“I didn’t…”
“… her to death? Is there anyone who saw you where you say you were? Or is this another alibi like the one you had for the night you stabbed her in that theater alleyway? Are you lying yet another time, Mr. Milton?”
“I am telling you the God’s honest truth. I did not kill Michelle.”
“He done it,” Ollie said. “Go for the jug, Nellie.”
She knew Ollie Weeks only casually, having seen him in the corridors of justice on one or another occasion, but he was already calling her Nellie, Also, he seemed not to have bathed in a while. But she agreed with him.
“He’s admitted to the assault,” she said. “That’s open and shut. And I think we’ve got enough cause to arrest him on the homicide, too.”
“I don’t think so,” Carella said.
They all turned to him.
They had asked O’Brien and Milton to wait in the squad-room outside while they deliberated. Lieutenant Byrnes was still seated in the swivel chair behind his desk. Ollie was overflowing a straight-backed chair near the windows. Nellie had moved across the room now, as far away from him as possible. Carella stood alongside Kling, near the bookcases opposite Byrnes’s desk.
“What bothers you?” Byrnes asked.
“Motive,” Carella said.
“She threatened to burn him,” Ollie said. “That’s motive enough.”
“I think he’s right,” Byrnes said.
“What does he gain by killing her?” Carella said.
“If he doesn’t kill her, he goes down for the assault.”
“We’ve got him on that, anyway.”
“He done her before he knew that,” Ollie said. “He was still figuring if he done her, he’d walk.”
“If I bring both charges on the same indictment,” Nellie said, thinking out loud, “O’Brien can take his misdemeanor plea and shove it.”
“Why not charge Milton with just the assault?” Carella said.
“Oh, I see,” Ollie said. “You get the assault collar and I get bupkes, is that it?”
“You can have both collars,” Carella said.
“By rights, both collars are ours,” Byrnes said.
“Let’s not debate credit here,” Nellie said. “If there’s no real evidence to support the homicide, then frankly the assault isn’t worth more than a mis. But I think Milton did kill her, so how about that?”
“Hooray for you, lady,” Ollie said.
“If we lock him up for Assault Two,” Carella said, “we can explain to the court that we’re still investigating the homicide…”
“That’ll make a strong case, all right,” Nellie said.
“It will if we find the evidence we need to back up a…”
“Come on, Steve, we’ve got circumstantial coming out of our ears.”
“I don’t think so. The blood on that knife was caked into the hinge. Really dry blood. The girl was killed…”
“So how long does it take for blood to dry?” Ollie said. “He done her last night, you think the blood’s still gonna be wet?“
“No, but…”
“The blood’s gonna be dry,” Ollie said. “Same as blood from two days ago, three days ago, dry is dry, there are no gradations of dry. What are we talking here, martinis?”
“Okay, why’d he keep the knife?”
“They do that all the time,” Ollie said, and waved the question away. “Nobody says these guys are rocket scientists.”
“A man’s looking at Murder Two, and he hangs on to the weapon?”
“I’d have thrown it down the nearest sewer,” Kling said.
“Then why didn’t he toss it after the assault?” Byrnes asked.
“Right,” Ollie said. “If he didn’t toss it after he stabbed her the first time, why would he toss it the next time around?”
“Because it would cost more to keep it,” Carella said.
“Only your pros think that way,” Ollie said.
“He was looking at fifteen on the assault, anyway,” Nellie said. “If he didn’t toss the knife then…“
“Fifteen years isn’t life.”
“It ain’t chopped liver, either. Besides, the man’s an agent,” Ollie said scornfully. “What does he know about how much time you can get for what? This isn’t a pro here, this is an amateur. ”
“Steve,” Nellie said, “I wish I could agree with you on this one…”
“Just give us a chance to run it down, that’s all I’m asking. If we tell the arraigning judge we’re investigating a linked homicide, he’ll set a juicy bail on the assault. That means Milton stays inside while we develop a good case. If there is one.”
“I’ve already got a good case,” Nellie said.
“I don’t think so,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Nellie, if Milton didn’t kill her, the real murderer…”
“What makes you…?”
“… walks.”
“… think he didn’t kill her?”
“Gut instinct.”
The room went silent.
“What do you want?” Nellie asked.
“I told you. Lock him up on the assault, let us pursue the murder investigation. If we come up empty, you can always tack on the second charge.”
“Today’s what?” she asked no one.
Byrnes looked at his desk calendar.
“The eighth,” he said.
“Okay, our 180.80 Day is six days from arrest. That means on the fourteenth, I have to indict Milton on one or more felony charges or else release him on his own recognizance. Here’s what I’m willing to do. I’ll arraign him for both the assault and the murder…”
“Good,” Ollie said.
“… but I’ll ask my bureau chief to talk to the Chief of Trial Division…”
“What for?” Ollie askd.
“So he can go to the Chief of Detectives and explain the situation to him.”
“What situation?”
“That one of his best detectives has doubts and is still investigating the homicide.”
“I don’t have any goddamn doubts!” Ollie said.
“Steve, you’ve got till the morning of the fourteenth. Bring me something better by then, or I’ll indict Milton for the homicide.”
“Thanks,” Carella said.
“You meant him?“ Ollie said.
7
BERT FLING DANCED LIKE A WHITE MAN.
Oh dear Lord, he was the worst dancer she had ever danced with in her life, even though it had been his idea to go dancing this Wednesday night. She’d said, Sure why not? A man asks you to go dancing, you figure he’s got to be a good dancer, no? A lousy dancer doesn’t ask you to go dancing, he asks you to go bowling. But, oh my, was he terrible!
She’d dressed up all slinky and smooth in the same smoky blue color he’d admired, a different dress but the same shade of blue that matched her eye shadow — if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. The dress was very short and very tight, the only such outrageous dress she owned, what she used to call a fuck me dress when she was still in medical school and trying to attract the attention of any single eligible black man in D.C.; five to one the ratio was said to be in that town, women to men, that is; five to one, honey, count ’em. Outrageous or not, the man had said the color was good for her, so why not accommodate him again? Besides, the only other smoky blue outfit she owned was the suit she’d worn on their first date, so this was it, take it or — Ooops, sorry. No, my fault.