Ed McBain - Killer's Choice

'Yes,' Hawes admitted.

'Then he sure did do something, huh?'

'He did worse than that,' Hawes said.

'What?'

'Nothing. Did he have any friends in the building?'

'I don't know. I don't bother with the tenants much. I make the steam, fix the plumbing, the electricity, stuff like that. I don't socialize much. I'm what you call a non-mixer. I'm what you call a professional non-joiner.'

'Fetterick married?'

'Nope.'

'Notice him here with girls?'

'Girls?'

'Girls.'

The super shrugged. 'Never did notice. Long as a man doesn't bang on the pipes for heat, I don't much care what he does in his own apartment. I don't own this building. I just make the steam, fix the plumb…'

'Yes, I know.'

'You might ask some of the tenants on his floor. They might know. Me, I don't socialize much. I'm what you call a non…'

'I know,' Hawes said. 'Thanks a lot.'

'Glad to be of assistance,' the old man said. He lay down and rolled over as Hawes left the room.

Hawes climbed to the third floor and knocked on Apartment 31. He knocked again. There was no answer. He kept knocking. A door opened. It was not the door upon which he knocked. It was the door to Apartment 32 next door. A girl stood in the doorway.

'They aren't home,' she said.

The girl wore black slacks and a black sweater. Her blond hair was pulled back into a pony tail. At first glance, she seemed out of place in the tenement doorway, too chic, too sophisticated. She should have been standing in the entrance doorway to a penthouse, holding a martini.

'I'm a cop,' Hawes said. 'Mind if I ask you a few questions?'

'You were knockin' on 31,' the girl said. 'This is 32.'

'I'm really interested in 34,' Hawes said.

'What cup?' the girl asked, and Hawes didn't get it. She looked at him glumly. 'This about Fetterick?' she asked, apparently deciding to play it straight.

'Yes.'

'Come on in.'

Hawes followed her into the apartment. It was then that he noticed the black sweater was worn through at the elbows. The girl flicked on a light. 'Want a drink?' she asked.

'No, thanks.'

'What a drag, huh? Saturday night, and no date.'

'Yeah,' Hawes said. 'About Fetterick…'

'A jerk,' the girl said, shrugging.

'You knew him?'

The girl shrugged again, 'Only to talk to. We took in the milk together, so to speak. Whenever it wasn't stolen.'

'What was he like?'

'A jerk,' the girl said, 'like I told you. Inferiority complex. Probably wanted to sleep with his mother when he was a kid. Like that.'

'Huh?' Hawes said.

'Oedipus,' the girl said. 'Aggravated. Made him feel inferior. His father was a big man. He never could shape up to the fact.'

'You got all this taking in the milk?' Hawes asked, astonished.

'I figured it out for myself. I'm speculating,' the girl said. 'What'd he do?'

'We think he killed a cop.'

'Oh. Too bad for him, huh? You guys'll beat the crap outa him when you get him.'

'Who said?'

'Everybody knows that. Cop killer? Boom! Right on his dome. How old are you?'

'Thirty-two.'

'That's a good age. You married?'

'No.'

'Mmm,' the girl said, and she looked at him speculatively.

'Oedipus,' Hawes said. 'Aggravated.'

'Huh? Oh.' The girl grinned. 'Humour on a cop. Wonders never cease. You sure you don't want a drink?'

'I'm sure,' Hawes said.

'I'll have one,' the girl said. 'My name's Jenny. Jenny Pelenco. Euphemistic, huh?'

'Very,' Hawes said, smiling.

'Saturday night, no date. What a drag. Jesus!' She went to the sink and poured herself a shot of rye. 'I think I'll get crocked. Get crocked with me?'

'No, thanks.'

'What are you scared of?' the girl asked. 'My husband's in the Navy.'

'Where?'

'Far enough,' she said, laughing. 'The Pacific.'

'What about Fetterick?'

'Who wants to get crocked with him?'

