Ed McBain - The House That Jack Built

“In person,” Warren said.

“Will wonders never?” Kabul said, and shook his head.

“So, Ish,” Warren said, “you favor black, huh?”

“Occasionally,” Kabul said. “Your place or mine?”

“Naughty, naughty,” Warren said, repeating the words Summers had said to Kabul on the night of the party, courtesy of Ralph Parrish, now languishing in jail for the murder of his brother. The words did not seem to ring a bell. Kabul’s eyes were wandering the room now, searching for a likely partner. He seemed bored with what was going down at the table here.

“You were wearing black the night of the party, weren’t you?” Warren said.

“What party?” Kabul asked. Still bored with all this shit.

“Here it is,” Warren said. “Straight. You were wearing black on the night before the murder. Parrish’s brother saw someone in black running away from the house on the morning of the murder. I want to know where you were at seven a.m. that morning, while Parrish was getting himself stabbed.”

“Home in bed.”

“Alone?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Who with?”

“A lady named Christie Hewes.”

“A lady?”

“A lady, yes.”

“You’re a switch-hitter, Ish?”

“I’d make it with an alligator if it didn’t have such sharp teeth.”

“Do the police know about this lady?”

“The police know about her. They’ve talked to her, they know I was with her. Anyway, what is this? The police already have their killer.”

“We don’t think so, Ish.”

“Who’s we?”

“Me,” Warren said. “You’re sure about this lady, huh?”

“I’m sure.” Kabul smiled. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Warren Chambers.”

“Should I call you Warr?”

“No.”

“Then don’t call me Ish.”

“What’s your square handle, Ish?”

“You’re impossible,” Kabul said, and rolled his eyes.

“Herman? Archibald? Rodney? If you picked Ishtar, it must’ve been a lulu.”

“What’s your square handle?” Kabul said. “Leroy?”

“That’s getting racist, right?” Warren said.

“No, Amos would be racist.”

He was beginning to enjoy all this. He didn’t think this was serious here. He figured the cops had already been to see him, so why should he tell anything to a two-bit private eye? It was time for a little dog-and-pony act, time to lay a little bullshit on the man.

“Let me splain something, Sapphire,” Warren said. “We have a client who is facing the electric chair, dig? Now let’s suppose we ask the State Attorney to run a little lineup, and let’s say our man identifies you as the cat he saw running off up the beach…”

“Why would he do that? I was home in bed. That would be perjury.”

“Why, gosh, I suppose it would. But maybe he’ll think perjury’s better than the electric chair, huh? Are you getting the drift, Ish?”

“Don’t call me Ish.”

“Ishtar, excuse me. Is it beginning to penetrate, Ishtar?”

“I love the words you use,” Kabul said. “Penetrate.”

“Could you please cut the tutti-frutti?” Warren said. “What do you want me to do, Ishtar? Open this can of worms for the State Attorney, or keep it all in the family?” Still bullshitting. The S.A. already had his case, and he wasn’t about to run a lineup. “Decide, okay?”

“I was in bed with a lady named Christie Hewes.”

“That’s your story, huh?”

“The police checked with her, they…”

“I’ll be checking with her, too,” Warren said.

“So check.”

“I will. And I’m a lot better than the police. You’d better be damn sure you were with her. Otherwise, when our man identifies you…”

“You’re not frightening me.”

“Good, I don’t mean to frighten you. I’ll be running along now,” Warren said, and rose, and shoved back his chair. “Nice talking to you,” he said, “I’ll give Christie your regards.”

“Wait a minute,” Kabul said. “Sit down.”

Warren kept standing.

“She’s scared enough as it is,” Kabul said. “Leave her alone, okay?”

“Scared of what?”

“Shit, man, this is a murder case!”

“Really? Gee.”

“Your guy gives the cops a bunch of shit about a man in black…”

“You,” Warren said.

“No, damn it, not me! Somebody he made up. To save his ass.”

“You’re beginning to catch on,” Warren said. “The minute he makes positive identification…”

“Leave Christie alone, okay?”

“Why?”

“I don’t want the police visiting her again. She already signed a statement.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You go there and scare her…”

“Me?”

“You get her to change her story…”

“Oh? Was she lying, Ishtar?”

“I’m not saying she was lying. But if she changes her story…”

“That means she was lying.”

“And if then your guy says I’m the one he saw on the beach…”

“Which is just what he will say, I promise you.”

“Then we’re both in trouble.”

“You more than the lady. Scare her how, Ishtar?”

“Into saying I wasn’t really with her.”

“But you were, weren’t you? That’s what you told the police. That’s what Christie swore to.”

“Yes.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

“I’m not worried.”

“Good. Then I’ll just go talk to her.”

“No. Wait.”

Warren waited.

“I don’t want to get anyone in trouble,” Kabul said.

“Who don’t you want to get in trouble?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Were you with someone else?”

Silence.

“Not Christie, huh?”

The silence lengthened.

“And not an alligator either, I’ll bet.”

“Look…”

“Who was it, Ishtar?”

“He’s married,” Kabul said. “The man I was with.”

“Ah,” Warren said. “What’s his name?”

“You’ll only get him in trouble.”

“No, I’ll only talk to him. Privately. Discreetly.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Or I’ll dog your tracks for the next month until I catch you and him in bed together, and then the shit’ll really hit the fan. Pictures, Ishtar. hi living color. Speak.”

Kabul was silent for a very long time.

“Listen,” he said at last. “I really love this guy. I don’t want to get him in trouble, really.”

“Who? Tell me his name.”

Another silence. Someone across the room laughed shrilly. Kabul looked toward the bar. Over his shoulder, almost in a whisper, as though reluctant to let the name escape his lips, he said, “Charles Henderson.”

“Thank you. The address, please.”

“He lives on Sabal Key.”

Still watching the action at the bar.

“Where on Sabal?”

“Sabal Towers.”

“Any address?”

“I don’t know the address. It’s the big condo there. Sabal Towers.”

“Apartment number?”

“I’ve never been to his apartment.”

He turned, looked up at Warren.

“Listen… please be careful,” he said. “Charles is very shy, and very vulnerable…”

“And very married, I know,” Warren said.

“Yes,” Kabul said.

“He’s got nothing to worry about,” Warren said. “And neither do you. If you were really with him that morning.”

“I was.”

“I hope so,” Warren said.

He really didn’t hope so. He hoped Kabul was lying in his teeth. That way it would be easy.

But he knew it never was.

The body was in one of the refrigerator compartments at Good Samaritan’s morgue. It had been transported by ambulance from Whisper Key to the hospital on the morning of January thirtieth, and the autopsy had been done that very day. This was now the fifth of February, but no one had yet claimed the body. The only person who might have wanted to claim the body was in jail, accused of having caused its present condition.