The Con Man (17 page)

“Got a man here named Charlie Chen who says your killer was in his shop this afternoon. Teddy was there at the time, and—”

“What!”

“Teddy. Your wife. She trailed the guy when he left. Chen says the girl with him was very sick. I’ve gotten half a dozen phone
calls in the past half hour. Girl who answers Teddy’s description has been handing out notes asking people to call you with a license number. I’ve got the MVB checking it now. What do you think?”

“Teddy!” Carella said, and that was all he could think of.

He heard a phone ringing someplace, and then Havilland said, “There’s the other line going now. Might be the license information. Hold on, Steve.”

He heard the click as the hold button was pressed, and he waited, squeezing the plastic of the phone, thinking over and over again,
Teddy, Teddy, Teddy.

Havilland came back on in a minute.

“It’s a black 1955 Cadillac hardtop,” Havilland said. “Registered to a guy named Chris Donaldson.”

“That’s the bird,” Carella said, his mind beginning to function again. “What address have you got for him?”

“41-18 Ranier. That’s in Riverhead.”

“That’s about ten minutes from here,” Carella said. “I’m starting now. Get a call in to whichever precinct owns that street. Get an ambulance going, too. If that girl is sick, it’s probably from arsenic.”

“Right,” Havilland said. “Anything else, Steve?”

“Yeah. Start praying he hasn’t spotted my wife!”

He hung up, slapped his hip pocket to make sure he still had his .38, and then left the apartment without closing the door.

Standing in the concrete and cinder block basement of the building, Teddy Carella watched the indicator needle of the service elevator. She could see the washing machines going in another part of the basement, and beyond that, she could feel the steady thrum of the apartment building’s oil burner, and she watched the needle as it moved from numeral to numeral and then stopped at four.

She pressed the down button.

Donaldson and the girl had entered that service elevator and had got off at the fourth floor. And now, as the elevator dropped to the basement again, Teddy wondered what she would do when she discovered what apartment he was in, wondered, too, just how sick the girl was, just how much time she had. The elevator door slid open.

Teddy got in, pressed the No. 4 in the panel. The door slid shut. The elevator began its climb. Oddly, she felt no fear, no
apprehension. She wished only that Steve were with her, because Steve would know what to do. The elevator climbed and then shuddered to a stop. The door did open. She started out of the car, and then she saw Donaldson.

He was standing just outside the elevator, waiting for the door to open, waiting for her. In blind panic, she stabbed at the panel with the floor buttons. Donaldson’s arm lashed out. His fingers clamped on her wrist, and he pulled her out of the car.

“Why are you following me?” he asked.

She shook her head dumbly. Donaldson was pulling her down the hallway. He stopped before apartment 4C, threw open the door, and then shoved her into the apartment. Priscilla Ames was lying on the couch facedown. The apartment smelled of human waste.

“There she is,” Donaldson said. “Is that who you’re looking for?”

He snatched Teddy’s purse from her hands and began going through it, scattering lipstick, change, mascara, and an address book onto the floor. When he came upon her wallet, he unsnapped it and went through it quickly.

“Mrs. Stephen Carella,” he read from the identification card. “Resident of Riverhead, eh? So we’re neighbors. Meet Miss Ames, Mrs. Carella. Or have you already met?” He looked at the card again. “In case of emergency, call…” His voice stopped. Then, like the slow trickle of a faulty waterspout, it came on again. “Detective Steve Carella, 87th Precinct, FRederick 7-802…” He looked up at Teddy. “Your husband’s a cop, huh?”

Teddy nodded.

“What’s the matter? Too scared to speak?” He studied her again. “I said…” He stopped, watching her. “Is something wrong with your voice?”

Teddy nodded.

“What is it? Can you talk?”

She shook her head. Her eyes lingered on his mouth, and following her gaze, he suddenly knew.

“Are you deaf?” he asked.

Teddy nodded.

“Good,” Donaldson said flatly. He was silent again, watching her. “Did your husband put you up to following me?”

Teddy made no motion, no gesture. She stood as silent as a stone.

“Does he know about me?”

Again, no answer.

“Why were you following me?” Donaldson asked, moving closer to her. “Who put you on to me? Where’d I slip up?” He took her wrist. “Answer me, goddammit!”

His fingers were tight on her wrist. On the couch, Priscilla Ames moaned weakly. He turned abruptly.

