McBain's Ladies Too: More Women of the 87th Precinct Read online

  He felt her lips upon him.

  She kissed him fiercely and with her mouth open, her tongue searching his lips and his teeth. Then she pulled away from him, and he heard her whisper, "In the morning, they'll find you dead."

  He lost consciousness again.

  On Tuesday morning, they found the automobile at the bottom of a steep cliff some fifty miles across the River Harb, in a sparsely populated area of the adjoining state. Most of the paint had been burned away by what must have been an intensely hot fire, but it was still possible to tell that the car was a green 1961 Pontiac sedan bearing the license plate RI 7-3461.

  The body on the front seat of the car had been incinerated. They knew by what remained of the lower portions that the body had once been a man, but the face and torso had been cooked beyond recognition, the hair and clothing gone, the skin black and charred, the arms drawn up into the typical pugilistic attitude caused by post-mortem contracture of burned muscles, the fingers hooked like claws. A gold wedding band was on the third finger of the skeletal left hand. The fire had eaten away the skin and charred the remaining bones and turned the gold of the ring to a dull black. A .38 Smith & Wesson was caught in the exposed springs of the front seat, together with the metal parts that remained of what had once been a holster.

  All of the man's teeth were missing from his mouth.

  In the cinders of what they supposed had been his wallet, they found a detective's shield with the identifying number 714-5632.

  A call to headquarters across the river informed the investigating police that the shield belonged to a Detective/Second Grade named Stephen Louis Carella.

  He lay naked on the floor near the radiator.

  He could hear rain lashing against the window panes, but the room was warm and he felt no discomfort. Yesterday, the girl had loosened the handcuff a bit, so that it no longer was clamped so tightly on his wrist. His nose was still swollen, but the throbbing pain was gone now, and the girl had washed his cuts and promised to shave him as soon as they were healed.

  He was hungry.

  He knew that the girl would come with food the moment it grew dark; she always did. There was one meal a day, always at dusk, and the girl brought it to him on a tray and then watched him while he ate, talking to him. Two days ago, she had showed him the newspapers, and he had read them with a peculiar feeling of unreality. The picture in the newspapers had been taken when he was still a patrolman. He looked very young and very innocent. The headline said he was dead.

  He listened for the sound of her heels now. He could hear nothing in the other room; the apartment was silent. He wondered if she had gone, and felt a momentary pang. He glanced again at the waning light around the edges of the window shades. The rain drummed steadily against the glass. There was the sound of traffic below, tires hushed on rainswept streets. In the room, the gloom of dusk spread into the corners. Neon suddenly blinked against the drawn shades. He waited, listening, but there was no sound.

  He must have dozed again. He was awakened by the sound of the key being inserted in the door lock. He sat upright, his left hand extended behind him and manacled to the radiator, and watched as the girl came into the room. She was wearing a short silk dressing gown belted tightly at the waist. The gown was a bright red, and she wore black high-heeled pumps that added several inches to her height. She closed the door behind her, and put the tray down just inside the door.

  "Hello, doll," she whispered.

  She did not turn on the overhead light. She went to one of the windows instead and raised the shade. Green neon rainsnakes slithered along the glass pane. The floor was washed with melting green, and then the neon blinked out and the room was dark again. He could hear the girl's breathing. The sign outside flashed again. The girl stood near the window in the red gown, the green neon behind her limning her long legs. The sign went out.

  "Are you hungry, doll?" she whispered, and walked to him swiftly and kissed him on the cheek. She laughed deep in her throat, then moved away from him and went to the door. The Llama rested on the tray alongside the coffeepot. A sandwich was on a paper plate to the right of the gun.

  "Do I still need this?" she asked, hefting the gun and pointing it at him.

  Carella did not answer.

  "I guess not," the girl said, and laughed again, that same low, throaty laugh that was somehow not at all mirthful.

  "Why am I alive?" he said. He was very hungry, and he could smell the coffee deep and strong in his nostrils, but he had learned not to ask for his food. He had asked for it last night, and the girl had deliberately postponed feeding him, talking to him for more than an hour before she reluctantly brought the tray to him.

  "You're not alive," the girl said. "You're dead. I showed you the papers, didn't I? You're dead."

  "Why didn't you really kill me?"

  "You're too valuable."

  "How do you figure that?"

  "You know who killed Tinka."

  "Then you're better off with me dead."

  "No." The girl shook her head. "No, doll. We want to know how you found out."

  "What difference does it make?"

  "Oh, a lot of difference," the girl said. "He's very concerned about it, really he is. He's getting very impatient. He figures he made a mistake someplace, you see, and he wants to know what it was. Because if you found out, chances are somebody else will sooner or later. Unless you tell us what it was, you see. Then we can make sure nobody else finds out. Ever."

  "There's nothing to tell you."

  "There's plenty to tell," the girl said. She smiled. "You'll tell us. Are you hungry?"

  "Yes."

  "Tch," the girl said.

  "Who was that in the burned car?"

