Ed McBain - Killer's Choice

'Everybody's something special, Monica.'

'Why are you here?'

'Oh, just a routine check.'

'That's what they say on Dragnet .'

'Well, they're right.'

'A routine check on what?' Monica asked.

'On five-year-old girls who are in kindergarten.'

'Why?' Monica asked seriously. 'Did one do something?'

Kling burst out laughing. 'No, honey,' he said. 'I was only joking.'

'Then why are you here?'

'Routine,' he said.

This was not his job. Telling a five-year-old button that her mother had been shot dead was not his job. He had sworn the oath, and he believed he was a good cop, but this was action far above and beyond the call of duty, and maybe Carella could take a five-year-old redhead on his knee and gently and patiently explain to her that her mother had been shot four times in the chest, but Kling could not. Not yet. Maybe years from now. But not yet.

'What kind of routine?' Monica asked persistently, and Kling was extremely grateful for Mrs Travail who entered the room at that moment.

'Here's the… oh!' She saw Monica and her eyes fled instantly to Kling's face. 'You didn't…'

'No,' Kling said.

'Didn't what?' Monica asked.

'Nothing, darling. Have you met Detective Kling?'

'His name is Bert,' Monica said.

'Then you have met.'

'Sure. He's here on routine.'

'Yes,' Mrs Travail said. 'How was school today, darling?'

'Oh, the same old jazz,' Monica said.

'Monica!'

Kling tried to suppress his smile.

'Why don't you go to your room, Monica?' Mrs Travail said. 'Mr Kling and I have some business to finish.'

'Sure,' Monica said. She turned to Kling and said, 'Where's Frank Smith?'

'Out on a 365 W,' Kling said, and Monica laughed in delight.

'Will you call me when you're through, Grandmother?' she said politely.

'Yes, dear.'

'Good-bye, Mr Kling. I hope you find her.'

'I hope so, too.'

Monica left the room. Mrs Travail waited for her to leave and then said, 'She wasn't referring to…'

'No. A private joke between us.'

'Do you think a woman might have killed my daughter?'

'It's possible.'

'Here's the address book. All her girl friends are in it.' She handed Kling the book.

'Thank you, Mrs Travail,' he said. 'And thank you for your cooperation.'

At the door, Mrs Travail said, 'You are going to visit Theodore, aren't you?'

'Yes,' Kling said. 'We are.'

'He didn't do it,' Mrs Travail said evenly. 'Good day, Mr Kling.'

CHAPTER FOUR

Herman Dodson, Inc.

Fine Furnitures

June 1957

Detective Bertram Kling 87th Detective Squad

457 Parkside

Isola

Dear Detective Kling:

In answer to your telephone query of yesterday, I asked our Personnel Manager to consult our files on the employment of Anne Carolyn Boone. He has done so, and given me a full report, and I pass this on to you for whatever it is worth.

Miss Boone answered a blind advertisement in a local daily run on Sunday, 13 March 1955. The advertisement read:

WANTED

Experienced saleswoman for established quality furniture store. Salary plus commission. Call Patrick 3-7021.

Miss Boone called and was granted an interview. As it turned out, she had never had any experience selling furniture, and our Personnel Manager was somewhat hesitant about hiring her. But, as you probably know, she had recently been divorced, and she was a rather attractive girl with a warm-spirited personality. We felt we could use her personality to good advantage in our modern furniture department, and we employed her for a trial period of six months. Her starting salary was $45.00 per week, plus commissions, of course, with the understanding that she would be given an increase of $5.00 per week at the end of the six-month period, should her employment prove satisfactory.

As it turned out, our judgement was not at all inaccurate. Miss Boone was a fine worker and a good saleswoman. She was well-liked by every employee on the sixth floor (Modern Furniture, Lamps, etc.) and was regarded as both capable and enthusiastic by the floor manager.

We were, indeed, most distressed to have her leave us last year. We understand, though, that she had a job offering a much higher salary, and we certainly would not stand in the way of opportunity.

I can assure you, Detective Kling, that we learned of her death with great sorrow here at Herman Dodson. Miss Boone was a fine woman and a pleasure to know. She was getting over a most trying experience in her personal life, but she never allowed her private troubles to interfere in any way with her relations with fellow employees or with customers of the store.

I wish you the greatest success in your endeavours to apprehend her murderer. If I can be of any further assistance, please do not hesitate to call.

My very best wishes,

Sincerely,

Ralph Dodson

for HERMAN DODSON, INC.

Kling studied the letter from Ralph Dodson, and then wondered why anyone had killed Anne Carolyn Boone and then destroyed a liquor store to boot. It did not seem to make much sense. Shrugging, he pulled the Isola telephone directory to him, thumbed it open, and began leafing through the B's. He found a listing for Theodore Boone, phtgrphr at 495 Hall Avenue. He asked the desk sergeant for a line, and then dialled the number. The phone was picked up instantly.

'Theodore Boone, good morning,' a cheery voice chirped.

'Mr Boone, please,' Kling said.

'Who's calling, please?'

'Detective Bert Kling of the 87th Detective Squad.'

'Oh,' the voice said.

'Is he in?'

'I don't know, sir. Just one moment, and I'll see.'

Kling waited. While he waited, he drew a picture of a man with a beard, and he put eyeglasses on the man and then a spotted sports shirt. He was ready to hang up and dial again when the voice came on to the line. It was a deep voice, a good voice, a real voice.

'Hello?'

'Mr Boone?'

'Yes?'

'Detective Kling, 87th Squad.'

'I've been expecting this,' Boone said. 'It's about Annie, isn't it?'

'Yes, sir.'

'How can I help?' Boone wanted to know.

'I'd like to talk to you, Mr Boone. Can I see you sometime this afternoon?'

'Yes. Just a moment, let me check my appointments.' There was a pause on the line. 'Three o'clock all right?'

'Fine.'

'I can squeeze you in, I think. I don't mean to sound rude, Mr Kling, but I've got a session scheduled for three-thirty.'

'Not at all,' Kling said. 'I'll be there on the button.'

'Fine. Look forward to seeing you,' and Boone hung up.

Kling held the dead phone just a moment, and then he replaced it on its cradle. He looked at his watch, walked over to where Meyer Meyer was typing at the next desk and said, 'Come on, coolie. It's lunch time.'

'Already?' Meyer asked, looking up at the wall clock. 'My God!' he complained. 'All we ever do around here is fress. Fress, fress, fress .'

But he put on his jacket, and at the greasy spoon in one of the sidestreets near the squad, he ate Kling clear under the table—which was no small feat.

Peter Kronig was, like Cotton Hawes, a transfer. Unlike Hawes, he was not a transfer from one precinct to another. He had once been a police photographer but he had been transferred to the Police Laboratory to study under Lieutenant Sam Grossman who was his immediate superior and who probably ran the best damn lab in the United States. Actually, Kronig had worked pretty closely with the lab even when he'd been a photographer. It was, in fact, his deep interest in laboratory work which had accounted for the transfer. Lab technicians were difficult enough to come by, God knew, and when Grossman saw a man with real interest, he grabbed him—but fast.