by Ed McBain
Already dark on the street outside. Streetlamps on. He followed Herrera and Consuelo back to the apartment on Vandermeer. Waited until they were inside and the lights came on in the third-floor front apartment. He ducked into the luncheonette then, used the rest room, and immediately came out onto the street again. The lights were still on in the third-floor apartment. Kling settled down to wait again.
At seven minutes past six, two Chinese men entered the building.
To most cops, all Chinese looked alike.
But these two could have passed for twins.
* * * *
Hammond refused to say a word.
Advised his wife to remain silent as well.
But alone in the Interrogation Room with Nellie Brand and the detectives, Melissa finally burst into tears and told them everything they wanted to know. The time was a quarter past six. Until that moment, they'd been nervously watching the clock, aware of Miranda-Escobeda, knowing that time was running off down the drain. They figured Melissa's sudden outpouring was prompted by the presence of another woman, but they didn't give a damn about the why of it. All they wanted was a case that would stick; Nellie asked all the questions.
'Mrs Hammond,' she said, 'do you now remember where your husband was between one-forty-five and two-thirty a.m. on the first day of January?'
'I don't know about the exact times,' Melissa said. 'But he left the apartment at . . .'
'By the apartment, do you mean . . . ?'
'Our apartment. In Calm's Point.'
'Left it at what time?'
'Midnight. We toasted the New Year, and then he left.'
'To go where?'
'To kill the baby.'
The way she said those words sent a chill up the detectives' backs. Emotionless, unadorned, the naked words seemed to hover on the air. To kill the baby. They had drunk a midnight toast. He had left the apartment. To kill the baby.
'By the baby, do you mean Susan Hodding?' Nellie asked softly.
'Yes. My sister's baby.'
'Susan Hodding.'
'We didn't know what they'd named her.'
'But you did know the adopting couple was named Hodding. Mr and Mrs Peter Hodding.'
'Yes.'
'How did you know that?'
'My husband found out.'
'How?'
'Someone at the agency told him.'
'By the agency . . .'
'Cooper-Anderson.'
'The adoption agency.'
'Yes.'
'Someone at the agency revealed this information to him.'
'Yes. He paid someone to get this information. Because, you see, the name of the people adopting the baby was only in two places. In the court records and in the agency records. The court records are sealed, you know, in an adoption, so Dick had to get the name through the agency.'
'And, as I understand this, cash was given to . . .'
'Yes. Five thousand dollars.'
'To someone in the agency.'
'Yes.'
'Who? Would you remember?'
Planning down the line. Getting her ducks in a row for when she had to prosecute this thing. Get the name of the agency person. Call him or her as a witness.
'You'll have to ask Dick,' Melissa said.
'So once your husband had the name . . .'
'And address.'
'Name and address of the Hoddings, he knew where to find the baby.'
'Yes.'
'And he went there on New Year's Eve
'Yes.'
'. . . to kill this infant.'
'Yes.'
'Specifically to kill this infant.'
'Yes.'
'How did he happen to kill Annie Flynn?'
'Well, I only know what he told me.'
'What did he tell you, Mrs Hammond?'
'He told me he was in the baby's room when . . . you see, what it was, he had the floor plans of the building. It's a new building, he went there pretending he was interested in buying an apartment. So he knew the layout of the apartment the Hoddings were in, do you see? There's a fire escape off the second bedroom, which he knew would be the baby's room, it's only a two-bedroom apartment. So he knew if he came down the fire escape from the roof, he could get right into the baby's room. And smother her. With her pillow. But the night he was there . . .'
'Why did he pick New Year's Eve?'
'He figured New Year's Eve would be a good time.'
'Why? Did he say why?'
'No. He never told me why.'
'Just figured it would be a good time.'
'Well, yes. You'll have to ask him. Anyway, he was in there, and the girl . . .'
'Annie Flynn?'
'Yes, the sitter. You see, what he figured was that he'd just go in the baby's room, put the pillow over her face, and go right out again. I mean, this was a baby. There wouldn't be any resistance or anything, no noise, no yelling, he'd just go in and go out again. If the Hoddings were home . . . well, this was New Year's Eve, they probably would've had a few drinks, and anyway it was very late, they'd be sound asleep, he'd go in very quietly, do what he had to do and get out without them hearing a thing. This was a baby, you see. And if they were still out celebrating, there'd probably be a sitter, and if she wasn't asleep . . .'
