Ed McBain - Ten Plus One

Carella stood up suddenly and said, “Fellows, it’s getting a little stuffy in here. Why don’t you go have your meeting in the locker room?”

“What meeting?” one of the patrolmen asked.

“The meeting you’re going to have in the locker room in three seconds flat,” Carella said, “before I pick up the phone and have a talk with Captain Frick downstairs.”

The patrolmen began to disperse. One of them, in a very loud sotto voce, muttered the word “Chicken,” but Carella ignored it. He watched them as they left, and then he turned to Helen and said, “We’ll assign a man to you, Mrs. Vale.”

“I would appreciate that,” she said. “Who?”

“Well…I’m not sure yet. It depends on who’s available and what…”

“I’m sure he’ll be dependable,” she said.

“Mrs. Vale,” Carella said. “I wonder if you can try remembering about the play. I know it was a long time ago, but…”

“Actually, I have a very good memory,” Helen said.

“I’m sure you do.”

“Actresses need to have good memories, you know.”

“I know that.”

“Otherwise we’d never learn our lines,” Helen said, and she smiled.

“Good. What do you remember about the play?”

“Nothing,” Helen said.

“Everyone got along fine with each other, is that right?” Carella prodded.

“Oh, yes, it was a very nice group.”

“At the party, too, right? No trouble?”

“Oh, no, it was a lovely party.”

“You stayed late, is that right?”

“That’s right.” Helen smiled. “I always stay late at parties.”

“Where was this party, Mrs. Vale?”

“What party?” Helen asked.

“The one after the play.”

“Oh, that one. At Randy’s house, I think. Randy Norden. He was a regular rip. Very smart in school, you know, but oh what a rip! His parents were away in Europe, so we all went up there after the show.”

“And you and the other two girls stayed late, is that right?”

“That’s right, yes. It was a lovely party.”

“With three of the boys.”

“Oh no, there were a lot of boys.”

“I meant you stayed late. With three of the boys.”

“Oh. Yes, that’s right. We did.”

“Was there any trouble?”

“No,” Helen said. She smiled sweetly. “We were making love.”

“You were necking, you mean.”

“No, no. We were diddling.”

Carella cleared his throat and looked at Meyer.

“It was a very nice party,” Helen said.

“Mrs. Vale,” Carella said, “what do you mean by ‘diddling’?”

Helen lowered her eyes. “Well, you know,” she said.

Carella looked at Meyer again. Meyer shrugged in confusion.

“With the boys, do you mean? The three boys?”

“Yes.”

“You…you were in separate rooms, is that right?”

“Yes. Well, in the beginning, anyway. There was an awful lot to drink, you know, and Randy’s parents were in Europe, so we just had a lot of fun.”

“Mrs. Vale,” Carella said, taking the bull by the horns, “do you mean that you and the other two girls were intimate with these boys?”

“Oh, yes, very intimate,” she said.

“And the three boys were Anthony Forrest, Randolph Norden, and David Arthur Cohen, is that right?”

“That’s right. They were all very nice boys.”

“And you…you were sort of wandering around from room to room, is that right? All of you?”

“Oh, yes,” Helen said delightedly. “It was a regular orgy.”

Carella began coughing, and Meyer hit him on the back.

“You’re coming down with something,” Helen said pleasantly. “You ought to get to bed.”

“Yes, yes, I will,” Carella said, coughing. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Vale, you’ve been very helpful.”

“Oh, I enjoyed talking with you,” Helen said. “I’d almost forgotten that party, and it was really one of the nicest parties I’ve ever been to.”

She rose, picked up her purse, opened it, and placed a small white card on the desk. “My home address and number,” she said, “and also my service, if you can’t reach me.”

She smiled and walked to the railing. Carella and Meyer sat rooted to the desk, watching her move across the room. At the railing, she turned and said, “You will do your best to see that I’m not killed, won’t you?”

“We will, Mrs. Vale,” Carella said fervently. “We most certainly will do our very utmost best.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, and then walked down the corridor. They could hear her high heels clattering on the ironrunged steps to the floor below.

“Because, lady,” Meyer whispered, “it would be a crime to kill you, I swear to God, it would be a heinous crime.”

They knew when she reached the street outside because a tumultuous cheer went up from the patrolmen waiting there for her.

Well, things were certainly looking up.

Not only did they now know that the seven murder victims had all been in a college production of The Long Voyage Home back in 1940, but they further knew there had been a party after the play, and that all the members of the cast and crew had been present at it, as well as Professor Richardson, the faculty adviser. They further knew that the faculty adviser had stopped advising some time during the night, and that the party had dwindled down to six people of opposite sexes who had taken advantage of the fact.

The next morning, they decided to have another chat with David Arthur Cohen, who, by his own admission, had been a sniper during the war, and who had also been present at the midnight revelry those many years ago. They called him and asked him to come up to the squadroom. He complained bitterly because he said he’d lose a whole day’s work in a week when the gags were coming fast and good, but they told him this happened to be a homicide case and if he came to the squadroom of his own volition, it would save them the trouble of sending a patrolman after him.

Cohen arrived at 10:00 A.M.

They sat him in a chair, and then they stood around him, Kling, Carella, and Meyer. Cohen was rushing the season a bit with a seersucker suit. He looked cool and unruffled. He sat in the chair with his habitual sour expression, and waited for one of the detectives to start the questioning. Meyer threw the first pitch.

“We’re primarily interested in the party that took place after the play, Mr. Cohen,” he said.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“We want to know what happened.”

“I told you what happened.”

“All right, Mr. Cohen,” Carella said, “first of all, who was there?”

“Everybody in the show.”

“ In the show, or connected with the show?”

“Connected with it.”

“And by ‘everybody,’ who exactly do you mean?”

“The cast, the crew, and some hangers-on.”

“Like who?”

“Like some guys brought girls, and also some of the kids who weren’t really in the group, but who were on the fringes of it.”

“And who else?”

“Professor Richardson.”

“Was it a good party?” Kling asked.

“Yeah, it was okay. This was more than twenty years ago, for God’s sake. Do you expect me to remember…”

“Helen Struthers was in here yesterday, Mr. Cohen,” Meyer said. “She seems to remember the party pretty well.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. She says it was one of the best parties she’d ever been to. How about it?”

“She’s entitled to her opinion, I guess.” Cohen paused. “How’d she look? Helen?”

“Very nice. How was the party in your opinion, Mr. Cohen?”

“Pretty good.”

“Helen seemed to think it was better than pretty good,” Carella said.