Ed McBain - Vespers

then, by studying the surrounding papers, and using his admittedly weak powers of reasoning, he hoped he might be able to figure what the purloined something had been. In short, planned to study the doughnut in order to define hole.

It occurred to him that Father Oriella might replaced the dead priest's G-L file with a G-L file his own. But no, the fastidious Marcella had refil the dead priest's papers exactly where they'd on the night of the murder, there to be consul whenever or if ever his successor had need to look something concerning the church. Carella opened. the drawer the bottom one on the left took ou! the first hanging folder in line, made-himself comfortable at the desk again, and began going," through the folders one by one.

He thought, at one point, that he'd found meaningful absence in a file labeled GUTTERS.

Last autumn, Father Michael had been in correspondence with a man named Henry Norton, Jr., at a firm called Norton Brothers Seamless Gutter Company, regarding the repair and possible replacement of the church's leaders and gutters. He had written a letter on September 28, making an appointment with Mr. Norton to visit the site and give an estimate, and then he'd written another letter on October 11, stating that he would like to see a written estimate in addition to the verbal estimate Mr. Norton had given him after his visit, and then a further letter on October 16, stating that he was now in receipt of the written estimate and that this would serve as agreement to the terms. It closed saying he would be looking forward to word as to when the actual work would commence, The missing document was the written estimate Father Michael said he'd received. It turned out, however, that the estimate had been misfiled. Carella ran across it later, in a folder labeled HOLY NAME SOCIETY.

There it was. On a Norton Brothers Seamless Gutter Company letterhead.

An estimate of $1,036 to repair the leaders and gutters at St.

Catherine's Church.

Filed between the minutes of the Holy Name Society meetings for January and February of this year.

The last folder in the file was a hefty one labeled LENT.

Carella read every last document in that folder.

There was nothing else in the G-L drawer.

Sighing heavily, he replaced the folder in bottom file drawer, and pushed the drawer back the cabinet. It did not close all the way. He open again. Eased it shut. It still would not completely. An inch or more of the drawer jutted from the cabinet frame. He opened the drawer a and checked the slide mechanism. The drawer seated firmly on its rollers, nothing seemed to snagging. So what the hell...?

He tried closing it again. It slid back into cabinet and then abruptly stopped. Something at back of the drawer, or perhaps behind the was preventing it from sliding all the way into cabinet. He opened the drawer again, got down his hands and knees, leaned in over the drawer, reached in behind it. Something was stuck there. He couldn't see what it was, but... He yanked back his hand in sudden searing A thin line of blood ran across his fingertips.

The something back there was a knife.

He had found the murder weapon.

The defense attorney, a man named Oscar Loring, leaned in closer to Willis and said, "And what was this, exactly, Detective?”

He had a bristly mustache and the breath of a lion who'd just eaten a warthog. It was now a quarter to three. Willis had been on the stand for an hour and a laalf this morning, and had been on again since two o'clock, when court had reconvened. Trying to explain, first, why he'd requested a no-knock warrant, and next why he'd shot a man who'd tried to kill him with an AR-15. This had been in October of last year, during a raid on a stash pad. The case had just come to trial. Loring was attempting to show that Willis had lied on his affidavit making application for the search warrant, that he'd had no reasonable cause to believe there'd be either weapons or contraband material in the suspect apartment, and that in fact he'd planted both the weapons and the contraband after he'd kicked in the door!

He now wanted to know exactly what time it was that Willis and Bob O'Brien and four uniformed cops from CPEP had kicked in the door to the apartment.

"It was nine o'clock in the morning," Willis said.

"Exactly nine o'clock?" Loring asked.

"I don't know if it was exactly. We had the raid scheduled for nine o'clock, it's my belief we were assembled by nine and went in at nine.”

"But you don't know if it was exactly...”

“Excuse me," the judge said, "but where are you going with this?”

His name was Morris Weinberg, and he had a bald head fringed with sparse white sideburns, and he was fond of telling people that he'd lost all his hair the moment he'd been appointed to the bench.

"Your Honor," Loring said, "it's essential to client's case that we know at exactly what illegal entry was...”

"Objection!”

The prosecuting attorney. Bright young guy the D.A.'s office, hadn't let Loring get away with i much as an inch of bullshit.

"Sustained. What difference will it make, Loring, if the police went in at a minute before or a minute after nine? What possible... ?”

"If Your Honor will permit me...”

"No, I'm not sure I will. You've kept this on the stand for almost two and a half hours picking at every detail of a raid he and policemen made under protection of a warrant duly signed by a justice of the Court.

You've questioned his integrity, his his methods, and everything but the legitimacy birth, which I'm sure you'll get around to the. “

"Your Honor, there is a jury pres...”

"Yes, I'm aware of the jury. I'm also aware of fact that we're wasting a great deal of time here, that unless you can tell me why it's so important pinpoint the time of entry, then I will have to ask' to leave off this line of questioning.”

“Your Honor," Loring said, "my client awake and eating his breakfast at nine o'clock.”

"So?”

"Your Honor, this witness claims they kicked the door at nine o'clock and found my client in bed.

Asleep, Your Honor.”

"So?”

"I'm merely suggesting, Your Honor, that if the detective is willing to perjure himself on...”

"Objection!”

"Sustained. Now cut that out, Mr. Loring. You know better than that.”

"If the detective is mistaken about what actually happened on the morning of the raid, then perhaps he made a similar mistake regarding cause.”

"Are you referring to probable cause for the search warrant?”

"Yes, Your Honor.”

"Detective Willis," Weinberg said, "why did you believe there were weapons and contraband materials in that apartment?”

"An undercover police officer had made several buys there, Your Honor, in advance of the raid. Of a controlled substance, namely cocaine. And he reported seeing weapons there. Of a type, I might add, that was fired at us the moment we entered the apartment.”

"What's his name? This undercover officer?”

"Officer Charles Seaver, Your Honor.”

"His precinct?”

"Same as mine, Your Honor. The Eight-Seven.”

"Does that satisfy you as to probable cause, Mr. Loring?”

"I'm just hearing of this, Your Honor. This not stated on Detective Willis's petition for a...”

“I said information based on my person knowledge and be...”

"You didn't mention a police officer...”

"What difference does it make? The warrant granted, wasn't it? I went into that damn with a...”

"Just a minute now, just a minute," said.

"Sorry, Your Honor," Willis said.

"Can we get Officer Seaver here this afternoon Weinberg asked.

"I'd need time to prepare, Your Honor," Loft said.

"Tomorrow morning, then. Be ready to call him nine A.M.”

"Your Honor...”