'There was a sitter, as it turned out, wasn't there?'
'Well, yes, but Dick knew where the living room was, and the baby's room was all the way down the hall from it. So ... what he figured, you see, was that either way it would be ... well, easy. This was a baby. He wasn't expecting any problem at all.'
'But there was a problem.'
'Yes.'
'What was the problem, Mrs Hammond?'
'The mobile.'
'The what?'
'The mobile. Over the crib. He was leaning in over the crib when he hit the mobile. It was one of these . . . almost like wind chimes, do you know? Except it didn't depend on wind. What it was, if you hit it, it would make these chime sounds. It was hanging over where the baby's hands would be, so the baby could reach up and hit it and make the chime sounds. But Dick didn't know it was there, he'd never actually been in the apartment, and when he leaned in over the crib, his head hit the mobile, and it went off like an alarm.'
'What happened then?'
'He yanked the mobile loose from the ceiling, but it had already woken up the baby, the baby was screaming. And the sitter heard her crying, and that's when all the trouble started. Otherwise it would've gone smoothly. If it hadn't been for the mobile.'
'So when Annie heard the baby crying . . .'
'Yes. Well, you have to understand we didn't know either of their names. Not the baby's and not the sitter's. Until we heard them on television.'
'What happened when she heard the baby crying?'
'She yelled from the living room, wanted to know who was there, and then she . . . she just appeared in the doorway to the room. With a knife in her hand. A very big knife, in fact. And she came at Dick with it. So he had to defend himself. It was self-defense, really. With the sitter, that's what it was. She was really coming at him with that knife. He struggled with her for maybe three, four minutes before he finally got it away from her.'
'And stabbed her.'
'Yes.'
'Did he tell you that?'
'Yes.'
'That he stabbed her?'
'Yes. That he had to kill her. In self-defense.'
'Did he say how many times he'd stabbed her?'
'No.'
'And the baby? When did he . . . ?'
'The baby was still crying. So he had to work fast.'
'The baby was awake . . .'
'Crying, yes.'
'. . . when he smothered her?'
'Well, put the pillow over her face.'
'Smothered her.'
'Well, yes.'
'Was there blood on his clothing when he got home?'
'Just a little. Some spatters.'
'Do you still have that clothing?'
'Ye
s. But I soaked out the stains. With cold water.'
Nellie was still planning her case. Seize the clothing as evidence. Send it to the lab. It was almost impossible to soak out all traces of blood. Compare the bloodstains with those recovered from the knife's wooden handle. Get herself a match that would prove Annie Flynn's blood was on the murder weapon and on the clothes Richard Hammond had worn on New Year's Eve.
'Tell me what happened on Monday night, the sixteenth of January,' she said.
'I don't want to talk about that.'
'That's the night your sister was murdered, isn't it?'
'I don't want to talk about it.'
'Did your husband kill her?'
'I don't want to talk about it.'
'Did he?'
'You know, there are some things . . .' Melissa said, almost to herself, and shook her head. 'I mean, we'd be getting half when Daddy died, so why . . . ?' She shook her head again. 'Half to me, half to Joyce,' she said. 'Plus the trust. Which is why the baby was so important. So ... why get so greedy? Why go for it all?'
'Mrs Hammond, did your husband kill Joyce Chapman?'
'You'll have to ask him. I don't want to talk about it.'
'Was he going for all of the inheritance?. Is that what you're saying?'
'I loved my sister,' Melissa said. 'I didn't care about the baby, I didn't even know the baby, but my sister . . .'
She shook her head.
'I mean, the baby meant nothing to me. And my husband was right, you know. Why should all that money go to a child that was . . . well, a bastard? I mean, Joyce didn't even know who the father was.'
'All what money?' Nellie asked.
'I could understand that, it made sense. But my sister ... I didn't know he was going to do that to her, I swear to God. If I'd known . . .'
'But you did know he was going to kill the baby.'
'Yes. But not my sister. I'd have been happy with half, I swear to God. I mean, there are millions, why'd he have to get so damn greedy all at once? the other money, okay. Why should it go to a baby my sister never wanted? But then to ...'
'What other money?' Nellie asked again.
'It's all in the will,' Melissa said. 'You'll have to look at the will.'
'Has someone already contacted you about it?'
'About what?'
'The will. I understand your father died early this morning. Has his attorney . . . ?'
'No, no.'
'Then . . .'
Nellie looked suddenly puzzled.