“She’s been poisoned, you know that, don’t you?” he said to Teddy. “
I
poisoned her. She’ll be dead in a little while, and tonight, she goes into the river.” He saw Teddy’s involuntary shudder. “What’s the matter? Does that frighten you? Don’t be frightened. She’s in pain, but she hardly knows what the hell’s happening anymore. All she can think about right now is her own sickness. Christ, it smells vile in here! How can you stand it?” He laughed a short, harsh laugh. The laugh was over almost before it began. His voice grew hard again. There was no compromise in it now. “What does your husband know?” he asked.
“What does your husband know?”

Teddy made no motion. Her face remained expressionless.

Donaldson watched her. “All right,” he said. “I’ll assume the worst. I’ll assume he’s headed here right now with a whole damn battalion of police. Okay?”

Again, there was nothing on Teddy’s face, nothing in her eyes.

“He won’t find a damn thing when he gets here. I’ll be gone, and Miss Ames’ll be gone, and you’ll be gone. He’ll find the four walls.” He went to the closet, opened it quickly, and pulled out a suitcase. “Come with me,” he said. He shoved Teddy ahead of him, into the bedroom. “Sit down,” he said. “On the bed. Hurry up.”

Teddy sat.

Donaldson went to the dresser and threw open the top drawer. He began shoveling clothes into the suitcase. “You’re a pretty one,” he said. “If I came onto something like you…” He didn’t complete the sentence. “The trouble with my business is that you can’t enjoy yourself,” he said vaguely. “Plain girls are good. They buy whatever you sell. Get involved with a beauty, and your secret’s in danger. Murder is a big secret, don’t you think? It pays well, too. Don’t let anyone tell you crime doesn’t pay. It pays excellently. If you don’t get caught.” He grinned. “I have no intention of getting caught.” He looked at her again. “You’re a pretty one. And you can’t talk. A secret could be told to you.” He shook his head. “It’s too bad we haven’t got more time.” He shook his head again. “You’re a pretty one,” he repeated.

Teddy sat on the bed, motionless.

“You must know how it is,” he said, “being good looking. It’s a pain sometimes, isn’t it? Men get to hate you, distrust you. Me, I mean. They don’t like a man who’s too good looking. Makes them feel uncomfortable. Too much virility for them. Points up their own petty quarrels with the world, makes than feel inadequate.” He paused. “I can get any girl I want, do you know that? Any girl. I just flutter my lashes, and they fall down dead.” He chuckled. “Dead. That’s a laugh, isn’t it? You must know, I guess. Men fall all over you, don’t they?” He looked at her, questioning. “Okay, sit there in your shell. You’re coming with me, you know that, don’t you? You’re my insurance.” He laughed again. “We’ll make a good
couple. We’ll really give the spectators something to ogle. We offset each other. Blond and brunette. That’s very good. It won’t be bad, being seen with a pretty girl for a change. I get tired of these goddamn witches. But they pay well. I’ve got a nice bank balance.”

On the couch, Priscilla Ames moaned. Donaldson went to the doorway and looked into the living room. “Relax, lover,” he called. “In a little while, you’ll go for a nice refreshing swim.” He burst out laughing and turned to Teddy. “Nice girl,” he said. “Ugly as sin. Nice.” He went back to packing the bag, silent now, working rapidly.

Teddy watched him. He had not packed a gun, so perhaps he didn’t own one.

“You’ll help me downstairs with her,” he said suddenly. “The service elevator again. In and out, and whoosh, we’re on our way. You’ll stay with me for a while. You can’t talk; that’s good. No phone calls, no idle gossip to waiters, good, good. Just have to keep you away from pen and paper, I guess, huh?” He studied her again, his eyes changing. “Be good to have a ball for a change,” he said. “I get so goddamn tired of these witches, and you can’t trust the beauties. If you want to know something, you can’t trust anybody. The world is full of con men. But we’ll have a ball.” He looked at her face. “Don’t like the idea, huh? That’s rough. It’ll make it more interesting. You should consider yourself lucky. You
could
be scheduled for a swim with Miss Ames, you know. You should consider yourself lucky. Most women fall down when I come into a room. Consider yourself lucky. I’m pleasant company, and I know the nicest places in town. That’s my business, you know. My avocation. I’m really an accountant. Actually,
accounting
is my avocation, I suppose. Women are my business. The lonely ones. The plain Janes. You’re a surprise. I’m glad you followed me.” He grinned boyishly. “Nice having somebody to talk to who doesn’t talk back. That’s the secret of the Catholic
confession, and also the secret of psychoanalysis. You can tell the truth, and the worst that’ll happen to you is twelve Hail Marys or the discovery that you hate your mother. With you, there’s no punishment. I can talk, and you can listen, and I don’t have to spout the love phrases or the undying bliss bit. You look sexy, too. Still water. Deep, deep.”

