Эд Макбейн - Let’s Hear It For The Deaf Man

“I understand what you mean, Mike.”

“You can understand how I feel, can’t you?”

“Sure.”

“So look, let me check out those apartments again, make sure the people didn’t come back all of a sudden. I’ll call in later and let you know where to meet me, okay?”

“Fine.”

“You want to requisition the walkie-talkies, or shall I take care of it?”

“Why do we need walkie-talkies?”

“Well, the guy got careless on his last job. He may be armed this time, who knows? If we run into any kind of trouble, be nice to know we’re in contact with each other.”

“I’ll get the walkie-talkies,” Kling said.

“Good. I’ll call you later.”

“See you,” Kling said, and watched Ingersoll go through the gate in the railing and down the corridor to the iron-runged stairway. He suddenly wondered why Ingersoll had set his promotion sights so low; the guy was already behaving like the goddamn commissioner.

Hal Willis was an experienced cop and a smart one. At the Gee-Gee-Go-Go that night he talked to Rhonda Spear for close to forty minutes, buying her six drinks during the course of their odd discussion. At the end of that time, he had elicited from her exactly nothing.

Willis did not look like a cop, and he was not carrying a gun, having been previously warned that Rhonda was quite adept at detecting the presence of hardware. Yet he was certain she had not given a single straight answer to any of his seemingly innocent questions. He could only assume that Hawes’ abortive attempt to reach her had served as a warning against further conversation with any men who weren’t regulars in the place. If you’re not sure who’s a cop and who isn’t, it’s best to behave as though everyone is. Especially if you’ve got something to hide. That was the one thing Willis came away with: the intuitive feeling that Rhonda Spear had a hell of a lot to hide.

Aside from that, the night was a total loss.

The night, for Kling and Ingersoll, was no more rewarding; it was merely longer. They sat in separate empty apartments three buildings away from each other, and waited for the burglar to strike. The walkie-talkie communication was sketchy at best, but they did manage to maintain contact with each other, and their infrequent conversations at least kept them awake. They did not leave the apartments until seven in the morning — no closer to solving the case than they had been at the start of the stakeout.

At ten minutes past two, shortly after the second mail had been delivered, the squadroom telephone rang, and Carella picked it up.

“87th Squad, Carella,” he said.

“Good afternoon, Detective Carella.”

He recognized the voice at once, and signaled for Meyer to pick up the extension.

“Good afternoon,” he said. “Long time no hear.”

“Has the mail arrived yet?” the Deaf Man asked.

“Few minutes ago.”

“Have you opened it yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Don’t you think you should?”

“I have a feeling I already know what’s in it.”

“I may surprise you.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Carella said. “The pattern’s been pretty well established by now.”

“Do you have the envelope there?”

“Yes, I have,” Carella said, and separated the manila envelope from the rest of his mail. “By the way, it’s Stephen with a p-h .”

“Oh, forgive me,” the Deaf Man said. “Open it, why don’t you?”

“Will you hold on?”

“Surely,” the Deaf Man said. “Not too long, though. We can’t risk a trace, now can we?”

Carella tore open the flap, reached into the envelope, and pulled out the photostat:

“Big surprise,” Carella said. “Who is this guy, anyway?”

“You mean you don’t know?”

“We haven’t been able to dope out any of it,” Carella said.

“I think you’re lying,” the Deaf Man said, and hung up.

Carella waited. He knew the phone would ring again within the next few minutes, and he was not disappointed.

“87th Squad,” he said, “Carella.”

“Please forgive my precautionary measures,” the Deaf Man said. “I’m not yet convinced of the effectiveness of telephone traces, but one can’t be too careful these days.”

“What’s this picture gallery supposed to mean?” Carella said.

“Come, come, Carella, you’re disappointing me.”

“I’m serious. We think you’ve lost your marbles this time. Do you want to give us a hint or two?”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” the Deaf Man said. “I’m afraid you’ll simply have to double your efforts.”

“Not much time left, you know. Today’s Wednesday, and you’re pulling your big job on Friday, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, that’s absolutely true. Perhaps you ought to circle the date, Carella. So you won’t forget it.”

“I already have.”

“Good. In that case, you’re halfway home.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it,” the Deaf Man said, and again hung up.

Carella thought about it. He had a long time to think about it because the Deaf Man did not call again until three-thirty.

“What happened?” Carella asked. “Get involved in a big executive meeting?”

“I merely like to keep you off balance,” the Deaf Man said.

“You do, you certainly do.”

“What do you make of the most recent picture?”

“Have no idea who he is. Nor the woman, either. We recognized Hoover and Washington, of course... you’re not planning a raid on the FBI, are you?”

“No, nothing as clever as that.”

“We thought maybe you were going to fly to Washington in a Jap Zero and strafe...”

“Ah, then you did recognize the zero?”

“Yes, we did. We’re very well oriented up here.”

“Please, no puns,” the Deaf Man said, and Carella could swear he was wincing.

“But none of it makes any sense,” Carella said. “Hoover, Washington, this guy with the mutton chops. What are you trying to tell us?”

“Does it really seem that difficult to you?”

“It certainly does.”

“In that case, I’d merely accept the facts as they are, Carella.”

“What facts?”

“The fact that you’re incompetent...”

“Well, I wouldn’t...”

“The fact that you’re incapable of stopping me.”

“Do you want us to stop you?”

“I’d like you to try.”

“Why?”

“It’s the nature of the beast, Carella. The delicate symbiosis that keeps us both alive. You might call it a vicious circle,” he said, and this time the word registered, this time Carella realized its use was deliberate. Circle .

“Might I call it that?” Carella said.

“I would strongly suggest it. Otherwise, you may merely come up with a zero,” the Deaf Man said, and hung up.

Carella quickly put his own phone back onto the cradle, opened his top drawer, and removed from it the Isola telephone directory. The zero was a circle; the Deaf Man had just told him as much. And if he correctly recalled his cursory inspection of directory addresses...

He ran his finger swiftly down the page:

Carella went through the entire list in the Isola directory, and then checked all the First Federal addresses in the other four books as well. Only one of them seemed to fit. He buttoned the top button of his shirt, pulled up his tie, and was leaving the squadroom just as Meyer came back from the men’s room down the hall.

“Where you off to?” Meyer asked.