Ed McBain - Fat Ollie's Book

“What kind of cap?”

“A baseball cap.”

“What color was it?”

“Black.”

“Anything on it?”

“How do you mean?”

“Any letters for a team?”

“I still don’t get you.”

“NY for New York, or LA for Los Angeles…”

“SD for San Diego? The Padres?”

“M for the Milwaukee Brewers?”

Weaver was thinking.

“The Phillies?” Kling said.

“The Royals?”

“Anything like that?”

“Yes, they was letters on it,” Weaver said at last.

“Which team?”

“I got no idea.”

“Well, what’d you see, sir?”

“SRA.”

“SRA?” Kling said.

“The letters SRA, yessir.”

“SRA,” Carella repeated.

“You sure it wasn’t SF?” Kling asked. “For San Francisco? The San Francisco Giants?”

“Or SL?” Carella asked. “For the St. Louis Cardinals?”

“No, it was SRA. I feel sure about that. I was a spotter, you know. In Nam.”

“What color were the letters?” Carella asked.

“White.”

“White letters on a black cap,” Kling said. “What team do you suppose that can be?”

“Oh Jesus,” Carella said.

“What?”

“Smoke Rise. Smoke Rise Academy.”

THE PLAYING FIELDSbehind Smoke Rise Academy were empty as Carella and Kling drove past them at three-thirty that Monday afternoon. Girls and boys in their school uniforms—gray trousers and black blazers for the boys, gray skirts and similar black blazers for the girls—walked along country roads anomalous in a city as big as this one, wending their easy way homeward, chatting, teasing, skipping, laughing on an afternoon still bright with spring sunlight.

The same housekeeper who’d answered the door for Carella on his earlier visit opened the door for them now. She said she would inform Mrs. Henderson they were here, and then politely left the door open a crack while she went to summon her. Pamela herself opened the door for them not three minutes later. She was still wearing black, a sweater and skirt this time, black pantyhose, black loafers.

“Has there been some news?” she asked at once.

“May we come in?” Carella asked.

“Please,” she said, and led them into the house and into the living room Carella remembered from the first time he was here. “Would you care for some coffee?” she asked.

“No, thank you,” Carella said.

Kling shook his head.

The detectives sat on the sofa, their backs to the French windows and the Hamilton Bridge in the near distance. Pamela sat in a chair facing them.

“We’re sorry to bother you again,” Carella said, “but we’d like to ask a few more questions.”

“I was hoping…”

“Mrs. Henderson,” Carella said, “can you tell us where you were on the morning your husband was shot and killed?”

“I’m sorry?” she said.

“I asked…”

“Yes, I heard you. Will I need a lawyer here?”

“I don’t think so, Mrs. Henderson.”

“Why do you want to know where…?”

“You don’t have to answer the question if you don’t want to,” Kling said.

“Oh, I’ll just bet,” she said, and then immediately, with a slight wave of her hand to indicate this was all nonsense, “I was here at home.”

“This would’ve been around ten, ten-thirty…”

“Yes, I was here at home. Is that it? In which case…”

“Was anyone here with you?”

“No. I was alone.”

“No housekeeper, no…”

“Our housekeeper comes in later on Mondays.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“She does the weekly marketing on Mondays. She doesn’t get here till noon or thereabouts.”

“So she wasn’t here at all that Monday morning, is that correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“You were here alone.”

“Yes.”

“Children gone?”

“The children walk to school. They leave here at eight-thirty.” She looked at her watch. “They should be home any minute, in fact. I would rather you were gone by then. If there are no further questions…”

“Do you drive a car, Mrs. Henderson?”

“No. Well, do you mean do I have alicenseto drive? Yes, I do. But no, we do not keep a car in the city. My husband was a city councilman. We were provided with a car and driver whenever we needed one.”

“I believe you mentioned your son was on the school baseball team.”

“Yes, he plays second base.”

“Does he have a baseball uniform?”

“Yes?”

“With a baseball cap?”

“Yes?”

“A black cap with the initials SRA on it? For Smoke Rise Academy?”

“I’m sure he does.” She rose suddenly. “I hear them now,” she said. “If you don’t mind, I must ask you to leave.”

They passed the children on the way to their car.

A boy of eleven, a girl of eight or nine.

“Hello there,” Carella said.

Neither of them answered.

THE UNIFORMED GUARDin the booth at the Smoke Rise gate wasn’t sure he should talk to them.

“It’s okay,” Kling assured him. “We’re just checking some stuff Mrs. Henderson already told us.”

“Well,” the guard said, but then immediately relaxed into his five minutes of fame.

“Can you tell us what time the Henderson housekeeper got here last Monday?”

“Jessie? Around noon, I guess it was. She usually comes in late on Mondays. Does the shopping for them, you know. Or used to. I don’t know what it’ll be like now.”

“How about Mrs. Henderson? Did she leave the development anytime before then?”

“We don’t call it a development,” the guard said.

“What do you call it?”

“People who live here call it a compound.”

“Did she leave the compound anytime that morning?” Carella asked.

“Saw her going out around nine,” the guard said.

“In a limousine or what?”

“No, in a taxi. Let him in a few minutes before that.”

“Around nine, you say.”

“Well, the cab got here at five to nine, it must’ve been. Drove out some ten minutes later? Quarter past, let’s say. Around that time.”

“Yellow cab, was it?”

“Yellow cab, yes.”

“What was she wearing, did you notice?”

“Mrs. Henderson? I just told you. She was in a taxi!”

“Yes, but did you happen to…?”

“How could I tell what she waswearing?”

“Thought you might have noticed.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You didn’t glance in the cab or anything?”

“No, I didn’t. I knew it was the same cab came in ten minutes before, I just opened the gate and waved him on through.”

“When did she get back, would you know?”

“Let me think a minute.”

“Take your time.”

The guard thought it over.

“I was having a cup of coffee.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Must’ve been around eleven, eleven-fifteen.”

“Yellow cab again?”

“Yeah, but a different one. The first guy was black. This guy was wearing a turban.”

“Sikh, huh?”

“No, he looked pretty healthy to me. Big guy with a turban. Probably a terrorist, don’t you think?” the guard said, and grinned.

“Probably,” Kling said. “Did you notice what she was wearing this time?”

“Well, yeah. Cause I looked in the cab to make sure it was somebody who lived here. When I saw it was Mrs. Henderson, I waved her on in.”

“So what was she wearing?”

“She was dressed casual. Jeans, some kind of jacket, a baseball cap.”

“Any letters on the cap?”

“It looked like the school cap to me. The school here? The ones the kids wear? It looked like that. Hell of a thing, ain’t it?” the guard said. “I’ll bet she went out to meet her husband. He’d been away, you know. She prob’ly went out to meet him, don’t you think?”