then he asked how the baby was, little Susan.'
'Yes.'
'God, every time I think of what happened,' Chastity said, and shook her head.
'Yes,' Carella said. 'Then what?'
'He told her they'd be home in a little while.'
'A little while,' Carella repeated.
'Yes.'
'But they didn't leave until sometime between two and two-thirty.'
'Yes. Well, I didn't look at the clock, but it was around that time.'
'So that would've been at least an hour and a half later.'
'Are you thinking out loud again?'
'Yes. If he called home around twelve-thirty, it would've been an hour and a half later when he and his wife left the party.'
'That's what it would've been,' Chastity said.
'But he told Annie he'd be home in a little while.'
'Well, I didn't hear him say exactly that.'
'What did you hear him say?'
'Just "In a little while."'
'Only those words?'
'Yes.'
'"In a little while."'
'Yes. She must have asked when they'd be home.'
'Yes, I would guess so.'
'Would you like more coffee?'
'Yes, please.'
She got up, moved to the coffee-making machine, picked up the pot, carried it back to the table, and freshened Carella's cup. The snow kept coming down outside.
'Thank you,' Carella said. 'Why do you suppose he told the sitter they'd be home in a little while when actually they didn't leave until . . . ?'
'Well, he'd had a little to drink, you know.'
'So I understand.'
'I thought he was going to be sick, as a matter of fact.'
'Uh-huh.'
'Gayle was mad as hell. Told him she didn't enjoy the company of a drunken pig. Those were her exact words.'
'This was when?'
'Actually, I think he was already drunk when he called home.'
'Why do you say that?'
'Well, you know the way drunks sound. The way their speech gets? That's how he sounded.'
'So when he made that call at twelve-thirty, he sounded drunk. While he was talking to Annie.'
'Yes. Very drunk.'
'How'd the conversation end?'
'Goodbye, so long, I'll see you, like that.'
'And when did the argument with his wife occur?'
'Shortly after that. He'd spilled a drink on someone, and Gayle told him she was never going anyplace with him again . . . well, I told you what she said, except it was the company of a fucking drunken pig. Was what she said, actually.'
'Pretty angry with him, huh?'
'Furious.'
'But they stayed at the party, anyway, till sometime around two in the . . .'
'Well, she did.'
'What do you mean?' Carella asked at once.
'Gayle stayed.'
'I thought they left together at . . .'
'Yes, that was later. After he came back from his walk.'
'What walk?'
'He went down for some air.'
'When?'
'After Gayle tore into him.'
'Are you saying he left the party?'
'Yes. Said he needed some air.'
'Said he was going down for a walk?'
'Well, I assume he was. He put on his overcoat. He didn't just go stand out in the hall, if that's what you mean.'
'What time was this?'
'It must've been around one o'clock.'
'Mrs Kerr . . .'
'Chastity. Please.'
'Chastity . . . what time did Peter Hodding come back from his walk?'
'At two o'clock. I know because I was in the hallway saying goodbye to some of my guests when the elevator doors opened and Peter stepped
out.'
'How do you know it was two o'clock?'
'Because I was asking these people why they were leaving so early, and the man said, "It's already two," and that's when the elevator doors opened and Peter stepped out.'
'Did he look as if he'd been outdoors?'
'Oh, yes. His cheeks all ruddy, his hair all blown. Yes, very definitely.'
'Was he sober?'
'He was sober,' Chastity said.
* * * *
Francisco Palacios was surprised to see Bert Kling.
'Does this have to do with Proctor again?' he asked.
'No,' Kling said.
'Because I had two fat guys in here asking about Proctor,' Palacios said. 'First one was an obnoxious snitch named Fats Donner, you know him?'
'I know him.'
'He digs Mary Jane shoes and white cotton panties. Second one was a fat cop from the Eight-Three, his name is Weeks. You know him, too?'
'I know him, too,' Kling said.
'He digs a hooker works in his precinct. I gave Weeks the name of her boyfriend plays saxophone. But I don't know where Proctor is. I told Weeks, and I'm telling you the same. How come he's so hot all at once, this two-bit little jerk?'
'We already found him,' Kling said.
'Thank God. 'Cause I don't know where he is, anyway.'
'I'm looking for a guy named Herrera.'
'Give me a hard one, why don't you? You know how many Herreras we got in this city?'
'Are they all named José Domingo?'
'Most of them,' Palacios said.
'This one did work for the Yellow Paper Gang some years back.'
'What kind of work?'
'Dope. Which is what he's into right now.'
'Who isn't?' Palacios said, and shrugged.
'Which is the next thing I want to know.'
'Uh-huh.'
'There's a big shipment coming in next week,' Kling said. 'I'd like details.'
'You're hot stuff,' Palacios said, shaking his head. 'You give me a common name like Smith or Jones in Spanish, and you tell me there's a big shipment coming in next week, which there's a big shipment coming in every week in this city, and you expect me to help you.'
