So what had the intruder wanted in the top dresser drawer?
And had the intruder been Walter Damascus?
Carella’s head began to hurt a little more.
Kling used his own key on the door, and then twisted the knob, and shoved the door inward, but Cindy had taken the precaution of fastening the safety chain, and the door abruptly jarred to a stop, open some two-and-a-half inches, but refusing to budge further.
“Cindy,” he shouted, “take off this chain! I want to talk to you.”
“I don’t want to talk to you!” she shouted back.
“Take off this chain, or I’ll break the door off the hinges!”
“Go break your bimbo’s door, why don’t you?”
“She’s not a bimbo!”
“Don’t defend her, you louse!” Cindy shouted.
“Cindy, I’m warning you, I’ll kick this door in!”
“You do, and I’ll call the police!”
“I am the police.”
“Go police your bimbo, louse.”
“Okay, honey, I warned you.”
“You’d better have a search warrant,” she shouted, “or I’ll sue you and the city and the—”
Kling kicked in the door efficiently and effortlessly. Cindy stood facing him with her fists clenched.
“Don’t come in here,” she said. “You’re not wanted here. You’re not wanted here ever again. Go home. Go away. Go to hell.”
“I want to talk to you.”
“I don’t want to talk to you ever again as long as I live, that’s final.”
“What are you so sore about?”
“I don’t like liars and cheats and rotten miserable liars. Now get out of here, Bert, I mean it.”
“Who’s a liar?”
“You are.”
“How am I—”
“You said you loved me.”
“I do love you.”
“Ha!”
“That girl—”
“That slut—”
“She’s not a slut.”
“That’s right, she’s a sweet Irish virgin. Go hold her hand a little, why don’t you? Get out of here, Bert, before I hit you again.”
“Listen, there’s nothing—”
“That’s right, there’s nothing, there’s absolutely nothing between us ever again, get out of here.”
“Lower your voice, you’ll have the whole damn building in here.”
“All snuggly-cozy, arm-in-arm, batting her eyes—”
“She had information—”
“Oh, I’ll just bet she has information.”
“... about the Leyden case. She came to the squadroom—”
“I’ll just bet she has information,” Cindy repeated, a bit hysterically, Kling thought. “I’ll bet she has information even Cleopatra never dreamt of. Why don’t you get out of here and leave me alone, okay? Just get out of here, okay? Go get all that hot information, okay?”
“Cindy—”
“I thought we were in love—”
“We are.”
“I thought we—”
“We are, dammit!”
“I thought we were going to get married one day and have kids and live in the country—”
“Cindy—”
“So a cheap little floozy flashes a smile and—”
“Cindy, she’s a nice girl who—”
“Don’t you dare!” Cindy shouted. “If you’re here to defend that little tramp—”
“I’m not here to defend her!”
“Then why are you here?”
“To tell you I love you.”
“Ha!”
“I love you,” Kling said.
“Yeah.”
“I do.”
“Yeah.”
“I love you.”
“Then why—”
“We were going out for a cup of coffee, that’s all.”
“Sure.”
“There’s nobody in the whole world I want but you,” Kling said.
Cindy did not answer.
“I mean it.”
She was still silent.
“I love you, honey,” he said. “Now come on.” He waited. She was standing with her head bent, watching the floor. He did not dare approach her. “Come on,” he said.
“I wanted to kill you,” Cindy said softly. “When I saw you together, I wanted to kill you.” She began weeping gently, still staring at the floor, not raising her eyes to his. He went to her at last and took her in his arms, and held her head cradled against his shoulder, his fingers lightly stroking her hair, her tears wetting his jacket and his shirt.
“I love you so much,” she said, “that I wanted to kill you.”
10
On Sunday afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. George Pimm returned from their vacation in Puerto Rico and were promptly visited by the police.
They were in the midst of unpacking when Carella and Kling arrived. It was difficult to keep them to the point. This had been their first trip to the Caribbean, and they were naturally anxious to tell someone — anyone — all about it. Unfortunately, the detectives were the first people they’d seen since their return.
“A wonderful island,” Pimm said. “Have you ever been there?”
“No,” Carella said.
“No,” Kling said.
“Well, what’s your sight-unseen impression of it, would you tell me that?” Pimm said. He was a slender man with bright blue eyes and sandy-colored hair. He had acquired a deep tan on the island, and he unpacked now with all the sureness and vigor of a person who feels and looks healthy. His wife, Jeanine, was a petite brunette who kept carrying things to the dresser and the closet and the bathroom as Pimm took them from the suitcases. She was already beginning to peel, especially on the nose. She kept smiling as Pimm discussed the island. “If you judge from this city,” Pimm said, “you expect Puerto Ricans to be misfits, don’t you? Drug addicts, and street fighters and prostitutes, and what not, excuse me, honey,” he said to his wife.
“That’s all right, George,” Jeanine said, smiling.
“But believe me, they are the sweetest, gentlest people in the world,” Pimm said. “Well, look, we came out of El Convento, that’s a hotel down there in the heart of Old San Juan, we came out of there one night after the dinner and floor show — wonderful floor show, by the way — and oh, it must’ve been after midnight, wasn’t it after midnight, honey?”
“Oh, yes, easily after midnight,” Jeanine said.
“Now, can you imagine walking in the Puerto Rican section of this city after midnight? Along the Spanish stretch of Culver Avenue, say? After midnight? No reflection on the work you fellows do,” Pimm said, “but that’d be taking your life in your hands, am I right?”
“Well, all slum areas are pretty much alike,” Carella said. “I wouldn’t want to walk along Ainsley after midnight, either.”
“George is even afraid of walking downtown on Hall Avenue,” Jeanine said, and smiled.
“That’s not true,” Pimm said. “Hall Avenue is perfectly safe. Isn’t it perfectly safe?” he asked Carella.
“Well, there’ve been muggings in good neighborhoods too. But I guess Hall Avenue is fairly safe.”
“Anyway, that’s not my point,” Pimm said. “My point is, there we were in the heart of Old San Juan, walking the streets after midnight, Jeanine all dolled up, both of us surrounded by Puerto Ricans, the only tourists walking around down there so late at night, but were we afraid anything would happen? Absolutely not! We felt perfectly safe, we felt those people meant us no harm, were in fact glad to have us there and anxious to make us welcome. Now, why should that be?”
“Why should what be?”