  "The elevator operator. Messner." The girl smiled again. "It was my idea. Two birds with one stone."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, I thought it would be a good idea to get rid of Messner just in case he was the one who led you to us. Insurance. And I also figured that if everybody thought you were dead, that'd give us more time to work on you."

  "If Messner was my source, why do you have to work on me?"

  "Well, there are a lot of unanswered questions," the girl said. "Gee, that coffee smells good, doesn't it?"

  "Yes," Carella said.

  "Are you cold?"

  "No."

  "I can get you a blanket if you're cold."

  "I'm fine, thanks."

  "I thought, with the rain, you might be a little chilly."

  "No."

  "You look good naked," the girl said.

  "Thank you."

  "I'll feed you, don't worry," she said.

  "I know you will."

  "But about those questions, they're really bothering him, you know. He's liable to get bugged completely and just decide the hell with the whole thing. I mean, I like having you and all, but I don't know if I'll be able to control him much longer. If you don't cooperate, I mean."

  "Messner was my source," Carella said. "He gave me the description."

  "Then it's a good thing we killed him, isn't it?"

  "I suppose so."

  "Of course, that still doesn't answer those questions I was talking about."

  "What questions?"

  "For example, how did you get the name? Messner may have given you a description, but where did you get the name? Or the address, for that matter?"

  "They were in Tinka's address book. Both the name and the address."

  "Was the description there, too?"

  "I don't know what you mean."

  "You know what I mean, doll. Unless Tinka had a description in that book of hers, how could you match a name to what Messner had told you?" Carella was silent. The girl smiled again. "I'm sure she didn't have descriptions of people in her address book, did she?"

  "No."

  "Good, I'm glad you're telling the truth. Because we found the address book in your pocket the night you came busting in here, and we know damn well there're no descriptions of people in it. You hungry?"

  "Yes, I'm very hungry," Carella said.

  "I'll feed you, don't worry," she said again. She paused. "How'd you know the name and address?"

  "Just luck. I was checking each and every name in the book. A process of elimination, that's all."

  "That's another lie," the girl said. "I wish you wouldn't lie to me." She lifted the gun from the tray. She held the gun loosely in one hand, picked up the tray with the other, and then said, "Back off."

  Carella moved as far back as the handcuff would allow. The girl walked to him, crouched, and put the tray on the floor.

  "I'm not wearing anything under this robe," she said.

  "I can see that."

  "I thought you could," the girl said, grinning, and then rose swiftly and backed toward the door. She sat in the chair and crossed her legs, the short robe riding up on her thighs. "Go ahead," she said, and indicated the tray with a wave of the gun.

  Carella poured himself a cup of coffee. He took a quick swallow, and then picked up the sandwich and bit into it.

  "Good?" the girl asked, watching.

  "Yes."

  "I made it myself. You have to admit I take good care of you."

  "Sure," Carella said.

  "I'm going to take even better care of you," she said. "Why'd you lie to me? Do you think it's nice to lie to me?"

  "I didn't lie."

  "You said you reached us by luck, a process of elimination. That means you didn't know who or what to expect when you got here, right? You were just looking for someone in Tinka's book who would fit Messner's description."

  "That's right."

  "Then why'd you kick the door in? Why'd you have a gun in your hand? See what I mean? You knew who he was before you got here.
You knew he was the one. How?"

  "I told you. It was just luck."

  "Ahh, gee, I wish you wouldn't lie. Are you finished there?"

  "Not yet."

  "Let me know when."

  "All right."

  "I have things to do."

  "All right."

  "To you," the girl said.

  Carella chewed on the sandwich. He washed it down with a gulp of coffee. He did not look at the girl. She was jiggling her foot now, the gun hand resting in her lap.

  "Are you afraid?" she asked.

  "Of what?"

  "Of what I might do to you."

  "No. Should I be?"

  "I might break your nose all over again, who knows?"

  "That's true, you might."

  "Or I might even keep my promise to knock out all your teeth." The girl smiled. "That was my idea, too, you know, knocking out Messner's teeth. You people can make identifications from dental charts, can't you?"

  "Yes."

  "That's what I thought. That's what I told him. He thought it was a good idea, too."

  "You're just full of good ideas."

  "Yeah, I have a lot of good ideas," the girl said. "You're not scared, huh?"

  "No."

  "I would be, if I were you. Really, I would be."

  "The worst you can do is kill me," Carella said. "And since I'm already dead, what difference will it make?"

  "I like a man with a sense of humor," the girl said, but she did not smile. "I can do worse than kill you."

  "What can you do?"

  "I can corrupt you."

  "I'm incorruptible," Carella said, and smiled.

  "Nobody's incorruptible," she said. "I'm going to make you beg to tell us what you know. Really. I'm warning you."

  "I've told you everything I know."

  "Uh-uh," the girl said, shaking her head. "Are you finished there?"

  "Yes."

  "Shove the tray away from you."

  Carella slid the tray across the floor. The girl went to it, stooped again, and picked it up. She walked back to the chair and sat. She crossed her legs. She began jiggling her foot.

  "What's your wife's name?" she asked.

  "Teddy."

  "That's a nice name. But you'll forget it soon enough."

  "I don't think so," Carella said evenly.