'A hundred kilos of cocaine,' Kling said.
'Uh-huh.'
'Coming in on the twenty-third.'
'Okay.'
'By ship.'
'Okay.'
'Scandinavian registry.'
'Uh-huh.'
'Coming up from Colombia.'
'Got it.'
'The coke's going for ten grand per.'
'A bargain.'
'Earmarked for a Jamaican posse.'
'Which one?'
'Not Reema.'
'That leaves plenty others.'
'I know. But a million bucks'll be changing hands, Cowboy. There's got to be somebody whispering about it.'
'A million bucks is not so much nowadays,' Palacios said. 'I hear stories about twenty-, thirty-million-dollar dope deals, they're commonplace.'
'I wish you'd tell me some of these stories,' Kling said.
'My point is, a million-dollar deal nowadays you don't have people wetting their pants. It won't be easy getting a line on something like this.'
'That's why I came to you, Cowboy,' Kling said.
'Yeah, bullshit,' Palacios said.
'Because I know you like the hard ones.'
'Bullshit, bullshit,' Palacios said, but he was grinning.
* * * *
The doorman at 967 Grover Avenue was a roly-poly little person wearing a green uniform with gold trim. He looked like a general in a banana republic army. The people in the building knew him only as Al the Doorman, but his full name was Albert Eugene Di Stefano, and he was proud of the fact that he used to be one of the doormen at the Plaza Hotel in New York City. He immediately told Carella that he'd once given the NYPD valuable information that had helped them crack a case involving some guy who was breaking into rooms at the Plaza and walking off into Central Park with bags full of jewelry. He would be happy to help Carella now in solving this terrible crime he was investigating. He knew all about the fourth-floor murders. Everybody in the building knew about them.
It so happened that he had, in fact, been working the midnight to eight a.m. shift on New Year's Eve, which he happened to pull because he'd drawn the deuce of clubs instead of the three of diamonds or the four of hearts. That was how the three doormen here at the building had decided who would work this particular shift on New Year's Eve, it being not what you would call a choice shift. He had drawn the lowest card, and he'd got stuck with it. So, yes, he was on that night. But he didn't see anyone suspicious coming in or going out of the building, if that was what Carella wanted to know.
'Do you know Mr Hodding personally?' Carella asked.
'Oh, yes. A very nice man. I suggest a lot of commercials to him, he's a copywriter at an advertising agency. I told him one time I had a good idea for a Hertz commercial. The car rental people, you know? I thought they could show an airport with a lot of people waiting on lines at all these other car rental counters, but this guy goes right up to the Hertz counter, and he's walking off with a car key in ten seconds flat, and as he's passing all those people still waiting on the other lines, he busts out laughing and he says, "I only laugh when it's Hertz." They could even have a jingle that goes "I own-lee laugh when it's Hertz, bom-bom." Mr Hodding told me his agency don't represent Hertz. So I gave him . . .'
'Do you know what he looks like? Mr Hodding?'
'Oh, sure. I gave him this other idea for a Blue Nun commercial, this is a wine, you know, it's got a picture of a little blue nun on the label, well it's called Blue Nun. I told him the headline they should use on their commercial is "Make a little Blue Nun a habit." They could have a jingle that goes "Make a litt-el Blue Nun a ha-bit." Mr Hodding told me his agency don't represent Blue Nun. So I gave him . . .'
'Would you recognize Mr Hodding, for example, if he walked up the street right this minute?'
'Oh, sure. I gave him this other idea for a Chrysler Le Baron commercial. We see this World War I German fighter pilot with the white scarf, you know, and the goggles . . .'
'Did you see him at any time on New Year's Eve?'
'Who?'
'Mr Hodding.'
'As a matter of fact, I did, yes.'
'When would that have been?'
'Around one o'clock. Well, a little after one. Ten after one, a quarter after, around then.'
'Where did you see him?'
'Well, here,' Di Stefano said, sounding surprised. 'This is where I was. Remember when I told you I caught the low card? Which was how come I . . .'
'You saw him here in this building sometime between one and one-fifteen, is that correct?'
'Not only saw him, but also spoke to him. Which is the irony of it, you know? He comes here to check on the baby . . .'
'Is that what he said? That he was going to check on the baby?'
'Yes. So he's up there a half-hour, and right after he leaves there's this terrible thing happens. I mean, he must've missed the killer by what? Ten, fifteen minutes? Something like that?'
'You saw him when he came downstairs again?'
'Yes. Came right off the elevator. I was watching TV in this little room we got over there,' he said, pointing, 'we can see the whole lobby from it if we leave the door open.'
'What time was this? When he came down?'
'I told you. It must've been around a quarter to two.'
'Did he say anything to you?'