Ed McBain: Cinderella

“Uh-huh,” Matthew said.

“Claims they tried to rape her,” Hacker said.

“Uh-huh,” Matthew said. “How does she explain the Toyota?”

“What Toyota?”

“The white Toyota with the 201-ZHW license plate. A Hertz rental car. Rented to a woman named Jenny Santoro, which may or may not be her real name.”

“How do you know all this?”

“ Otto knew all this. In any case, she drove to the motel. I know because I followed her there.”

Rawles looked at him.

“Maybe we oughta take that deposition this afternoon,” he said.

“Whenever,” Matthew said.

“How’s three o’clock?”

“Fine.”

“The girl doesn’t know anything about a dope deal going down,” Hacker said. “Leastways that’s what she claims.”

“Says she witnessed Hollister killing the two Hispanics, though,” Rawles said.

“Then that nails Hollister, doesn’t it?” Matthew said.

“I got a hunch she’s a hooker,” Rawles said, shaking his head. “Juries tend not to believe anything a hooker says. I’d much rather have ballistics evidence.”

“When will they be getting back to you?”

“Sometime today. Maybe before you come in.”

“Will you ask them to run a test on the other bullets?”

“Sure. But what difference will it make? This is Florida. A homicide committed by a person engaged in robbery is a capital felony.”

“I know,” Matthew said.

“If we can convict Hollister on two counts of homicide...”

“But it’ll make me feel better,” Matthew said.

Susan called shortly after the police left.

The call surprised him.

He said, “Hey, hi, I was just about to call you.”

“Oh?”

“I thought you might like to have brunch with me.”

“Well, Joanna’s here, you know,” Susan said.

“All three of us, I thought.”

There was a silence on the line.

“Susan?”

“Yes?”

“I think we’ve got to stop pretending we’re... I mean, Joanna’s too smart for that. Let’s just tell her we’ve been seeing each other, okay? Tell her I’ve been courting you. Wooing you,” he said, smiling. “Tell her we’re exploring the possibility of—”

“That’s why I’m calling,” Susan said.

“I’m right, don’t you think?”

“Yes, but...”

“So let’s tell her at brunch.”

“No, I can’t have brunch with you,” Susan said, “I’m busy.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I have other plans.”

“I thought...”

“I know, but...”

“Before you left yesterday...”

“Yes, Matthew, I know but...”

“We said we’d try to get together today.”

“But something came up.”

There was a sudden silence on the line.

He waited.

It was like sitting in a stalled car on the railroad tracks, waiting for the glaring headlight of a train to come zooming out of the night.

“I’m driving down to Sanibel with Peter,” she said.

The train smashing into the car, a ball of fire exploding.

He was happy she could not see his face.

“He asked me to drive down there with him,” she said.

He was shaking his head.

“Matthew?”

“Yes, Susan.”

“Matthew, I need to think about this, about us, I need to... sort things out... understand what’s... I just don’t know what’s happening, Matthew.”

He wanted to say “You said you loved me.”

He did not say it.

He wanted to say “You said you’ve always loved me.”

He did not say it.

He waited.

“Can you give me a little more time, Matthew?”

He almost said “We have all the time in the world,” but that was both a cliché and a lie.

He said nothing.

“Matthew... please,” she said.

“Sure,” he said.

“Just until I can—”

“Sure,” he said,

“We’ll see,” she said.

“Yes, Susan.”

“How it works out.”

“Yes.”

“I want to kiss you right this minute,” she said, and hung up.

It never works out the way you expect it to, he thought.

You get your chance, you get a chance finally to make a killing, and something goes wrong to fuck it up.

What possibly could have gotten into those two men?

Why on earth had they suddenly turned on Jenny?

Cutting her that way! Were they insane?

The lawyer he could understand.

Amaros again.

First the private investigator and then the lawyer.

Fucking big dope dealer with all kinds of money to buy all kinds of legitimate pursuit, but oh just wait till he knew for certain he had the right customers, oh just wait. In would come the gorillas, my dear, to take back the dope and cut off your cock, you do not mess with Señor Armadillo, amigos , oh no.

Because Amaros had seen him.

Amaros knew what he looked like.

That night in the Kasbah lounge when he came in every four or five minutes in the gray chauffeur’s uniform...

Miss Carmody? Are you going to wait any longer? Or should we start for the party?

Miss Carmody?

Miss Carmody, shall I bring the car around?

So here’s a little bald-headed guy standing outside the condo door with a picture of Jenny in his hand, ice-blue gown with the fake sapphire-and-diamond pin on her abundant chest, and he’s asking questions and of course he’s from Amaros, Amaros is closing in.

Gives his name.

Otto Samalson.

Samalson Investigations.

Downtown Calusa.

Yes, Mr. Samalson. Mr. Samalson, you have signed your own death warrant because there is no way this person is going to allow you to report back to Amaros, you are too fucking close , Mr. Samalson, you have to go , Mr. Samalson!

They’d been so damn cautious, too.

She’d flown up, rented a car at the airport, took a room at the Sheraton where he was waiting for her. He’d driven up with the coke in the trunk of the blue Ford, no roadblocks between Miami and here, no danger of who the hell knew what if she’d carried the coke in a suitcase on the plane. Met at the Sheraton. Different rooms. She’d stayed on there after he’d taken the summer rental at Camelot Towers — well, of course, the whore princess, you couldn’t expect her to rent a condominium , could you?

And now a man with her picture in his hand.

Well, yes, it is simple to find you, Mr. Samalson, given your address in downtown Calusa, and yes, it is simple to steal a car, Mr. Samalson, and yes, it is simple to follow you and to pump two bullets into your car and into your head, bam, bam, good-bye, Mr. Samalson, it was nice knowing you, and goodbye Luis Amaros, too.

The fucking lawyer !

Should have finished him last night, but that would have meant either shooting on the run and risking a miss, or else stopping, taking aim, no no my dear. Better to get on with it, move on with it, get away from her, away from the lawyer, grab the dope in the suitcase in the other cabin, mustn’t leave all that sweet dust behind, now must we? Dump the dope and the money in the Ford and off we go into the wild blue yonder, riding high into the sun and Hong Kong , mister, heaven at last, heaven.

But it never works out the way you think it will.

You sit instead in a six-by-eight cubicle with bars as thick as your cock, and on the wall, prisoners past have written stupid little sayings and there’s a toilet you can sit on with everyone looking through the bars at you, and it never works out the way you think it will.

You can never trust women.

Daniel Nettington called Matthew at home at two-thirty that Sunday afternoon, just as he was leaving for the Public Safety Building downtown. Carla Nettington was on the extension.