Ed McBain - Blood Relatives

“How long have you been here in this doorway?”

“I don’t know. What time is it?”

“It’s a little past two.”

“I don’t know.”

“When did you have your fight?”

“Around ten-thirty, eleven o’clock. You got a cigarette? Anybody got a cigarette?”

“Here,” the lab technician said, and extended a pack to him.

“Thanks,” Sully said, and shook a cigarette free from the pack and then lit it. The detectives watched him silently. He handed the pack back to the lab technician.

“You were in a bar and got into a fight, is that it?” Carella said.

“Yeah, hit a man in the nose,” Sully said.

“And he bled all over your shirt, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Anybody see this fight?”

“No, nobody saw it.”

“How come? Was the bar empty?”

“No, the bar wasn’t empty, but it didn’t happen in the bar, it happened outside the bar.”

“Then no one saw the fight.”

“That’s right, no one saw it. Except the guy I was fighting.”

“And who was that?”

“I don’t know his name,” Sully said.

“You had a fight with a man whose name you don’t know.”

“That’s right. He was in the bar there, and we got into an argument, and he invited me to step outside.”

“Anybody hear this argument?”

“I don’t know what anybody heard or didn’t.”

“Anybody see you going outside with him?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’d you do after the fight?”

“I chased him up the street, and then I went back inside the bar and called my wife. She said I was a drunken bum and I shouldn’t bother coming home. So I started looking for a place to sleep.”

“What time was this?”

“When I called the wife? I told you. Around ten-thirty, eleven, something like that.”

“What’d you do then?”

“I left the bar and I went over my friend’s house. Larry. But he wasn’t home. So then I stopped at a liquor store and bought a pint, and I found this doorway and sat here drinking till I fell asleep. What is this, anyway? I don’t like getting stopped by cops and questioned right in the street.”

“Have you ever been questioned by the police before? In the street or anyplace else?”

“Once.”

“Why were you questioned?”

“There was a burglary in my building.”

“And the police questioned you about it?”

“Yeah.”

“Why’d they do that?”

“Well, they questioned everybody about it.”

“You’ve never been involved in a burglary, have you?”

“No, no.”

“Have you ever been involved in any crime?”

“No.”

“Mr. Sully, we’re going to have to take you with us,” Carella said.

“What for?”

“Well, for one thing, we’d like to test those bloodstains on your—”

Sully came up out of the doorway in a crouch, flicking the cigarette away with his right hand and then throwing his left fist into Carella’s gut, doubling him over. Kling grabbed for Sully, but he shoved past him, knocking him flat to the wet pavement. He was sprinting for the street when the lab technician tackled him. Sully fell headlong to the sidewalk, and then began crawling and kicking toward the curb, the technician hanging onto his legs for dear life. Kling jumped up and onto Sully’s back, and then twisted his arms behind him and cuffed his wrists together. Sully kicked out once more at the lab technician, who sat bolt upright on the sidewalk now and blinked into the night. He was surprised and somewhat thrilled by his own behavior; this was the first time he’d ever physically apprehended a criminal. He could not wait to get home to tell his wife about it. Trouble was, she probably wouldn’t believe him.

It was 3:00 in the morning. In the squadroom, it was technically Sunday, but it still felt like Saturday. They did not tell Sully that a teenage girl had been murdered five blocks from where they’d found him sleeping in a doorway. They told him only that they were going to book him for assaulting two police officers, and then they said they wanted to ask him a few questions, if that was all right with him. He did not have to answer any questions if he didn’t want to.

“Questions about what?” Sully asked.

“About what you were doing in that doorway. And about why you decided to assault—”

“I didn’t assault anybody,” Sully said. “I took a poke at you, and I shoved your partner. That’s all I did.”

“That’s assault,” Carella said.

“If that’s assault, what is it when you really hurt somebody?” Sully said, and shook his head.

“Look, Mr. Sully—”

“Anyway, did I hurt you?” Sully asked. “Tell the truth, did I hurt you?”

“No, you didn’t hurt me,” Carella said.

“Then how about giving me a break, huh? I didn’t hurt anybody, so how about letting me out of here, huh? How about forgetting that assault stuff, okay? Who assaulted anybody? All I did was take a feeble little poke at—”

“Mr. Sully, would you care to answer some questions, or wouldn’t you?” Carella said.

“Sure, I’d care to answer some questions. If that’ll help you forget the assault stuff, sure I’ll answer—”

“I can’t make any promises,” Carella said.

“I realize that,” Sully said, and winked. “What kind of questions have you got?”

“Mr. Sully, the big one is why you resisted arrest back there. We identified ourselves as police officers, you knew we were police officers, yet you hit me—”

“But I didn’t hurt you,” Sully said immediately.

“You hit me nonetheless, and you knocked my partner to the sidewalk—”

“I only shoved him, he must’ve slipped,” Sully said.

“Why’d you do that, Mr. Sully?”

“Because I’m scared of cops,” Sully said.

“You’re scared of cops, so you go around slugging them and pushing them—”

“No, I panicked, that’s all. I didn’t want to end up in a police station. I’m scared of cops.”

“Is there any reason for that?”

“No reason.”

“You’re just scared of cops.”

“Yeah. That’s all. Yeah. It’s a phobia.”

“Mr. Sully, have you ever been arrested before?”

“Never.”

“Mr. Sully, we can’t check with the Identification Section till eight in the morning, but at that time we’ll find out whether there’s a yellow sheet on you—”

“No, no, I’ve never been arrested.”

“You’re sure about that.”

“Positive. I’ve had complaints made, but I’ve never been arrested.”

“What kind of complaints?”

“Complaints. People make complaints. A person gets a little drunk, people make complaints.”

“Which people?”

“Well, a person’s wife, for example. A person gets a little drunk, he slaps his wife around a little, right away she calls the cops.”

“Has your wife complained to the police about you?”

“Well, just a few times. Three or four times.”

“Because you beat her?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say I beat her. I just slapped her around a little. You know. Little slapping around. Have a few drinks, slap her around a little. That’s all.”

“Where’d you get the blood on your shirt, Mr. Sully?”

“Well, you know.”

“Was it in a fight outside a bar?”

“Well, not exactly.”

“Where was it?”

“Well, in the bedroom.”

“Your bedroom?”

“Yeah. That’s right. Yes, my bedroom. I had a few drinks, you know, so I went in there and she was brushing her hair, so I told her to stop that. She’s sitting there brushing her hair and counting, it can drive a person crazy, somebody sitting there and counting out loud. Fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two, her arm going like a piston, and she’s counting, fifty-three, fifty-four, I told her to cut it out. So she didn’t cut it out, so I hit her. So she was bleeding a little from the nose, nothing serious. So she told me to get the hell out, which I did. I went over Larry’s house, but he wasn’t home, so then I bought a pint, and I was in the doorway sleeping. I thought maybe she’d filed another complaint. That’s why I tried to get away from you guys. Look, I’ll tell you the truth, I don’t know how bad I hurt her this time. I was pretty drunk, I hit her hard. She was bleeding a lot when I left the house. So I didn’t want any trouble with the law, I mean a man and his wife can work things out between them, am I right? We’ve always worked things out between us. So okay, I slap her around every now and then, but she knows I love her.”