Killer's Choice

S: When can you look?

M: I don't want to look. I'm not allowed in Mommy's drawers and things. She doesn't allow it. She says it's invasion of privacy, if you know what that means.

S: Well, we don't have to tell her you looked.

M: She'll find out. She'll know the minute she comes back. She's on a vacation, you know.

S: Oh, is she?

M: Sure. Granma told me. She won't be back for a while.

S: I see. Well, if she's gone, then she won't know you looked through her drawers and things, will she?

M: Oh, she'll know, all right. Mommy always knows. She knows everything. She can even tell when I'm lying. Right off. Did you know that? She's very smart.

S: But she won't know you looked if you're very careful. And also, if you find the letter, I'll buy you a nice present.

M: What will you buy me?

S: A doll, if you like.

M: I have a doll.

S: You can always use two dolls.

M: No, I can't. I have Dolly, and she's enough.

S: Well, what would you like?

M: Nothing.

S: There must be something you'd like.

M: Yes.

S: What?

M: A mink coat. Mommy always says she'd like one.

S: All right, I'll buy you a mink coat.

M: All right.

S; Will you look for the letter now?

M: No.

S: Well, why not? For God's sake…

M: Because I don't really want a mink coat. I don't really want anything. Besides, I'm very busy. I already told you, didn't I? I have to dress Dolly.

S: Monica…

M: You shouldn't shout. Mommy says it's impolite to shout, even on the telephone.

S: Monica, will you please…

M: I have to go now. G'bye. It was nice talking to you.

S: Monica!

M: What?

S: Is the letter in her desk?

M: I don't know.

S: Is it in her room?

M: I don't know. G'bye.

Carella looked up from his notes.

'Was that all?' he asked.

'Yes,' Monica said. 'I hung up. I had to dress Dolly. Besides, to tell you the truth, I was getting a little bored. I always get bored on the telephone, especially when I'm talking with grown-ups. All they want to know is how are you and have you been a good little girl. They never know how to talk. Only my friends know how to talk on the phone. I can dial Marjorie's number all by myself, did you know that? Would you like to see me dial Marjorie's number?'

'Not now,' Mrs Travail said.

'Did this person say he'd call back?' Kling asked.

'Well, I don't know if it was a he,' Monica said.

'Well, whoever… did he say he'd call back?'

'No. I just hung up.'

'Did he call back?'

'No.'

'Where is this letter, Monica?'

'I don't know. I think Mommy threw it out.'

'Then why did you tell him…?'

'Well, this person seemed so interested, I didn't have the heart to say Mommy'd thrown it out. Besides, I'm not so sure she did.'

'Could we look through her room, Mrs Travail?' Carella asked.

'Certainly,' Mrs Travail said.

'Mommy won't like it,' Monica said ruefully.

'We'll be very careful,' Carella said.

'Still. She won't like it. She's very fussy how her clothes are. Sometimes, when I play Red Cross Nurse and things, I use her scarfs for bandages. She takes a fit, she really does. She doesn't like her drawers all messed up. She's very fussy that way. You'd better be careful.'

'We'll be very careful,' Kling said.

'Do you think there's anything to this letter?' Mrs Travail asked.

'The person who called Monica seems to think it's pretty important,' Kling said. 'As a matter of fact, your daughter thought so, too. Important enough to write and tell Ted Boone about it.'

'She wrote to Theodore?' Mrs Travail asked, interested.

'Yes.' Kling paused. 'Mrs Travail, I thought you liked him.'

'I do, immensely.'

'Then why won't you release Monica?'

'Do what?' Monica asked.

'I don't think a child should live without a woman,' Mrs Travail said. 'If he wants to take both of us in, I'll let her go tomorrow.'

'I see. You said a while ago you didn't trust him.'

'I don't. Not where it concerns Monica.'

'Was Annie a drunkard, Mrs Travail?'

'Certainly not!'

'Did you know that Mr Boone was attempting to obtain legal custody by showing that Annie was a drunkard?'

'No. I didn't know that. But I'm not surprised. I love Theodore. But I'm afraid he would stop at nothing to get the child.'

'Except murder,' Carella said.

Mrs Travail glanced quickly at Monica.

'We checked his alibi,' Kling said. 'You'll be happy to know he's in the clear.'

'I told you that when first I talked to you,' Mrs Travail said.

'Who's this?' Monica asked. 'Daddy?'

'Yes,' Mrs Travail said. 'I love that boy. I wish he'd take us both in. I hate this. I hate legal battles and courts and everything that goes with it. But how else can I let him see which way is the right way? I hate distrusting him. I absolutely hate it.'

'Well, he seems to have legal right to the child now.'

'Maybe,' Mrs Travail said, and she shrugged. 'What about this person who called Monica?'

'What about it?'

'The… the one who did it?'

'Possibly.'

'Did what?' Monica asked.

'Nothing,' Kling said.

'Is there any way of tracing the call that came?' Mrs Travail asked.

'None whatever. Even if the party is still on the line, it's a pretty difficult thing to swing. Too much of the telephone company's equipment nowadays is automatic. If a call is made from a dial phone, it's impossible to trace. And if it's made from a phone without a dial—where you have to give the operator the number you're calling—it's next to impossible to trace. Sooner or later, the call gets circuited into the automatic system, and then you're lost in a maze of calls that could have originated anywhere. Police don't trace too many calls, Mrs Travail. That's one of the popular fictions of crime detection.'

'Well,' she said, dubiously. 'I suppose.'

'Do you think we could look at Annie's room now?' Carella asked pleasantly.

Mrs Travail smiled. 'Of course,' she said.

'This may take a little while,' Carella said. 'We want to do a thorough job.'

So far, the killer was lucky.

They did a very thorough job—but they did not find the letter.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Bureau of Criminal Identification had dug out its packet on Charles Fetterick and sent it by messenger to the Detective Division of the 87th Precinct. In the cloistered silence of the squad room, Cotton Hawes studied Fetterick's card.

Hawes read through the card a second time, flipped it over to glance at Fetterick's fingerprints, and then leafed through the rest of the stuff in the packet. Fetterick had been released after he'd served his year's time. His last known address was 127 Boxer Lane in Riverhead, the building where they'd found him and then in turn lost him. The card didn't tell Hawes very much, except that Fetterick had tried to crack the safe of his employer. 'Crack' it was perhaps an inaccurate term to use. He had tried to burgle it, and had come prepared with the combination to the safe.

Hawes looked at the I.B. card again.

Acton Photo-Engraving on Acton Drive in Riverhead.

He shrugged, told Meyer Meyer he was going out for a while, and then left the squad room.

Sam Kaplowitz was the owner of Acton Photo-Engraving. He was a giant of a man with a barrel chest and a black moustache that hung under his nose like a paint brush.