Ed McBain: Doll

I

I picked

I picked the knife up from the tray.

I didn’t intend to kill her, it was just I needed a fix, couldn’t she see that? For Christ’s sake, the times we used to have together. I stabbed her, I don’t know how many times.

Am I going to die?

The painting fell off the wall, I remember that.

I took all the bills out of her pocketbook on the dresser, there was forty dollars in tens. I ran out of the bedroom and dropped the knife someplace in the hall, I guess, I don’t even remember. I realized I couldn’t take the elevator down, that much I knew, so I went up to the roof and crossed over to the next building and got down to the street that way. I bought twenty caps with the forty dollars. Pat and me got very high afterwards, very high.

I didn’t know Tina’s kid was in the apartment until tonight, when Pat accidentally tipped to the goddamn talking doll.

If I’d known she was there, I might have killed her, too. I don’t know.

Fritz Schmidt never got to sign his dictated confession because he died seven minutes after the police stenographer began typing it.

The lieutenant stood by while the two Homicide cops questioned Kling. They had advised him not to make a statement before Byrnes arrived, and now that he was here they went about their routine task with dispatch. Kling could not seem to stop crying. The two Homicide cops were plainly embarrassed as they questioned him, a grown man, a cop no less, crying that way. Byrnes watched Kling’s face, and said nothing.

The two Homicide cops were called Carpenter and Calhoun. They looked very much alike. Byrnes had never met any Homicide cops who did not look exactly alike. He supposed it was a trademark of their unique specialty. Watching them, he found it difficult to remember who was Carpenter and who was Calhoun. Even their voices sounded alike.

‘Let’s start with your name, rank, and shield number,’ Carpenter said.

‘Bertram Kling, detective/third, 74579.’

‘Squad?’ Calhoun said.

‘The Eight-Seven.’ He was still sobbing. The tears rolled down his face endlessly.

‘Technically, you just committed a homicide, Kling.’

‘It’s excusable homicide.’ Calhoun said.

‘Justifiable,’ Carpenter corrected.

‘Excusable,’ Calhoun repeated. ‘Penal Law 1054.’

‘Wrong,’ Carpenter said. ‘Justifiable, P.L. 1055. Homicide is justifiable when committed by a public officer in arresting a person who has committed a felony and is fleeing from justice, Justifiable.’

‘Was the broad committing a felony?’ Calhoun asked.

‘Yes,’ Kling said. He nodded. He tried to wipe the tears from his eyes. ‘Yes. Yes, she was.’ The tears would not stop.

‘Explain it.’

‘She was… she was ready to shoot Carella. She was trying to kill him.’

‘Did you fire a warning shot?’

‘No. Her back was turned to me and she was… she was leveling the gun at Carella, so I fired the minute I came into the room. I caught her between the shoulders, I think. With my first shot.’

‘Then what?’

Kling wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. ‘Then she… she started to fire again, and I kicked out at her hand, and the slug went wild. When she… when she got ready to fire the third time, I… I…’

‘You killed her,’ Carpenter said flatly.

‘Justifiable,’ Calhoun said.

‘Absolutely,’ Carpenter agreed.

‘I said so all along,’ Calhoun said.

‘She’d already committed a felony by abducting a police officer, what the hell. And then she fired two shots at him. If that ain’t a felony, I’ll eat all the law books in this crumby state.’

‘You got nothing to worry about.’

‘Except the Grand Jury. This has to go to the Grand Jury, Kling, same as if you were an ordinary citizen.’

‘You still got nothing to worry about,’ Calhoun said.

‘She was going to kill him,’ Kling said blankly. His tears suddenly stopped. He stared at the two Homicide cops as though seeing them for the first time. ‘Not again,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t let it happen again.’

Neither Carpenter nor Calhoun knew what the hell Kling was talking about. Byrnes knew, but he didn’t particularly feel like explaining. He simply went to Kling and said, ‘Forget those department charges I mentioned. Go home and get some rest.’

The two Homicide cops didn’t know what the hell Byrnes was talking about, either. They looked at each other, shrugged, and chalked it all up to the eccentricities of the 87th.

‘Well,’ Carpenter said. ‘I guess that’s that.’

‘I guess that’s that,’ Calhoun said. Then, because Kling seemed to have finally gotten control of himself, he ventured a small joke. ‘Stay out of jail, huh?’ he said.

Neither Byrnes nor Kling even smiled.

Calhoun and Carpenter cleared their throats and walked out without saying good night.

She sat in the darkness of the hospital room and watched her sedated husband, waiting for him to open his eyes, barely able to believe that he was alive, praying now that he would be well again soon.

The doctors had promised to begin treatment at once. They had explained to her that it was difficult to fix the length of time necessary for anyone to become an addict, primarily because heroin procured illegally varied in its degree of adulteration. But Carella had told them he’d received his first injection sometime late Friday night, which meant he had been on the drug for slightly more than three days. In their opinion, a person psychologically prepared for addiction could undoubtedly become a habitual user in that short a time, if he was using pure heroin of normal strength. But they were working on the assumption that Carella had never used drugs before and had been injected only with narcotics acquired illegally and therefore greatly adulterated. If this was the case, anywhere between two and three weeks would have been necessary to transform him into a confirmed addict. At any rate, they would begin withdrawal (if so strong a word was applicable at all) immediately, and they had no doubt that the cure (and again they apologized for using so strong a word) would be permanent. They had explained that there was none of the addict’s usual psychological dependence evident in Carella’s case, and then had gone on at great length about personality disturbances, and tolerance levels, and physical dependence — and then one of the doctors suddenly and quietly asked whether or not Carella had ever expressed a prior interest in experimenting with drugs.

Teddy had emphatically shaken her head.

Well, fine then, they said. We’re sure everything will work out fine. We’re confident of that, Mrs Carella. As for his nose, we’ll have to make a more thorough examination in the morning. We don’t know when he sustained the injury, you see, or whether or not the broken bones have already knitted. In any case, we should be able to reset it, though it may involve an operation. Please be assured we’ll do everything in our power. Would you like to see him now?

She sat in the darkness.

When at last he opened his eyes, he seemed surprised to see her. He smiled and then said, ‘Teddy.’

She returned the smile. She touched his face tentatively.

‘Teddy,’ he said again, and then — because the room was dark and because she would not see his mouth too clearly — he said something which she was sure she misunderstood.

‘That’s your name,’ he said. ‘I didn’t forget.’