Ed McBain - Eighty Million Eyes

“No, it's nothing serious.”

“I mean it. I can handle—”

“Stop it already,” Meyer said. “You’ll make me meshuga. You sound just like my mother used to. You’ll be asking me if I got a clean handkerchief next.”

“You got a clean handkerchief?” Carella asked, and Meyer burst out laughing. In the middle of the laugh, he suddenly sneezed. He reached into his back pocket, hesitated, and turned to Carella.

“You see that?” he said. “I haven’t got a clean handkerchief.”

“My mother taught me to use my sleeve,” Carella said.

“All right, may I use your sleeve?” Meyer said.

“What’d you think of our esteemed medical man?”

“Is there any Kleenex in this rattletrap?”

“Try the glove compartment. What’d you think of Dr. Nelson?”

Meyer reached into the glove compartment, found a box of tissues, and blew his nose resoundingly. He sniffed again, said, “Ahhhhhh,” and then immediately said, “I have a thing about doctors, anyway, but this one I particularly dislike.”

“How come?”

“He looks like a smart movie villain,” Meyer said.

“Which means we can safely eliminate him as a suspect, right?”

“There's a better reason than that for eliminating him. He was home during the show last night.” Meyer paused. “On the other hand, he's a doctor, and would have access to a rare drug like strophanthin.”

“But he was the one who suggested an autopsy, remember?”

“Right. Another good reason to forget all about him. If you just poisoned somebody, you’re not going to tell the cops to look for poison, are you?”

“A smart movie villain might do just that.”

“Sure, but then a smart movie cop would instantly know the smart movie villain was trying to pull a swiftie.”

“Melanie Wistful seems to think he did it,” Carella said.

“Melanie Mournful, you mean. Yeah. I wonder why?”

“We’ll have to ask her.”

“I wanted to, but Carl Heavy wouldn’t quit the scene.”

“We’ll call her later. Make a note.”

“Yes, sir,” Meyer said. He was silent for a moment, and then he said, “This case stinks.”

“Give me a good old-fashioned hatchet murder any day.”

“Poison is a woman's weapon as a rule, isn’t it?” Meyer asked.

“Sure,” Carella said. “Look at history. Look at all the famous poisoners. Look at Neill Cream and Carlyle Harris. Look at Roland B. Molineux. Look at Henri Landru, look at…”

“All right, already, I get it,” Meyer said.

Lieutenant Peter Byrnes read Kling's report that Thursday afternoon, and then buzzed the squadroom and asked him to come in. When he arrived, Byrnes offered him a chair (which Kling accepted) and a cigar (which Kling declined) and then lighted his own cigar and blew out a wreath of smoke and said, “What's this ‘severe distaste for my personality’ business?”

Kling shrugged. “She doesn’t like me, Pete. I can’t say I blame her. I was going through a bad time. Well, what am I telling you for?”

“Mmm,” Byrnes said. “You think there's anything to this prison possibility?”

“I doubt it. It was a chance, though, so I figured we had nothing to lose.” He looked at his watch. “She ought to be down at the BCI right this minute, looking through their pictures.”

“Maybe she’ll come up with something.”

“Maybe. As a follow-up, I called some of the families of Redfield's other victims. I haven’t finished them all yet, still a few more to go. But the ones I reached said there’d been no incidents, no threats, nothing like that. I was careful about it, Pete, don’t worry. I told them we were making a routine follow-up. I didn’t want to alarm them.”

“Yeah, good,” Byrnes said. “But you don’t feel there's a revenge thing working here, is that it?”

“Well, if there is, it’d have to be somebody Redfield knew before we caught him, or somebody he met in stir. Either way, why should anybody risk his own neck for a dead man?”

“Yeah,” Byrnes said. He puffed meditatively on his cigar, and then glanced at the report again. “Four teeth knocked out, and three broken ribs,” he said. “Tough customer.”

“Well, Fairchild's a new cop.”

“I know that. Still, this man doesn’t seem to have much respect for the law, does he?”

“To put it mildly,” Kling said, smiling.

“Your report says he grabbed the Forrest girl by the arm.”

“That's right.”

“I don’t like it, Bert. If this guy can be so casual about beating up a cop, what’ll he do if he gets that girl alone sometime?

INTERROGATION OF MILES VOLLNER AND CYNTHIA FORREST,

Miles Vollner is president of Vollner Audio-Visual Components at 1116 Shepherd Street. He states that xxxxxxx he returned from lunch at about 1:45 P.M. on Wednesday, October xxxxx 13th to find a man sitting in his reception room. The man refused to give his name or state his business, and thereafter threatned Mr. Vollner’s receptionist (Janice Di Santo) when Vollner asked her to call the police. Vollner promptly went down to the street and enlisted the air of Patrolman Ronald Fairchild, shield number 36-104, 87th Precinct, who accompanied him back to the office. When xxxx confronted by Fairchild, xxxxxx the man stated that he had come there to see a girl, and when asked which girl, he said, Cindy. (Cindy is the nickname for Miss Cynthia Forrest, who is assistant to the company psychologist.)

Vollner sent for Miss Forrest who looked at the man and claimed she did not know him. When she attempted to leave, the man grabbed ger by the arm, at which point Fairchild warned him to leave her alone, moving toward him and rasing his club. The man attacked Fairchild, kicking him repeatedl in the head and chest after he fell to the floor. Fairchild xx was later sent to Buena Vista Hospital. Four teeth xxxx had been kicked out of his mouth, and he had suffered three broken ribs. Vollner states he hd never before seen the man, and Miss Forrest states so, too.

Miss Forrest is the daughter of the deceased Anthony Forrest (DD Reports 201A-46-01 through 201A-46-31) first victim of the sniper killings two years xxxxx six months ago. Check of records show that Lewis Redfield was tried and convicted first degree murder, sentenced to death in the electric chair, executed at Castleview Penitentiary last March. There seems to be no connection between this case and the sniper murders, but have arranged for Miss Forrest to look at mug shots of any prisoners serving time at Castleview (during Redfield's imprisonment there) and subsequently released. Doubt if this will come up with a make since Redfield was in the death house for entire length of term before execution, although he may have had some contact with general prison population and arranged for harrassment of Miss Forrest and other survivors of his victims.

Miss Forrest’s previous contact with me on sniper case has left severe distaste for my personality. If subsequent investigation is indicated, I respectfully submit that case be truned over to someone else on the squad.

“Well, that's the thing.”

“I think we ought to get him.”

“Sure, but who is he?”

“Maybe we’ll get a make downtown. From those mug shots.”

“She promised to call in later, as soon as she's had a look.”

“Maybe we’ll be lucky.”

“Maybe.”

“If we’re not, I think we ought to smoke out this guy. I don’t like cops getting beat up, that's to begin with. And I don’t like the idea of this guy maybe waiting to jump on that girl. He knocked out four of Fairchild's teeth and broke three of his ribs. Who knows what he’d do to a helpless little girl?”