He heard the sudden, sharp snap of the front door lock. He whirled quickly and ran into the living room.

Carella saw a blond giant appear in the doorframe, eyes alert, fists clenched. The giant took in the .38 in Carella’s fist, took in the unwavering glint in Carella’s eye, and then lunged across the room.

Carella was no fool. This man was a powerhouse. This man could rip him in two.

Steadily, calmly, Carella leveled the .38.

And then he fired.

April was dying.

The rains had come and gone, and the cruelest month was being put to rest. May would burst with flowers. In June, there would be sunshine.

Priscilla Ames sat in the squadroom of the 87th Precinct. Steve Carella sat opposite her.

“Will he live?” she asked.

“Yes,” Carella said.

“That’s unfortunate,” she replied.

“It depends how you look at it,” Carella said. “He’ll go to trial, and he’ll be convicted. He’ll die, anyway.”

“I was a fool, I suppose. I should have known better. I should have known there’s no such thing as love.”

“You’re a fool if you believe that,” Carella said.

“I should have known,” Priscilla said, nodding. “It took a stomach pump to teach me.”

“Love is for the birds, huh?” Carella said.

“Yes,” she answered. She lifted her head, and her eyes behind the glasses glared defiance. But they asked for something else, too, and Carella gave it to her.

“I love my wife,” he said simply. “It may be for the birds, but it’s for the humans, too. Don’t let Donaldson sour you. Love is the biggest American industry. I know.” He grinned. “I’m a stockholder.”

“I suppose…” Priscilla sighed. “Anyway, thank you. That’s why I came by. To thank you.”

“Where to now?” Carella asked.

“Back home,” Priscilla said. “Phoenix.” She paused and then smiled for the first time that afternoon. “There are a lot of birds in Phoenix.”

Arthur Brown was conducting a post mortem.

“I couldn’t figure why two big con men who are knocking over marks in the two-hundred- to a thousand-dollar category should bother with a little colored girl. Five bucks he got! He worked it as a single, without his partner, and all he got was five bucks!”

“So?” Havilland said.

“So it annoyed me. What the hell, a cop’s got to bank on something, doesn’t he? I asked Parsons. I asked him why the hell he bothered conning a little girl out of five bucks. You know what he said?”

“No, what?” Havilland asked.

“He said he wanted to teach the girl a lesson. Now, how the hell do you like that? He wanted to teach her a lesson!”

“We’re losing a great teacher,” Havilland said. “The world is losing a great teacher.”

“You mustn’t look at it that way,” Brown said. “I prefer to think that the state penitentiary is
gaining
one.”

On the telephone, Bert Kling said, “So?”

“It worked!”

“What!”

“It worked. She bought it. She’s letting me go with my aunt,” Claire said.

“You’re kidding!”

“I’m dead serious.”

“We leave on June tenth?”

“We do,” Claire said.

“Yippppeeeee!” Kling shouted, and Havilland turned to him and said, “For Christ’s sake, pipe down! I’m trying to read!”

The working day was over.

There was May mixed in the April air. It touched the cheeks mildly; it lingered on the mouth. Carella walked and drank of it, and the draught was heady.

When he opened the door to his apartment, he was greeted with silence. He turned out the light in the living room and went into the bedroom.

Teddy was asleep.

He undressed quietly and then got into bed beside her. She wore a fluffy, white gown, and he lowered the strap of the gown from her right shoulder and kissed the warm flesh there. A cloud passed from the moon, filling the room with pale yellow. Carella moved back from his wife’s shoulder and blinked. He blinked again.

“I’ll be goddamned!” he said.

The warm April moonlight illuminated a small, lacy, black butterfly on Teddy’s shoulder.

“I’ll be goddamned!” Carella said again, and he kissed her so hard that she woke up.

And, big detective that he was, he never once suspected she’d been awake all the while.