Killer's Choice

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Bureau of Criminal Identification had dug out its packet on Charles Fetterick and sent it by messenger to the Detective Division of the 87th Precinct. In the cloistered silence of the squad room, Cotton Hawes studied Fetterick's card.

Hawes read through the card a second time, flipped it over to glance at Fetterick's fingerprints, and then leafed through the rest of the stuff in the packet. Fetterick had been released after he'd served his year's time. His last known address was 127 Boxer Lane in Riverhead, the building where they'd found him and then in turn lost him. The card didn't tell Hawes very much, except that Fetterick had tried to crack the safe of his employer. 'Crack' it was perhaps an inaccurate term to use. He had tried to burgle it, and had come prepared with the combination to the safe.

Hawes looked at the I.B. card again.

Acton Photo-Engraving on Acton Drive in Riverhead.

He shrugged, told Meyer Meyer he was going out for a while, and then left the squad room.

Sam Kaplowitz was the owner of Acton Photo-Engraving. He was a giant of a man with a barrel chest and a black moustache that hung under his nose like a paint brush.

'Sure, I remember Charlie,' he said. 'How could I forget Charlie? All my years in business, that was the first time I made a mistake. The last time, too, believe me.'

'How long had he worked for you, Mr Kaplowitz?' Hawes asked.

'Sam. Call me Sam.'

'All right,' Hawes said. 'How long, Sam?'

'I should change my name, really. Not because I'm a Jew. This doesn't bother me. But Kaplowitz! Too long, isn't it? Also, it grates on my ears. When I hear it, it grates. I think I'll shorten it to Kaplan. Then everybody will know it's not because I'm Jewish I'm changing my name. I think it's important if you're Jewish you should be Jewish and not half-assish. That's the way I feel about it. How does Kaplan sound?'

'Pretty good,' Hawes said.

'Kaplan,' Kaplowitz said, testing the name. 'Maybe I'll do it. I'll discuss it with my sons. It isn't that I would have to change the business name or anything. The business is named after the street we're on. Acton Drive. Could you imagine Kaplowitz Photo-Engraving? God, what a mouthful! I would choke every time I answered the phone.'

'What about this boy, Mr Kaplowitz?'

'Sam. Please.'

'Sam.'

'Thank you. I hired him. He was nineteen, I think. He didn't know anything, not a thing. I taught him. A nice boy. Charlie Fetterick. We used to call him Feathers. Or The Bird. Some of the boys in the shop called him The Bird. Friendly, you know. Nothing nasty intended. We taught him the business. In a year, he was a good engraver, believe me. A damn good engraver.'

'What happened?'

'He decided to rob my safe. He didn't even have the right combination, do you know that? The slip of paper they found in his hand? The police? Well, it was the wrong combination. His lawyer tried to make a big thing out of that, tried to show he didn't intend to rob the safe. Some fun, he didn't. Argh, whattya gonna do? I trusted that boy. I liked him, too. But rob a safe? No. This I can't put up with. I was glad he went to jail. I'll tell you the truth, I was glad he went to jail.'

'I don't blame you,' Hawes said.

'I worked all my life, Mr Hawes,' Kaplowitz said. 'I still got acid burns on my fingers from engraving. Still. After all these years. Nothing comes easy, nothing. Now I got my little business, but still nothing comes easy. This boy had a good opportunity. He learned a good trade here. So he wanted it the easy way. So he got prison, instead. Why do people have to do such things? Argh, I don't know. I just don't know.' Kaplowitz blew his nose. 'Is he in trouble again? Charlie?'

'Yes.'

'What did he do? I heard he was out of prison last year. I'll tell you the truth, I was a little frightened. I thought he might bear a grudge, might come back to do some harm. Who knows what people who try to rob safes might do? Who knows?'

'But he didn't come back?'

'No.'

'Not to apply for a job or anything?'

'No. Do you want to know something? I wouldn't have given him a job. I know that sounds terrible, but how many times can you get burned? I know a man is supposed to have paid his debt to society and all, but I wouldn't have given him a job if he came back here on his hands and knees and begged for it. I treated that boy like one of my own sons. Thank God, my sons wouldn't try to rob my safe. What kind of trouble is he in?'

'He held up a liquor store and killed a cop.'

Kaplowitz nodded somewhat sadly. 'That's serious trouble. That I wouldn't wish on him. That's serious.'

'Yes. It's very serious.'

'It makes you wonder. Would he been in this trouble now if he hadn't been to prison? It makes you wonder.'

'Don't wonder about it, Mr Kaplowitz.'

'Sam. Please.'

'Sam.'

'Still, it makes you wonder. You know, if there had been some reason for him to rob my safe, some good reason. If his mother was sick, or he needed the money very badly. But he was making a good salary here, and we gave him a big bonus at Christmas. No reason. No reason. A man like that, you can't feel pity. Still, I feel pity. I'm sorry he did wrong again. I'm sorry he got himself in such big trouble this time.'

'Would you happen to know if he got a job anywhere in the field since his release from prison, Mr Kaplowitz?'

'I don't know. I could check if you like. I know most of the other firms. I could check quietly. If you checked, it might scare him away. Do you want me to check around for you?'

'I'd appreciate it.'

