Ed McBain - Killer's Choice

'This appeal,' Kling said. 'On what was it based?'

'We were trying to show that Annie was an unfit mother. You must understand, Mr Kling, that if she failed to dress the child properly, or if they lived in a poor neighbourhood, or if she had too many—ah… boy friends…well, none of these would be sufficient reasons to support a claim of unfitness. You understand that.'

'Yes,' Kling said. 'What was unfit about Annie?'

Dobberly sighed heavily. 'She was a hopeless drunkard,' he said.

'Boone never mentioned that,' Kling said. 'Neither did her mother.' Kling thought a moment. 'Did this have any connexion with the fact that she worked in a liquor store?'

'Perhaps. I haven't seen Annie since the divorce. She was not a drunkard then.'

'Then she became one between the time of the divorce and the time you made your appeal, is that right?'

'Apparently. Yes. Unless her alcoholism was kept secret during the time I knew her. I wouldn't know about that.'

'You know Boone well, am I right?'

'Fairly well, yes.'

'He told me he made no attempt to see either Annie or the child until six months after the divorce. Yet he claims he loved both very much. Can you offer any explanation for his behaviour?'

'Certainly,' Dobberly said.

'What?'

'He was hoping he'd get her back. Annie, I mean. He stayed away from her and the child because he thought she'd miss him, thought she'd want him again, thought she'd "come to her senses," as he put it.' Dobberly shrugged sadly. 'It didn't work that way, Mr Kling. And finally, Ted faced the facts. It was all over. That was when he decided he wanted Monica. If he couldn't have Annie, he would at least have the child. That's the way his thinking went, Mr Kling.'

'I see. Have you ever met Mrs Travail?'

'Ted's mother-in-law? Never. From what he says about her, she seems to be the mother-in-law who's in all the nasty jokes one hears.'

'She speaks very highly of him.'

'Does she?' Dobberly raised his eyebrows. 'I'm surprised.'

'Why?'

'Well, as I said, Ted seems to dislike her intensely.' Dobberly paused. 'You don't seriously believe he killed Annie, do you?'

'I don't seriously believe anything yet,' Kling said.

'He didn't kill that girl, Mr Kling, believe me. I'm willing to bet my life on that. The boy's harmless. Annie Boone took a lot of happiness out of his life. He was only trying to recapture a little of it by getting his daughter back. He would no more do murder than you or I.'

' I would, Mr Dobberly,' Kling said.

'In the line of duty, yes. Legal murder. If you had to. But Ted Boone didn't have to.'

'How else would he have gotten his daughter back?'

'I already told you, Mr Kling. Annie was a drunkard.'

'I have only your word for that, so far. And you admitted you hadn't seen her since the divorce. I hardly think you'd make a capable witness as to whether or not she was a drunkard.'

'Ted can tell you,' Dobberly said.

'If Ted Boone committed murder, he can tell me a lot of things, all of which might be untrue.'

'He's not a criminal type. I used to be a criminal lawyer many years ago, when I first began practice. Those were booming days for criminals. I was very busy. I got to know criminal types. Surely, Mr Kling, you are familiar with criminal types.'

'Surely, Mr Dobberly, you are familiar with the fact that most murders are not committed by people with previous criminal records.'

'Yes. But I do not feel that Ted Boone is capable of murder.'

'I hope you're right. What kind of a girl was Anne?'

'Pretty, vibrant.'

'Overly intelligent?'

'Average, I would say.'

'Overly quick?'

Dobberly shrugged. 'Average.'

'Would you say she had outgrown Mr Boone?'

'No, I don't think so. They both seemed to have grown in social experience. Naturally, I didn't have very much to do with them. That is, I only saw them occasionally. Whenever Ted needed the services of an attorney. It was Anne, you know, who wanted the divorce. Ted didn't. I tried to keep them together. I always do. But she wanted it. It was a strange thing. They seemed very well matched.'

'But you didn't see them very often?'

'No.'

'How often?'

'In the two years I'd known them before the divorce? Oh, perhaps a dozen times.' Dobberly shook his head. 'Very well matched. I couldn't understand it. I tried to keep them together. But she wanted the divorce. I still don't know why.'

'There's only one person who does, Mr Dobberly,' Kling said.

'Who?'

'Annie Boone.'

CHAPTER EIGHT

Regal Oldsmobile was in that part of the city called Riverhead. There was, in actuality, no river which had its head—or even its tail—in that part of the city. In the days of the old Dutch settlers the entire part of the city above Isola was owned by a patroon named Ryerhert. Ryerhert's Farms was good land interspersed with igneous and metamorphic rock. As the city grew, Ryerhert sold part of his land and donated the rest of it until eventually all of it was owned by the city. Ryerhert was hard to say. Even before 1917 when it became unfashionable for anything to sound even mildly Teutonic, Ryerhert had become Riverhead. There was, to be sure, water in Riverhead. But the water was a brook, really, and it wasn't even called a brook. It was called Five Mile Pond. It was not five miles wide, nor was it five miles long, nor was it five miles from any noticeable landmark. It was simply a brook which was called Five Mile Pond in a community called Riverhead which had no river's head in it. Riverhead could get confusing sometimes.

Regal Oldsmobile was in the heart of Riverhead on an avenue called Barbara Avenue beneath the elevated structure. Regal Oldsmobile was composed of two branches, or rather three. It was easy to make the error of thinking there were only two departments because there were only two buildings. But one of those buildings housed the new cars showroom and the service department. The other building housed the used cars department. Two buildings, three branches. Very confusing. Like Riverhead itself.

Detectives Cotton Hawes and Steve Carella were primarily interested in the service department of Regal Oldsmobile. They spoke there with a man named Buck Mosley. Buck was covered with oil. He had been engaged in changing a differential when the detectives arrived. Buck didn't like to talk much, anyway. He was good with his hands, and the other mechanics felt he did most of his talking to cars, but they never begrudged him the title of Service Manager because they knew he was the best damned mechanic at Regal. It isn't everyone who can talk to an automobile. And even fewer people can get an answer from one. Buck could do both these things. With people, it was different. With people, he was somewhat reticent. With people who also happened to be cops, Buck somehow resembled the lowly clam.

'It was you who called us in answer to our flyer, wasn't it?' Hawes asked.

'Uh-huh,' Buck said.

'You think your department did the paint job on the '47 Dodge?'

'Uh-huh.'

'What colour did you paint it?'

'Green,' Buck said.

'What kind of green?'

'Kelly.'

'Bright?'

'Uh-huh.'

'When was this?'

'Three weeks ago,' Buck said in a longish sentence which qualified him as a marathon lecturer.

'For whom?'

'Fellow.'

'Do you know his name?'

'Inside,' Buck said, gesturing to the office with his head. He began walking. Hawes and Carella followed him.