Carella had the feeling that somehow Ollie wasalwaysin the middle of dinner. Or lunch. Or breakfast. Or something.
“Can I call you back later?” he asked.
“Well, sure,” Ollie said, sounding offended, and hung up.
Carella called him back at a little past eight, after the twins were in bed. Ollie picked up the phone, said, “Weeks,” and then belched.
“Ollie, it’s Steve.”
“Yes, Steve.”
Still sounding offended.
“I wanted to report on what I learned from Mrs. Henderson…”
“Yes, Steve.”
His tone was saying I only saved your life, you know.
“I had a long telephone conversation with her this afternoon. She…”
“I thought you were going to see her personally,” Ollie said.
“I did. This wasafterI saw her.”
“Uh-huh.”
“She said her husband flew up to the state capital on Saturday…”
“Uh-huh.”
“…stayed the weekend at the Raleigh Hotel there…”
“Okay.”
“Probably flew back early Monday morning…”
“What do you meanprobably?”
“He didn’t come home. She thinks he must have gone directly from the airport to King Memorial.”
“What do you mean shethinks?”
“Ollie,” Carella said, “non mi rompere,okay?”
“What?”
“I’m trying to tell you what I’ve got here. The lady doesn’t know forsurewhere he was when. The last time she spoke to him was from the Raleigh. The next thing she knows he’s shot dead at King Memorial. So she’s assuming he flew back and went directly…”
“Okay, I get it, I get it,” Ollie said. “Did you call the airport?”
“There are two non-stop flights leaving here early in the morning, both on US Airways. Takes about an hour to get to the capital. Any connecting flight doesn’t pay, you can just as easily drive up these days, the long lines.”
“How about coming back?”
“Same thing. Two early morning flights. I called the hotel. Henderson checked out at six Monday morning. He could’ve caught either one of them, been here in the city by eight, eight-thirty. A cab from the airport would’ve put him at the Hall by eight-thirty, nine. Which is about right, more or less.”
“Where’s his suitcase?”
“What?”
“He had to have a bag, no? So if he went straight to the Hall, where’s the bag?”
“Good question.”
“We’ll find out tomorrow. Meet me up the precinct at eight o’clock.”
“Uh…Ollie…my boss wants me off this.”
“Oh? Why?”
“He thinks it’s too uptown for us.”
“We been uptown together before, my friend, ah yes.”
“The Loot isn’t sure he wants to go there again.”
“Even if we share the bust?”
“I just don’t think he wants any part of it.”
“You negotiating with me, or what?”
“Would I even dream?”
“We crack this one, we’re made men.”
“I thought only the Mob had made men.”
“The Police Department is a mob, too, believe it or not. Tell your loot we share the bust, we’ll all be glory boys.”
“How do you figure that, Ollie?”
“Guy about to run for mayor, he gets snuffed? Hey, this is big-time stuff, Steve-a-rino.”
“How do you know he was going to run for mayor?”
“His aide told me. Alan Pierce, Mr. Wasp from Waspville. Steve, I know it don’t mean nothing I saved your life…”
“Enough already, Ollie.”
“Talk to your loot. Tell him we’ll all get rich and famous.”
“He’s already rich and famous.”
“Sure. Like my Aunt Tillie. Tell him we’ll be on television and everything.”
“You know what we caught this morning, Ollie?”
“Tell me what you caught this morning, Steve.”
“A hundred-and-four-year-old lady drowned in her bathtub.”
“Not unusual. These old broads, they sometimes…”
“She was stabbed in the eye first, Ollie.”
“Extraordinary,” Ollie said. “But it ain’t gonna get your picture in the papers. You want the Eight-Seven to remain a shitty little precinct the rest of your life, or you want to step up to the plate and knock one out of the ball park?”
“I want to go say goodnight to my kids.”
“Call your loot instead, what’s his name? Bernstein?”
“Byrnes.”
“I thought he was a Yid, like my boss. Tell him does he want another juicy one like that money money case we caught around Christmastime…”
“Money moneymoney,” Carella said.
“Or does he just want another old lady moldering in a bathtub?”
“I think he might prefer the old lady.”
“Then he’s an old lady himself, your boss. Tell him you got to grab this city by the balls before it grabs you first. Tell him opportunity knocks but once, tell him it’s not every cop in the world gets invited to talk onLarry King.Tell him Oliver Wendell Weeks has spoken.”
“I’m sure he’ll be impressed.”
“Tell him.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“Don’t forget the old lady metaphor,” Ollie said, and hung up.
4
DETECTIVE/SECOND GRADE EILEEN BURKEdid not know how she felt about being transferred to the Eight- Seven.
Lieutenant Byrnes voiced it for her.
“Eileen, you’re a good cop,” he said, “and I’m glad to have you with us. But there’s this thing with Bert.”
The lieutenant was referring to the fact that in the not too distant past, Eileen had enjoyed an arduous but