'I will. I don't like thieves, Mr Hawes. I like honesty. Honesty is what should be in the world.'

'Here's my card,' Hawes said, handing it to him. 'If you find out anything, please give me a call.' Kaplowitz took the card and studied it.

'Cotton, huh?' he said.

'Yes.'

'Mr Hawes, when I go down to change my name, I'll give you a ring. We go together, okay?'

Hawes grinned. 'Any time you're ready, Mr Kaplowitz.'

'Sam,' Kaplowitz said. 'Please.'

The man who came into the squad room was holding his hat to his chest. He would one day be instrumental in solving a murder. His eyes were bloodshot, and his nose was running, and he had the dishevelled look of a wino. He stood just outside the slatted rail divider. He didn't say a word. He stood and waited for someone to notice him. The first one to spot him was Miscolo, on his way from Clerical with a pot of coffee.

'Help you, Mac?' he asked.

'I wannuh… uh… is this… uh… this's the Detectives?'

'Yeah,' Miscolo said. 'What is it?' Standing close to the man, he could smell the cheap wine on his breath. He backed off a few feet. 'What is it, Mac?'

'I wannuh… uh… I wannuh talk tuddy bull who's handlin' the… uh… the li'l girl got killed inny… uh… inny liquor store.'

'Meyer!' Miscolo shouted. 'Somebody to see you.'

'Is that coffee?' Meyer said.

'Yeah.'

'Bring it over.' He walked to the slatted rail divider and watched Miscolo walk to his desk and pour a cup of coffee for him. He smelled the wine almost instantly, pinched his nostrils and released them, and then said, 'Yup? What is it?'

'You… uh… workin' on the uh li'l girl who got killed inny liquor store?'

'I'm one of the cops working on it, yeah,' Meyer said. 'What is it? You kill her?'

'Me? Hey, me? Hey, no. Not me!' The man seemed about to leave. He put on his hat, and almost turned. Meyer's voice stopped him.

'I'm jokin', Mac. What is it?'

'Uh… George. You anny other one call me Mac, It's George.'

'Okay, George. What is it?'

'Can I come inan siddown?'

'Sure. Come on in. You want a cup of coffee?'

'What is this?' Miscolo called over. 'The Salvation Army?'

'Pour him a cup of coffee,' Meyer said, grinning. 'Break your heart, Miscolo.'

'The Salvation Army,' Miscolo muttered, but he poured a cup for the wino none the less. Meyer led him to the desk. He picked up his own cup, lifted it, and drank. The wino reached into his side pocket, pulled out a pint of cheap wine, uncapped it, and poured some into the coffee.

'First today,' he said. He lifted his cup.

'What about the liquor store kill?' Meyer asked.

'Oh. Yeah. That.'

'Yeah. What about it?'

'I seen it,' George said.

Meyer put down his coffee cup. 'You saw it.'

'Um.'

'The killing?'

'No. Not… uh… that. But I seen the rest.'

'What rest?'

'The driving away.'

'We always get the ones who see the driving away,' Meyer said. 'How come you saw it?'

'I was—uh… layin' against the wall of the buildin'. I was… uh… blind. Drunk, I mean.'

'You don't mean to tell me you drink!' Meyer said.

'Uh… yeah. Occasionally. Now and then.'

'Go ahead.'

'I heard all the explosions. Terrible. And the noise of bottles bustin'. Terrible. Uh… terrible.'

'Go ahead.'

'I… uh… leaned up on one elbow. This person ran out of the shop and… uh… intera car. Drove away. Whoom!'

'Man or woman?' Meyer asked.

'I dunno.'

'Didn't you see?'

'No.'

'You just saw this person get into a car and drive away, is that right? But you can't tell me whether it was a man or a woman.'

'That's right. I was… uh… blind, you know? Ossified. Yeah.'

'Did you happen to notice the licence number?'

'Uh… no.'

'Year of the car?'

'Uh… no.'

'Make?'

'Uh…no.'

'You just saw someone—either a man or a woman—come out of the store and get into the car and drive away, is that right?'

'Yeah.'

'And that's all?'

'Yeah.'

'Well, that's very helpful, George. Thanks a lot for coming up.'

'Noddadall,' George said.

He finished his coffee, put on his hat, and left the squad room.

Meyer sighed, and then looked at the brighter side of things. The person driving the car may have owned either a driver's licence or a registered automobile. Unless he was an unlicenced driver driving a stolen car. In any case, the information was worthless at the moment.

Miscolo came over to Meyer's desk.

'How come your father visited you here?' he asked.

Meyer would not get angry. 'Search me,' he said. 'I tell him to stay away, but he keeps coming. I guess he loves me. I'm hairy, but he loves me.'

'Did you smell that guy?' Miscolo asked.

'My father?'

'Yeah.'

'Sure.'

'Pretty, huh?'

'Wonderful. I love that smell. It's my father's favourite cologne.'

'He dresses neat, your Dad,' Miscolo said.

'He always did. He almost took the best-dressed award away from Adolphe Menjou one year, would you believe it?'

'Sure, I believe it,' Miscolo said. He sobered suddenly. 'He give you anything?' he asked.

'Yeah,' Meyer said. 'A headache.'