The defendant, on or about October 14 at 1163 37th Avenue, Majesta, did unlawfully, feloniously, and willfully use and employ a certain instrument on Eileen Glennon with intent thereby to procure the miscarriage of said Eileen Glennon, the same not being necessary to preserve the life of the said Eileen Glennon or the life of the child with which she was then pregnant.
The Grand Jury of Majesta, by this indictment, accuse the defendant of the crime of manslaughter in the first degree in that the defendant did unlawfully, feloniously, and willfully use and employ a certain instrument on Eileen Glennon with intent thereby to procure the miscarriage of said Eileen Glennon, the same not being necessary to preserve the life of the said Eileen Glennon or the life of the child with which she was then pregnant as a result of all of which she died on October 15.
Chapter 13
Wednesday, October 18.
Indian summer is leaving the city. There is a chill in the squadroom even though the thermostat has been turned up and the radiators are beginning to clang.
Autumn has arrived suddenly and seemingly without warning. The men sit with their hands wrapped around mugs of hot coffee.
There is a chill in the squadroom.
“Bert, there are some questions we have to ask you.”
“What kind of questions?”
“About Claire.”
The telephone rings.
“87th Squad, Detective Carella. Oh, yes, sir. No, I’m sorry, we haven’t been able to locate them as yet We’re making a routine check of all pawnshops. Mr. Mendel. Yes, sir, as soon as we have anything. Thank you for calling.”
There was something ludicrous about the scene. Bert Kling sat in the chair facing the desk. Carella replaced the telephone in its cradle and then went to stand beside Kling. Meyer sat on one corner of the desk, leaning over, his elbow cushioned on his knee. Kling’s face was drawn and gaunt. He looked for all the world like a harried suspect being grilled by two hardened detectives.
“What do you want to know?” he asked.
“Did she ever mention Eileen Glennon to you?”
Kling shook his head.
“Bert, please try to think back, will you? This might have been in September sometime, when Mrs. Glennon was in the hospital. Did Claire mention having met Mrs. Glennon’s daughter?”
“No. I would have remembered the minute the Glennons came into the case. No, Steve. She never mentioned the girl.”
“Well, did she ever mention any girl? I mean, did she seem troubled about any of her patients?”
“No.” Kling shook his head. “No, I don’t remember, Steve.”
“What did you talk about?” Meyer asked.
“What do you mean?”
“When you were together.”
Kling knew exactly what Meyer was trying to do. He was a cop, and he had used the same technique himself, many times before. Meyer was simply trying to start a train of thought, trying to get words flowing in the hope that they would trigger a significant memory. But, even knowing this, he felt a numbing pain. He did not want to talk about Claire. He did not want to repeat aloud the things they had whispered alone together.
“Can you remember?” Meyer said gently.
“We... we talked about a lot of things.”
“Well, like what?”
“Well... she had a toothache. This was... It must have been the early part of September.”
“Yes, go ahead, Bert,” Carella said.
“And she... she was going to a dentist. I remember she... she hated it. She... she met me one night with her jaw numb. From the novocaine. She asked me to hit her. She... she said, ‘Go ahead, strong man! I’ll bet you can’t hurt me.’ She was kidding, you know. Because... we had a lot of little jokes like that. You know... because I’m a cop.”
“Did she ever talk about school, Bert?”
“Oh, sure,” Kling said. “She was having a little difficulty with one of her teachers. Oh, nothing like that,” Kling said immediately; “nothing serious. The instructor had certain ideas about social work, and Claire didn’t agree with them.”
“What were the ideas, Bert?”
“I don’t remember now. You know how it is in a class. Everybody’s got their ideas.”
“But Claire was a working student.”
“Yeah. Well, most of the people in the class were. She was doing graduate work, you know. She was going for her master’s.”
“Did she ever talk about that?”
“Pretty often. Social work was very important to her, you know.” He paused. “Well, I guess you don’t know. But it was. The only reason we... we weren’t married yet is because... well, you know, she wanted to finish her schooling.”
“Where did you go when you went out, Bert? Any place special?”
“No, just around. Movies, plays sometimes. Dancing. She liked to dance. She was a very good dancer.” The squadroom was suddenly still. “She was...” Kling started and then stopped.
The silence persisted.
“Bert do you remember any of her ideas about social work? Did she ever discuss them with you?”
“Well, not really. I mean, except where it crossed with police work, do you know what I mean?”
“No.”
“Well, where she was puzzled about a legality. Or where she felt we were doing a bad job. Like with street gangs, you know. She thought we handle them wrong.”
“How, Bert?”
“Well, we’re more interested in crime, you know. A kid shoots somebody, we’re not too damn interested in the fact that his father’s an alcoholic. That’s where the social work came in. But she felt social workers and cops should work more closely together. We had a lot of jokes about that, too. I mean, about us personally.” He paused. “I told her all about the PAL, and about social workers doing work with street gangs already, but she knew all that. What she wanted was a closer working relationship.”
“Had she done much work with young people?”
“Only in connection with her own patients. A lot of people she dealt with had families, you know. So she naturally worked with the kids involved.”
“Did she ever mention a furnished room on South First Street?”
“No.” Kling paused. “A furnished room? What’s this?”
“We think she rented one, Bert. In fact, we know she did.”
“Why?”
“To take Eileen Glennon to.”
“Why?”
“Because Eileen Glennon had an abortion.”
“What’s Claire got to—”
“Claire arranged for it.”
“No,” Kling said immediately. He shook his head. “You’re mistaken.”
“We’ve checked it, Bert.”
“That’s impossible. Claire would never... no, that’s impossible. She was too aware of the law. No. She was always asking me questions about legal matters. You’re wrong. She wouldn’t have any part of a thing like that.”
“When she asked about legal matters... Did she ever ask about abortion?”
“No. Why would she ask—?” Bert Kling stopped talking. A surprised look crossed his face. He shook his head once, disbelievingly.
“What is it, Bert?”
He shook his head again.
“Did she ask about abortion?”
Kling nodded.
“When was this?”
“Last month sometime. I thought at first... I thought she was...”
“Go ahead, Bert.”
“I thought she... Well, I thought it was for herself, you know. But... what it was... She wanted to know about legal abortions.”