“Didn’t you type up any reports?”
“I didn’t have time to type up reports, I was too busy out in the field. Look, Steve, I busted my ass on this case, and I don’t need you telling me I was dogging it. I went over that warehouse with a fine-tooth comb,” Parker said, gathering steam. “I couldn’t find a thing, no fuse, no wick, no mechanical device, no bottles that might’ve had chemicals in them, nothing. I talked to...”
“Is it possible the fire was accidental?”
“How could it be? The two watchmen were doped, which means somebody wanted them out of the way, right? Okay, so why? To set fire to the joint.”
“You think Grimm might’ve done it himself?”
“Not a chance. All the stock was committed, he was ready to ship the stuff the next Monday morning. There were no records or books in the warehouse, he keeps those in an office on Bailey Street. So why would he burn down the joint? He’s clean.”
“Then why wouldn’t you tell that to his insurers?”
“Because I wasn’t sure. I only worked the case two days, and all I had at the end of that time was a pile of ashes. You think I was going to stick my neck out for Grimm? Screw that noise, buddy.”
“Did you get anything from the night watchmen?” Carella asked.
“They’re two old farts,” Parker said, “they can hardly remember their own names. They both got to work at eight o’clock, they remember feeling dizzy about ten, and then blooie. One of them collapsed in the courtyard outside. The other guy was inside making his rounds when it hit him. The firemen thought it was smoke inhalation at first, but that didn’t explain why the outside man was unconscious. Also, he had his head in a pool of his own vomit, so somebody got the bright idea he’d been doped. They pumped him out at the hospital, and sure enough, he’d been given a healthy dose of chloral hydrate. Okay, so where does that leave me? Chloral hydrate ain’t called ‘knockout drops’ for nothing, the stuff works in minutes. But both watchmen got to the warehouse at eight, and they didn’t pass out till two hours later. They told me nobody came anywhere near the place during that time, but nobody. So who gave them the knockout drops? You’re so hot to crack this one, find the guy who slipped them the Mickey. He’s probably the same guy who burned down the joint.”
“You mind if I talk to those watchmen again?” Carella asked.
“Be my guest,” Parker said. “I’m on vacation. I done all I could before I left, and I don’t intend to do anything else till I get back.” He rose, walked to the wall telephone, ripped a piece of paper from the pad beneath it, and began scribbling on it. “Here’re their names,” he said. “Have fun.”
“Thanks,” Carella said, and got up, and started for the door.
Belatedly and reluctantly, Parker said, “While you’re here, you want a bottle of beer?”
“I’m not allowed to drink on duty,” Carella said, and walked out.
The Art Department of Blake, Fields, and Henderson occupied the entire fourteenth floor of 933 Wilson Avenue. George Aronowitz was a short, stubby man in his early forties, totally bald, with a walrus mustache that compensated for the lack of hair on his head. His office was starkly decorated in white — white walls, white furniture, white lighting fixtures — the better to exhibit the various posters, magazine ads, photographs, and bits and pieces of artwork he’d either done himself, commissioned, or admired. All of these were tacked to the walls with pushpins, so that he resembled a stout deity sitting in a stained-glass window or a mosaic niche. He shook Hawes’s hand briefly, folded his stubby fingers across his chest, leaned back in his swivel chair, and said, “Shoot.”
“I want to know all about the fire last night.”
“I saw the flames at a little after eleven. I called the Fire Department and they came right over.” Aronowitz shrugged. “That’s about it.”
“Hear anything before that?”
“Like what?”
“Any unusual sounds outside? Dog barking, car driving in, ash can being knocked over, glass breaking? Anything out of the ordinary?”
“Let me think,” Aronowitz said. “There’re always dogs barking in that neighborhood, so that wouldn’t have been out of the ordinary. Everybody around there keeps a dog. I hate dogs. Rotten, filthy animals, bite you on the ass for no reason at all.”
“I take it you don’t keep a dog.”
“I wouldn’t keep a dog if it could talk six languages and read and write Sanskrit. I hate dogs. Grimm doesn’t have a dog, either.”
“Well, were there dogs barking last night?”
“There are always dogs barking,” Aronowitz said. “Damn things won’t shut up. One of them barks at a moth or something, and next thing you know, some other hound is yapping at him from over the hill, and he gets answered by another stupid mutt, and they keep going all night long, barking at nothing. It’s a miracle anybody gets any sleep around there. And it’s supposed to be an exclusive neighborhood! If I had my way, I’d poison every dog in the United States of America. Then I’d have them stuffed and put on wheels, and anybody who’s a dog lover could buy himself a stuffed one and wheel him around the house, and he wouldn’t bark all night long. God, I hate dogs!”
“Did you, ah, hear anything besides dogs barking last night?”
“Who can hear anything with all those mutts howling?” Aronowitz asked. He was becoming very agitated.
Hawes thought he had best change the subject before Aronowitz began frothing at the mouth. “Let’s try to work out a timetable, okay? Maybe that’ll help us.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, for example, what time did you get home last night?”
“Six-thirty,” Aronowitz said.
“Did you pass the Grimm house?”
“Sure. He’s right next door, I pass the house every day.”
“Everything seem all right at that time?”
“Everything seemed fine.”
“Nobody lurking around or anything?”
“Nobody. Well, wait a minute, the gardener was watering the lawn at the Franklin house across the way. But he’s their regular gardener, he’s there maybe three, four times a week. I wouldn’t consider that lurking, would you? You should see the dog they’ve got, a big Great Dane who comes bounding out of the driveway like a lion, he could tear out your throat in one gulp. God, what a monster!”
“What’d you do then? After you got home?”
“I changed my clothes, and I had a couple of martinis before dinner.”
“Are you married, Mr. Aronowitz?”
“Fourteen years to the same woman. She hates dogs, too.”
“Did she hear anything unusual last night?”
“No. At least, she didn’t mention anything.”
“Okay, you had dinner at... what time?”
“About seven-thirty, eight o’clock.”
“Then what?”
“We went outside and sat on the terrace, and had some brandy and listened to some music.”
“Until what time?”
“Ten o’clock.”
“No strange sounds outside?”
“None.”
“What’d you do then?”
“Well,” Aronowitz said, and shrugged.
“Yes?”
“Well... this is sort of personal.” He hesitated, looked down at his folded hands, and shyly said, “We made love.”
“Okay,” Hawes said.
“We didn’t hear anything while we were making love,” Aronowitz said.
“Okay,” Hawes said.
“Afterwards, we went upstairs. I was getting ready for bed when I happened to look out the window. Grimm’s lights were still on, and the place was in flames.”