Эд Макбейн: Lady, Lady, I Did It!

Carella nodded.

“Did you question anybody?” Byrnes asked.

Carella shook his head.

“I think we ought to,” Byrnes said.

Byrnes was in the middle of signing his name to the report he had typed himself when the telephone rang. He lifted the receiver. “87th Squad, Byrnes here.”

“Pete, this is Hal. I’m still at the hospital.”

“Get anything?” Byrnes asked.

“The guy just died,” Willis said.

“Did he say anything?”

“Only one word, Pete. He repeated it several times.”

“What was the word?”

“Carpenter. He kept saying it, maybe four, five times before he died. Carpenter.”

“That’s all he said?”

“That’s all.”

“All right,” Byrnes said, “see if they’ll let you talk to the woman they have there. Name’s Myra Klein. She’s the one who fainted in the shop. They’re treating her for shock.”

“Right,” Willis said, and he hung up. Byrnes completed his signature.

Myra Klein was wearing a white hospital gown and complaining bitterly about the city’s public servants when Willis came into her room. Apparently the police had sent Miss Klein off to the hospital against her wishes, and apparently she was being kept there now against her wishes. She swore at the nurse who was trying to administer a sedative, turned to the door as Willis opened it, and shouted, “What do you want?”

“I’d like to—”

“Are you a doctor?”

“No, ma’am—”

“How do I get out of this madhouse?” Miss Klein shouted. “Who are you?”

“Detective Third Grade Harold Will—”

“Detective?” Miss Klein shouted. “Detective? Get him out of here!” she yelled at the nurse. “You’re the ones who sent me here!”

“No, ma’am, I just—”

“Is there a crime against passing out?”

“No, but—”

“I told them I was all right. I told them.”

“Well, ma’am, I—”

“Instead they stick me in an ambulance. Unconscious, when I can’t defend myself.”

“But, ma’am, if you were unconscious, then how—”

“Don’t tell me what I was,” Miss Klein shouted. “I can take care of myself. I told them I was all right. They had no right sticking me in an ambulance, unconscious.”

“Who’d you tell, Mrs. Klein?”

“It’s Miss Klein — and what do you care who I told?”

“Well, Miss Klein, the point is—”

“Get him out of here. I don’t want to talk to any cops.”

“—if you were unconscious—”

“I said get him out of here!”

“—how could you have possibly told anyone you were all right?”

Myra Klein stared at Willis in total silence for the space of two minutes. Then she said, “What are you, one of these smartassed cops?”

“Well—”

“I’m laying here prostrate in shock,” Miss Klein said, “and they send me Sherlock Holmes.”

“Will you take this pill now, Miss Klein?” the nurse asked.

“Get out of here, you miserable panhandler, before I—”

“It’ll calm you!” the nurse protested.

“Calm me? Calm me? What makes you think I need calming?”

“Leave the pill, nurse,” Willis said gently. “Maybe Miss Klein will feel more like taking it later.”

“Yeah, leave the pill and get out, and take Mr. Holmes with you.”

“No, I’m staying,” Willis said softly.

“Who sent for you? Who needs you?”

“I want to ask you some questions, Miss Klein,” Willis said.

“I don’t want to answer any questions. I’m a sick woman. I’m in shock. Now get the hell out of here.”

“Miss Klein,” Willis said evenly, “four people were killed.”

Myra Klein stared at him. Then she nodded her head. “Leave the pill, nurse,” she said. “I’ll talk to Mr. — what was your name?”

“Willis.”

“Yes. Leave the pill, nurse.” She waited until the door closed behind the nurse. Then she said, “All I could think of was my brother’s dinner. He gets home from work at seven o’clock, and it’s past that now, and he’s very fussy about his dinner being on the table when he gets home. So here I am laying in a hospital. That’s all I could think of.” She paused. “Then you said, ‘Four people were killed,’ and all at once I’m one of the lucky ones.” She nodded expressively. “What do you want to know, Mr. Willis?”

“Can you tell me what happened in that bookshop, Miss Klein?”

“Sure. I put up the roast about four-thirty — it’s a shame to make roast when there’s only myself and my brother, so much goes to waste, you know, but he likes roast beef, so every now and then I make it. I put it up at four-thirty — I have one of these automatic ranges, you can set it to go off when the thing is done. I had the potatoes up, too, and the string beans wouldn’t take a minute once I got home. There was a book I wanted to get. They have a lending library at that bookstore, you see, over on the left — where I was standing when the man started shooting.”

“It was a man, Miss Klein?”

“Yes. I think so. I only got a quick look. I was standing at the place where Mr. Fennerman has the lending library when all of a sudden I heard this loud noise. So I turned around, and I saw this man with two guns in his hands, shooting. At first, I didn’t know what it was, I don’t know what I thought — a stunt, I guess I thought — I don’t know what. Then I saw a nice young man, he was wearing a seersucker suit, he suddenly collapsed on the counter, and he’s covered all over with blood, and then I knew it wasn’t a stunt, it couldn’t be a stunt.”

“What happened then, Miss Klein?”

“I guess I passed out. I could never stand the sight of blood.”

“But you saw the man shooting before you passed out?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Can you tell me what he looked like?”

“Yes, I think so.” She paused. “Where do you want me to start?”

“Well, was he a tall man? Short? Average height?”

“Average, I think.” She paused again. “What do you mean by average?”

“Five-nine, five-ten.”

“Yes, about that.”

“He wasn’t what you’d call a tall man?”

“No, I mean, he wasn’t as short as...” She stopped.

“He wasn’t as short as me?” Willis said, smiling.

“No. He was taller than you.”

“But not a really tall man. All right, Miss Klein, what was he wearing?”

“A raincoat,” Miss Klein said.

“What color?”

“Black.”

“Belted or loose?”

“I didn’t notice.”

“Any hat?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of hat?”

“A cap,” Miss Klein said.

“The color?”

“Black. Like the raincoat.”

“Was he wearing gloves?”

“No.”

“Anything else you noticed about him?”

“Yes. He was wearing sunglasses.”

“From where you were standing, could you see any identifying scars or marks?”

“No.”

“Any deformities?”

“No.”

“Was this a white man or a colored man, Miss Klein?”

“White.”

“Do you know anything about guns?”

“No.”

“Then you couldn’t guess what kind of guns he was holding.”

“Kind?”

“Well, yes. The caliber, or whether they were revolvers or automatics or... well, were they small guns, Miss Klein?”

“They looked very big to me.”

“Do you know what a .45 looks like?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right, Miss Klein; you’re being very helpful. Can you tell me how old this man was?”

“About thirty-eight.”

“How old would you say I am, Miss Klein?”