McBain, Ed - Killer's Wedge

And why did Hawes want heat to begin with?

He knew that Hawes had misunderstood him. He felt somewhat like a man falsely accused of racial prejudice because of a misunderstood remark. Hawes, of course, had not been attached to the 87th at the time of the Hernandez kill. Hawes did not know that Carella had risked his life for Byrnes' son, had come very close to losing that life.

Hawes did not know how strong the bond was between Byrnes and Carella, did not know that Byrnea would gladly face a cannon if be thought it would help Steve.

But Byrnes was faced with the problem of command And using the timeless logic of generals in battle, he knew that he could not be concerned over the welfare of a single man when the lives of many other were at stake. If Virginia Dodge's single weapon were that .38, he'd have gladly sacrificed himself on its muzzle. But she also held bottle of high explosive.

And if she fired at the bottle, the squad room would go up and with it every man in the room. He owed a lot t Carella, but he could not-as commanding officer of thi squad-try a gamble which would endanger every life for a single life.

He hoped now that Hawes' plan was not a foolihardl one.

And, sourly, he thought, Any plan is a foolhardy 0fl4 with that bottle of nitro staring at us.

Bert Kung was beginning to sweat.

He almost walked over to the windows and then he remembered something.

Hadn't Cotton just walked over there to close them Hadn't he just seen Cotton ... And wasn't the temperature in the room controlled b:

thermostat? Had someone raised the thermostat? Cotton Did Cotton have a plan?

Maybe, maybe not. In any case, Bert Kung would me! right down into a puddle on the wooden floor before h opened a window in the joint Curiously, he waited Profusely, he sweated.

Hal Willis was about to comment on the rising temperature in the room when he noticed that Bert KIng's shirt was stained with sweat. Their eyes locked for a moment. Kijug wiped a hand across his brow and shook perspiration to the floor.

In an instant of mute understanding, Hal Willis realized that it was Supposed to be getting hotter in the room.

He searched KIng's eyes, but there was no further clue in them.

Patiently, his underwear shorts beginning to stick to him, he wiggled on his chair and tried to make himself more comfortable.

Meyer Meyer wiped the beaded sweat from his upper

It's hot as hell in here, be thought. I wonder if anybody found my notes.

Why doesn't somebody turn down the goddam heat? he thought. He glanced over at the thermostat. Cotton Ilawes was standing near the wall, his eyes fastened to Virginia Dodge. He looked for all the world like a sentry guarding something. What the hell was he guarding?

Hey, Cotton, he thought, reach over and lower that damn thermostat, will you?

The words almost reached his tongue.

And then he wondered again if anyone had found his notes.

And, wondering this, his mind drifted away from thoughts of the heat in the room and-oddly for a man who had not been inside a synagogue for twenty years- he began to pray silently in Hebrew.

Angelica Gomez spread her legs and closed her eyes. It was very hot in the room, and with her eyes closed she imagined she was lying on a rock in the mountains with the sun beating down flatly on her browned body. In Puerto Rico, she would climb trails as old as time, trails hidden by lush tropical growth. And then she would find a hidden glade, a glade wild with ferns. And in that glade, there would be a level rock, and she would take off all her clothes and tilt her breasts to be kissed by the sun.

Idly, she wondered why there was no sun in the streets of the city.

Lazily, she kept her eyes closed and allowed the heat to surround her.

Suspended, her mind in the Caribbean, she relished the heat and hoped no one would open a window.

The telephone rang.

Seated at her command desk, her brow hung with tiny globes of perspiration, Virginia Dodge nodded to King who picked up a receiver and waited for her to folloW suit. She nodded again.

"Eighty-seventh Squad, Detective Kung."

"Hello. Carella there?"

"Who's this?"

"Atchison at the lab. Where's Carella?"

"Out. Can I take a message?"

"Yeah, I suppose so. What'd you say your name was?"

"Bert Kung."

"I don't think I know you."

"What difference does it make?" Kung asked.

"I like to know who I'm dealing with.

Listen, on thi Scott kill?"

"Yeah?"

"Sam Grossman gave me some photos to study. Of th door jamb?"

"Yeah?"

"You familiar with the door jamb?"

"Carella's talked to me about it. Give me the information and I'll pass it on to him."

"What's your hurry? Don't you like conversation?"

"I dote on it. But we're a little busy here right now."

"I like conversation," Atchison said.

"Breaks the manotony You should have to sit here all day with tel tubes and photoeraphs and fluorescent light. You shoul' have to examine clothes that stink of blood and pus an' piss all day long. Then you wouldn't mind a little conversation."

"I bleed for you," Kung said.

"What about the door jamb?"

"I should be home right now. Instead, I've been blowing up pictures all day long, trying to help you mugs. That's the gratitude I get."

"I'll send you some of my old laundry so you can check for laundry marks. How's that?" Kung said.

"That's very funny. Be sure it's unwashed laundry, like the kind we always get. The kind that stinks of blood and pus and ..

"Yeah, I get the picture."

"What'd you say your name was?"

"Bert Kung."

"You're a comedian, huh, Kung?"

"Kung and Cohen, haven't you heard of us?"

"No," Atchison said flatly.

"Bird calls, dance routines, and snappy patter. We play bar mitzvahs and Irish weddings. You've never heard of Kung and Cohen?"

"Never. Is that supposed to be another joke?"

"Fm making conversation. That's what you're hungry for, isn't it?"

"Don't be so damn obliging. Someday you'll come in here and want a favor, and I'll throw a bag of laundry at you."

"What about the door jamb?"

"Maybe I shouldn't even tell you. Let you sweat it out on your ~ "Okay, suit yourself."

"Sure, and Sam would blow a gasket.

What's with him and this Carella? You'd think he was his son-in-law or something, the way he's knocking himself out here."

"No,~~ Kung said.

"Steve's his father.

There's a strong father-son relationship there."

There was a long pause on the line. Then, in a flat voice, Atchison said, "For the sake of the act, I hope Cohen is funnier than you.

You want to take down this dope?"

"I've been waiting," Kung said.

"Okay. I blew up the photos and studied them. There are markings on the inside of the door jamb, where the lock was hanging loose. It was hanging by one screw, do you follow, allegedly snapped off when the guys there used a crowbar on the door."

"Go ahead."

"Well, it looks at though somebody used either a chisel or a screwdriver to pry that lock loose from the inside."

"What are you saying?"

"That the crowbar used on the outside didn't rip that lock loose. There's evidence that it was torn off from the inside. The jamb's all marked up. The guy who did it was probably in pretty much of a hurry."

"You're saying the door wasn't locked."

"That's what I'm saying."

"Then why couldn't they open it?"

"That's the sixty-four dollar question, Mr.

Kung Why couldn't three strong guys open a door that wasn't locked? We thought maybe the body hanging like that~ held it closed. But three strong men could have pulled it open in spite of the body. Either that, or the rope would have snapped. So it ain't that."

"Then what is it?"