Lullaby

'Well, you know the way drunks sound. The way their speech gets? That's how he sounded.'

'So when he made that call at twelve-thirty, he sounded drunk. While he was talking to Annie.'

'Yes. Very drunk.'

'How'd the conversation end?'

'Goodbye, so long, I'll see you, like that.'

'And when did the argument with his wife occur?'

'Shortly after that. He'd spilled a drink on someone, and Gayle told him she was never going anyplace with him again . . . well, I told you what she said, except it was the company of a fucking drunken pig. Was what she said, actually.'

'Pretty angry with him, huh?'

'Furious.'

'But they stayed at the party, anyway, till sometime around two in the . . .'

'Well, she did.'

'What do you mean?' Carella asked at once.

'Gayle stayed.'

'I thought they left together at . . .'

'Yes, that was later. After he came back from his walk.'

'What walk?'

'He went down for some air.'

'When?'

'After Gayle tore into him.'

'Are you saying he left the party?'

'Yes. Said he needed some air.'

'Said he was going down for a walk?'

'Well, I assume he was. He put on his overcoat. He didn't just go stand out in the hall, if that's what you mean.'

'What time was this?'

'It must've been around one o'clock.'

'Mrs Kerr . . .'

'Chastity. Please.'

'Chastity . . . what time did Peter Hodding come back from his walk?'

'At two o'clock. I know because I was in the hallway saying goodbye to some of my guests when the elevator doors opened and Peter stepped out.'

'How do you know it was two o'clock?'

'Because I was asking these people why they were leaving so early, and the man said, "It's already two," and that's when the elevator doors opened and Peter stepped out.'

'Did he look as if he'd been outdoors?'

'Oh, yes. His cheeks all ruddy, his hair all blown. Yes, very definitely.'

'Was he sober?'

'He was sober,' Chastity said.

* * * *

Francisco Palacios was surprised to see Bert Kling.

'Does this have to do with Proctor again?' he asked.

'No,' Kling said.

'Because I had two fat guys in here asking about Proctor,' Palacios said. 'First one was an obnoxious snitch named Fats Donner, you know him?'

'I know him.'

'He digs Mary Jane shoes and white cotton panties. Second one was a fat cop from the Eight-Three, his name is Weeks. You know him, too?'

'I know him, too,' Kling said.

'He digs a hooker works in his precinct. I gave Weeks the name of her boyfriend plays saxophone. But I don't know where Proctor is. I told Weeks, and I'm telling you the same. How come he's so hot all at once, this two-bit little jerk?'

'We already found him,' Kling said.

'Thank God. 'Cause I don't know where he is, anyway.'

'I'm looking for a guy named Herrera.'

'Give me a hard one, why don't you? You know how many Herreras we got in this city?'

'Are they all named José Domingo?'

'Most of them,' Palacios said.

'This one did work for the Yellow Paper Gang some years back.'

'What kind of work?'

'Dope. Which is what he's into right now.'

'Who isn't?' Palacios said, and shrugged.

'Which is the next thing I want to know.'

'Uh-huh.'

'There's a big shipment coming in next week,' Kling said. 'I'd like details.'

'You're hot stuff,' Palacios said, shaking his head. 'You give me a common name like Smith or Jones in Spanish, and you tell me there's a big shipment coming in next week, which there's a big shipment coming in every week in this city, and you expect me to help you.'

'A hundred kilos of cocaine,' Kling said.

'Uh-huh.'

'Coming in on the twenty-third.'

'Okay.'

'By ship.'

'Okay.'

'Scandinavian registry.'

'Uh-huh.'

'Coming up from Colombia.'

'Got it.'

'The coke's going for ten grand per.'

'A bargain.'

'Earmarked for a Jamaican posse.'

'Which one?'

'Not Reema.'

'That leaves plenty others.'

'I know. But a million bucks'll be changing hands, Cowboy. There's got to be somebody whispering about it.'

'A million bucks is not so much nowadays,' Palacios said. 'I hear stories about twenty-, thirty-million-dollar dope deals, they're commonplace.'

'I wish you'd tell me some of these stories,' Kling said.

'My point is, a million-dollar deal nowadays you don't have people wetting their pants. It won't be easy getting a line on something like this.'

'That's why I came to you, Cowboy,' Kling said.

'Yeah, bullshit,' Palacios said.

'Because I know you like the hard ones.'

'Bullshit, bullshit,' Palacios said, but he was grinning.

* * * *

The doorman at 967 Grover Avenue was a roly-poly little person wearing a green uniform with gold trim. He looked like a general in a banana republic army. The people in the building knew him only as Al the Doorman, but his full name was Albert Eugene Di Stefano, and he was proud of the fact that he used to be one of the doormen at the Plaza Hotel in New York City. He immediately told Carella that he'd once given the NYPD valuable information that had helped them crack a case involving some guy who was breaking into rooms at the Plaza and walking off into Central Park with bags full of jewelry. He would be happy to help Carella now in solving this terrible crime he was investigating. He knew all about the fourth-floor murders. Everybody in the building knew about them.

It so happened that he had, in fact, been working the midnight to eight a.m. shift on New Year's Eve, which he happened to pull because he'd drawn the deuce of clubs instead of the three of diamonds or the four of hearts. That was how the three doormen here at the building had decided who would work this particular shift on New Year's Eve, it being not what you would call a choice shift. He had drawn the lowest card, and he'd got stuck with it. So, yes, he was on that night. But he didn't see anyone suspicious coming in or going out of the building, if that was what Carella wanted to know.

'Do you know Mr Hodding personally?' Carella asked.