So Long As You Both Shall Live (87th Precinct) (4 page)

“What kind of a truck did you say it was?” Carella asked.

“A white one. Must’ve been a milk truck, don’t you think? Or a bakery truck.”

“Would they normally make deliveries at eleven o’clock?” Carella asked.

“No, that’s right, they usually don’t, leastways I’ve never seen them. Maybe it was a linen truck. I would guess the hotel gets lots of linens picked up and delivered, wouldn’t you guess?”

“Mr. Bailey, you didn’t see any lettering on the truck, did you?”

“No, sir. I only saw the back of the truck. It backed in. Stopped near the fire door there.”

“And you didn’t see anyone getting out of the truck.”

“No, sir. I just looked out when I heard the truck, and then I went back to my work. I thought at first it might’ve been a delivery for
us,
you see, and I was worried about what to do, since they don’t give me no money to pay for deliveries, and besides, I’ve never had one at night all the time I’ve been working here. But nobody knocked on the door, so I figured it wasn’t for us. Tell you the truth, when
you
knocked on the door, I thought that might be a delivery, too.”

“When did the truck leave, Mr. Bailey, can you tell me that?”

“Must’ve been about eleven-thirty. I didn’t
see
it leaving, mind you, but I heard it, and I looked up at the clock. It was just about eleven-thirty, give or take.”

“Well, thanks a lot, Mr. Bailey, you’ve been very helpful.”

“Want a cup of coffee? I’ve got a pot right here on the stove.”

“Thank you, no, I’ve got to be going.”

“Nice talking to you,” Bailey said, and unlocked the door for him. Carella stepped out into the courtyard again. The wind was vicious; it ripped through the cloth of his coat and gnawed his bones to the marrow. Newspapers flew about the courtyard like winged night marauders, flapping noisily in the air, slapping blindly against the surrounding brick walls. He walked to the fire door and tried to open it, but it was blind locked on the courtyard side. Ducking his chin into his collar, he thrust his hands into his pockets and walked up the driveway, and out onto the sidewalk and up the block, and around the corner to the front entrance of the hotel.

They had set the police machinery in motion, and now they sat down to wait in the early hours of the morning, the empty hours of the night. It was Monday already, November the tenth, but it still felt like Sunday night. Contrary to Carella’s hopes, it had proved impossible to keep the hotel staff from knowing what had happened. Too many technicians were crawling all over the room, the corridor, the elevator, the fire stairs, and the service courtyard, installing equipment and searching for fingerprints, footprints, and tire tracks. In the end Carella simply warned the hotel staff that the newspapers were not to get hold of this story, and he hinted broadly that news of an abduction wouldn’t do much to help the hotel’s image, either.

A full description of Augusta had been radioed to the police at air terminals, railroad stations, and bus depots, and a teletype had gone out to police departments in all the adjacent states. A police technician and a telephone installer, working in tandem, had hooked the room’s phone into a tape recorder, and the phone company had been alerted to expect a possible request for a trace if and when the kidnapper called. There was some question as to whether or not Kling’s
home
phone should be similarly wired; it was decided that he’d keep the room at the hotel till sometime tomorrow morning and then go back to his own apartment, by which time the phone there would also be equipped to record. For now, there was nothing more that any of them could do—except analyze what had happened and try to second-guess the kidnapper’s next move.

If
he was a kidnapper.

Captain Marshall Frick, who was the captain in charge of the entire 87th Precinct, including the uniformed cops, the detectives, and the clerks, seemed to think otherwise. “It could have been a burglary,” he said. Frick was getting on in years, a man whose thinking was as ancient and as creaky as his white hair prepared one to expect.

“How do you figure a burglary?” Byrnes asked. They were all sitting in the hotel room, waiting for the phone to ring. Kling was sitting on the edge of the bed, nearest to the phone. Meyer was in a chair alongside the recording equipment; he was wearing earphones, one of them on his left ear, the other pushed away from the right ear so he could hear the conversation in the room. Carella was half sitting on, half leaning against the dresser. Frick was in the room’s one upholstered chair, and Byrnes was in a chair he’d pulled out from the desk. “With all due respect, Marshall, why would a burglar have come in here with chloroform?”

“I know burglars who’ve used chloroform,” Frick said. “I’ve even known burglars who brought steaks with them, to feed to the watchdog.”

“Yes—but, Captain,” Carella said, “nothing was stolen from the room.”

“He may have been scared off,” Frick said.

“By what?” Carella asked, and belatedly added, “Sir?”

“By the girl herself,” Frick said. “Kling says he went in the bathroom to shower, which means that anybody standing outside the door there, listening, wouldn’t have heard anyone talking in the room, might have thought the room was empty. He picked the lock—”

“No pick marks on the lock, Marshall,” Byrnes said.

“All right, then, he
loided
it. Or maybe he used a key, who the hell knows? Some hotels, you can walk right up to the desk, ask for a key to a certain room, they’ll hand it to you without even asking you your name. That could have happened here. In any case, how
ever
he got in, he was surprised to find the room occupied. So he hit the girl with chloroform and dragged her out of the room with him.”

