by Ed McBain
'No. I don't think so. Why?'
'Never mentioned that her father was seeing a woman? Any woman at all?' Carella asked.
'I don't recall her ever saying anything like that.'
'Did she ever mention her father's will?'
'No.'
'When she went out to Seattle, did she say why she was going?'
'Yes. Her father was very sick. She was afraid he might die before she saw him again.' Angela looked at them, her eyes puzzled now. 'Why don't you ask Joyce all this?' she said.
And they realized all at once that they hadn't told her.
She didn't know.
'Miss Quist,' Carella said gently, 'Joyce is dead. She was murdered last Monday night.'
'Oh, shit,' Angela said.
And bowed her head.
Sat there on the couch under the Picasso prints, head bent.
Nodding.
Saying nothing.
At last she sighed heavily and looked up.
'The same person?' she asked.
'We don't know.'
'Boy.'
She was silent again.
Then she said, 'Does her sister know?'
'Yes.'
'How's she taking it?'
'Okay, I guess.'
'They were so close,' Angela said.
Both detectives looked at her.
'Saw each other all the time.'
They kept looking at her.
'All the time?' Meyer said.
'Oh, yes.'
'Even after she got pregnant?'
'Well, sure. In fact, it was Melissa who did all the groundwork for her.'
'What groundwork?' Carella asked.
'Finding an adoption agency,' Angela said.
* * * *
16
They did not get to Richard and Melissa Hammond until eleven o'clock on Monday morning because they'd had to make another stop first. The Hammonds were packing when the detectives got there. Melissa told them she'd received a call from Pearl Ogilvy in Seattle, who had advised her that her father had passed away that morning at seven minutes to eight Pacific time. The two were planning to catch an early afternoon flight to the Coast.
Carella and Meyer expressed their condolences.
'There'll be a lot to take care of, won't there?' Carella said.
'Pearl will be a big help,' Hammond said.
'I'm sure,' Carella said, and smiled pleasantly. 'I know this is a bad time for you . . .'
'Well, it was expected,' Hammond said.
'Yes. But I wonder if we can ask a few questions.'
Hammond looked at him, surprised.
'Really,' he said, 'I don't think this is ...'
'Yes, I know,' Carella said. 'And believe me, I wish three people hadn't been murdered, but they were.'
Something in his voice caused Hammond to look up from his open valise.
'So, I'm sorry, really,' Carella said, not sounding sorry at all, 'but we would appreciate a few more minutes of your time.'
'Certainly,' Hammond said.
On the other side of the bed, Melissa was neatly arranging clothing in her open bag. The detectives stood just inside the door, uncomfortable in a room as intimate as the bedroom, further uncomfortable in that no one had asked them to take off their coats.
'The last time we spoke to you,' Carella said, 'you mentioned that you hadn't seen Joyce since February sometime . . .'
'The twelfth of February,' Meyer said, consulting his notebook.
'That's right,' Melissa said.
Head still bent, packing.
'When she would've been four months pregnant,' Carella said.
'Yes.'
'But you didn't notice she was pregnant.'
'No.'
'Because all the Chapman women carry small, isn't that so, Mr Hammond?'
'I'm sorry, what . . . ?'
'Isn't that what you said, Mr Hammond? That all the Chapman women carry small.'
'Yes.'
'Which Chapman women did you have in mind?'
'I'm sorry, I really don't know what you're . . .'
'Your wife had only one sister. Joyce. You couldn't have meant Joyce because you'd never seen her pregnant. And the last time Melissa's mother was pregnant was twenty years ago. You didn't see her pregnant, did you?'
'No, I didn't.'
'So which Chapman women did you mean?'
'Well, Melissa, of course . . .'
'Yes, of course. And who else?'
'What I meant,' Hammond said, 'was that everyone in the family always said the Chapman women carried small.'
'Ah,' Carella said. 'Well, that explains that, doesn't it?'
'Mr Carella, I'm not sure what you're going for here, but I know I don't like your tone. If you have anything you . . .'
'Mrs Hammond,' Carella said, 'isn't it true that you suggested the Cooper-Anderson Agency to your sister?'
Melissa looked up from her suitcase.
'No,' she said.
Flat out.
A flat-out lie.
'Before coming here this morning,' Carella said, 'we went to see a man named Lionel Cooper, one of the partners in the Cooper-Anderson...'
'What is this?' Hammond said.
'Mr Cooper distinctly remembers having had several telephone conversations with you . . .'
'My wife never spoke to anyone named . . .'
' . . .regarding your sister's pregnancy and the placement of her baby after it was born.'
'Do you recall those conversations?' Meyer asked.
'No, I don't,' Melissa said.
