Ed McBain - The Big Bad City

“Like to bake, do you?”

“Oh, yes.”

"Ever bake chocolate chip cookies?”

“Sometimes.”

"Were you baking chocolate chip cookies on August twenty-fifth?"

A: I don't remember.

Q: Have you ever baked chocolate chip cookies?

A: I don't particularly care for them.

Q: But have you ever ... ?

A: Chocolate chip cookies.

Q: I understand. But have you ever baked them?

A: I don't think so.

Q: Never baked chocolate chip cookies in your life?

A: I don't think so.

Q: Yes or no, Mr. Blyden?

"He's already answered the question," Meltzman said.

"Not to my satisfaction.”

"You'll be satisfied only when he says Yes, he has baked chocolate chip cookies.”

"No, I'll be satisfied when he gives me a straight yes or no answer.”

Q: Mr. Blyden, have you ever baked chocolate chip cookies in your life?

A: Yes. Maybe. Once or twice.

It was not uncommon for a person being interrogated to reverse direction, especially when he wasn't under oath. Blyden was probably thinking they knew somehow that he baked chocolate chip cookies. Maybe one of the neighbors could tell by the smell that they were chocolate chip cookies. Or maybe they'd entered his apartment since they'd arrested him, and found his recipe. Or maybe they could later confiscate his pots and pans, do tests on them, find out he'd baked chocolate chip cookies in them. So it was better to admit he'd baked them once or twice.

Q: How about August twenty-fifth? Did you bake chocolate chip cookies that day?

A: No.

Q: What did you bake? What kind of cookies?

A: I don't remember.

Q: Well, that was only six days ago. Don't you remember what kind of cookies you baked six days ago?

A: No, I don't.

Q: Then how do you know they weren't chocolate chip cookies? AI rarely bake chocolate chip cookies.

"Excuse me, counselor," Mettzman said. "Where's this going?”

"Excuse me, counselor," Nellie said, "but this isn't a courtroom, and I really must ask you to refrain from interjecting.”

"I realize ...”

"This is a simple Q and A, Mr. Meltzman. No objections, no rules of evidence, nothing to constrain me from getting at the truth.”

"Just which truth are you seeking?”

"You do know that your client is thought to be a burglar the media has nicknamed The Cookie Boy, don't you?”

"That is the allegation, yes.”

"You know, too, that The Cookie Boy leaves chocolate chip cookies at the scene of all his burglaries.”

"A singular idiosyncrasy, to be sure. But, Miss Brand ...”

"Mrs. Brand.”

"Forgive me. We're dealing here, Mrs. Brand, with a specific burglary and a specific pair of murders committed during this burglary. My client has no prior criminal record of any kind, and he has just told you that he's only baked chocolate chip cookies on one or two occasions in his lifetime. Why he was arrested at all is beyond my comprehension.

Are you planning to charge him with these murders?”

"We are.”

"Then why don't you do so?”

"I'd like a few questions answered first," Nellie said.

"I think you've asked enough questions for now," Meltzman said. "If you're going to charge him, do it. If not, we're out of here.”

"Is that your client's decision?”

"Mr. Blyden?" Meltzman said, turning to him. "Do you wish to answer any further questions?”

"I do not wish to answer any further questions," Blyden said.

"Can we put it any more plainly?”

"That's it then," Nellie said, and signaled to the video guy. "Have a seat, counselor. I'd like to discuss this with the officers here.”

"Five minutes," Meltzman said, and looked at his watch.

Together, she and the detectives went down the hall to Byrnes's office.

"This makes it tough," she said. "We were weak going in. Now that he won't tell us anything, what've we got? Nothing that'll stick.”

"We've got blood in the apartment," Parker said.

"If it's his. We won't know that without a DNA test.

And we can't take a sample without a court order.”

“So let's get one,”

Byrnes said.

"I'm sure we can. We've got probable cause coming out of our ears. But meanwhile, he'll run to China.”

"Not if we charge him with the burg," Meyer said. "That'd give us six days to chase the murders.”

"Get our court order and our blood sample in that time," Willis said.

"He just recanted the burglary," Nellie said.

"So what?" Kling said. "We've got cookie crumbs found at the scene.

Chocolate chip.”

"That only means someone in the apartment was eating chocolate chip cookies and left a mess. It didn't have to be Blyden.”

"The lab's running tests right this minute," Byrnes said. "If the crumbs match the other cookies he left behind ...”

"Then maybe we've got him in the apartment," Nellie said, "but only maybe. Anyway, defense'll bring in ten thousand different chocolate chip cookies that all tested basically the same.”

"Tasted?”

"Tested. Tasted, too, I'll bet.”

"We've also got his prints on the ladder going up," Meyer said.

"Places him behind the building, but not necessarily in the apartment.

And not necessarily on the day of the murders. Have we got his prints in the apartment?”

"No.”

"What else have we got?”

Nobody answered.

"Have we got anything else?" she asked.

They were all looking at her now.

"It's weak," she said.

"You've got no idea the flak on this one," Byrnes said. "You're saying hit him with the burg, anyway," Nellie said, "take our chances. Okay, I'm saying there's a huge risk of flight here. The judge sees a weak burg, he's liable to order low bail or no bail, Blyden's on his way.”

For a moment, she wished this was a movie. Wished she really was Meg Ryan in a movie. In a movie, everything always worked out all right.

In real life, killers sometimes walked.

"So what do you want to do, Nell?" Byrnes asked, and sighed heavily.

"What else can we do?" she said. "I'll tell Meltzman we're charging his man with Burg Two, and asking for a court order to draw blood for a DNA test. At tomorrow morning's arraignment, it's the judge's call.”

"Too bad chocolate chip cookies ain't DNA," Parker said.

"Too bad," Nellie agreed.

"Don't worry about any of this," Meltzman said. You'll be out on bail tomorrow, I promise you. It'll take weeks before they get the DNA results. But even if they get a match ...”

"They will' Blyden said. "My blood was all over the place. I had a nosebleed.”

"Don't worry about it," Meltzman said. "But I am worried about it.”

"Don't be.”

"Because I didn't kill them," Blyden said.

"Of course you didn't.”

"I mean, really. I didn't kill them. I really am innocent.”

"Don't worry about it," Meltzman said.

Matthew Hope called Carella at home that Monday night, just as he was about to turn on the ten o'clock news. Carella's routine was more or less fixed whenever he was working the day shift. He got home at around four-thirty, five o'clock, depending on traffic, spent some time relaxing and reading the paper, had dinner with Teddy and the kids around six-thirty, read again after dinner his taste ran to nonfiction . watched the news on television, and was in bed by eleven for a six A.M. alarm-clock wakeup. He usually left the house by seven and drove down to the station house, getting there at seven-thirty, seven-forty, again depending on traffic. During the winter months, he allowed himself more time. Now, in August, with the city relatively quiet, he could even leave the house at seven-fifteen and still be in the squad room by a quarter to eight.

Matthew called at five to ten.

"It's not too late, is it?" he asked at once.