Ed McBain - Sadie When She Died

“No. They said this ain’t a hospital. Which I know it ain’t, right? So I asked my cockroach lawyer to get me transferred to the Narcotics Service at Buenavista, and he said the prison authorities would have to make tests before they could transfer me there as a bona-fide addict, and he said that might take a couple of days. So in a couple of days I won’t be a fuckin’ bona-fide addict anymore, because by then I’ll vomit up my guts and kick it cold turkey, so what kind of sense does that make? I don’t understand rules. I swear to God, I really don’t understand rules. That’s one thing about junk. It makes you forget all the bullshit rules. You stick a needle in your arm, all the rules vanish. Man, I hate rules.”

“You feel like answering some questions?” Carella said.

“I feel like dropping dead is what I feel like.”

“If you’d rather I came back another . . .”

“No, no, go ahead. What do you want to know?”

“I want to know exactly how you stabbed Sarah Fletcher.”

Corwin squeezed his hands tightly together. He wet his lips, abruptly leaned forward as though fighting a sudden cramp, and said, “How do you think you stab somebody? You stick a knife in her, that’s how.”

“Where?”

“In the belly.”

“Left-hand side of the body?”

“Yes. I guess so. I’m right-handed, and she was facing me, so I guess that’s where I stabbed her. Yes.”

“Then what?”

“What do you mean?”

“What did you do then?”

“I . . . you know, I think I must’ve let go of the knife. I think I was so surprised I stabbed her that I let go of it, you know? I must’ve let go, don’t you think? Because I remember her backing away from me, and then falling, and the knife was still in her.”

“Did she say anything to you?”

“No. She just had this . . . this terrible look on her face. Shocked and . . . and hurt . . . and . . . and like, wondering why I did it.”

“Where was the knife when she fell?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Was the knife on the right -hand side of her body or the left?”

“I don’t know.”

“Try to remember.”

“I don’t know. That was when I heard the front door opening and all I could think of was getting out of there.”

“When you stabbed her, did she twist away from you?”

“No. She backed away.”

“She didn’t twist away while you were still holding the knife?”

“No. She moved straight back. As if she couldn’t believe what I done, and . . . and just wanted to get away from me, you know?”

“And then she fell?”

“Yes. She . . . her knees sort of gave way and she grabbed for her belly, and her hands sort of . . . it was terrible . . . they just . . . they were grabbing air , you know? And she fell.”

“In what position?”

“On her side.”

“ Which side?”

“I could still see the knife, so it must’ve been the opposite side. The side opposite from where I stabbed her.”

“Facing her, how was she lying on the floor? Show me.”

“Well . . .” Corwin rose from the bunk and stood before Carella. “Let’s say the toilet bowl there is the window, her feet were toward me, and her head was toward the window. So if you’re me . . .” Corwin got on the floor and stretched his legs toward Carella. “This is the position she was in.”

“All right, now show me which side she was lying on.”

Corwin rolled onto his right side. “This side,” he said.

“Her right side.”

“Yes.”

“And you saw the knife sticking out of the opposite side, the left side.”

“Yes.”

“Exactly where you’d stabbed her.”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“Was the knife still in that position when you broke the window and left the apartment?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t look at the knife again. Nor at her neither. I just wanted to get out of there fast. There was somebody coming, you understand?”

“One last question, Ralph. Was she dead when you went through that window?”

“I don’t know. She was bleeding and . . . she was very quiet. I . . . guess she was dead. I don’t know. I guess so.”

“Hello, Miss Simonov?”

“Yes.”

“Detective Kling, 87th Squad. I’ve . . .”

“Who?”

“Kling. Detective Kling. You remember we talked in the hallway . . .”

“Oh, yes, how are you?”

“Fine, thanks. I’ve been trying to get you all afternoon. It finally occurred to me, big detective that I am, that you probably work, and wouldn’t be home until after five.”

“I do work,” Nora said, “but I work right here in the apartment. I’m a freelance artist. I really should get an answering service, I suppose. I was uptown visiting my mother. I’m sorry you had trouble getting me.”

“Well,” Kling said, “I’ve got you now.”

“Just barely. I still haven’t taken off my coat.”

“I’ll wait.”

“Would you? This apartment’s stifling hot. If you close all the windows, they send up steam you could grow orchids with. And if you leave them open the tiniest crack, you come home and it’s like an arctic tundra. I’ll just be a minute. God, it’s suffocating in here.”

Kling waited. While he waited, he looked at his copper bracelet. If the bracelet actually began working, he would send one to his aunt in San Diego, who had been suffering from rheumatism for close to fifteen years. If it didn’t work, he would sue Meyer.

“Hello, I’m back.”

“Hello,” Kling said.

“Boy, that’s much better,” Nora said. “I can’t stand extremes, can you? It’s bitter cold in the street, and the temperature in here has to be at least a hundred and four. Wow. What were you calling about, Mr. Kling?”

“Well, as you probably know, we apprehended the man who committed the Fletcher murder . . .”

“Yes, I read about it.”

“And the district attorney’s office is now preparing the case against him. They called us this morning to ask whether you’d be available to make a positive identification of Corwin as the man you saw in the basement of the building.”

“Why is that necessary?”

“I don’t follow you, Miss Simonov.”

“The newspapers said you had a full confession. Why do you need . . .”

“Yes, of course, but the prosecuting attorney still has to present evidence.”

“Why?”

“Well . . . suppose, for example, that I confessed to the same murder, and it turned out my fingerprints were not on the knife, I was not the man you saw in the basement, I was in fact in Schenectady on the night of the murder, do you see what I mean? Confession or not, the D.A. has to make a case.”

“I see.”

“So what I’m calling about is to find out if you’d be willing to identify the man.”

“Yes, of course I would.”

“How about tomorrow morning?”

“What time tomorrow morning? I usually sleep late.”

“Name it.”

“First tell me where it’ll be.”

“Downtown. On Arbor Street. Around the corner from the Criminal Courts Building.”

“Where’s that?”

“The Criminal Courts Building? On High Street.”

“Oh. That’s all the way downtown.”

“Yes.”

“Would eleven o’clock be too late?”

“No, I’m sure that’ll be fine.”

“All right then.”

“I’ll meet you downstairs in the lobby. That’s 33 Arbor Street. At five to eleven, okay?”

“Yes, okay.”

“Unless I call you back. I want to check with the . . .”

“When would you be calling back? If you called.”