The detectives found him challenging.
“Mr. Coyle,” Meyer said, “I’ve just had a telephone call from the police laboratory to the effect that the bomb …”
“What bomb?” Coyle asked, and spat on the floor, narrowly missing Meyer’s polished shoe.
“The bomb that was put in the deputy mayor’s Cadillac,” Kling said, and hoped Coyle would spit again, but Coyle didn’t.
“Oh, that bomb,” Coyle said, as if bombs were put in every one of the city’s Cadillacs regularly, making it difficult to keep track of all the bombs around. “What about that bomb?”
“The lab says it was a pretty complicated bomb, but that it couldn’t have taken too long to wire to the car’s battery, provided it had been assembled beforehand. Now, what we’d like to know …”
“Yeah, I’ll bet it was complicated,” Coyle said. He did not look into the faces of the detectives, but instead seemed to direct his blue-eyed gaze at a spot somewhere across the garage. Kling turned to see what he was staring at, but the only thing he noticed was another yellow tile wall.
“Would you have any idea who installed that bomb, Mr. Coyle?”
“I didn’t,” Coyle said flatly.
“Nobody suggested that you did,” Meyer said.
“Just so we understand each other,” Coyle said. “All I do is run this garage, make sure the cars are in working order, make sure they’re ready to roll whenever somebody up there wants one, that’s all I’m in charge of.”
“How many cars do you have here?” Meyer asked.
“We got two dozen Caddys, twelve used on a regular basis, and the rest whenever we get visiting dignitaries. We also got fourteen buses and eight motorcycles. And there’s also some vehicles that are kept here by the Department of Parks, but that’s a courtesy because we got the space.”
“Who services the cars?”
“Which ones?”
“The Caddys.”
“Which one of the Caddys?” Coyle said, and spat again.
“Did you know, Mr. Coyle,” Kling said, “that spitting on the sidewalk is a misdeameanor?”
“This ain’t a sidewalk, this is my garage,” Coyle said.
“This is city property,” Kling said, “the equivalent of a sidewalk. In fact, since the ramp comes in directly from the street outside there, it could almost be considered an extension of the sidewalk.”
“Sure,” Coyle siad. “You going to arrest me for it, or what?”
“You going to keep giving us a hard time?” Kling asked.
“Who’s giving you a hard time?”
“We’d like to be home reading the funnies too,” Kling said, “instead of out busting our asses on a bombing. Now how about it?”
“None of our mechanics put a bomb in that car,” Coyle said flatly.
“How do you know?”
“Because I know all the men who work for me, and none of them put a bomb in that car, that’s how I know.”
“Who was here yesterday?” Meyer asked.
“I was.”
“You were here alone?”
“No, the men were here too.”
“Which men?”
“The mechanics.”
“How many mechanics?”
“Two.”
“Is that how many you usually have on duty?”
“We usually have six, but yesterday was Saturday, and we were working with a skeleton crew.”
“Anybody else here?”
“Yeah, some of the chauffeurs were either picking up cars or bringing them back, they’re in and out all the time. Also, there was supposed to be an outdoor fishing thing up in Grover Park, so we had a lot of bus drivers in. They were supposed to pick up these slum kids and take them to the park where they were going to fish through the ice on the lake. It got called off.”
“Why?”
“Too cold.”
“When were the bus drivers here?”
“They reported early in the morning, and they hung around till we got word it was called off.”
“You see any of them fooling around near that Cad?”
“Nope. Listen, you’re barking up the wrong tree. All those cars got checked out yesterday, and they were in A-number-One shape. That bomb must’ve been put in there after the car left the garage.”
“No, that’s impossible, Mr. Coyle.”
“Well, it wasn’t attached here.”
“You’re sure of that, are you?”
“I just told you the cars were inspected, didn’t I?”
“Did you inspect them personally, Mr. Coyle?”
“No, I got other things to do besides inspecting two dozen Caddys and fourteen buses and eight motorcycles.”
“Then who did inspect them, Mr. Coyle? One of your mechanics?”
“No, we had an inspector down from the Bureau of Motor Vehicles.”
“And he said the cars were all right?”
“He went over them from top to bottom, every vehicle in the place. He gave us a clean bill of health.”
“Did he look under the hoods?”
“Inside, outside, transmission, suspension, everything. He was here almost six hours.”
“So he would have found a bomb if one was there, is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“Mr. Coyle, did he give you anything in writing to the effect that the cars were inspected and found in good condition?”
“Why?” Coyle asked. “You trying to get off the hook?”
“No, we’re …”
“You trying to pass the buck to Motor Vehicles?”
“We’re trying to find out how he could have missed the bomb that was undoubtedly under the hood of that car, that’s what we’re trying to do.”
“It wasn’t that’s your answer.”
“Mr. Coyle, our lab reported …”
“I don’t care what your lab reported or didn’t report. I’m telling you all these cars were gone over with a fine-tooth comb yesterday, and there couldn’t have been a bomb in the deputy mayor’s car when it left this garage. Now that’s that,” Coyle said, and spat on the floor again, emphatically.
“Mr. Coyle,” Kling said, “did you personally see the deputy mayor’s car being inspected?”
“I personally saw it being inspected.”
“You personally saw the hood being raised?”
“I did.”
“And you’d be willing to swear that a thorough inspection was made of the area under the hood?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you actually see the inspector checking the area under the hood?”
“Well, I didn’t stand around looking over his shoulder, if that’s what you mean.”
“Where were you, actually, when the deputy mayor’s car was being inspected?”
“I was right here.”
“On this exact spot?”
“No, I was inside the office there. But I could see out into the garage. There’s a glass panel in there.”
“And you saw the inspector lifting the hood of the deputy mayor’s car?”
“That’s right.”
“There are two dozen Caddys here. How’d you know that one was the deputy mayor’s car?”
“By the license plate. It has DMA on it, and then the number. Same as Mayor Vale’s car has MA on it for ‘mayor,’ and then the number. Same as the …”
“All right, it was clearly his car, and you definitely saw …”
“Look, that guy spent a good half-hour on each car, now don’t tell me it wasn’t a thorough inspection.”
“Did he spend a half-hour on the deputy mayor’s car?”
“Easily.”
Meyer sighed. “I guess we’ll have to talk to him personally,” he said to Kling. He turned again to Coyle. “What was his name, Mr. Coyle?”