Ed McBain - Long Time No See

The lie came to his lips suddenly and brilliantly. There was nothing in the rules that said you could not lie to an assistant medical examiner, so he instantly embroidered the lie. “The Canine Unit cut off the dog’s head and tested the brain,” he said. “The dog had rabies.”

“Then this man had better be treated right away,” the M.E. said, and then did an a cappella chorus on this dread disease, explaining that the incubation period might be anywhere from two to twenty-two weeks, after which the major could expect severe pains in the area of the healed wound, followed by headaches, loss of appetite, vomiting, restlessness, apprehension, difficulty swallowing, and eventual convulsion, delirium, coma — and death. He said the word “death” with a finality altogether fitting.

Tataglia remained unperturbed. He had no reason to believe that any of this was prearranged, which indeed it wasn’t. Carella wasn’t the one who’d called the Medical Examiner’s Office, nor had he said a single word to the M.E. before the man asked if the dog was rabid. The question seemed a natural one, the answer seemed entirely truthful, and the M.E.’s concern seemed only professional, that of a physician giving medical advice to a man in possible danger. But Tataglia didn’t even blink.

Carella took Stewart aside, and the men held a brief whispered consultation.

“What do you think?” Carella asked.

“I think he’s a cocky little bastard and we can break him.”

“What about the colonel?”

“Loomis doesn’t know his ass from his elbow when it comes to criminal law.”

“Do you want to handle the Q and A?”

“No, you take it You know more about the case than I do.”

“Shall I show him the letter?”

“Advise him of his rights first.”

“He may decide to clam up.”

“No. When they’re this fuckin smart,” Stewart said, “they’re only dumb.”

Both men walked back to where the others were clustered about Genero’s desk. Genero had gone home long ago, but the blue bikini panties were still resting near his telephone.

“Major Tataglia,” Carella said, “in keeping with the Supreme Court decision in Miranda versus Arizona, we are not permitted to ask you any questions until you are warned of your right to counsel and your privilege against self-incrimination.”

“What is this?” Loomis asked suspiciously.

“This is known as warning your client of his rights,” Stewart said, and smiled.

“First,” Carella said, “you have the right to remain silent if you so choose. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, of course I do,” Tataglia said.

“Good. Second, you do not have to answer any questions if you don’t want to. Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” Tataglia said wearily, “I understand it.”

“Third, if you do decide to answer any questions, the answers may be used against you, do you understand that?”

“Yes, yes,” Tataglia said, and actually yawned.

Carella thought We are going to get you, you little prick.

“You also have the right to consult with an attorney before or during police questioning—”

“My attorney is Colonel Loomis.”

“And to terminate the questioning at any time. Is all of that clear?”

“Yes, it is all perfectly clear,” Tataglia said.

“Good,” Carella said, and reached into his inside jacket pocket and took from it the letter he had found in the Harris safety deposit box. “Have you ever seen this before?” he asked.

“What is it?”

“I should really ask whether you’ve ever seen the original of this. This is a carbon copy. Have you ever seen the original of this?”

Tataglia took the letter and studied it. “No,” he said at last.

“It’s addressed to you,” Carella said.

“At Fort Lee, Virginia. I was transferred from there in September. This letter is dated November sixth.”

“Ah,” Carella said.

“May I see the letter, please?” Loomis said.

“Certainly,” Carella said, and handed it to him. “You never received this letter, is that right, Major?” he said.

“That’s right,” Tataglia said. “The Army isn’t always very good at forwarding mail,” he said, and smiled.

“What do you make of its contents?” Carella asked.

“It’s contents?”

“Yes. You’re seeing it for the first time now...”

“I haven’t even read it,” Tataglia said.

“Oh, I thought you’d read it. Colonel Loomis, would you give him the letter, please?”

“I wouldn’t answer any further questions, if I were you,” Loomis said. “Mr. Carella, Mr. Stewart, I would like to suggest—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tataglia said, and took the letter from Loomis. “I have nothing to hide.”

Good, Carella thought. You're just what we think you are, and we’re going to nail you to the wall. He watched as Tataglia slowly and carefully read the letter. Finally, Tataglia looked up.

“Have you read it now?” Carella asked.

“Yes.”

“For the first time, right?”

“That’s right.”

“What do you think of it?”

“I have no idea what it means.”

“You don’t know what it means?” Carella said.

“That’s right.”

“It seems to me that Jimmy Harris is suggesting that you stuck a bayonet in Lieutenant Blake.”

“That’s nonsense.”

“Lieutenant Blake was killed, wasn’t he?”

“Of course he was.”

“But this isn’t how he was killed. He wasn’t killed the way Jimmy Harris suggests.”

“He was killed when a mortar shell exploded near him.”

“Ah,” Carella said.

“I told you that when you came to see me yesterday.”

“Yes, but Jimmy seems to have thought you stuck a bayonet in the lieutenant.”

“I have no idea what Jimmy thought or didn’t think. Jimmy is dead.”

“So he is. He seems to have thought the others also stuck bayonets in the lieutenant.”

“I repeat—”

“Because in his letter he says you and the others killed the lieutenant.”

“I don’t know what others you mean.”

“I would guess the men in Alpha Fire Team, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know what the letter means. I can only think Jimmy was crazy when he wrote it.”

“Ah,” Carella said. “You think he just invented all this, is that it?”

“I don’t know what he invented or didn’t invent. I only know that this is an obvious attempt at blackmail.”

“Then you didn’t stab Lieutenant Blake?”

“Of course I didn’t!”

“Excuse me,” Loomis said, “but I really feel the major should not answer any further questions. Major Tataglia, as your legal advisor...”

“I have nothing to hide,” Tataglia said again.

“What happened that day?” Carella asked.

“What day?”

“The day Lieutenant Blake got killed.

“There was a mortar attack,” Tataglia said, and shrugged. “He was killed by an exploding mortar shell.”

“Was this before or after he ordered Alpha up the hill?”

“What hill?”

“Up the hill to attack the mortar emplacement.”

“I recall no such order.”

You'd been fighting with another gang all that month —

Heavy fighting, man.

And now you were resting.

Yeah, and Lloyd told us to go on up.

What did he mean by that?

I told you. Upstairs.

“The lieutenant didn’t order Alpha up the hill?” Carella asked.

“I don’t know what hill you mean.”

“Where was the lieutenant’s command post?”

“I don’t remember.”