Hail to the Chief

'This girl Midge,' Carella said, introducing the second chorus of the same opera, and suddenly the woman in the kitchen said, 'Eleanor?'

'Yes, Grandma?'

'Come make me some tea, Eleanor.'

'Yes, Grandma,' she said, and rose swiftly and left the room.

Carella looked at Kling and sighed. Kling shook his head wearily because he knew exactly what Carella was thinking. They'd been that close, and now maybe they would lose her.

The girl was in the kitchen for perhaps five minutes. When she came back, she sat again in the easy chair, folded her hands in her lap, and said, 'Well, I'm sorry I can't help you, but I don't know where Big is, and I don't know anybody named Midge.' She was back to the litany, repeating whatever Randy had told her on the telephone.

'Ever been to Turman?' Kling asked. They weren't about to let her slip away. If they were forced to, they would baldly state that her boy friend had been caught with Midge in flagrante delicto, in the middle of Turman's Main Street, during the height of last night's rush hour.

'Turman?'

'Turman, Turman,' Carella said, his tone sharper, 'right across the Hamilton Bridge. Now don't tell us you don't know where Turman is.'

Ellie shrank back from the harshness of his voice. 'Yes, I know where Turman is.'

'Have you ever been there?'

'I… don't remember.'

That meant she'd been there. The rest would all be downhill. But instead of relaxing, their manner got tougher, their voices more demanding, their very postures more rigid and unrelenting.

'You'd better remember,' Kling said.

'And fast,' Carella said.

'If I can't remember, I can't remember,' Ellie said. Her blue eyes were beginning to swim with tears.

'Have you ever been to Turman, yes or no?' Carella snapped.

'Yes, all right, yes. I think I was there. But only once.'

'When?'

'I don't remember.'

'Now you listen to me, Ellie,' Carella said, and pointed his finger at her. 'You're going to find yourself in a whole lot of trouble if you don't start telling us the truth.'

'We're wasting time,' Kling said in apparent disgust. 'Let's take her to the station house.'

'No, wait a minute, what for?' Ellie said. Her tear-filled eyes were wide with panic now.

'When did you go to Turman?'

'Just before Christmas.'

'Where?'

'I don't re—'

'Where, damn it!' Carella shouted.

'It's a big town. I don't remember.'

'It's a small town, and you do remember!'

'What's the matter, Eleanor?' the woman in the kitchen asked.

'Where?' Carella said again.

'Is something wrong, Eleanor?' the woman asked. 'What's that shouting?'

Kling rose abruptly from the sofa. 'Your grandmother's going to have to post bail for you,' he lied. 'Come on, get your coat.'

'No, wait, I…'

'Yes?' Carella said.

'What have I done?' Ellie asked plaintively. I mean, what is it I've done?'

'You're withholding evidence,' Kling said. 'Let's go.' He reached for the handcuffs on his belt. That's what did it. He would remember always that reaching for the handcuffs was what caused the girl to crack. He would remember the trick, and use it again and again in the future.

'All right, I went to a house there,' Ellie said softly, and lowered her head, and stared at her feet.

'What house?' Carella said quickly.

'Big's aunt has a house in Turman.'

'Where? What street?'

'I don't know.'

'Damn it…' Kling started.

'I really don't know, I swear to God! It's a yellow house with, white shutters, and there's a fig tree in the front yard. It was covered with tarpaper when we were there in December. I don't know the street. I was only there that once. I swear to God, I don't know the street!'

'What's his aunt's name?"

'Martha Walsh.'

'Where does she live?'

'Around the corner. On Phillips Avenue.'

'Thank you,' Carella said.

'Eleanor?' the woman in the kitchen asked. 'Are you all right?'

'I'm all right,' Ellie said without conviction.

Detective Meyer Meyer was having his problems with public relations.

Montgomery Pierce-Hoyt was on the telephone again, and he wanted to know whether or not the lieutenant had given Meyer permission to discuss the relationship of television to acts of violence.

'Yes, he's given me permission,' Meyer said. 'Provided it's clearly understood that whatever I say is only my own personal opinion, and isn't in any way presented as the official view of the department.'

'Oh, yes, certainly,' Pierce-Hoyt said. 'When can I come up there?'

'I was just leaving the office,' Meyer said.

'When will you be back?'

'I have a speaking engagement, and then I'm going straight home.'

'A speaking engagement?' Pierce-Hoyt asked. 'What kind of speaking engagement?'

'I'm talking at a women's college.'

'What about?'

'Rape. How to prevent it.'

'That sounds intriguing,' Pierce-Hoyt said.

'Yes, it's very intriguing,' Meyer said dryly.

'Mind if I come along?'

'I'm leaving right this minute.'

'I'll meet you there. I'd like to hear your talk. Might provide some interesting sidelights for the piece. Which college is it?'

'Amberson.'

'What time are you speaking?'

'Three o'clock,' Meyer said, and couldn't resist adding, 'if I can get off the phone.'

'I'll be there. How will I know you?'

'I'll be the only one standing on the platform behind a lectern and talking about rape.'

'See you,' Pierce-Hoyt said cheerfully, and hung up.

Meyer did not like Pierce-Hoyt. He had not even met him, and already he didn't like him. He also didn't like having to go all the way downtown and crosstown on a Saturday to give a talk on rape-prevention to a crowd of young girls who were probably living in dormitories with men students from nearby colleges and screwing their brains out. When his daughter Susie got old enough, he would say No. No, you may not take a boy as a college roommate. No, you may not bring a boy home to this house and sleep in the same bedroom with him. Yes, I am an old-fashioned man, that's right. If this were Poland, where my grandfather came from, and if we went to the village rabbi and asked, 'Rov, is it fitting that my only daughter should sleep with a person before she's married?' the rabbi would shake his head and stroke his beard, and answer, 'Nowhere is it written that such an act should be condoned.' The answer is No, Susie. No, no, no.

He went to the coat rack, and was putting on his coat when the telephone rang. Cotton Hawes and Hal Willis were supposed to be working the shift with him, but he hadn't seen hide nor hair of either of them since lunchtime. Muttering, he picked up the receiver.

'87th Squad, Detective Meyer,' he said.

'Meyer, this is Grundy here in Turman. Is Carella around?'

'Grundy?' Meyer said. 'Who's Grundy?'

'Detective Grundy, Turman Police.'

'Hello, Grundy, how are you?'

'Fine. Is Carella there?'

'Not at the moment. Anything I can do for you?'

'Yeah. Tell him we located the truck. Green sixty-four Chevy, bearing an Isola plate, 74J-8309, registered to one Randall M. Nesbitt, address 1104 Dooley in Riverhead. Back of the truck scrubbed clean, not a stain of any kind on it. We're checking the steering wheel, gearshift, everything else inside and out for latents, but our guess is we won't find a thing.'