"Did you start out with that idea? Shooting at the lamp-posts?"
"Yeah. Listen, I don't have to say anything to you. I want a lawyer."
"You'll have plenty opportunity for a lawyer."
"Well, I ain't answering any questions until I get one."
"Who's asking questions? We're trying to find out what possessed you to do a damn fool thing like shooting at light fixtures."
"I was high. What the hell, you never been high?"
"I don't go shooting at lampposts when I'm high," the Chief said.
"Well, I do. That's what makes horse races."
"Where were you Sunday night?" "What time Sunday night?" "About 11.40 or so." "I think I was at a movie."
"Which movie?"
"The Strand. Yeah, I was at a movie."
"Did you have the .45 with you?"
"I don't remember."
"Yes or no."
"I don't remember. If you want a yes or no, it'll have to be no. I'm no dope."
"What picture did you see?"
"An old one."
"Name it."
"The Creature from the Black Lagoon."
"What was it about?"
"A monster that comes up from the water."
"What was the co-feature?"
"I don't remember."
"Think."
"Something with John Garfield."
"What?"
"A prize-fight picture."
"What was the title?"
"I don't remember. He's a bum, and then he gets to be champ, and then he takes a dive."
"Body and Soul?"
"Yeah, that was it."
"Call The Strand, Hank," Carella said.
"Hey, what're you gonna do that for?" Bronckin asked.
"To check and see if those movies were playing Sunday night."
"They were playing, all right."
"We're also going to check that .45 with Ballistics, Bronckin."
"What for?"
"To see how it matches up against some slugs we've got. You can save us a lot of time."
"How?"
"What were you doing Monday night?"
"Monday, Monday? Jesus, who remembers?"
Bush had located the number in the directory, and was dialing.
"Listen," Bronckin said, "you don't have to call them. Those were the pictures, all right."
"What were you doing Monday night?"
"I... I went to a movie."
"Another movie? Two nights in a row?"
"Yeah. The movies are air-conditioned. It's better than hanging around and suffocating, ain't it?"
"What'd you see?"
"Some more old ones."
"You like old movies, don't you?"
"I don't care about the picture. I was only tryin' to beat the heat. The places showing old movies are cheaper."
"What were the pictures?"
"Seven Brides for Seven Brothers and Violent Saturday."
"You remember those all right, do you?"
"Sure, it was more recent."
"Why'd you say you couldn't remember what you did Monday night?"
"I said that?"
"Yes."
"Well, I had to think."
"What movie house was this?"
"On Monday night, you mean?"
"Yeah."
"One of the RKO's. The one on North 80th."
Bush put the receiver back into its cradle. "Checks out, Steve," he said. "Creature from the Black Lagoon, and Body and Soul. Like he said." Bush didn't mention that he'd also taken down a timetable for the theatre, or that he knew exactly what times each picture started and ended. He nodded briefly at Carella, passing on the information.
"What time did you go in?"
"Sunday or Monday?"
"Sunday."
"About 8:30."
"Exactly 8:30?"
"Who remembers exactly? It was getting hot, so I went into The Strand."
"What makes you think it was 8:30?"
"I don't know. It was about that time."
"What time did you leave?"
"About—musta been about a quarter to twelve."
"Where'd you go then?" I
"For some coffee and."
"Where?"
"The White Tower."
"How long did you stay?"
"Half-hour, I guess."
"What'd you eat?"
"I told you. Coffee and."
"Coffee and what?"
"Jesus, a jelly donut," Bronckin said.
"This took you a half-hour?"
"I had a cigarette while I was there."
"Meet anybody you know there?"
"No."
"At the movie?"
"No."
"And you didn't have the gun with you, that right?"
"I don't think I did."
"Do you usually carry it around?"
"Sometimes."
"You ever been in trouble with the Law?"
"Yeah."
"Spell it."
"I served two at" Sing Sing."
"What for?"
"Assault with a deadly weapon."
"What was the weapon?" Bronckin hesitated.
"I'm listening," Carella said.
"A .45."
"This one?"
"No."
"Which?"
"Another one I had."
"Have you still got it?" Again, Bronckin hesitated. "Have you still got it?"
Carella repeated. "Yes."
"How come? Didn't the police ..."
"I ditched the gun. They never found it A friend of mine picked it up for me."
"Did you use the business end?"
"No. The butt."
"On who?"
"What difference does it make?"
"I want to know. Who?"
"A... a lady."
"A woman?"
"Yes."
"How old?"
"Forty. Fifty."
"Which?"
"Fifty."
"You're a nice guy."
"Yeah," Bronckin said.
"Who collared you? Which precinct?"
"Ninety-second, I think."
"Was it?"
"Yes."
"Who were the cops?"
"I don't know."
"The ones who made the arrest, I mean."
"There was only one."
"A dick?"
"No."
"When was this?" Bush asked.
"Fifty-two."
"Where's that other .45?"
"Back at my room."
"Where?"
"831 Haven."
Carella jotted down the address. "What else have you got there?"
"You guys going to help me?"
"What help do you need?"
"Well, I keep a few guns."
"How many?"
"Six," Bronckin said.
"What?"
"Yeah."
"Name them."
"The two .45's. Then there's a Luger, and a Mauser, and I even got a Tokarev."
"What else?" "Oh, just a .22."
"All in your room?"
"Yeah, it's quite a collection."
"Your shoes there, too?"
"Yeah. What's with my shoes?"
"No permits for any of these guns, huh?"
"No. Slipped my mind."
"I'll bet. Hank, call the Ninety-second. Find out who collared Bronckin in '52. I think Foster started at our house, but Reardon may have been a transfer."
"Oh," Bronckin said suddenly.
"What?"
"That's what this is all about, huh? Those two cops."
"Yes."
"You're 'way off," Bronckin said.
"Maybe. What time'd you get out of that RKO?"
"About the same. Eleven-thirty, twelve."
"The other one check, Hank?"
"Yep."
"Better call the RKO on North 80th and check this one, too. You can go now, Bronckin. Your escort's in the hall."
"Hey," Bronckin said, "how about a break? I helped you, didn't I? How about a break?"
Carella blew his nose.
None of the shoes in Bronckin's apartment owned heels even faintly resembling the heel-print cast the Lab boys had.
Ballistics reported that neither of the .45's in Bronckin's possession could have fired any of the fatal bullets.
The 92nd Precinct reported that neither Michael Reardon or David Foster had ever worked there.
There was only one thing the investigators could bank on. The heat.
Chapter FIFTEEN
at seven twenty-six that Thursday night, the city looked skyward.
The city had heard a sound, and it paused to identify the sound. The sound was the roll of distant thunder.