“Well, he had a better job at the time,” Lasser said, and shrugged.
“What do you mean? He was a janitor in 1939, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, but in a better building. Not in a slum area.”
“Where?”
“Downtown,” Lasser said.
“Downtown where?”
“At 1107 Ganning. Do you know the area?”
“I think so,” Hawes said. “That’s in the financ—” And then he cut himself short. “1107 Ganning, did you say?”
“Yes.”
“Your father was the janitor at 1107 Ganning in 1939?”
“Yes, that’s right. What…?”
“Steve,” Hawes said, “Siggie Reuhr was working for Cavanaugh and Post in 1939.”
“So?”
“At 1107 Ganning Street,” Hawes said.
Sigmund Reuhr was still in bed when the detectives knocked on his door. He asked who it was, and they told him it was the police, and he mumbled something they couldn’t understand and then came through the apartment to the front door. He was belting a blue paisley robe over his red striped pajamas when he opened the door for them.
“What now?” he asked. “Some more Gestapo tactics?”
“Just some questions, Mr. Reuhr,” Carella said. “Mind if we come in?”
“Would it make any difference if I minded?”
“Sure,” Hawes said. “If you minded, we’d probably arrest you and take you uptown and book you. This way, it can all be nice and friendly, a private little chat without charges or countercharges or anything.”
“Yeah, friendly,” Reuhr said, and he led them into the apartment. “I just got up,” he said. “I’m going to make some coffee. I can’t talk to anybody until I’ve had a cup of coffee.”
“Take your time, Mr. Reuhr,” Carella said. “This has been waiting around since 1939.”
Reuhr shot Carella a quick, suspicious glance, seemed about to say something, but closed his mouth instead and went into the kitchen. He fixed his pot of coffee, put it on the stove to percolate, and then came back into the living room. He sat opposite the detectives, but he did not say a word to them until his coffee was ready. Then, sipping at it, he asked, “What did you mean about 1939?”
“Well, suppose you tell us, Mr. Reuhr.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Reuhr said.
“Mr. Reuhr,” Hawes said, “we think it is a very big coincidence that someone says he saw you at a crap game at 4111 South 5th, in the basement where a man named George Lasser was janitor, and—”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Which is very strange, considering the coincidence.”
“What coincidence?”
“In 1939, when you were working for Cavanaugh and Post at 1107 Ganning Street downtown, the superintendent of that building was a man named George Lasser. How about that, Mr. Reuhr?”
“So what? I’m an accountant. You think I knew who the super of the building was?”
“We think you did, Mr. Reuhr.”
“You’d have a hell of a time proving it. And anyway, what if I did? Is there a law against knowing the super of a—”
“There is a law against shooting craps, Mr. Reuhr,” Hawes said.
“There is also a law against murdering people,” Carella said.
“Argh, bullshit,” Reuhr said. “I didn’t murder anybody, and you know it.”
“Mr. Reuhr, we talked to Mr. Cavanaugh, one of the partners in the accounting firm for which you worked.”
“So?”
“Mr. Cavanaugh told us that in 1937 you attempted to shake down one of his clients, is that true?”
“No.”
“We think it’s true, Mr. Reuhr.”
“So what? That was in 1937. What’s that got to do with today?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
“Yeah, well…”
“We have a few ideas, Mr. Reuhr.”
“I’m not interested in your ideas,” Reuhr said, and he put down his coffee cup. “In fact, I think we’d better do what you suggested earlier. I’m tired of this friendly little chat. I think I’d better get dressed, and you’d better arrest me and take me uptown and book me, okay? I’d like to know what you’re going to book me for.”
“How does murder sound, Mr. Reuhr?”
“Whose murder?”
“George Lasser’s murder.”
“Come on, why the hell would I kill George Lasser?”
“Then you did know him, huh?”
“Who said so?”
“Mr. Reuhr, let’s do what you said we should, okay? Go put on your clothes, and we’ll take you uptown and book you. We’re a little tired of this friendly chat, too.”
“Book me for what?” Reuhr asked again.
“Why, murder, Mr. Reuhr. I thought we’d told you.”
Reuhr was silent for several moments. “I didn’t kill Georgie,” he said at last.
“Were you at those crap games, Mr. Reuhr?”
Reuhr nodded. “Yes.”
“What about Spedino? Did he play, too?”
“Yeah, he was there.”
“Then why’d he lie about it?”
“Because his wife would kill him if she knew he was shooting dice.”
“You mean he lied to us, even knowing there was a homicide involved, just because he’s afraid of his wife?”
“Have you ever met his wife?” Reuhr asked.
“Okay,” Carella said, and shrugged. “What about George Lasser? Did you know him back in 1939?”
“Yes.”
“What was the extent of your relationship with him?” Carella asked.
“Just hello and goodbye. You know. I’d see him in the hallway every now and then. I’d say, ‘Hello, Georgie, how are—’ ”
“That’s a lie, Mr. Reuhr,” Carella said.
“Huh?”
“Mr. Reuhr, back in 1939 George Lasser was able to afford a prep school for his son Tony and a private mental institution for his wife Estelle. He couldn’t have done all that on a janitor’s salary, Mr. Reuhr. So we made a few guesses, and we’re going to try them for size, okay, Mr. Reuhr? Just for size, okay? We’ll get the right color later.”
“Are you supposed to be comical?” Reuhr asked.
“No, I’m supposed to be dead serious,” Carella answered. “We know that George Lasser was an ambitious man constantly on the lookout for fresh angles. We know that you’d already shaken down one of your firm’s clients and been warned against attempting the same thing again, and we also know that you and George Lasser worked in the same building at the same time. You’ve just told us that you knew him, so we—”
“Just to say hello to.”
“Sure. We think it was a little more than that, Mr. Reuhr.”
“Yeah? What do you think it was?”
“We think you found another one of your firm’s clients to blackmail, and—”
“I’d watch how you throw around that word blackmail.”
“Never mind what I watch, Mr. Reuhr. We think you found another sucker to blackmail, but you knew that Cavanaugh would break you in a hundred pieces if you tried it again. That is, if you tried it again personally.” Carella paused. “Are you beginning to get the picture, Mr. Reuhr?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“He never seems to know what we’re talking about,” Carella said to Hawes conversationally. “What we are talking about, Mr. Reuhr, is this. We think you found someone who needed blackmailing and, knowing you could not go to him personally, decided to send a representative in your place. We think the person you decided to send was George Lasser. That’s what we think.”
“Mmm-huh,” Reuhr said.
“What do you think, Mr. Reuhr?”
“I think that’s very interesting.”