Ed McBain - Poison

On Tuesday morning, April 15, Willis and Carella met with Byrnes in his office. Elsewhere in the city, a great many citizens were mailing off their federal income tax returns. But death is as certain as taxes, and the men were there to discuss three corpses. Plus an attempton Willis that could have made him a corpse.

"Anything from Ballistics yet?" Byrnes asked.

"Supposed to hear from them sometime today," Willis said.

"Four shots fired?"

"Recovered three of the bullets and the four spent cartridge cases."

"If it's the same man, he's versatile," Byrnes said drily.

"Or desperate," Carella said.

"Where was Endicott at the time?" Byrnes asked.

"Home in his beddie," Willis said. "Kling beeped Hawes—who by the way, I didn't know was tailing Endicott—and Hawes rapped on his door five minutes after the shooting. It would've been impossible for Endicott to get all the way downtown in that time. He was in his pajamas when he answered the door."

"So we can scratch Endicott," Byrnes said. "How about the woman?"

"Home," Willis said.

"Across the street?"

"Yes."

"Firing came from the park?"

"Yes."

"So that lets her out," Byrnes said.

"Unless either of them hired the shooter," Carella said.

"Come on, Steve," Willis said, flaring immediately.

"It's a possibility," Byrnes said. "But an extremely remote one. What it looks like to me, we just lost two suspects."

"I hope we don't lose them for keeps ," Willis said.

"What do you mean?"

"I'd like to recommend renewed protective surveillance."

"I'll talk to Frick."

"The sooner the better," Willis said.

"I understand you're living with this woman," Byrnes said.

"Yes, sir. And I've got to tell you it pisses me off that I wasn't informed about the tails on her and Endicott."

"Be that as it may…"

"No, sir, I'd like to make this a formal complaint. As far as I know, I'm still working this case, and withholding information from me…"

"All right, your point is well taken. We thought, however…"

"Who's we?"

"Me and Steve."

"Well, next time let me know what you're thinking, okay? And doing ."

"I said your point was well taken," Byrnes said. "Meanwhile, what've we got now?"

"We should have a make on the gun sometime today," Carella said. "The stabbing instrument is anybody's guess. As for the nicotine, it could've been titrated from a pesticide, or distilled from tobacco mash."

"That takes equipment."

"Yes, sir."

"Which could be anywhere in the city."

"Yes, sir."

"In anybody's possession."

"Yes, sir."

"So where the hell do we start? This case is three weeks old and we're for Christ's sake just starting !"

"Sir," Carella said, "what happened last night…"

"And I wish to hell you'd both stop sirring me to death. Whenever a cop starts sirring me, I begin thinking he isn't doing his goddamn job."

"Sorry," Carella said, and squelched the "sir" on the tip of his tongue.

"What about last night?"

"Until last night, we were working two possibilities. Boy-Meets-Girl or Smokescreen. Somebody knocking off Marilyn Hollis's close friends—some jealous guy, a spurned lover, somebody's girlfriend, whatever. Or the lady herself doing them in for whatever reason, and trying to make it look like a Boy-Meets-Girl. Okay, last night somebody tried to get Hal. The lady didn't fire those shots, and neither did Endicott. So unless we go with the Hired Gun premise…"

"I think we can safely dismiss that," Byrnes said.

"Well, it's still a possibility," Carella said. "And so's the Boy-Meets-Girl. The only problem now…"

"I know the problem," Byrnes said. "The problem is we've run out of suspects."

"Or maybe we've got too many suspects," Carella said. "That depends on the lady."

"How so?" Willis said, bristling again.

"On how active she's been."

Byrnes looked from Carella to Willis.

"How long has she been in this city?" he asked.

"Bit more than a year," Willis said.

"I want a list of everyone she knows here," Byrnes said, "men and women both. People she's dated, people she's socialized with…"

"More than that, Pete," Carella said. "I'd like the names of anyone and everyone she's ever dealt with, even casually—her hairdresser, her doctor, her shoemaker, her grocer, the whole orbit. If this is a grudge-type thing…"

"I agree," Byrnes said, and turned to Willis. "Can you get that from her?"

"I'll try," Willis said.

"Never mind trying, just get it. Meanwhile, I'll talk to Frick about renewing the round-the-clocks on her and Endicott. Do you want protection, too?"

"Is that a rhetorical question?" Willis said.

"I don't know what that means," Byrnes said. "Yes or no?"

"No."

"Good," Byrnes said, and nodded briefly. "Get going."

"Everybody I know?" Marilyn said. "That's ridiculous."

" Everybody ,' Willis said. "I don't care how insignificant you think…"

"I know my goddamn dry cleaning man isn't killing anybody!"

"Did you ever have an argument with him?"

"Never."

"Never complained about a spot that wouldn't come out? Never…?"

"Well, maybe. But…"

"That's exactly the point," Willis said. "If we're dealing with a nut here…"

"A spot on a skirt isn't a reason to kill somebody."

"For you it isn't a reason, for me it isn't a reason, but for a nut it could be a reason."

"That makes everybody in this city a suspect!"

"Do you know everybody in this city?"

"No, but everybody in this city is a nut."

"I only want the people you know. Start with all the men you dated since you came here. Then give me all your girlfriends. Then I want the names of all your professional people—your internist, your gynecologist, your dentist…"

"The old one or the new one?"

"Both. Your periodontist…"

"I don't have one."

"Your dermatologist, your…"

"I don't have a dermatologist, either."

"Your chiropractor, your lawyer, your stockbroker…"

"You already have his name."

"List it again. Your accountant…"

"You have his, too."

"The real estate broker who sold you this house…"

"I bought it from the owner."

"Put his name on the list."

"Her name."

"Your banker, your plumber, your electrician, your butcher, your baker…"

"My candlestick maker…"

"Are you beginning to get the idea?"

"I'm beginning to get a headache."

"Nothing compared to the one we'll have."

Marilyn sighed.

"Okay?" he said.

"I'll need a ream of paper," she said.

The man from Ballistics called at three that Tuesday afternoon.

He reported that an examination of the recovered bullets and cartridge cases indicated they had been fired from a Colt Super .38 automatic pistol.

He explained to Carella—which Carella already knew, but he was always willing to give an expert his time in the sun—that the action of an automatic pistol was what made it possible to identify shells fired from such a pistol. Since the automatic action involved a number of movable parts, and since those parts were made of steel whereas shell casings were made of softer metals like copper or brass, the gun's parts always left marks on the cartridges. And since no two guns were exactly alike, no two guns would mark a cartridge in the same way. Similarly, a bullet could be examined for direction of rifling twists and number of lands and grooves which—together with the cartridge data—would yield a weapon's model and make. Was there anything else Carella needed at the moment? Carella said he did not need anything else at the moment.