Killer's Choice

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Cotton Hawes vindicated himself on the day they captured Charles Fetterick.

The call from Sam Kaplowitz came in at 8.27 a.m. Hawes was summoned to the phone.

'Detective Hawes,' he said.

'Mr Hawes, this is Sam.' He paused. 'Kaplowitz.'

'How are you, Mr Kaplowitz?'

'Fine, thank you. I've located Charlie Fetterick.'

'Where?' Hawes asked quickly.

'He's working for a place called Simpson Engraving. That's in Riverhead.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes. From what Mr Simpson told me, he's ready to fire him. He hasn't been in to work for the last week or so.'

'Thank you,' Hawes said. 'Mr Kaplowitz, I want to get on this right away. Thanks a million for calling.'

'Don't mention it. Glad to be of assistance.'

Hawes hung up. He looked up the number for Simpson Engraving and called it. There was no answer. He had a cup of coffee and tried again at 9.10. He spoke to a man named Alec Simpson who said that Fetterick had been working for him for six months. He was a good worker, until just recently. Without calling in or anything, he'd stayed away from work. It came as no surprise to Hawes that the absenteeism had started on the day after Havilland's death, the day after Fetterick had been wounded. He asked if Simpson had an address for Fetterick. Simpson had two. The one Fetterick had first used—his mother's apartment, 312 Bragin Street in Riverhead—and a later one, 127 Boxer Lane. Hawes jotted down the Bragin Street address, thanked Simpson, took his service revolver from the top drawer of his desk, and walked over to where Carella was typing.

'I've found Fetterick,' he said. 'Want to be in on the collar?'

'Think I'll get shot?' Carella asked.

Hawes smiled. 'There's a chance,' he said. 'The help is sort of inexperienced.'

'But maybe solid none the less,' Carella said. He clipped his holstered gun into his back pocket. 'Let's go.'

They drove to Riverhead in silence. If either of the men felt any particular tension, neither showed it. When they reached 312 Bragin, they got out of the car silently and looked for Fetterick's name in the mailboxes. He was in Apartment 2A. They went upstairs quietly. This time, Hawes unholstered his gun before Carella did. This time, Hawes threw off the safety before Carella did. When they reached the apartment door, Carella stood to one side of it, and Hawes backed off for the kick. He hit the lock flatfooted, and the door sprang open.

The room was dead silent. They could see an easy chair and a corner of the bed from where they stood in the hallway.

'Out?' Hawes whispered.

'I guess,' Carella said.

'Cover me.'

Hawes stepped into the room cautiously.

The arm came from behind the open door. It looped itself around Hawes's throat and yanked him backwards. He was too surprised to flip Fetterick over his shoulder. He had only time to shout, 'Steve! Get out!' before he felt the sharp snout of the automatic against his spine.

'Get in here, cop!' Fetterick said. 'You run, and your pal is dead.'

'Go, Steve!' Hawes said.

Carella came into the room.

'Drop the hardware,' Fetterick said. 'Both of you. Quick!'

Hawes dropped his gun. 'Shoot, Steve,' he said. 'Drop him!'

'You do, and your pal's dead,' Fetterick warned.' Drop the gun.'

Carella dropped the .38.

'Inside,' Fetterick said.

Carella moved away from the door, and Fetterick kicked it shut.

'Big cops,' he said. 'Saw you the minute you pulled up downstairs. Big cops.'

'What now, Fetterick?' Carella asked.

'Big sons of bitches,' Fetterick said. 'Because of you bastards, I couldn't go to a doctor. I'm still carrying the slug, you bastards.' He stood behind Hawes with the gun muzzle tight against Hawes's back. Carella moved across the room. 'No funny stuff,' Fetterick said. 'One cop's already dead. A few more won't make it any worse.'

'You've got it all wrong,' Carella said. 'You could get off with life.'

'What kind of life? I done the prison bit already, thanks. I either get away clean this time, or I get the chair. That's the way I want it.' He winced. The strain of keeping his arm around Hawes's neck was telling on his wounded shoulder. 'Sons of bitches. Couldn't even go to a doctor,' he said.

'Where's you mother, Fetterick?'

'Down getting something for breakfast. Leave her out of this.'

'She's harbouring a criminal.'

'She doesn't know anything.'

'She knows you're wounded.'

'She doesn't know it's a gun wound. You got nothing on her. How'd you get to me? Was it the paint job on the car the first time?'

'Yes.'

'I had to have it done. I thought it got spotted once. I couldn't chance it. What about now?'

'You shouldn't have looked for engraving work.'

'Engraving's my work,' Fetterick said.

'We thought burglary and robbery was,' Hawes said snidely.

'Shut up!' Fetterick warned. Again, he pulled the gun back and then rammed it forward. Hawes felt the snout dig into his flesh. He braced himself.

'You guys don't have me tagged for this Annie Boone crap in the papers, do you?'

'Was it you?' Carella asked.

'No. I got an alibi a mile long. That's one thing you don't stick me with.'

'Why don't you put up the gun like a good boy?' Carella asked.

'What for? So I get life on the state? Big deal. You guys walked into a coffin. You know that, don't you?'

'You're a stupid punk,' Hawes said. 'You wouldn't know how to…'

Fetterick pulled back the gun, ready to jab it into Hawes's back again. This time, Hawes was waiting for it. He moved quickly, twisting his body the moment the barrel left his back, twisting it inside the gun, throwing his weight at the same time so that he knocked the gun hand to one side, leaning forward simultaneously, his arms reaching up, his hands grabbing the arm that circled his neck.

The automatic in Fetterick's fist exploded, but Fetterick was in mid-air when it did, spiralling over Hawes's back. Carella was half-way across the room. Hawes threw Fetterick like a sack of flour. He landed on his back, sat up, and was bringing the automatic to bear when Carella kicked him. He kicked him in the arm, and the second shot went wild, and then Hawes took a flying leap, all one hundred and ninety pounds of him landing on Fetterick like a falling boulder. He pinioned Fetterick's arms and then began hitting him until he was senseless. Fetterick dropped the gun. He lay breathing heavily on the floor.

'That was a big chance,' Carella said to Hawes.

'He was ready to shoot us,' Hawes said.

'Yeah. Did I thank you?'

'No.'

'Thanks,' Carella said. 'Let's drag this hunk of crap down to the car.'

Charles Fetterick did not kill Annie Boone. His alibi for the night of 10 June was as solid as a rock. It didn't help Fetterick very much because the cops already had him on one murder. But, giving the devil his due, Fetterick did not kill Annie Boone.