“Why, sir?” Carella asked.

“Because she got a good look at him, that’s why,” Frick said.

“You think he had the chloroform all ready when he came in, is that it?”

“That could be it, yes.”

“Even though he expected the room to be empty?”

“Yes, it’s possible,” Frick said. “It’s possible it could have happened that way.”

“Marshall, this looks like a kidnapping to me,” Byrnes said. “I honestly don’t think we’re dealing with a burglary here.”

“Then where’s the ransom call?” Frick asked. “It’s four o’clock in the morning, the girl was taken out of here at eleven-thirty, where’s the call?”

“It’ll come,” Byrnes said.

“I’d be checking out my hotel burglars if this was my case. I’d be finding out which of the hotel burglars have been active in the midtown area in recent months. And which of them have used chloroform as part of their m.o.”

“Marshall, with all due respect,” Byrnes said, “I have never in all my years on the force heard of a burglar who used chloroform as part of his regular working m.o. Steaks to dogs, yes. Hamburger, even.
That
I’ve heard of. But I’ve never heard of a burglar going in with chloroform.”

“I’ve heard of it,” Frick insisted.

“Where?” Byrnes asked.

“When I was working in Philadelphia.”

“Well, anything can happen in Philadelphia.”

“Yes, and frequently does,” Frick said.

“But this looks like a bona-fide kidnapping to me,” Byrnes said, “and I’ve instructed the squad to investigate it as such.”

“It’s your squad, you handle it as you see fit,” Frick said. “I was merely offering an opinion.”

“Thank you, Marshall. I assure you it was appreciated.”

“Don’t mention it,” Frick said.

Listening, Kling thought Frick ought to be retired. Or embalmed. The man sounded like a hairbag riding shotgun in an RMP car instead of a man in command of a precinct. The captain was off on another tack now; apparently convinced at last that burglary had not been the motive here, he was relating an absurd kidnapping story.

“I once had a case in Philadelphia,” he said, “where a man kidnapped his own wife in an attempt to extort money from his father-in-law. Damnedest thing I ever did see. We were working on it for three days and three nights before we tipped to the fact that—”

“Sir,” Carella interrupted, “I wonder if we might ask Kling some questions.”

“Eh?” Frick said.

“Because it occurred to me, sir, that being as close to this as we all are, we might be in danger of ignoring procedure we’d normally—”

“Well, of course, do what you
want
to do,” Frick said, but his tone was injured, and he immediately began to sulk.

“Bert, we
know
you, but we
don’t
know you,” Carella said. “We’ve been operating on the assumption that nobody in his right mind would expect any kind of decent ransom from a salaried cop; we’ve been thinking Augusta’s father was the target. Okay, here’s what I want to ask you.
Do
you have any money socked away we wouldn’t know about? Anything that would make a kidnapper—”

“We’ve got three thousand dollars in the bank,” Kling said. “It’s a joint account, and it’s what we had left after we furnished the new apartment.”

“There’s the possibility, though,” Meyer said, “that somebody might have got it in his head Augusta was rich, you follow me? Because she’s a high-priced model and all.”

“Yeah, we ought to consider that,” Byrnes admitted.

“Bert, I want to ask you the questions I’d normally ask anybody, okay?” Carella said. “Forgetting you’re an experienced detective for the moment, okay? You’ve probably asked yourself these same questions, but let me ask them out loud, okay?”

“Go ahead,” Kling said. He glanced at Captain Frick, who was sitting in the armchair, plainly miffed, a scowl on his face, his hands clasped over his expansive middle. The hell with
you,
Kling thought. She’s
my
wife.

“First, Bert, have you or Augusta received any threatening telephone calls or letters within recent weeks?”

“No.”

“Was there anyone at the agency…That’s the Cutler Agency, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Kling said.

“That’s the biggest modeling agency in the city,” Byrnes said to Frick in an attempt to mollify him. Frick merely nodded curtly.

“Was there anyone at the agency,” Carella went on, “any of the other girls, or even the Cutlers themselves, who for one reason or another might have had something against Augusta? Anything like professional rivalry or jealousy or whatever the hell? Was she getting more bookings than the other girls, for example? Or, I don’t know, did she land a big account somebody else was after? You’d know about these things better than we would, Bert, you probably talked about her job, didn’t you?
Was
there anything like that you can think of?”

“No,” Kling said. “You know her, Steve, she’s really a terrific girl, everybody likes her. That sounds like I’m blowing my own horn, I know, but—”

“No, no.”

“—really, it’s the truth.”

“You’ve got me thinking,” Meyer said.

“Yeah?”

“Suppose this is somebody who’s got a grudge against
Bert.
Never mind Augusta. Suppose this is somebody getting back at
Bert.
”

“Boy,
that
opens a can of peas,” Byrnes said.

