Ed McBain - Three Blind Mice

“Was it Stephen Leeds?”

She translated this into Vietnamese, listened to Trinh’s answer, and fed it back to Matthew in English.

“Yes, it was Stephen Leeds.”

“How does he know that?”

Again she translated, and again she listened.

“He identified Leeds in a lineup.”

And now the dialogue seemed to flow back and forth between her and Matthew, the necessary translations forming only a singsong counterpoint to the main theme — which happened to be this matter of positive identification.

“How many men in the lineup?”

“Seven altogether.”

“All of them white?”

“Three white, three black, one Asian.”

Loaded, Matthew thought. Only two other whites besides Leeds.

“They didn’t have him wearing that yellow jacket and hat, did they?”

“No. All of the men were wearing jailhouse clothing.”

Then the lineup had to have taken place between Leeds’s arrest on Tuesday, August fourteenth, and Trinh’s departure for Orlando on Thursday, the sixteenth. Matthew himself had read about the witnesses in Friday morning’s Herald-Tribune .

“When did this lineup take place?” he asked.

“The day before I left for Orlando. A Wednesday.”

“The fifteenth.”

“Yes, I think that was the date.”

“Prior to that time, had you seen any pictures of Leeds in the newspaper? Or on television?”

“No.”

“Do you watch television?”

“Yes. But I did not see any pictures of the white man who killed my countrymen.”

“How do you know Leeds killed them?”

“It is said he killed them.”

“Said by whom?”

“Said in the community.”

“Said in the community that a white man named Stephen Leeds killed your countrymen?”

“Yes.”

“But is it said in the community that the white man you identified is the one who killed your countrymen?”

“Yes, this is also said.”

“Was this said before you made identification?”

“I do not understand the meaning of your question.”

“I’m asking if prior to the lineup you discussed Stephen Leeds with anyone who may have seen pictures of him in the newspaper or on television?”

“I discussed the murders, yes.”

“With anyone who’d seen a picture of Leeds?”

“Possibly.”

“And was he described to you? Did anyone tell you what he looked like?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Do you know a man named Tran Sum Linh?”

“I do.”

“Prior to the lineup, had you discussed the murders with Tran Sum Linh?”

“I may have.”

“Did he tell you he’d seen a man wearing a yellow hat and jacket entering the house where the three murder victims lived?”

“No, he did not.”

“Before the lineup, then, no one had described Stephen Leeds to you, from pictures they’d seen in the paper or on television…”

“No one.”

“And Tran Sum Linh did not mention that he’d seen a man in a yellow hat and jacket earlier that night?”

“He did not.”

“So the first time you saw this man was at ten minutes past twelve…”

“Yes.”

“On the night of August thir — well, actually the morning of August fourteenth, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Running to the curb, where an automobile was parked.”

“Yes.”

“Running from where ?”

“From the house where my three countrymen lived. My countrymen who were murdered.”

“You actually saw this man coming out of their house?”

“No. But he was coming from the direction of their house.”

“I see. And running to this automobile.”

“Yes.”

“What kind of automobile?”

“I am not familiar with American cars.”

“Are you familiar with Italian cars?”

“No. Not those, either.”

“What color was this car?”

“Dark blue. Or green. It was difficult to tell in the dark.”

“But there was a moon.”

“Yes, but the car was parked under a tree.”

“So it was either a dark blue car or a green car.”

“Yes.”

“Not a red car.”

“It was not a red car.”

“Was it a sports car?”

“I do not know what a sports car is.”

Mai Chim translated this to Matthew and then went into a lengthy dissertation in Vietnamese, presumably explaining what a sports car was. Trinh listened intently, nodding in understanding, and finally said, “No, this was not a sports car. It was just an ordinary car.”

“Two-door or four?”

“I did not notice.”

“But you did notice Stephen Leeds’s face.”

“Yes. I am better with faces than with cars.”

“What else did you notice?” Matthew asked.

Trinh answered the question in Vietnamese.

Mai Chim nodded. Her face was noncommittal.

“What?” Matthew said.

“He noticed the license-plate number,” she said.

They were lunching at Kickers. Sitting on the deck outdoors, under one of the big green umbrellas. Patricia Demming and her investigator, Frank Bannion. Bannion was thinking they made a nice couple. He was wondering if she had a boyfriend or anything. He was feeling very attractive after last night. Last night, he had taken Sherry Reynolds to bed. He always felt attractive after he’d scored. Made him feel he was devastating. Especially if the woman was on the youngish side.

Sherry had told him in strictest confidence that she had just celebrated her thirtieth birthday two weeks ago. This was while she was blowing him. In order to prove that older women knew how to do certain things better than teenage girls. To Bannion, thirty was young. He told her so. He also told her that he was forty-two years old and still had his own hair and teeth. She seemed to find this quite impressive.

Today was Sherry’s day off.

She had told him last night that she had all day off tomorrow and they could do whatever they wanted all night long or even all day tomorrow since she didn’t have to be back at work till ten-thirty Wednesday morning. Bannion told her he had to be back at work at nine tomorrow, but they’d give it their best shot anyway. It was now twelve-thirty tomorrow, actually today already, actually Tuesday already, and here he was at a table overlooking the water, sitting with a very good-looking blonde who happened to be his boss, but about whom he was nonetheless entertaining libidinous thoughts. The weather down here did that to you. Down here in this sticky heat, it was very easy to get horny and to feel devastating.

“This is where the boat pulled in,” he said.

“What time?” she asked.

“About a quarter to eleven.”

“Which would’ve been about right, wouldn’t it?” Patricia said.

“Coming out of Willowbee at ten-thirty, sure, Leeds could’ve made it here easy in fifteen minutes.”

“Did she actually see it coming down the channel?”

“Yep. And she knows the water. She didn’t see it coming off marker 72, that’s too far north. But she picked it up on its approach to the dock here.”

“Saw it from where?”

“The bar there. Clear shot of the channel.”

Patricia looked.

“Okay,” she said. “Did she describe the boat?”

“Down to the cleats.”

“Saw the name on the transom?”

“No. He pulled in bow first.”

“Which slip?”

“Second from the end. On your right.”

Patricia looked again.

“Still a clear shot from the bar,” Bannion said. “And even though she didn’t see the name…”

“ Felicity ,” Patricia said, and shook her head.

“Sucks, don’t it?” Bannion said, taking a chance. Nothing crossed her face. He considered that a good sign. “But even if she couldn’t see it ‘cause the transom was away from her, she knows boats, all kinds of boats, and she can describe this one in court. Better yet, she can describe him .”