And then, oddly, considering how lightly the patrolmen were taking all this grisly slaughter, it was a patrolman who provided the next possibility for action in the case, and then only indirectly through a call from Captain Frick at 11:00 that night, while Carella was home and trying to read the newspaper.
When he heard the phone ring, he glanced at it sourly, rose from his easy chair in the living room, and quickly walked into the foyer. He picked the receiver from the cradle and said, “Hello?”
“Steve, this is Captain Frick. I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No, no. What is it?”
“I hate to bother you on this, but I’m still here at the office trying to get these time sheets straightened out.”
“What time sheets are those, Marshall?”
“On my patrolmen.”
“Oh, yes. Well what is it?”
“Well, I’ve got Antonino listed as being with this Helen Vale woman from eight this morning until four this afternoon, when he was relieved by Boardman, who’ll be on until midnight. That right?”
“I guess so,” Carella said.
“Okay. And Samalman was supposed to be with this guy Di Pasquale from eight this morning until four this afternoon, but I see here on his sheet he left at three. And I see that Canavan, who was supposed to relieve him at four, called in at nine P.M. to say he had just relieved on post. Now, I don’t get that, Steve. Did you give these guys permission for this?”
“What do you mean, Marshall? Are you saying nobody was with Di Pasquale from three o’clock this afternoon to nine o’clock tonight?”
“That’s what it looks like. Judging from these time sheets.”
“I see,” Carella said.
“Did you give them permission?”
“No,” Carella said. “I didn’t give them permission.”
Thomas Di Pasquale had a patrolman at his door and a woman in his apartment when Carella arrived that night. The patrolman moved aside to allow his superior to ring the doorbell. Carella rang it with dispatch, and then waited for Di Pasquale to answer the ring. Di Pasquale’s dispatch did not equal Carella’s, since he was all the way in the bedroom at the other end of the apartment, and he had to put on a robe and slippers and then come trotting through six rooms to the front door. When he opened the door, he looked out at a face he had never seen before.
“Okay, what’s the gag?” he asked.
“Mr. Di Pasquale?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m Detective Carella.”
“That’s very nice. Do you know it’s eleven-thirty at night?”
“I’m sorry about that, Mr. Di Pasquale, but I wanted to ask you some questions.”
“Can’t they wait till morning?”
“I’m afraid not, sir.”
“I don’t have to let you in, you know. I can tell you to go whistle.”
“You can do that, sir, that’s true. In which case I’d be forced to swear out a warrant for your arrest.”
“Hey, sonny boy, you think you’re dealing with a hick?” Di Pasquale said. “You can’t arrest me for anything, because I haven’t done anything.”
“How about suspicion of murder?”
“How about it? There’s no such crime as suspicion of anything. Murder? Don’t make me laugh. Who am I supposed to have killed?”
“Mr. Di Pasquale, can we discuss it inside?”
“Why? You afraid of waking the neighbors? You already woke me up, what difference will a few dozen others make? Argh, come in, come in. No damn manners, the police in this lousy town. Come around the middle of the night. Come in, for Chrissake, don’t stand there in the hall.”
They went into the apartment. Di Pasquale turned on a light in the living room, and they sat facing each other.
“So?” he said. “You’re here, you got me out of bed, so say what’s on your mind.”
“Mr. Di Pasquale, a man was shot and killed this afternoon at four o’clock as he was leaving the police station.”
“So?”
“Mr. Di Pasquale, we checked with the patrolman who was assigned to ‘protect’ you, and he tells us you let him go at three o’clock this afternoon. Is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“Is it also true that you told him you wouldn’t be needing him again until nine o’clock this evening? Is that also true, Mr. Di Pasquale?”
“That’s true. So what? Is that why you come knocking on my door in the middle of the night? To check on whether or not your patrolman is telling the truth? Is that all you’ve got to do with your time? You’re the guy who called me up at seven-thirty one morning, ain’t you? You like waking people up, don’t you?”
“Mr. Di Pasquale, why’d you tell the patrolman you wouldn’t need him?”
“For the very simple reason that I was up at Columbia Pictures today talking a deal with the head of the story department. I went up there at three o’clock, and I expected to be there with him until six, at which time I knew we would both go downstairs where a chauffeured Cadillac would be waiting to take us to a very fancy restaurant where I wouldn’t be sitting near any windows. We would have a couple of drinks at the bar, and at seven o’clock we would be joined by a writer who would give a story line to the head of the story department, and then we would eat dinner, also not sitting near any windows. Then we would get right into the Cadillac again, and they would drive me home, where I asked that fathead patrolman to meet me—I see he isn’t even here, there’s some other jerk outside—and where also the young lady who is now asleep in the other room would be waiting for me. So you see, Mr. Carella who likes to wake up people in the middle of the night, I thought I would save the city a little money and also release a cop for active duty in spots all over the city where teenagers are bashing each other’s heads in, instead of hanging around me when I knew I’d be absolutely safe, that’s why, Mr. Carella. Does that answer your question?”
“Were you anywhere near the precinct today, Mr. Di Pasquale?”
“I was up at Columbia all afternoon, and then I went straight to dinner, and then I came straight here.”
“Mr. Di Pasquale, do you own any guns?”
“No.” Di Pasquale stood up angrily. “What is all this, would you mind telling me? How come I’m suddenly a suspect in this thing? What’s the matter? You running out of people?”