An idea or two began to brew in my head.
I ambled out into the hall, found the stairs to the roof, and climbed up them. The door to the roof was
unlocked. I checked it out, looking down to the open bathroom window and giving the brick wall a
close check. There were three grooves in the ledge above Della Norman?s bathroom window.
As I came back down I saw the Stick talking to one of the four coin-tossers, a weasel-faced little hood
who stood sideways, looking off down the street someplace as he spoke, as if the Stick were not there.
Stick finally nodded and left his stoolie, entering the building and joining me on the second floor.
“I got sidetracked,” he said. “That little shit I was talking to, his brother?s in the dock waiting to be
sentenced for pushing. He?s hoping I?ll go to bat, get the bastard a reduced sentence. But he doesn?t
know shit about what happened and neither do the other three. What he says, Logeto came here at six
fifteen. They saw him go into the girl?s apartment, which is usual for Monday night. They heard some
bedsprings rattling a coupla minutes later, figure Logeto was so horny he jumped right to it. They
made a couple of jokes, then pitched dollars until Cowboy Lewis showed up and busted in.”
“Go take a look inside.”
We went back into the apartment together. Della Norman?s body was already wrapped up and on a
stretcher. The ambulance lads worked a body hag over Logeto?s feet and wheeled both bodies out.
Braun followed them into the ball and Dutch, Stick, and I were alone in the room.
“What?s this bit about them getting Burked?” Dutch asked. “What?s that all about?”
Stick said. “I saw this once downcountry. The CRIPS used it. Silent and quick.”
“What?s a CRIP?”
“Combined Recon and Intelligence Platoons. They were kind of the army?s on-the-spot Green Berets,
Only they didn?t have the training. They recruited everybody. Guys in the brig, misfits, old French
Legionnaires, mercenaries, people who didn?t want to come back after their tour was up. Basically
they were assassination squads. Send „em out, kill a village leader or a tax collector, some rebel leader
who?s getting a little muscle. Like that.”
Morehead shook his head. “Different kind of army,” he said.
“You were in the army?” said Stick.
“Korea. Foot soldier. Sixteen months,” the big German said. “You remember Korea, boys? Nowadays
most people think Korea?s the name of an all-night grocery stand.”
“Poor old Della,” the Stick said. “Why would anybody want to ice her?”
“What about her?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Della and I got along. I had occasion to bust her once. A pot charge. It was just a
fishing expedition, see if maybe we could turn up something on Nose. She figured it out and took it
