“I like Bert,” Townsend said. “I liked him the minute Claire brought him around. He did wonders for her, you know. She’d been through that thing where her boyfriend was killed, and for a while she... she forgot about living, do you know what I mean? I thought... I thought we’d agreed on... on what to do when her mother died, and then... then this fellow she was going with got killed in the war, and Claire just slipped away. Just slipped away. Until Bert came along — and then she changed. She became herself again. She was alive again. Now...”
“Yes, Mr. Townsend?”
“Now, I... I wonder. I mean, Bert’s a cop and I like Bert. I like him. But... did... did Claire get killed because her boyfriend is a cop? That’s what I’d like to know.”
“We don’t think so, Mr. Townsend.”
“Then why did she get killed? I’ve been over it a hundred times in my mind. And it seems to me that... maybe somebody had something against Bert and he took it out on Claire. He killed Claire to get even with Bert. Just because Bert’s a cop. Now doesn’t that seem to make sense? If anything in this whole damn thing makes sense, doesn’t that seem to make the most sense?”
“We haven’t overlooked that possibility, Mr. Townsend,” Meyer said. “We’ve gone back in our files over all the major arrests Bert made. We’ve eliminated those which were petty offenses because they didn’t seem to warrant such massive retaliation. We’ve also eliminated any men or women who are still in prison, since obviously—”
“Yes, I understand.”
“—and also those who were paroled more than a year ago. We figure a vendetta murder would have been committed as soon after—”
“Yes, I see, I see,” Townsend said.
“So we’ve rounded up recent parolees and men who’ve completed shorter terms — at least, all those for whom we have known residences. We’re still in the process of questioning these people. But, quite frankly, this doesn’t seem to be that kind of a murder.”
“How do you know?”
“A murder case has a feel to it, Mr. Townsend. When you’ve worked enough of them, you develop a sort of intuition. We don’t think Claire’s death was connected with the fact that Bert is a cop. We may be wrong, but so far our thinking is going in another direction.”
“What direction is that?” Townsend asked.
“Well, we think the killer was after a specific person in that shop, and that he got the one he was after.”
“Why couldn’t it have been Claire? And why couldn’t...?”
“It could have been Claire, Mr. Townsend.”
“Then it also could have been connected to Bert.”
“Yes, but then why didn’t the killer go after Bert? Why would he kill Claire?”
“I don’t know why. What kind of a crazy twisted bastard would kill four people anyway?” Townsend asked. “Are you trying to apply logic to this? What logic is there? You just told me he was after only one person, for Christ’s sake, but he killed four!”
Meyer sighed patiently. “Mr. Townsend, we haven’t discounted the possibility that someone carrying a grudge against Bert Kling took it out on him by killing your daughter. It’s happened before, certainly, and we’re investigating that possibility. I’m only trying to say that it doesn’t seem to be the most fruitful course we can pursue in this case. That’s all. But, of course, we’ll continue to explore the possibility until we’ve exhausted it.”
“I’d like to think Bert had nothing to do with this,” Townsend said.
“Then please think that,” Carella said.
“I’d like to.”
The room was silent.
“In any case,” Meyer said, “Claire was one of the four people killed. With this in mind—”
“You’re wondering whether Claire was the intended victim?”
“Yes, sir. That’s what we’re wondering.”
“How would I know?”
“Well, Mr. Townsend,” Carella said, “we thought perhaps Claire might have mentioned something that was troubling her. Or—”
“Nothing seemed to be troubling her.”
“Had she received any threatening phone calls? Or letters? Would you know?”
“I work nights,” Townsend said. “I’m usually asleep during the day while Claire is at school or doing casework. We usually have dinner together, but I don’t recall her saying anything about threats. Nothing like that.” He had inadvertently slipped into the present tense in discussing his daughter, casually sidestepping the fact that she was dead.
“What sort of casework did she do?” Carella asked, reverting to the proper tense.
“She works at Buenavista Hospital,” Townsend said.
“What sort of work?”
“Well, you know she’s a social worker, don’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“She does... well, you know what medical social workers do, don’t you?”
“Not exactly, Mr. Townsend.”
“Well, Claire works—” He stopped suddenly, as if realizing all at once that he had been committing an error in tense. He stared at the detectives, somewhat surprised by his own discovery. He sighed heavily. “Claire worked,” he said, and he hesitated again, giving the word time to set, accepting the knowledge once and for all, “Claire worked with hospitalized patients. Doctors provide medical care, you know, but very often it takes more than that to make a patient well. Claire provided the something more. She helped the patient toward using the medical care, toward wanting to be well again.”
“I see,” Carella said. He thought for a moment and then asked, “Did Claire ever mention any particular patient she was working with?”
“Yes, she mentioned a great many of them.”
“In what way, Mr. Townsend?”
“Well, she took a personal interest in all the people she worked with. In fact, you might say her work was this personal interest, this special attention to a patient’s problems.”
“And she would come home and tell you about these people, is that right?”
“Yes. Stories about them... or... or funny things that happened. You know.”
“Were there times when something happened that wasn’t so funny, Mr. Townsend?”
“Oh, she had her complaints. She was carrying a very large caseload, and sometimes it got a little difficult. Sometimes her temper wore a little thin.”
“Did she mention any specific trouble?”
“Trouble?”
“With patients? With families of patients? With doctors? With anyone on the hospital staff?”
“No, nothing specific.”
“Anything at all? A slight argument? Anything you can remember?”
“I’m sorry. Claire got along well with people, you see. I guess that’s why she was a good social worker. She got along with people. She treated everyone like a person. That’s a rare talent, Mr. Carella.”
“It is,” Carella agreed. “Mr. Townsend, you’ve been very helpful. Thank you very much.”
“Is... is there anything I can tell Bert?” Townsend asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Bert. He’s sure to be at the funeral parlor.”
On the way downstairs, Meyer asked, “What do you think?”
“I’d like to hit the hospital,” Carella said. “What time do you have?”
“Ten-thirty.”
“You game?”
“Sarah said to be home by lunch.” Meyer shrugged.
“Let’s do it now, then. It might give us something to go on tomorrow.”
“I don’t like hospitals,” Meyer said. “My mother died in a hospital.”
“If you want me to go alone...”
“No, no, I’ll come with you. It’s just I don’t like hospitals, that’s all.”