Ed McBain: The Mugger

“What do you think, Rog?” Willis asked. Havilland sighed and then half shrugged, half nodded.

Willis, in pensive agreement, was silent for a moment. Then he asked, “Did he give you his name, Miss Ellio?”

“Yes,” Miss Ellio said. Tears welled up into her inexpressive eyes. “I know this sounds silly. I know you don’t believe me. But it’s true. I didn’t make this up. I… I never had a black eye in my life.”

Havilland sighed.

Willis was suddenly sympathetic. “Now, now, Miss Ellio,” he said, “we believe every word you’ve told us. You’re not the first person who’s come to us with this story, you see. We’re trying to relate the facts of your experience to the facts we already have.” He fished into the breast pocket of his jacket and handed Miss Ellio a handkerchief. “Here now, dry your eyes.”

“Thank you,” Miss Ellio sobbed.

Havilland, bewildered and mystified, blinked at his chivalrous colleague. Willis smiled in his most pleasant A&P clerk manner. Miss Ellio, responding immediately, sniffed, dried her eyes, and began to feel as if she were buying a half pound of onions rather than being interrogated on the activities of a mugger.

“Now then,” Willis said kindly, “when did he give you his name?”

“After he hit me.”

“What did he say?”

“Well, he… he did something first.”

“And what was that?”

“He… I know this sounds silly.”

Willis smiled reassuringly, radiantly. Miss Ellio lifted her face and smiled back girlishly, and Havilland wondered if perhaps they weren’t falling in love.

“Nothing a mugger does sounds silly,” Willis said. “Tell us.”

“He hit me,” Miss Ellio said, “and he warned me, and then he… he bowed from the waist.” She looked up as if expecting shock and surprise to register on the faces of the detectives. She met level, implacable gazes. “He bowed from the waist,” she repeated, as if disappointed with the mild response.

“Yes?” Willis prompted.

“And then he said, ‘Clifford thanks you, madam.’”

“Well, that figures,” Willis said.

“Mmm,” Havilland answered noncommittally.

“Clifford thanks you,” Miss Ellio repeated. “And then he was gone.”

“Did you get any kind of a look at him?” Havilland asked.

“Yes, I did.”

“What did he look like?”

“Well…” Miss Ellio paused, thinking. “He looked just like anybody else.”

Havilland and Willis exchanged patient glances. “Could you be a little more definite?” Willis asked, smiling. “Was he blond? Dark-haired? Red-headed?”

“He was wearing a hat.”

“What color were his eyes?”

“He was wearing sunglasses.”

“The bright night lights blind him,” Havilland said sarcastically. “Either that, or he’s come up with a rare eye disease.”

“Maybe,” Willis said. “Was he clean-shaven? Bearded? Moustached?”

“Yes,” Miss Ellio said.

“Which one?” Havilland asked.

“The man who attacked me,” she said.

“I meant which one of the thr—”

“Oh. Clean-shaven.”

“Long nose or short nose?”

“Well… I guess a medium nose.”

“Thin lips or fat lips?”

“Medium, I guess.”

“Was he short or tall?”

“He was medium height,” Miss Ellio said.

“Fat or thin?”

“Medium,” she said again.

Willis, somehow, was no longer smiling. Miss Ellio regarded his face, and her own smile disintegrated.

“Well, he was,” she said defiantly. “I can’t help it if he didn’t have a big strawberry mark on his cheek or a mole on his nose or anything. Listen, I didn’t ask for him to be an average person. I didn’t ask for him to steal my purse, either. There was a lot of money in that bag.”

“Well,” Havilland shouted, “we’ll do what we can to apprehend him. We have your name and address, Miss Ellio, and if anything comes up, we’ll notify you. Do you think you’d be able to make a positive identification if you saw the man again?”

“Definitely,” Miss Ellio said. “He took a lot of money from me. There was a lot of money in that purse.”

Willis bit. “How much, exactly, was in the purse?” he asked.

“Nine dollars and seventy-two cents,” Miss Ellio answered.

“Plus a fortune in rare gems,” Havilland added in one of his choicer attempts at wit.

“What?” Miss Ellio said.

“We’ll call you,” Havilland answered, and he took her elbow and escorted her to the slatted railing that divided the squadroom from the corridor. When he got back to the desk, Willis was doodling on a sheet of paper.

“What do you make of Miss Ellio?” Willis asked.

“I think she invented the story.”

“Come on, Rog.”

“I think she’s been reading in the newspapers about the mugger named Clifford. I think she’s an old maid who lives in a two-room apartment. I think she looks under the bed every night and finds nothing but the chamber pot. I think she tripped over the chamber pot last night, bruised herself, and decided to make a bid for a little excitement.” Havilland caught his breath. “I also think you and her would make a good couple. Why don’t you ask her to marry you?”

“You’re very comical on Tuesdays,” Willis said. “You don’t believe she was mugged?”

“The sunglasses part was a stroke of real genius! The lengths people will go to when they’re lying.”

“He may have been wearing sunglasses,” Willis said.

“Sure. And Bermuda shorts, too. Like I said, he’s suddenly contracted pink eye.” Havilland snorted. “‘Clifford thanks you, madam.’ Straight out of the papers. There ain’t a citizen of this city who hasn’t heard about Cliff the Mugger and his punch in the mouth and his bow from the waist.”

“I think she was telling the truth,” Willis said.

“Then you type up the report,” Havilland answered. “Just between you and me, Cliff’s beginning to give me a big pain in the behind.”

Willis stared at Havilland.

“What’s the matter?” Havilland shouted.

“When’s the last time you typed up a report?”

“Who wants to know?”

“I do,” Willis said.

“When did you become police commissioner?”

“I don’t like the way you goof off,” Willis answered. He wheeled over the typing cart, opened the desk drawer, and took out three sheets of the DD report form.

“Everybody else is goofing off, ain’t they?” Havilland asked. “What’s Carella doing if he’s not goofing off?”

“He’s on his honeymoon, for Pete’s sake,” Willis said.

“So? What kind of an excuse is that? I say this Ellio broad is a nut. I say this doesn’t call for a report. I say if you feel like typing one up, go ahead.”

“Do you feel strong enough to take another look at the Lousy File?”

“Under what?” Havilland mocked. “Muggers named Clifford who wear sunglasses and Bermuda shorts?”

“We may have missed something,” Willis said. “Of course, the cabinet’s at least four feet away. I don’t want you to strain yourself.”

“I been through the file and back again,” Havilland said. “Every time this Clifford character hits another broad. There’s nothing, nothing. And what this Ellio broad gave us ain’t gonna add one bit to the picture.”

“It might,” Willis said.

“No,” Havilland said, shaking his head. “And you know why? Because that mugging didn’t take place in the street, like she said it did.”

“No? Then where did it take place?”

“In her head, pal,” Havilland said. “All in Miss Ellio’s head.”

The shoulder didn’t hurt at all now.

It was funny. You figure you get shot in the shoulder, it’s going to hurt for a long, long time. But it didn’t. Not at all.