'I didn't mean that. What do you know about him?'

'What do you want to know? Ask Jenny Pelenco. I'm the barber's wife. That's an Italian expression. It means like the barber's wife knows everything goes on in town because she hears it from the barber. You get it?'

'Vaguely. Know what kind of work Fetterick did?'

'No. He never said. A bum, I think.'

'Ever see him leave the house with gloves?'

'Yeah. Hey, yeah. Is that important?'

'Not very. He never mentioned his job?'

'No. I figure him for either a bum or something very low. Like a ditch digger. Or a bricklayer.'

'Those are both honest jobs,' Hawes said.

'So? Honest makes them good? A bricklayer is a jerk. Fetterick is a jerk, so he must be a bricklayer.'

'He never said where he worked?'

'No.'

'Did you ever see him leaving for work in the morning?'

'Yeah.'

'What time?'

'Eight, eight-thirty.'

'Did he work in Riverhead?'

'Beats me. Mind if I have another drink?'

'Go right ahead. Did you ever notice any of his friends? People who came or went to the apartment?'

'He was a lone wolf,' Jenny said. She tossed off the shot. 'I better go easy,' she said, grinning. 'I get wild when I'm crocked.'

'Mmm,' Hawes said.

'I get the urge when I'm crocked,' she said, still grinning.

'Then you'd better go easy,' Hawes said. 'Anything else you can tell me about Fetterick?'

'No. A jerk. A bum. A bricklayer. Common. I invited him in for a drink once. He refused. A jerk, huh?'

'Did he have any girl friends?'

'None that I saw. A jerk. Pretty girl asks him into her apartment for a drink, he refuses. What d'you suppose he was afraid of?'

'I can't imagine,' Hawes said. 'You never saw any girls in his place, huh?'

'No. Who'd bother with a bricklayer? I think I'll have another.' She poured another. 'You want one?'

'No, thanks.'

'You might as well make yourself comfortable,' she said.

'I've got a lot of other people to question.'

'That must be a drag,' she answered. 'Specially on Saturday night. Don't you drink?'

'I drink.'

'So have one.'

'Not now, thanks.'

'Look, everybody else on this floor is out. This is Saturday night. This is the night everybody goes out to howl, you know? Saturday, you know? Don't you know what Saturday is?'

'Sure, I know,' Hawes said.

'So don't you know how to howl?'

'Sure, I know how to howl.'

'So have a drink. There ain't nobody on this floor left to question, anyway. 'Cept me. And I'm all alone. Just me, huh? You ask the questions. I got all the answers. Jenny Pelenco's got all the answers.'

'Except the ones I want,' Hawes said.

'Huh?'

'You don't know anything at all about Fetterick, huh?'

'I told you. A jerk. A bum. A bricklayer. A jerk. A guy who lays bricks.'

'Well, thanks a lot,' Hawes said, rising.

Jenny Pelenco drank her whisky and then looked at Hawes steadily. 'What do you lay?' she asked.

Hawes moved to the door. 'Good night, Mrs Pelenco,' he said. 'When you write to your husband, tell him the police department appreciated all the help you gave them. That should please him.' He opened the door.

Jenny Pelenco did not take her eyes from him. 'What do you lay, cop?' she asked.

'Carpets,' Hawes said politely, and he walked out of the apartment.

As he walked down the steps, Jenny yelled after him, ' Carpets ?'

They walked on each side of the black coffin, the men who had worked with him. They walked in solemn regularity. The coffin seemed light, but only because its weight was evenly distributed upon the shoulders of the detectives.

They put the coffin into the hearse, and then the black cars followed the hearse out to Sands Spit and the cemetery. There were some of Havilland's relatives there, but not many. Havilland was a man who'd lived almost entirely alone. The priest said some words over the open grave, and then the coffin was lowered on its canvas strips, and the detectives bent their heads and watched their erstwhile colleague enter the ground. It was a beautiful June day. Havilland could not have asked for a nicer day.