Ed McBain - Long Time No See

She opened the box drawer and pulled out the box. She asked him if he wanted a room. He said he wanted a room, and she carried the box to a cubicle with a louvered door, which he locked behind him. There was a pair of scissors on the wall-hung desk top, for the convenience of those customers clipping coupons. He lifted the lid of the box. There was only one thing in the box, a carbon copy of a typewritten letter. He looked at the letter. It was addressed to Major John Francis Tataglia at Fort Lee, Virginia. The letter was dated November sixth. It read:

November 6th

Hello, Major Tataglia:

I have decided that I want some money for my eyes. I was at the reunion of D Company in August, and I learned there that every one of the grunts is as pisspoor as me, so there' s no sense asking them for any help. I talked to Captain Anderson who used to command the 1st Platoon, and he told me you're a major now stationed at Fort Lee, which is where I'm writing to you- Major, I want some money from you. I want some money for my eyes- I want one thousand dollars a month from you, for the rest of my life, or I am going to write to the Army and tell them what happened to Lieutenant Blake- I am going to tell them you and the others killed Lieutenant Blake. I don't give a shit about you or any of them. The others can't help me cause they're as broke as I am, but you are a career officer and you can send me money Maj or. I want the money right away, Major. I am going to give you till the end of the month, and if the first check for one thousand dollars isn't here by then, I will call the United States Army and tell them what happened during Ala Moana. You may think I can't prove nothing, Major, but that doesn’t matter. I am a blind veteran with a full disability pension, and Maj or I don’t have to tell you what kind of heavy shit can come down on you if an army investigation starts about what happened that day. You were the one stuck the first bayonet in him, Maj or, and if they call the other men they are going to have to say you did it all by yourself, or else they are going to have to admit they were all a part of it. None of them is in the Army no more, only you. You are in trouble, Major, if you don't send me the money. There is a copy of this letter, so if anything happens to me my wife will know about it, and you will be in even more serious trouble than you already are. So send me a check for one thousand dollars by the first of December, and keep sending me checks on the first day of each month or your ass will be in a sling. Send the checks made payable to James R. Harris, and send them to me at 3415 South Seventh Street, Isola.

I will not wait past December 1.

Your old Army buddy,

This time Carella’s warrant was a bit more specific. It read:

1. I am a detective of the Police Department assigned to the 87th Detective Squad.

2. I have information based upon my personal knowledge and belief and facts disclosed to me by the medical examiner that three murders have been committed, and that all of the victims were blind.

3. I have further information based upon my personal knowledge and belief and facts disclosed to me by Detective-Lieutenant Peter Byrnes, commanding officer of the 87th Detective Squad, that an assault was attempted against a blind man on the night of November 22, and that during the attempted assault the perpetrator was bitten by the victim’s dog.

4. I have further information based upon my personal knowledge and belief that the attempted assault upon the blind man falls into that category of crimes known as “Unusual Crimes,” and there is probable cause to believe that it is linked with the three homicides, each similarly falling into the “Unusual Crimes” category, and each occurring within a brief time span, starting with the first murder on Thursday night, November 18, and culminating with the attempted assault on Monday night, November 22.

5. I have further information based upon my personal knowledge and belief that one of the victims, James R. Harris, wrote an extortion letter to his former commanding officer, John Francis Tataglia, and that this letter was written on November 6, and that it demanded monthly payments of one thousand dollars for the remainder of the life of James R. Harris to keep him from divulging the information that Tataglia in concert with others killed Lieutenant Roger Blake on the third day of December ten years ago during an army operation called Ala Moana.

6. Based upon the foregoing reliable information and upon my personal knowledge, there is probable cause to believe that a dog bite on the person of John Francis Tataglia would constitute evidence in the crime of attempted assault and possibly in the crime of murder.

Wherefore, I respectfully request that the court issue a warrant in the form annexed hereto, authorizing a search of the person of Major John Francis Tataglia for a dog-bite wound.

No previous application in this matter has been made in this or any other court or to any other judge, justice, or magistrate.

The magistrate to whom Carella presented his application was the same one he’d asked for permission to open the Harris safety deposit box. He read the application carefully, and then signed the search warrant attached to it.

The sentry at the main gate would not let Carella through.

Carella showed him the warrant, and the sentry said he would have to check it with provost marshal. He dialed a number and told somebody there was a detective here with a search warrant, and then he handed the phone to Carella and said, “The colonel wants to talk to you.”

Carella took the phone. “Hello,” he said.

“Yes, this is Colonel Humphries, what’s the problem?”

“No problem, sir,” Carella said. “I’ve got a court order here, and your man won’t let me through the gate.”

“What kind of court order?”

“To search the person of Major John Francis Tataglia.”

“What for?”

“A dog bite, sir.”

“Why?”

“He’s a murder suspect,” Carella said.

“Put the sentry on,” the colonel said. Carella handed the phone through the car window to the sentry. The sentry took it, said, “Yes, sir?” and then listened. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Yes, sir,” he said again, and put the receiver back on its wall hook. “Third building on your right,” he said to Carella. “It’s marked Military Police.”

“Thank you,” Carella said, and drove through the gate. He parked the car in the gravel oval in front of a red-brick building, and then went inside to where a corporal was sitting behind a desk. He asked for Colonel Humphries, and the corporal asked him who should he say was here, and Carella told him who he was, and the corporal buzzed the colonel and announced Carella, and then told him it was the door just ahead, please go right in.

Colonel Humphries was a man in his early fifties, tall and suntanned, with a firm handclasp and a voice that sounded whiskey-seared. He explained to Carella that he had just spoken to the post commander, who had authorized the body search provided an Army legal officer and an Army physician were present when the order was executed. Carella understood this completely. The Army was protecting the rights of one of its own.

The five of them assembled in the post dispensary — a lieutenant colonel, who was the appointed legal officer; a major, who was the Army physician; Colonel Humphries, who was the senior Military Police officer on post; Carella, who was beginning to feel a bit intimidated by all this brass; and Major John Francis Tataglia, who read the court order and then shrugged and said, “I don’t understand.”