Ed Mcbain - Cop Hater

"We argued," she said, sighing. "Do you want to tell us about it?"

"We argued from the morning, from when we first got up. The heat. It's ... it was very hot in the apartment. Right from the morning. You . . . you lose your temper quickly in the heat." "Go on."

"He started with the orange juice. He said the orange juice wasn't cold enough. I told him I'd had it in the ice box all night, it wasn't my fault it wasn't cold. Diamondback isn't ritzy, sir. We don't have refrigerators in Diamondback, and with this heat, the ice melts very fast. Well, he started complaining about the orange juice." "Were you married to this man?" "No, sir."

"How long have you been living together?" "Seven years, sir." "Go on."

"He said he was going down for breakfast, and I said he shouldn't go down because it was silly to spend money when you didn't have to. He stayed, but he complained about the orange juice all the while he ate. It went on like that all day."

"About the orange juice, you mean?"

"No, other things. I don't remember what. He was watching the ball game on tv, and drinking beer, and he'd pick on little things all day long. He was sitting in his under-shorts because of the heat. I had hardly anything on myself."

"Go on."

"We had supper late, just cold cuts. He was picking on me all that time. He didn't want to sleep in the bedroom that night, he wanted to sleep on the kitchen floor. I told him it was silly, even though the bedroom is very hot. He hit me."

"What do you mean, he hit you?"

"He hit me about the face. He closed one eye for me. I told him not to touch me again, or I would push him out the window. He laughed. He put a blanket on the kitchen floor, near the window, and he turned on the radio, and I went into the bedroom to sleep."

"Yes, go ahead, Virginia."

"I couldn't sleep because it was so hot. And he had the radio up loud. I went into the kitchen to tell him to please put the radio a little lower, and he said to go back to bed. I went into the bathroom, and I washed my face, and that was when I spied the hatchet."

"Where was the hatchet?"

"He keeps tools on a shelf in the bathroom, wrenches and a hammer, and the hatchet was with them. I thought I would go out and tell him to put the radio lower again, because it was very hot and the radio was very loud, and I wanted to try to get some sleep. But I didn't want him to hit me again, so I took the hatchet, to protect myself with, in case he tried to get rough again."

"Then what did you do?"

"I went out into the kitchen with the hatchet in my hands. He had got up off the floor and was sitting in a chair near the window, listening to the radio. His back was to me."

"Yes."

"I walked over to him, and he didn't turn around, and I didn't say anything to him."

"What did you do?"

"I struck him with the hatchet."

"Where?"

"On his head and on his neck."

"How many times?"

"I don't remember exactly. I just kept hitting him."

"Then what?"

"He fell off the chair, and I dropped the hatchet, and I went next door to Mr. Alanos, he's our neighbor, and I told him I had hit my husband with a hatchet, and he didn't believe me. He came into the apartment, and then he called the police, and an officer came."

"Your husband was taken to the hospital, did you know that?" "Yes."

"Do you know the disposition of his case?" Her voice was very low. "I heard he died," she said. She lowered her head and did not look out past the lights again. Her fists were still folded at her waist. Her eyes were still dead.

"Next case," the Chief of Detectives said. "She murdered him," Bush whispered, his voice curiously loaded with awe. Carella nodded.

"Majesta, One," the Chief of Detectives said. "Bronckin, David, 27. Had a lamp outage report at 10:24 P.M. last night, corner of Weaver and 69th North. Electric company notified at once, and then another lamp outage two blocks south reported, and then gunfire reported. Patrolman picked up Bronckin on Dicksen and 69th North. Bronckin was intoxicated, was going down the street shooting out lamppost fixtures. What about it, Dave?"

"I'm only Dave to my friends," Bronckin said.

"What about it?"

"What do you want from me? I got high, I shot out a few lights. I'll pay for the goddamn lights."

"What were you doing with the gun?"

"You know what I was doing. I was shooting at the lampposts."

"Did you start out with that idea? Shooting at the lamp-posts?"

"Yeah. Listen, I don't have to say anything to you. I want a lawyer."

"You'll have plenty opportunity for a lawyer."

"Well, I ain't answering any questions until I get one."

"Who's asking questions? We're trying to find out what possessed you to do a damn fool thing like shooting at light fixtures."

"I was high. What the hell, you never been high?"

"I don't go shooting at lampposts when I'm high," the Chief said.

"Well, I do. That's what makes horse races."

"Where were you Sunday night?" "What time Sunday night?" "About 11.40 or so." "I think I was at a movie."

"Which movie?"

"The Strand. Yeah, I was at a movie."

"Did you have the .45 with you?"

"I don't remember."

"Yes or no."

"I don't remember. If you want a yes or no, it'll have to be no. I'm no dope."

"What picture did you see?"

"An old one."

"Name it."

"The Creature from the Black Lagoon."

"What was it about?"

"A monster that comes up from the water."

"What was the co-feature?"

"I don't remember."

"Think."

"Something with John Garfield."

"What?"

"A prize-fight picture."

"What was the title?"

"I don't remember. He's a bum, and then he gets to be champ, and then he takes a dive."

"Body and Soul?"

"Yeah, that was it."

"Call The Strand, Hank," Carella said.

"Hey, what're you gonna do that for?" Bronckin asked.

"To check and see if those movies were playing Sunday night."

"They were playing, all right."

"We're also going to check that .45 with Ballistics, Bronckin."

"What for?"

"To see how it matches up against some slugs we've got. You can save us a lot of time."

"How?"

"What were you doing Monday night?"

"Monday, Monday? Jesus, who remembers?"

Bush had located the number in the directory, and was dialing.

"Listen," Bronckin said, "you don't have to call them. Those were the pictures, all right."

"What were you doing Monday night?"

"I... I went to a movie."

"Another movie? Two nights in a row?"

"Yeah. The movies are air-conditioned. It's better than hanging around and suffocating, ain't it?"

"What'd you see?"

"Some more old ones."

"You like old movies, don't you?"

"I don't care about the picture. I was only tryin' to beat the heat. The places showing old movies are cheaper."

"What were the pictures?"

"Seven Brides for Seven Brothers and Violent Saturday."

"You remember those all right, do you?"

"Sure, it was more recent."

"Why'd you say you couldn't remember what you did Monday night?"

"I said that?"

"Yes."

"Well, I had to think."

"What movie house was this?"

"On Monday night, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"One of the RKO's. The one on North 80th."

Bush put the receiver back into its cradle. "Checks out, Steve," he said. "Creature from the Black Lagoon, and Body and Soul. Like he said." Bush didn't mention that he'd also taken down a timetable for the theatre, or that he knew exactly what times each picture started and ended. He nodded briefly at Carella, passing on the information.

"What time did you go in?"

"Sunday or Monday?"

"Sunday."

"About 8:30."

"Exactly 8:30?"

"Who remembers exactly? It was getting hot, so I went into The Strand."