  "You'll forget her name, and you'll forget her, too."

  He shook his head.

  "I promise," the girl said. "In a week's time, you won't even remember your own name."

  The room was silent. The girl sat quite still except for the jiggling of her foot. The green neon splashed across the floor, and then blinked out. There were seconds of darkness, and then the light came on again. She was standing now. She had left the gun on the seat of the chair and moved to the center of the room. The neon went out. When it flashed on again, she had moved closer to where he was manacled to the radiator.

  "What would you like me to do to you?" she asked.

  "Nothing."

  "What would you like to do to me?"

  "Nothing," he said.

  "No?" she smiled. "Look, doll."

  She loosened the sash at her waist. The robe parted over her breasts and naked belly. Neon washed the length of her body with green, and then blinked off. In the intermittent flashes, he saw the girl moving — as though in a silent movie — toward the light switch near the door, the open robe flapping loose around her. She snapped on the overhead light, and then walked slowly back to the center of the room and stood under the bulb. She held the front of the robe open, the long pale white sheath of her body exposed, the red silk covering her back and her arms, her fingernails tipped with red as glowing as the silk.

  "What do you think?" she asked. Carella did not answer. "You want some of it?"

  "No," he said.

  "You're lying."

  "I'm telling you the absolute truth," he said.

  "I could make you forget her in a minute," the girl said. "I know things you never dreamed of. You want it?"

  "No."

  "Just try and get it," she said, and closed the robe and tightened the sash around her waist. "I don't like it when you lie to me."

  "I'm not lying."

  "You're naked, mister, don't tell me you're not lying." She burst out laughing and walked to the door, opening it, and then turned to face him again. Her voice was very low, her face serious. "Listen to me, doll," she said. "You are mine, do you understand that? I can do whatever I want with you, don't you forget it. I'm promising you right here and now that in a week's time you'll be crawling on your hands and knees to me, you'll be licking my feet, you'll be begging for the opportunity to tell me what you know. And once you tell me, I'm going to throw you away, doll, I'm going to throw you broken and cracked in the gutter, doll, and you're going to wish, believe me, you are just going to wish it was you they found dead in that car, believe me." She paused. "Think about it," she said, and turned out the light and went out of the room.

  He heard the key turning in the lock.

  He was suddenly very frightened.

  She had handcuffed both hands behind his back during one of his periods of unconsciousness, and then had used a leather belt to lash his feet together. He lay naked on the floor now and waited for her arrival, trying to tell himself he did not need her, and knowing that he needed her desperately.

  It was very warm in the room, but he was shivering. His skin was beginning to itch but he could not scratch himself because his hands were manacled behind his back. He could smell his own body odors — he had not been bathed or shaved in three days — but he did not care about his smell or his beard, he only cared that she was not here yet, what was keeping her?

  He lay in the darkness and tried not to count the minutes.

  The girl was naked when she came into the room. She did not put on the light. There was the familiar tray in her hands, but it did not carry food any more. The Llama was on the left-hand side of the tray. Alongside the gun were a small cardboard box, a book of matches, a spoon with its handle bent back toward the bowl, and a glassine envelope.

  "Hello, doll," she said. "Did you miss me?"

  Carella did not answer.

  "Have you been waiting for me?" the girl asked. "What's the matter, don't you feel like talking?" She laughed her mirthless laugh. "Don't worry, baby," she said. "I'm going to fix you."

  She put the tray down on the chair near the door, and then walked to him.

  "I think I'll play with you awhile," she said. "Would you like me to play with you?"

  Carella did not answer.

  "Well, if you're not even going to talk to me, I guess I'll just have to leave. After all, I know when I'm not—"

  "No, don't go," Carella said.

  "Do you want me to stay?"

  "Yes."

  ''Say it."

  "I want you to stay."

  "That's better. What would you like, baby? Would you like me to play with you a little?"

  "No."

  "Don't you like being played with?"

  "No."

  "What do you like, baby?"

  He did not answer.

  "Well, you have to tell me," she said, "or I just won't give it to you."

  "I don't know," he said.

  "You don't know what you like?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you like the way I look without any clothes on?"

  "Yes, you look all right."

  "But that doesn't interest you, does it?"

  "No."

  "What does interest you?"

  Again, he did not answer.

  "Well, you must know what interests you. Don't you know?"

  "No, I don't know."

  "Tch," the girl said, and rose and began walking toward the door.

  "Where are you going?" he asked quickly.

  "Just to put some water in the spoon, doll," she said soothingly. "Don't worry. I'll be back."

  She took the spoon from the tray and walked out of the room, leaving the door open. He could hear the water tap running in the kitchen. Hurry up, he thought, and then thought, No, I don't need you, leave me alone, goddamn you, leave me alone!

  "Here I am," she said. She took the tray off the seat of the chair and then sat and picked up the glassine envelope. She emptied its contents into the spoon, and then struck a match and held it under the blackened bowl. "Got to cook it up," she said. "Got to cook it up for my baby. You getting itchy for it, baby? Don't worry, I'll take care of you. What's your wife's name?"