'But you do understand that if you did have those conversations, then we'd have reasonable cause to believe you knew yoursister was pregnant.'
'I did not know she was pregnant,' Melissa said.
'So you told us. Because you weren't very close and you rarely saw her.'
'That's right.'
'Her roommate, a young woman named Angela Quist, seems to think you were very close and that you saw each other all the time. Especially after Joyce got pregnant.'
'Miss Quist is mistaken,' Hammond said flatly.
'Mr Hammond, where were you on New Year's Eve, New Year's Day, actually, between one-forty-five and . . .'
'He was here with me,' Melissa said.
'You were both here between . . .'
'That's it, gentlemen,' Hammond said.
'Meaning what?' Carella said.
'Meaning I'm a lawyer, and this is the end of the conversation.'
'I thought you might say something like that,' Carella said.
'Well, you were right. Unless you have . . .'
'We do,' Carella said.
Hammond blinked.
'We have a match.'
Hammond blinked again.
'A report from the Federal Bureau of Investigation,' Carella said, 'stating that the fingerprints recovered from the handle of the knife used to murder Annie Flynn match the US Army fingerprints on file for Richard Allen Hammond. That's you.'
He was lying.
Not about the FBI files. Bonnem in Seattle had told him that Hammond had served in the army during the Vietnam War, and so he knew his fingerprints would be on file as a matter of course. But the foreign prints on the handle of the murder weapon had been too smudged for any meaningful search. He was hoping Hammond hadn't been wearing gloves when he'd jimmied open the window to the Hodding apartment. He was hoping a lot of things. Meanwhile, he was taking his handcuffs from his belt.
So was Meyer.
Melissa seemed to realize all at once that one pair of cuffs was intended for her.
'My father just died,' she said. 'I have to go to Seattle.'
Carella looked her dead in the eye.
She turned away from his icy gaze.
* * * *
At ten minutes past eleven that Monday morning, Herrera came down the steps of the stoop outside 3311 Vandermeer and began walking eastward toward Soundview Boulevard.
Kling was right behind him.
&n
bsp; He had got here at seven, not figuring Herrera for an early riser, but not wanting to lake any chances, either. Herrera was walking along at a brisk clip now; well, sure, he hadn't been freezing his ass off on the street for the past four hours. Good arm swinging, head ducked into the wind, racing along like a man with a train to catch. Kling hoped he didn't plan to walk all over the goddamn city. His ears were cold, his hands were cold, his feet were cold, and his nose was cold. It bothered him that Herrera had most likely woken up in a warm bed an hour or so ago, made love to Consuelo Diego, and then eaten a hot breakfast while Kling was standing in a doorway across the street waiting for him to put in an appearance.
Herrera stopped to talk to someone.
Kling fell back, turned toward a store window, eyes glancing sidewards toward where Herrera was obviously asking directions.
The man he'd stopped was pointing up the street now.
Herrera thanked him, began moving again.
Cold as the frozen tundra out here.
Kling fell in behind him, staying a good fifty feet back. Herrera knew what he looked like. One glimpse and-
Stopping again.
This time to look up at the number over one of the shops.
In motion again.
Kling behind him.
Then, obviously having seen the storefront window ahead of him, recognizing it for what he'd been seeking, he turned immediately toward the door, opened it, and disappeared off the sidewalk.
The lettering on the window read:
GO, INC
TRAVEL AGENCY
Kling was too cold to appreciate the pun.
He crossed the street, took up position in the doorway to a tenement building, pulled his head into his shoulders, and hunkered down to wait again.
An hour later, Herrera came flying out of Go, Inc as though he were not only going but already gone. Big smile on his face, this was a man with tickets in his pocket, this was a man on his way to somewhere sunny and warm. Falling in behind him, Kling wished for a moment that he was going wherever Herrera was going. Get away from this city with the snow already turned soot black and the sidewalks slick with ice and the sky a gunmetal gray that seemed to threaten even more snow. Get away someplace. Anyplace.
So where are we going now? he wondered.
Where Herrera was going was right back to 3311 Vandermeer Avenue.
Climbed the front steps, walked directly inside, and pool.
Vanished.
Kling took up his position in the doorway across the street. The superintendent came out at a little after one to chase him away from the building. Kling went to the luncheonette several doors up, took a seat at a table near the front plate glass window, and sat eating a cheese-burger and a side of fries while he watched the building diagonally across the way. He was on his third cup of coffee when Herrera came out of the building, this time with a very pretty, dark-haired woman on his good arm. The woman was wearing a short fake fur over a micro miniskirt. Terrific legs. Smile all over her face. Consuelo, Kling figured. It was almost three p.m.
