"The lab's running tests right this minute," Byrnes said. "If the crumbs match the other cookies he left behind ...”
"Then maybe we've got him in the apartment," Nellie said, "but only maybe. Anyway, defense'll bring in ten thousand different chocolate chip cookies that all tested basically the same.”
"Tasted?”
"Tested. Tasted, too, I'll bet.”
"We've also got his prints on the ladder going up," Meyer said.
"Places him behind the building, but not necessarily in the apartment.
And not necessarily on the day of the murders. Have we got his prints in the apartment?”
"No.”
"What else have we got?”
Nobody answered.
"Have we got anything else?" she asked.
They were all looking at her now.
"It's weak," she said.
"You've got no idea the flak on this one," Byrnes said. "You're saying hit him with the burg, anyway," Nellie said, "take our chances. Okay, I'm saying there's a huge risk of flight here. The judge sees a weak burg, he's liable to order low bail or no bail, Blyden's on his way.”
For a moment, she wished this was a movie. Wished she really was Meg Ryan in a movie. In a movie, everything always worked out all right.
In real life, killers sometimes walked.
"So what do you want to do, Nell?" Byrnes asked, and sighed heavily.
"What else can we do?" she said. "I'll tell Meltzman we're charging his man with Burg Two, and asking for a court order to draw blood for a DNA test. At tomorrow morning's arraignment, it's the judge's call.”
"Too bad chocolate chip cookies ain't DNA," Parker said.
"Too bad," Nellie agreed.
"Don't worry about any of this," Meltzman said. You'll be out on bail tomorrow, I promise you. It'll take weeks before they get the DNA results. But even if they get a match ...”
"They will' Blyden said. "My blood was all over the place. I had a nosebleed.”
"Don't worry about it," Meltzman said. "But I am worried about it.”
"Don't be.”
"Because I didn't kill them," Blyden said.
"Of course you didn't.”
"I mean, really. I didn't kill them. I really am innocent.”
"Don't worry about it," Meltzman said.
Matthew Hope called Carella at home that Monday night, just as he was about to turn on the ten o'clock news. Carella's routine was more or less fixed whenever he was working the day shift. He got home at around four-thirty, five o'clock, depending on traffic, spent some time relaxing and reading the paper, had dinner with Teddy and the kids around six-thirty, read again after dinner his taste ran to nonfiction . watched the news on television, and was in bed by eleven for a six A.M. alarm-clock wakeup. He usually left the house by seven and drove down to the station house, getting there at seven-thirty, seven-forty, again depending on traffic. During the winter months, he allowed himself more time. Now, in August, with the city relatively quiet, he could even leave the house at seven-fifteen and still be in the squad room by a quarter to eight.
Matthew called at five to ten.
"It's not too late, is it?" he asked at once.
"Not at all," Carella said. "Let me take this in the other room.”
The other room was a spare room they had fitted out as an office for whoever in the family chose to use it. The kids' computer was in there, as was Teddy's and Carella's. There were bookshelves and a battered desk they had picked up in a consignment shop. Two lamps from the same shop. Their housekeeper, Fanny, called the room The Junk Shop. Maybe it was.
"Still there?" Carella asked. "Still here. How are you?”
“Good.
You?”
"Good. I'm enjoying this. Practicing law again instead of running around after bad guys?”
"I'm still running around after bad guys," Carella said.
"So I see. I've got that information for you, if you've got a pencil.
I can fax the newspaper stuff later if you like ... have you got a fax there?”
"Yes, I have.”
"Good. But I also spoke to Morrie Bloom, and he sent me his report.
He's a detective on the Calusa P.D., he was the one who talked to the kids the day after the accident.”
"Is that what they called it? An accident?”
"Yeah. The police down there in Boyle's Landing figured Custer was drunk when he fell in the water. Blood tests were inconclusive the alligators did a good job .. but the kids told Bloom he was drinking heavily before they went up to get paid.”
"Was their word the only evidence the police had?”
“That he was drunk? No, there were also half a dozen empty beer bottles in his office. So apparently he'd been drinking hard liquor with the kids, and then continued drinking beer after they were gone.”
“That could do it.”
"It could. Railing on the deck behind his office was about four feet high. Police figure he fell over into the river and the alligators got him right away. They're fast. Have you ever seen an alligator run? Man, watch out.”
"Who went up to the office with him?”
"To get paid? I don't know. Let me take another look here.”
Carella could hear Matthew turning pages on the other end. Either looking at a photocopy of the newspaper story or else a copy of Bloom's D.D. report.
"Newspaper says they were the last ones to see him alive?”
"Who?”
"Mentions all the band members by name.”
“Which two went up to the office?”
"How do you know it was two?" Matthew asked. Good question, Carella thought.
"I'm getting conflicting stories up here," he said. "I'm looking,”
Matthew said.
"What's the date on Bloom's report?" Carella asked. "Let me see.”
Carella waited.
"Here it is. September second. That would've been the Friday before Labor Day.”
"And the newspaper story?”
"Next day.”
"Bloom give it to them?”
“Reliable police sources', it says. There's another story on Sunday, a review of the band.”
"Good? Bad?”
“Derivative rock', it says. But apparently the kids drew a big crowd on Saturday night. Because of all the publicity?”
"Say anything about who went up for the money?”
“I'm still looking.
There's nothing in the paper, I'm checking Fan Bloom's report. I'll FedEx this to you if you like. It's too long to fax.”
Carella waited.
"Kid named Totobi Hollister was asleep while they packed the van,”
Matthew said. "He tell this to Bloom?”
“Yes.”
"Who was packing the van?”
“Nothing here about it.”
“Who went up to the office?”
Bloom had to have asked that question. Because the last persons to see Custer alive were the ones who'd gone up to get paid. "Here we go,”
Matthew said. "Here's the girl's story. Q and A format, shall I read it to you?”
"Please.”
"The Q is Bloom, the A is Katherine Cochran.”
“I'm listening.”
Q: You understand, Miss Cochran, we're following up on this as a courtesy to the Boyle's Landing police.
A: Yes, I do.
Q: Because, from interviews they had with employees of the club, the band was still there when everyone else left. Which means the five of you were the last ones to see Mr. Custer alive.
A: That's true.
Q: One of the waiters told the police he said goodnight to all of you when he left. He said Mr. Custer and the band were sitting near the bar drinking. Is that true?
A: Not all of us. Tote had already gone to bed.
Q: Tote?
A: Tote Hollister. Totobi Hollister. Our bass guitarist. We woke him up later. After the van was packed and we were ready to go.
Q: So the four of you ... let me consult this a moment, please. That would've been you, and David Fames, and Alan Figgs, and Salvatore Roselli, is that correct?