'Are you saying . . . ?'
'We knew what was in the will,' Melissa said. 'We found out almost a year ago.'
'How did you find out?'
'Mr Lyons told my husband.'
'Mr Lyons?'
'Geoffrey Lyons. Who used to be my father's attorney.'
Nellie looked appalled.
'Told your husband the provisions of his client's will?' she said.
'Well, he was very fond of Dick,' she said. 'His own son was killed in Vietnam, they'd grown up together, gone to school together, I suppose he looked upon Dick as a sort of surrogate son. Anyway, there was nothing illegal about what he did. Or even unethical. My father was trying to make sure the family wouldn't just die out. He was trying to provide some incentive. Mr Lyons gave Dick a friendly tip, that was all. Told him what was in the will. Said we'd better get going, you know?'
'Get going?'
'Well, you know.'
'No, I don't know.'
'Well, get on with it.'
'I still don't know what you mean.'
'Well, you'll have to look at the will, I guess,' Melissa said, and turned away from Nellie.
And then, for some reason Carella would never understand, she looked directly into his eyes, and said, 'I did love her, you know. Very much.'
And buried her face in her hands and began weeping softly.
* * * *
The apartment Herrera was using for the testing and tasting was only three blocks east of the one he had rented on Vandermeer. Both apartments were normally rented by the hour to prostitutes turning quickie tricks, and so the separate landladies had been happy to let Herrera have them at weekly rates that were lower but more reliable than the come-and-go, on-the-fly uncertain hooker trade.
Herrera had walked here with Zing and Zang. He was carrying fifty thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills in a dispatch case that made him feel like an attorney. The five kilos of cocaine would go into that dispatch case once the deal was consummated. The three of them would then go back to the apartment on Vandermeer, where Zing and Zang expected to take possession of their half of the coke. Two and a half keys for them, two and a half for Herrera. Just as they'd all agreed. Gentlemen. Except that Herrera planned to kill them.
It was all a matter of having been born in this city, he figured.
You take two pigtailed Chinks from Hong Kong, they did not know that the minute the door to the apartment on Vandermeer closed behind them, he would shoot them in the back.
They did not understand this city.
You had to be born here.
They stopped now at the steps to 705 East Redmond.
'I have to go up alone,' Herrera told them.
'Yeh,' Zing said.
'Because that's the way Miami wants it.'
'Yeh,' Zang said.
'It may take a while. Make sure they ain't selling us powdered sugar.'
'We be here,' Zing said.
* * * *
Kling saw Herrera go into the building.
The two Chinese men stayed outside, hands in the pockets of their overcoats. Both wearing long dark blue coats. No hats. Sleek black hair combed straight back from their foreheads. Neither of them had ever seen Kling before, he could move in closer for a better look.
Walked right past them on the same side of the street.
Brothers for sure.
Twins, in fact.
Didn't even seem to glance at them. But got enough on them in his quick fly-by to be able to spot them later, anytime, anywhere.
He continued on up the street. Walked two blocks to the west, crossed over, came back on the other side, this time wearing a blue woolen watch cap that covered his blond hair. The one thing you could count on in any slum neighborhood was a dark doorway. He found one three buildings up from the one Herrera had entered. Across the street, the Chinese twins were flanking the front stoop like statues outside a public library. Ten minutes later, a man with a mustache walked past the Chinese and into the building. Like Herrera, he, too, was carrying a dispatch case.
* * * *
The man from Miami was a hulking brute with a Pancho Villa mustache. He said 'Hello,' in Spanish, and then 'You got the money?'
'You got the shit?' Herrera asked.
No passwords, no code words, no number sequences. The time and the place had been prearranged. Neither of them would have known when and where without first having gone through all the security bullshit. So now they both wanted to get on with it and get it done fast. The sooner they got through with the routine of it, the safer the exchange would be.
There were people who said they could tell by a little sniff up the nose or a little speck on the tongue whether you were buying good coke or crap. Herrera preferred two simple tests. The first one was the old standby cobalt thiocyanate Brighter-the-Blue. Mix the chemical in with the dope, watch it dissolve. If the mix turned a very deep blue, you had yourself high-grade coke. The brighter the blue, the better the girl. Meaning if you got this intense blue reaction, you were buying cocaine that was purer than what you'd get with, say, a pastel blue reaction. What you had to watch out for was coke that'd been stepped on maybe two, three times before it got to you.