The Killing Man

'He was a delivery guy from a stationery store who brought up some letterhead samples for you to okay.'

'Velda took care of that stuff.'

'The guy called the store and told the boss to go ahead with the order.'

'So that's what he was doing at my desk. You get the time?'

'Around ten twenty or so.'

'That fixes it then.'

'But there's a little more to it.'

'Oh?'

'His name was Anthony DiCica. Mean anything to you?'

I shook my head. 'So someplace he dropped the 'Di' part of his name.'

'Seems that way.'

'That accounts for the V.D. initials on that toolbox. It must have been his old man's. So where does that leave us?'

'We have a package on him in New York. He went down twice for minor crimes fifteen years ago. Petty stuff, but at least he has a record. That much we got when we ran his driver's license through.'

'How about prints?'

'Those first knuckle joints came back from the lab this morning. We rolled them and got them on the computers.'

'Then what's on your mind, Pat?'

'Usually we can handle our own homicides here without any interference. Suddenly some first-class interest shows up . . . the DA's office.'

I shrugged. 'So, he's got a right.'

'This is not a general occurrence, pal. When I got back here word had already come down. That note stays confidential until the DA decides to release it. What I think shook them up is that signature, Penta. Hell, it couldn't've been anything else.'

'What did they give you on it?'

'They gave me a lot of shit, that's all. I raised hell upstairs, but when the inspector says to go along, we go along.'

I gave Pat a friendly rap on the shoulder. 'If those squirrels want to play games, let them. A nice screwball case like this can make some interesting headlines.'

'Their attitude stinks, Mike.' He paused, then glanced at me anxiously. 'You mention that note at all?'

'This is the first time I've been on something that the newshounds weren't all over me. Between this being the weekend and my office on the eighth floor where you could contain those guys, it was a pretty damn quiet murder. How many others did you have last night?'

'Four in Manhattan.'

'So we got lost in the crowd.'

'Not for long, boy, not for long. I can smell this one about to bust open like an abscessed tooth.'

'It's a weirdo.'

'Weirdo my ass. Wait until you see who wants to meet you.'

'Oh?'

'We have a new assistant district attorney who wants to speak to you. With her is somebody from the governor's office in Albany. He has a pretty heavy letter on embossed stationery that requests we give him full cooperation.'

'And that he gets.'

'Certainly,' Pat acknowledged. 'Let's go meet your enemy.'

New York City has numerous assistant district attorneys, but they aren't numbered in order of rank or seniority so they can all sound like the top dog on the block. Candace Amory was far from being a dog.

She was a tall patrician-looking blonde with a cover-girl face and a body that didn't just happen. Every bit of her was carefully cultivated and when she moved you knew she danced and could ski and in the water could take two-hundred-foot dives in scuba gear. The high-breasted look she had was for real, enhanced by a suit so dramatically underplayed in spectacular design that it reeked of money that could buy whatever it wanted.

You would never call Candace Amory 'Candy.' You would want to kiss the lusciousness of those full lips until the thought occurred that it might be like putting your tongue on a cold sled runner and never being able to get it off.

One day I would like to catch her off base and tag her with a ball where she would never forget.

In that one second our eyes touched she knew everything I was thinking and knew I realized it as well. I nodded and said, 'Miss Amory,' and held out my hand. It wasn't lack of etiquette, just a challenge she met without any change of expression at all. I knew she would have a good grip and let her feel mine too.

'Mr. Hammer,' she said. Her voice even matched the rest of her. Throaty, but not altogether soft. There was a firmness there. A tiny Phi Beta Kappa pin was suspended on a fine golden chain around her neck, nestling between her breasts.

There was a dominance about her that she was exuding like an invisible veil and I smiled, just barely smiled with my eyes licking hers, and for an instant there was the minutest change of expression, the cat suddenly realizing the mouse was a cobra, and the veil was sucked back in.

The man from Albany was Jerome Coleman and he didn't specify what his position was. But he was official, he looked legal and he could have been a cop. We said a brief hello and took Pat's offer to sit down around the small conference table. The chair I was offered made me the target for all remarks, so I ignored it and sat in the one next to it. If somebody wanted to fence me in they had better book me first. I saw Pat suppress a smile and Coleman seem annoyed. Miss Amory knew I did it deliberately and just as deliberately took the seat opposite me.

'Who starts?' I said.

Jerome Coleman felt inside his jacket and took out a folded sheet of paper and spread it out in front of him. It was upside down, but I saw it was a copy of the note left on my desk by the killer. 'We don't like enigmas, Mr. Hammer.'

I kept my mouth shut and waited.

Miss Amory said, 'You seem to be implicated in a murder. The alibi you gave Captain Chambers checked out, so you weren't involved with participation in the killing, but nevertheless, you seem to be a principal in the act.'

'I'm glad you said seem.'

She ignored my remark. 'Apparently the victim was mistaken for you and horribly brutalized. If that was an act of vengeance, the killer certainly must have had a reason.'

'Miss Amory,' I said, 'I'm glad you didn't read me my rights.'

'You're not being arrested, Mr. Hammer.'

'This is a direct interrogation, you know.'

'Quite so. And you are a licensed private investigator under the laws of New York State, with a permit to carry a weapon and expected to be in full compliance with the laws and statutes of this state and to cooperate fully in assisting in their enforcement.'

There was nothing I had to crawl out from under, so I smiled that little smile again. 'What can I tell you?'

'The note has reference to you killing somebody,' she said.

'The note has reference to me killing the killer,' I reminded her.

'And that is the enigma,' Coleman put in. His finger underlined the capitalized YOU DIE FOR KILLING ME.

So far Pat had said nothing. He was letting me carry the ball. 'Mr. Coleman . . . I've never been indicted for murder. Nor for a felony. What you seem to have here is some psycho who decided to crash my place to pull a wild stunt off.'

'We understand you never go to the office on Saturdays.'

'Rarely,' I said.