“Clara.”
“Clara, right, and you’ve got a younger brother named John.”
“Jeff.”
“Jeff, right. You were majoring in education at the time of the shootings—”
“I switched to psychology in my junior year.”
“Downtown at Ramsey University. You were nineteen years old—”
“Almost twenty.”
“—and that was close to three years ago, which makes you twenty-two.”
“I’ll be twenty-two next month.”
“I see you graduated.”
“Yes, I have,” Cindy said curtly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Kling—”
“I’ve been assigned to investigate this complaint, Miss Forrest. Something of this nature is relatively small potatoes in our fair city, so I can positively guarantee the lieutenant won’t put another man on it simply because you don’t happen to like my face.”
“Among other things.”
“Yes, well, that’s too bad. Would you like to tell me what happened here yesterday?”
“I would like to tell you nothing.”
“Don’t you want us to find the man who came up here?”
“I do.”
“Then-”
“Mi. Kling, let me put this as flatly as I can. I don’t like you. I didn’t like you the last time I saw you, and I still don’t like you. I’m afraid I’m just one of those people who never change their minds.”
“Bad failing for a psychologist.”
“I’m not a psychologist yet. I’m going for my master’s at night.”
“The girl outside told me you’re assistant to the company—”
“Yes, I am. But I haven’t yet taken my boards.”
“Are you allowed to practice?”
“According to the law in this state — I thought you just might be familiar with it, Mr. Kling — no one can be licensed to—”
“No, I’m not.”
“Obviously. No one can be licensed to practice psychology until he has a master’s degree and a Ph.D., and has passed the state boards. I’m not practicing. All I do is conduct interviews and sometimes administer tests.”
“Well, I’m relieved to hear that,” Kling said.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” Kling said, and shrugged.
“Look, Mr. Kling, if you stay here a minute longer, we’re going to pick up right where we left off. And as I recall it, the last time I saw you, I told you to drop dead.”
“That’s right.”
“So why don’t you?”
“Can’t,” Kling said. “This is my case.” He smiled pleasantly, sat in the chair beside her desk, made himself comfortable, and very sweetly said, “Do you want to tell me what happened here yesterday, Miss Forrest?”
Lieutenant Peter Byrnes read Kling’s report that Thursday afternoon, and then buzzed the squadroom and asked him to come in. When he arrived, Byrnes offered him a chair (which Kling accepted) and a cigar (which Kling declined) and then lighted his own cigar and blew out a wreath of smoke and said, “What’s this ‘severe distaste for my personality’ business?”
Kling shrugged. “She doesn’t like me, Pete. I can’t say I blame her. I was going through a bad time. Well, what am I telling you for?”
“Mmm,” Byrnes said. He puffed meditatively on his cigar, and then glanced at the report again. “Four teeth knocked out, and three broken ribs,” he said. “Tough customer.”
“Well, Fairchild’s a new cop.”
“I know that. Still, this man doesn’t seem to have much respect for the law, does he?”
“To put it mildly,” Kling said, smiling.
“Your report says he grabbed the Forrest girl by the arm.”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t like it, Bert. If this guy can be so casual about beating up a cop, what’ll he do if he gets that girl alone sometime?”
“Well, that’s the thing.”
“I think we ought to get him.”
“Sure, but who is he?”
“Maybe we’ll get a make downtown. From those mugs shots.”
“She promised to call in later, as soon as she’s had a look.”
“Maybe we’ll be lucky.”
“Maybe.”
“If we’re not, I think we ought to smoke out this guy. I don’t like cops getting beat up, that’s to begin with. And I don’t like the idea of this guy maybe waiting to jump on that girl. He knocked out four of Fairchild’s teeth and broke three of his ribs. Who knows what he’d do to a helpless little girl?”
“She’s about five-seven, Pete. Actually, that’s pretty big. For a girl, I mean.”
“Still, if we’re not careful here, we may wind up with a homicide on our hands.”
“Well, that’s projecting a little further than I think we have to, Pete.”
“Maybe, maybe not. I think we ought to smoke him out.”
“How?”
“Well, I’m not sure yet. What are you working on right now?”
“Those liquor store holdups. And also an assault.”
“When was the last holdup?”
“Three nights ago.”
“What’s your plan?”
“He seems to be hitting them in a line, Pete, straight up Culver Avenue. I thought I’d plant myself in the next store up the line.”
“You think he’s going to hit again so soon?”
“They’ve been spaced about two weeks apart so far.”
“Then there’s no hurry, right?”
“Well, he may change the timetable.”
“He may change the pattern, too. In which case, you’ll be sitting in the wrong store.”
“That’s true. I just thought—”
“Let it wait. What’s the assault?”
“Victim is a guy named Vinny Marino, he’s a small-time pusher, lives on Ainsley Avenue. About a week ago, two guys pulled up in a car and got out with baseball bats. They broke both his legs. The neighborhood rumble is that he was fooling around with one of their wives. That’s why they went for his legs, you see, so he wouldn’t be able to chase around anymore. It’s only coincidental that he’s a pusher.”
“For my part, they could have killed him,” Byrnes said. He took his handkerchief from his back pocket, blew his nose, and then said, “Mr. Marino’s case can wait, too. I want you to stay with this one, Bert.”
“I think we’d do better with another man. I doubt if I’ll be able to get any cooperation at all from her.”
“Who can I spare?” Byrnes asked. “Willis and Brown are on that knife murder, Hawes is on a plant of his own, Meyer and Carella are on this damn television thing, Andy Parker—”
“Well, maybe I can switch with one of them.”
“I don’t like cases to change hands once they’ve been started.”
“I’ll do whatever you say, Pete, but—”
“I’d appreciate it,” Byrnes said.
“Yes, sir.”
Byrnes puffed on his cigar, and then said, “She claims she doesn’t know him, huh?”
“That’s right.”
“I thought maybe he was an old boyfriend.”
“No.”
“Rejected, you know, that kind of crap.”
“No, not according to her.”
“Maybe he just wants to get in her pants.”
“Maybe.”
“Is she good-looking?”
“She’s attractive, yes. She’s not a raving beauty, but I guess she’s attractive.”
“Then maybe that’s it.”
“Maybe, but why would he go after her in this way?”
“Maybe he doesn’t know any other way. He sounds like a hood, and hoods lake what they want. He doesn’t know from candy or flowers. He sees a pretty girl he wants, so he goes after her — even if it means beating her up to get her. That’s my guess.”
“Maybe.”
“And that’s in our favor. Look what happened to Fairchild when he got in this guy’s way. He knocked out his teeth and broke his ribs. Whatever he wants from this girl — and it’s my guess all he wants is her tail he’s not going to let anybody stop him from getting it, law or otherwise. That’s where you come in.”