‘Well, I suppose you could call it a gun.’
‘What would you call it?’
‘I suppose I would call it a gun.’
‘What did the judge call it?’
‘Well, a gun.’
‘So this was an armed robbery.’
‘That’s what they said it was.’
‘And you drew twenty for it.’
‘I only done eight.’
‘So now you’re back at the same old stand again, huh?’
‘I keep tellin’ you it was Drits’s gun. It must’ve been Drits who shot those two ladies. If I’da known the gun was hot, I’d never have taken it.’
‘Who said they were ladies?’ Brown asked.
‘What?’
‘Who said the two dead people in the cashier’s office were ladies?’
Henkins blinked.
‘You want to tell us about it?’ Carella said.
The room went silent. The detectives waited.
‘Dennis must’ve shot those two ladies,’ Henkins said.
‘Dennis who?’
‘Dennis Dove. He must’ve been the one who went in the cashier’s office and shot those two ladies. I was nowhere near the place when the robbery went down. I was waiting on the ground floor. I didn’t even know a robbery was happening. All I was supposed to do was wait for Dennis and take the gun and the sack...’
‘Wait a minute,’ Carella said, ‘let me get this straight.’ He was having difficulty getting it straight again.
‘Dennis asked me to do him a favor, that’s all,’ Henkins said. His twinkling blue eyes were darting frantically. ‘What he asked me to do was wait downstairs and take this sack he wanted me to bring to the orphanage...’
‘The orphanage again,’ Brown said.
‘... to give to the little kiddies there on Christmas Eve.’
‘And the gun?’
‘I don’t know how Drits got the gun. Maybe he was in on it, too. An ex-con, you know?’ Henkins said, and shrugged.
‘Is that why he was in Castleview? For armed robbery?’
‘No, he digs kids.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Short eyes, you know?’
‘A child molester?’
‘Yeah.’ Henkins shrugged again.
‘But you think he was in on this robbery with Dove, huh?’
‘Musta been, don’t you think?’ Henkins said. ‘Otherwise, how’d he get the gun?’
‘But you were on the ground floor.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Nowhere near the cashier’s office.’
‘That’s right.’
‘The cashier’s office is on the sixth floor,’ Brown said.
‘So’s the men’s room,’ Carella said.
‘Coincidence, pure and simple,’ Henkins said.
‘Bullshit, pure and simple,’ Brown said.
‘Who’s Dennis Dove?’ Carella asked.
‘Guy I met a while back. Asked me to do him this favor on Christmas Eve.’
‘Is that his full name? Dennis Dove?’
‘Far as I know.’
‘Where does he live?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What does he look like?’
‘He’s a big tall blond guy,’ Henkins said. ‘Wears a hearing aid.’
Both detectives looked at each other at exactly the same moment.
‘A while back when?’ Brown asked.
‘Huh?’ Henkins said.
‘When you met him.’
‘October sometime. When Lizzie was filling us in.’
‘Lizzie who?’ Carella asked. He had the sinking feeling that Henkins was not talking about Lizzie Borden.
‘Some broad he was banging. Crazy about him. She used to work at Gruber’s. Not that I knew what they were planning. I was only there because they wanted me to do them a favor, you see. Whatever else...’
‘Lizzie who?’ Carella asked again.
‘Turner,’ Henkins said.
* * * *
So there they were.
And where they were...
They didn’t know where they were.
It seemed as though the Deaf Man had been behind the armed robbery at Gruber’s. It further seemed that Elizabeth Turner had worked at Gruber’s—they would check to see if she had worked in the cashier’s office, a likelihood considering her past employment—and that she had been intimate with the Deaf Man. They did not know how she had met the Deaf Man. They knew for certain that Henkins was lying through his teeth about the robbery itself—the murder weapon had been in his possession, and only his fingerprints were on the gun—but they didn’t know if he was also lying about this person named Dennis Dove, whose description fit the Deaf Man’s. He could not have pulled the name Lizzie Turner out of a hat, though. And on the night of her murder a man fitting the Deaf Man’s description had been seen carrying a woman fitting Elizabeth Turner’s description. It seemed to make sense. Sort of.
But what did the Gruber’s job have to do with the notes the Deaf Man had been sending them?
Nothing that they could see.
Two nightsticks.
Three pairs of handcuffs.
Four police hats.
Five walkie-talkies.
Six police shields.
Seven wanted flyers.
Eight black horses.
Nine patrol cars.
Ten D.D. forms.
Eleven Detective Specials.
Twelve roast pigs.
And then, at eleven on Christmas morning, while Carella was typing up the report on their interview with Henkins, and Brown was on the phone with a parole officer seeking a last-known address for Arthur Drits, a delivery boy arrived at the slatted wooden railing that separated the squadroom from the corridor outside. He was carrying a package wrapped in green paper. It was a rather bulky package, and he was having difficulty holding it in both arms.
‘Is there a Detective Stephen Louis Carella here?’ he asked.
‘I’m Carella,’ Carella said.
‘Di Fiore Florist,’ the delivery boy said.
‘Come in,’ Carella said.
‘Well ... somebody wanna help me with the latch here?’ the delivery boy said.
Carella helped him with the latch. The delivery boy struggled the package into the squadroom, looked around for a place to put it, and set it down on Genero’s vacant desk. Carella wondered if he was expected to tip the delivery boy. He dug in his pocket and handed him a quarter.
‘Can you spare it?’ the delivery boy said. ‘Merry Christmas,’ he added sourly and walked out.