“Lots of money involved here, Mike.”
“Can money buy love?” Mike asked.
“I worship you,” Diana said.
“Mike, when our patrolman found you and Diana there in the jewelry store with the alarm ringing, you were stuffing your pockets with diamond rings, kid stuff compared to the Thursday-night heist, oh maybe one or two carats each, some a little larger, maybe something like twenty thousand dollars involved, small potatoes. But don’t you think it’s possible, Mike, that someone who knocked over a place on Thursday night — and got away with it — might decide to come back to the same street on Friday night and knock over another place?”
“It’s possible,” Mike said. “Are you saying I knocked over that place on Thursday night?”
“You just said it was possible.”
“Why would I do a thing like that?”
“Why not?”
“We weren’t even engaged on Thursday night. In fact, we hadn’t even met on Thursday night.”
“Kiss me,” Diana said.
“Why’d you need so many rings?” Bozzaris asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You had seven or eight rings in your pockets. Why’d you need so many?”
“A girl like Diana should have a choice,” Mike said.
“He’s mad about me,” Diana said.
“I’m mad about you,” Mike admitted.
“So your story is you know nothing about that other heist, huh?” Bozzaris said.
“What’s your favorite color?” Mike asked Diana.
“Yellow,” she said. “What’s yours?”
“Blue. Who’s your favorite singer?”
“Sinatra. Who’s yours?”
“Yes, oh yes! Do you want boys or girls?”
“Three of each.”
“Get them out of here,” Bozzaris said.
“Do you like walking in the rain?”
“I love it. What’s your favorite pie?”
“Blueberry.”
“I love you.”
“I adore you.”
Mullaney watched as they led the engaged couple out of the room, trying to figure out how he could sneak over to Bozzaris’ desk for a look at the nag’s name on the pad there under his hand. If this really was a bona-fide tip, and if the jacket at the library really did contain the clue to the whereabouts of five hundred thousand dollars, “... age thirty-nine,” Bozzaris was saying, “charged with Burglary in the First Degree. No statement.”
The room was silent. No one rose from the bench to walk toward the screen.
“Is he here?” Bozzaris asked.
“Mullaney, Andrew,” the detective named Sam said. “Are you here?”
“Present!” Mullaney said, and rose swiftly.
“All right, Andy, let’s get up there,” Bozzaris said.
Mullaney nodded and walked toward the screen. The spotlight was blinding, he could see only the detective sitting closest to the screen; beyond him, the room was a black void. Bozzaris’ voice came out of that void, friendly and familiar. “Shall I read that again, Andy?”
“Please,” Mullaney said.
“Mullaney, Andrew, age thirty-nine,” Bozzaris said. “You’re charged with Burglary One, what do you have to say?”
“I don’t understand the charge,” Mullaney said.
“I will explain the charge, or at least the part that applies to you,” Bozzaris said. “You are charged with violation of Section 402 of the Penal Law of New York State, Burglary in the First Degree, which is defined thusly: A person who, with intent to commit some crime therein, breaks and enters in the night time, the dwelling house of another, in which there is at the time a human being and who, while engaged in the night time in effecting such entrance, or in committing any crime in such a building, or in escaping therefrom, assaults any person. That is the charge as it applies to you, Andy. How about it?”
“I didn’t break and enter any building.”
“You broke and entered a cottage owned by a Mr. Roger McReady of McReady’s Monument Works in the borough of Queens, at or about midnight last night.”
“I was invited into the cottage.”
“You broke and entered in the night time the dwelling of another at which time Roger McReady, who I’m told is a human being, was present. And in attempting to escape from this dwelling, you assaulted a friend of Mr. McReady’s by tackling him and knocking him to the ground in the cemetery where he was giving chase. What do you say, Andy? Burglary One happens to be punishable by no less than ten and no more than thirty.”
“Years?” Mullaney asked.
“Years.”
“That’s a long time.”
“That’s a very long time. What do you have to say, Andy?”
“What is it I’m supposed to have burgled?”
“You’re supposed to have burgled a considerable amount of whiskey, as well as some very good cheese and salami. Is this your first offense?”
“I’ve never had any trouble with the law before,” Mullaney said.
“In that case,” Bozzaris said, “the arraigning magistrate may wish to set bail for you since this is your first offense. So what we’ll do is take you downtown to be mugged and printed, and then you’ll go over to the Criminal Courts Building where you’ll be arraigned and a date for your trial will be set. Do you have anything to say before you go?”
“Yes, but I would like to tell it to you in confidence,” Mullaney said, “if you promise to respect the confidence.”
“I will most certainly respect the confidence,” Bozzaris said.
Mullaney walked to the desk and bent over it. He stepped carefully to Bozzaris’ left, so that Bozzaris had to lean over slightly, his hand moving away from the pad upon which he had scribbled the horse’s name. Mullaney put his mouth close to the lieutenant’s ear, and then glanced swiftly at the penciled lettering on the pad:
“I’m innocent,” Mullaney whispered.
“Be that as it may,” Bozzaris said.
The name Jawbone was blinking on and off inside Mullaney’s skull as he was led to the door and out of the office, letters ten feet high, JAWBONE, jawbone, JAWBONE, jawbone, the nag who was supposed to have run in the fourth race yesterday, apparently scratched — according to Harrison, Randolph, age twenty-six — and running today instead, twenty to one on the morning line. If that jacket at the library could really tell him where to find the five hundred thousand dollars, and if Aqueduct would take all the money he could bet in the half hour between races — Mullaney was so lost in thanking God for the good fortune that had caused him to get arrested, so lost in counting the profit he would make on that wonderful marvelous horse Jawbone, that he scarcely realized he was being led with the other prisoners into a police van and taken downtown to 100 Centre Street, where they were photographed and fingerprinted, JAWBONE, jawbone, JAWBONE, and then marched across the street for arraignment. The presiding magistrate was a man who looked like Spencer Tracy in Judgment at Nuremburg. Apparently thinking Mullaney was Heinrich Himmler, he sternly read the charge against him and asked whether Mullaney understood it. Mullaney said he did. The judge then asked Mullaney how he chose to plead, and Mullaney said, “Not guilty.” The judge then asked him whether or not he could afford a lawyer because if he couldn’t the court would supply one from the Legal Aid Society, but Mullaney said he would find his own lawyer, thanking the judge just the same, and having in mind Marvin Pitkin who had done so well for Feinstein before his comical demise. The judge then told Mullaney that he personally considered First Degree Burglary a heinous crime since it involved the violation of a man’s sanctum sanctorum, the breaking and entering into his home of homes, his dwelling place, in the night time, all of which sounded very familiar to Mullaney and almost put him to sleep. Because of the serious nature of the crime, the judge said, he was going to set an extremely high bail for a first offense, and that bail would be five hundred dollars. Mullaney was about to tell the judge that meeting such a bail was an impossibility, when a voice at the back of the courtroom said, “I’ll pay this man’s bail, your Honor.”