“For an arrest, do you mean?” Frick asked suddenly.

“What?” Meyer said.

“Getting back at him for an arrest he made?”

“Yes, sir. That’s what I had in mind.”

“That’s a distinct possibility,” Frick said, nodding, his hands still folded over his middle. “I know of many cases where a policeman or his family were threatened or actually harmed after an arrest had been made. That’s a good thought. Pete, if I may intrude…”

“Go ahead, Marshall.”

“I’d like to suggest that you put a man to work checking on Kling’s arrest record. Find out who’s still in jail, who’s been released, and so on. Come up with some names and addresses. I think it’s worth a shot. That’s a very good thought, Meyer.”

“Thank you, sir,” Meyer said again.

“Very good indeed,” Frick said, and smiled as though he himself had had the idea.

“Bert,” Carella said, “did you tell anyone at all where you’d be spending the night tonight?”

“No one. Only Augusta and I knew.”

“Then someone must have followed you from the reception. Down to the lobby, I mean.”

“He’d have had to, yes,” Kling said.

“Which means he was at the reception.”

“I suppose so.”

“Can we get a list of all the people you invited to the wedding?” Byrnes asked.

“Yes—but, Lieutenant, there’re two hundred people on that list.”

“I realize that.”

“And besides, all of them are friends. I really don’t think—”

“You never know,” Frick interrupted. “With
some
friends, you don’t need enemies.” He nodded his head in solemn satisfaction as though he had just uttered an original thought.

“Where is that list?” Byrnes asked.

“In my apartment. The old apartment. We still haven’t moved all of the furniture to the new place. The list is in the top drawer of the desk, over the kneehole. The desk is near the windows, on the left as you come in.”

“Have you got a key we can use?”

“Yes, but—”

“I’m not suggesting any of your friends…”

“We’re looking for a place to hang our hats, Bert,” Carella said. “We don’t have to kid you, that’s what we’re doing.”

“I know, Steve.”

“Because there’s not a damn thing to go on yet, Bert. Until that phone rings…”

“I just thought of something,” Meyer said.

“What’s that?” Frick asked, leaning forward suddenly. He had been inordinately impressed with Meyer’s earlier thought, which he’d already forgotten, and was now anxious to hear whatever else Meyer might come up with.

“Well, weren’t you showing a newspaper clipping around the office a little while ago? An item about the wedding?”

“That’s right, I
was,
” Kling said.

“Augusta’s picture at the top of the column…”

“I see where you’re going,” Kling said. “That’s right. It announced the wedding, gave the date and the time…”

“Did it give the name of the church?” Carella asked.

“Yes.”

“So it could have been anybody.”

“Anybody who knows how to read,” Byrnes said.

“Would have known where the wedding was going to take place, could have followed them from the church to the reception, and from there to the lobby.”

“Would have had to ask at the desk, though,” Meyer said.

“For what room they were in, right.”

They were snowballing it now, almost as if Kling were not in the room with them. He had been a part of many similar sessions in the past, but now he watched and listened like a stranger as they concocted a possible scenario for what had happened, and tried to work out an effective plan of action.

“Parked the truck in the service court…”

“White truck, think we ought to put out an alarm?”

“Could be
any
damn kind of truck. Bailey didn’t see the license-plate number.”

“Amazing he saw the truck at all, way you described those windows.”

“Anyway, that’s what he must’ve done. Parked the truck in the service court, then walked around front to the hotel entrance. Couldn’t have come in through that fire door on the court, because it’s blind locked on the outside.”

“Went to the desk, asked for Mr. and Mrs. Kling.”

“Or maybe picked up the house phone, got the room number that way.”

“We’d better ask the clerk if he handed out a key after Bert and Augusta checked in.”

“I still want a look at that invitation list, Bert.”

“Be a good idea to get started on those arrest files, too.”

“Want you guys to contact all our stoolies. If this is some kind of dumb revenge thing…”

“Right, there may be a rumble on it.”

“When’s the last time you saw Danny Gimp, Steve?”

“Long time ago.”

“Get onto him. And somebody ought to contact Fats Donner, too. Meyer, you want to sit the wire here?”

“Right, Loot.”

“I’ll have someone relieve you at eight. What the hell time is it, anyway?”

They all turned toward the windows. A gray dawn was breaking cheerlessly over the rooftops of the city.

She had lost all track of time and did not know how long she’d been unconscious; she suspected, though, that hours and hours had passed since the moment he’d clamped the chloroform-soaked piece of cotton over her nose and mouth. She lay on the floor with her wrists bound behind her back, her ankles bound together. Her eyes were closed, she could feel what she supposed were balls of absorbent cotton pressing against the lids, held firmly in place by either adhesive tape or a bandage of some kind. A rag had been stuffed into her mouth (she could taste it, she hoped she would not choke on it), and then a gag, again either adhesive tape or bandage, had been wound over it. She could neither see nor speak, and though she listened intently for the slightest sound, she could hear nothing at all.