Ed McBain - Hark!

'All served with a baby-greens-and-tomato salad with

lemon, extra virgin olive oil, and century-old balsamic vinegar dressing,' he said, grinning in anticipation.

Carella looked at Teddy.

She looked back at him.

'Isn't there anything . . . simpler?' Carella asked.

'Simpler?' Buddy said.

'Well . . . it's just... I don't think many of the invited guests would appreciate such a . . . such an ambitious menu.'

'These are, believe me,' Buddy said, 'some of our very simplest selections. Virtually basic, in fact.'

'Well,' Carella said, and shrugged and turned to Teddy. 'Hon?' he said.

Some of the guests will be coming from Italy, she signed.

Carella told Buddy what her hands had just said.

'So what would you like to serve them?' Buddy said, somewhat snippily. 'Spaghetti and meatballs?'

'No, but. . .' Carella started.

'Or maybe you should just take them over to McDonald's,' Buddy snapped.

'Maybe so,' Carella said, and rose abruptly. 'Let's go, hon,' he told Teddy, who had stood up at almost the same moment.

'We also make a nice risotto,' Buddy offered as they went out the door.

'ANYBODY COMING IN the building has to talk to me first,' the doorman told them. 'Has to state his business with me,' he said. 'I clear all visitors with the tenant. That's the rule here. No exceptions.'

'So if anyone had come here for Ms. Stanford . . .'

'That's right.'

'. . . on Memorial Day . . .'

'Correct.'

'. . . he'd've had to talk to you.'

'Which is what I just told you,' the doorman said, 'din't I?'

'So how'd he get in her apartment?' Eileen asked. 'I got no idea,' the doorman said. 'Is there a service entrance?' 'Yes, there is a service entrance.' 'Where's that?'

'Around the back of the building. On Eleventh. But the man taking deliveries there has to call up to the tenant, same as me. Before he lets anything or anyone go upstairs. So you can save yourselves a walk around there.' 'Is there a door to the roof?' Willis asked. 'Of course there's a door to the roof.' 'Is it kept locked?' 'All the time.'

'Mind if we take a look up there?' The doorman looked at them, and then wagged his head as if to say there was no accounting for people who wished to waste their time. 'Let me get the super to take you up,' he said, and yanked a wall phone off its hook.

THE BUILDING SUPERINTENDENT seemed surprised.

'Looks like somebody smashed the lock,' he said, studying the door to the roof.

'Looks that way, doesn't it?' Willis said.

'Sure does.'

'When's the last time you were up here?'

'Can't recall.'

'Try,' Eileen said.

'Must've been last week sometime. Water tank was leaking. Had to bring a plumber up.'

'When last week would that have been?'

'Friday, must've been. Had a tough time getting a plumber cause the long weekend was coming up. Well, it's always tough getting a plumber. Plumbers are the divas of the building trade, you know. Guys fixing toilets, can you imagine? Divas!'

Eileen had already taken out her pocket calendar.

'So this would've been Friday, May twenty-eighth, is that right?' she said. 'When you last came up here?'

'If that's what it says,' he said, and leaned over to look at the calendar in her hand.

And the lock was okay at that time?' Willis said.

'Had to use my key to open the door,' the super said.

'Anybody been up here since?'

'Not to my knowledge.'

'Let's see what's on the other side,' Eileen said.

A doorknob was lying on the floor inside the door. The super poked a screwdriver into the hole the missing knob had left, angled it upward, and used it for leverage to pull open the door. They stepped out onto the roof.

There were times when this city took your breath away.

The day was sunny and bright, with wisps of white clouds scudding across an immaculate blue sky. At this time of day, the sun glinted on the gray-green waters of the River Harb below in the near distance, causing dancing sparkles of silver to glimmer on its surface. There was enough breeze to encourage the city's sailors; at least a dozen boats skimmed along the river's surface, bright sails billowing in the sunlight. Across the river in the next state, a non-competitive skyline seemed modestly secure in its own stark beauty. And to their right, the city's rooftops stretched far and away to the distant River Dix.

'Is the building next door a doorman building?' Eileen asked.

'Don't think so,' the super said.

'So he could've got onto this roof from the one next door,' Willis said.

'If he was of a mind to, yes,' the super said.

'Could've jumped right over.'

'If he was intent on doing mischief, yes.'

They turned back to the door behind them.

Someone had worked long and hard on the knob in order to get to the lock. Removed the knob, approached the lock from inside the door.

'No alarm on this door?' Willis said.

'No,' the super said.

'You ought to look into that,' Willis said.

Why? Eileen wondered. Horse is already out of the

barn.

The super was thinking the same thing.

'Can we go down to her apartment again?' Eileen asked.

THIS TIME THEY concentrated on the door and the lock. And this time, now that they were looking for them, they found the discreet marks a burglar's jimmy had left. So now they knew how he'd got in. Jumped onto the roof from the building next door, forced the lock on the roof door, did the same thing to the lock on Gloria Stanford's apartment. Was waiting for her when she got home that day. He'd used a gun with a silencer, Ballistics had confirmed that. So no one had heard any shots, no one had raised an alarm. Had he left the building the same way he'd got in? Probably. Easy come, easy go-

They thanked the super for his time, and left 1113 Sil-vermine Oval.

'Want to do a canvass next door?' Willis asked.

'I doubt if anyone spotted him going in or out,' she said. 'But if you want to knock on doors, I'm with you.'

'For the sake of closure,' he said.

'I hate that word,' she said. 'Closure.'

'So do I.'

'It's a lawyer's word.'

'I also hate lawyers,' Willis said.

'Me, too.'

They were out on the street now. It was almost three-thirty. Their shift was almost over.

'So what do you say?'

'Let's do it,' she said. 'Keep the Loot happy.'

THE DEAF MAN'S third and final note that day cleared up any lingering doubt that he was trying to spear the word spear, so to speak:

Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear-grass to make them bleed, and then to beslubber our garments with it and swear it was the blood of true men.

'What the hell is spear-grass?' Parker asked. 'Some kind of grass they have over there in England,' Genero said.

'How do you happen to know that?'

'Common sense. If it's Shakespeare, it has to be England.'

'This doesn't even look like Shakespeare,' Hawes said.

'That's right. It's not even poetry'

'Shakespeare also wrote prose,' Carella said.

'And this time, there is a message,' Kling said, 'prose or whatever.'

"What's prose?' Genero asked.

'What's the message?' Hawes asked.

'That it's all fake. He's misleading us. It's slander, the venom'd spear. It's a lie again.'

'Same as always.'

'Tickle your noses to make them bleed

'Must be some kind of sharp grass, don't you think? That spear-grass?'

'. . . and then beslubber your garments

'I love that word.'

'Sounds like beslobber,' Brown said. 'Beslobber the

Johnson

'Beslubber the garments

'The clothes . . .'

'. . . with the blood from the nose, make it look like battle wounds. That's what he's saying. It's all fake. He's leading us to spear, but he's going someplace

else.'

'Then why's he leading us to spear?'