He followed them past the park on Soundview and then eastward to Lincoln and a movie theater complex named Gateway, where two different movies were playing in two different theaters, the Gateway I and the Gateway II. He could not get into line immediately behind Herrera because Herrera knew what he looked like. He waited until Herrera had bought two tickets to something, and then asked the girl behind the ticket-dispensing machine which movie the guy with his arm in a cast was seeing.
The girl said, 'Huh?'
'The guy wearing the cast,' Kling said. 'Which theater did he go into?'
He did not want to flash the tin. Let the girl know he was a cop, everyone in the place would know it five minutes later. Herrera had eyes and ears.
'I don't remember,' the girl said.
'Well, there are only two movies playing, which one did he buy tickets for?'
'I don't remember. You want a ticket or not?'
'Give me tickets to both movies,' Kling said.
'Both movies?'
'Both.'
'I never heard of such a thing,' the girl said.
She was sixteen years old, Kling figured. One of the teenagers who nowadays were running the entire universe.
'How can you watch two movies at the same time?' she asked.
'I like to catch a little of each,' Kling said.
'Well, it's your money,' she said, her look clearly indicating that there were more nuts roaming this city than there were lunatics in the asylums. "That's fourteen dollars even,' she said, punching out the tickets.
Kling took the tickets as they popped out of the machine. He gave her a ten and four singles. The girl counted the bills. 'Ten and four make fourteen,' she said, showing off.
Kling walked to where another teenager was standing beside a long vertical box, tearing tickets in half.
'Ticket, please,' the boy said.
Kling handed him both tickets.
'Someone with you, sir?' the boy said.
'No, I'm alone.'
'You have two tickets here, sir.'
'I know.'
'And they're for two different movies.'
'I know.'
The boy looked at him.
'It's okay,' Kling said, and smiled.
The boy kept looking at him.
'Really,' Kling said.
The boy shrugged, tore the tickets in half, and handed the stubs to Kling.
'Enjoy the show,' he said. 'Shows.'
'Thank you,' Kling said.
He tried Gateway I first. Waited at the back of the theater until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Cautiously came down the aisle on the left, standing behind each row of seats so he wouldn't be made if Herrera was in here and happened to glance away from the screen. Checked each row. No Herrera. Went down the aisle on the opposite side of the theater, same routine. On the screen, somebody was saying he thought he was falling in love. His friend was saying something about him always falling in love, so what else was new? The two guys were teenagers. Who knew all about love, Kling guessed. One of the thousands of movies made for teenagers and starring teenagers. Kling tried to remember if there were any teenage stars when he was a teenager. He couldn't remember any teenage stars. He could only remember Marilyn Monroe's pleated white skirt blowing up over her white panties. Herrera was nowhere in the theater.
Kling came up the aisle, pushed open the door, turned immediately to the left, walked past the rest rooms and the concession and the video game machines, and then opened the door to Gateway II, and waited all over again while his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He spotted Herrera and Consuelo sitting in two aisle seats about midway down the theater on the right-hand side. He took a seat three rows behind them. The couple on the screen - both teenagers - were necking. The girl was struggling to keep her blouse buttoned. Kling remembered a time when unbuttoning a girl's blouse was tantamount to scaling Mount Everest. The boy on the screen unfastened an undoubtedly key button. The girl's breasts, contained in a white bra, popped out of her blouse and onto the screen. Kling figured she was supposed to be seventeen. She looked twenty-five. The boy looked twelve. Three rows ahead of him, Herrera was passionately kissing Consuelo. The position of his body seemed to indicate that he had his good hand up under Consuelo's skirt. Kling wondered why they didn't simply go back to the apartment. There was a new scene on the screen now. Two teenagers were fixing an automobile. The hood was up. They were talking about a girl named Mickey. Listening, Kling found Mickey somewhat less than fascinating. Herrera and Consuelo did not seem too interested in Mickey, either. Herrera looked as if he now had his entire arm up under Consuelo's skirt.
Kling kept looking at his watch.
An average film was about two hours long; he did not want to get caught sitting here when the movie ended and the lights came up. He kept checking the action on the screen against his watch. The movie seemed to have sixteen endings. Each time he thought it was close to over, another teenage c
risis sprang up, demanding immediate resolution. Kling wondered how teenagers managed to get through an entire day, all the serious problems they had to solve. The movie seemed to be peaking at about an hour and fifty minutes. He got up, walked to the back of the theater, and stood there until the movie did finally and truly end. As the credits began to roll, he stepped outside and walked over to one of the video game machines. Stood there with his back to the theater's doors, but with a good sideward shot at the exit doors to the street. Herrera and Consuelo walked through those doors some ten minutes later. Kling figured they'd both made rest-room stops. He tried to remember when he himself had last peed. It was now twelve minutes past five o'clock.