Ed McBain - Ten Plus One

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. She seemed especially to remember what happened after most of the people went home.”

“Yeah? What does she remember?”

“Well, what do you remember, Mr. Cohen?”

“We were necking around a little.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all. We were only kids.”

“Well, for kids, Mr. Cohen, Helen seems to think a little more than necking took place.”

“What does she seem to think?”

“She seems to think you all crawled into the sack.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. In fact, she seems to think you all crawled into the sack together at one point.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. In fact, Mr. Cohen, she described what happened as ‘a regular orgy.’ ”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Funny you should forget an event of such proportions, don’t you think, Mr. Cohen? Unless, of course, you’re in the habit of attending org—”

“All right,” Cohen said.

“Is that what happened?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what happened.”

“You remember it now?”

“Remember it?” Cohen said. “I’ve been trying to forget it for twenty-three years. I’ve been in analysis for six years, trying to forget what happened that night.”

“Why?”

“Because it was disgusting. We were drunk. It was disgusting. It warped my entire life.”

“How?”

“What do you mean, how? Because we turned a…a private thing into a…circus. That’s how. Look, do we have to talk about this?”

“Yes, we have to talk about it. Was everyone drunk?”

“Yeah. Randy Norden was a kind of wild kid. He was older than most of us, you know, in his twenties, already in law school. His parents had this big penthouse apartment on Grover, and they were away in Europe, so we all went up there after the show. The girls got pretty high. I guess Helen was setting the pace. Well, you’ve seen her, you know the kind of girl she is. She was the same then.”

“Hold it right there, Mr. Cohen!” Meyer said sharply.

“What? What’s the matter?”

“How do you know what kind of girl she is, Mr. Cohen? When did you see her last?”

“I haven’t seen anybody connected with that show since I got out of college.”

“Then how do you know what she looks like now?”

“I don’t.”

“Then why’d you say she’s the same now as she was then?”

“I just assumed she’d be. She was a wild one then, and the wild ones don’t change.”

“How about the other girls?”

“They…were just nice kids. They got drunk, that’s all.”

“And what happened?”

“Well, we…it was Randy’s idea, I guess. He was older, you know, and with Helen, and naturally…well, we all split up…there were a lot of bedrooms in the house…and well…that’s what happened.”

“ What happened?” Meyer insisted.

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Cohen shouted.

“Why?”

“Because I’m ashamed of it, that’s why. Okay?”

“Tell us about being a sniper, Mr. Cohen,” Carella said.

“That was a long time ago.”

“So was the party. Tell us about it.”

“What do you want to know?”

“What theater of operations?”

“The Pacific.”

“Where?”

“Guam.”

“What’d you use?”

“A BAR with a telescopic sight.”

“Smokeless powder?”

“Yes.”

“How many men did you kill?”

“Forty-seven,” Cohen said without hesitation.

“How’d you feel about it?”

“I hated every minute of it.”

“Then why didn’t you get out?”

“I asked for a transfer, but they said no. I was a good sniper.”

“These were Japanese you killed?”

“Yeah, Japanese.”

“How much did you drink at that party?”

“A lot.”

“How much?”

“I don’t remember. We really began drinking after Richardson left. There was a lot of booze. Tony was in charge of tickets…”

“Tony?”

“Forrest. Tony Forrest. He was in charge of tickets for the show, and I think he took some money from the till to pay for the party. It wasn’t illegal or anything, I mean everybody in the group knew he was doing it. It was for the party. But there was a lot of booze.” Cohen paused. “Also, there was a climate of…well, the war had already started in Europe, and I guess most students at the time knew America would get into it sooner or later. So it was a kind of kiss-me-my-sweet attitude. We didn’t care what the hell happened.”

“Did you shoot from a tree or what?” Kling asked suddenly.

“What?”

“When you were on Guam.”

“Oh. Usually. Yeah.”

“What happened afterward?” Carella asked.

“It depended on the operation. Usually, I was supposed to pin down…”

“After Helen and Randy started the ball rolling, I mean.”

“We all got involved.”

“And after that?”

“We wound up in one room.”

“Which room?”

“Randy’s mother’s room. The bedroom. The big one.”

“Where were you on Friday, May fourth?” Meyer asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Try to remember.”

“When was that?”

“It was Friday, May fourth. This is Wednesday, May ninth. Where were you, Cohen?”

“I think I was out of town.”

“Where?”

“Upstate. That’s right. I left Friday morning. Just to take a long weekend, you know?”

“You wouldn’t have been in Minneapolis on May fourth, would you?”

“Minneapolis? No. Why should I go there? I’ve never been there in my life.”

“Do you remember a man named Peter Kelby?”

“Yeah, he was in the play.”

“Did he come to the party?”

“He came to the party.”

“Where’d you stay last weekend? On your trip upstate?”

“I went fishing.”

“We didn’t ask you what you did, we asked you where you stayed.”

“I camped out.”

“Where?”

“In the reservation. Up near Cattawan.”

“In a tent?”

“Yes.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“Anyone else on the campsite?”

“No.”

“Stop for gas anywhere along the way?”

“Yes.”

“Use a credit card?”

“No.”

“You paid cash?”

“Yes.”

“The same in any restaurants you might have stopped at?”

“Yes.”

“In other words, Mr. Cohen, we have only your word that you were up in Cattawan and not in Minneapolis, Minnesota, killing a man named Peter Kelby.”

“Whaaat!”

“Yes, Mr. Cohen.”

“Look, I…”

“Yes, Mr. Cohen?”

“Look…why would I…How the hell would I even know where Peter Kelby was ? I mean…”

“Somebody knew where he was, Mr. Cohen, because somebody put a bullet in his head. We rather suspect it was the same somebody who killed six people right here in this city.”

“I haven’t seen Peter Kelby since we were in school together!” Cohen protested. “I had no idea he was in Minneapolis.”

“Ah, but, Mr. Cohen, somebody found out he was there. In fact, Mr. Cohen, it couldn’t have been too difficult, because even a nice lady named Agnes Moriarty at Ramsey University was able to find out where Kelby lived—and she wasn’t even interested in murdering him.”

“Neither was I!” Cohen shouted.

“But that party still bugs you, huh, Cohen?”

“Why does it bug you?”

“Too much sex there?”

“You enjoy firing a rifle?”

“How does it feel to kill a man?”

“Which girl were you with, Cohen?”

“What else did you do that night?”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Cohen shouted.

The squadroom was very silent. Into the silence Carella said, “What’s your analyst’s name, Cohen?”