Killer's Choice

CHAPTER FIVE

495 Hall Avenue was a sumptuous building with a wide entrance lobby and fourteen elevators. It rested in the heart of the publishing section, flanked on either side by the high-class department stores which lined the street.

Kling felt as if he'd died and gone to heaven.

It was a distinct pleasure to get away from the 87th. There was a nice feeling to midtown Isola, a feeling he had almost forgotten. He could remember Christmas shopping with Claire, his fiancée, but this was June and Christmas seemed as if it had happened in 1776. It was good to be back on Hall Avenue, good to see men carrying brief-cases and going about clean jobs, good to see girls in tailored suits or skirts and blouses, clean-scrubbed girls hurrying to their offices, or hurrying to do their shopping. This was the nicest part of the city, he felt, the part that really felt like it, that really made you think you were in a giant metropolis.

The weather, too, was ideal. Summer had not yet begun its onslaught. Spring had not yet left the air. It was mild and balmy, a day for taking off your shoes and walking barefoot on wet grass. He regretted that he had a job to do. But his regret did not spread to include Hall Avenue.

He entered 495 and walked to the directory. Theodore Boone was listed as being in Room 1804. Kling looked at his watch. It was 2.50. He nodded slightly and walked toward the elevator banks. He wore grey slacks and a grey-striped seersucker jacket. He did not at all look like a cop. With his blond hair and wide shoulders, with his long purposeful strides, he looked like a Scandinavian in America to study investment banking.

The elevator banks were divided into several sections. He passed the Local 1-12 section, and then stopped at the Express 14-22 section, amused at the idea of a modern office building in the heart of a modern city superstitiously eliminating the thirteenth floor.

He stepped into the closest car and said, 'Eighteen, please,' The elevator operator stabbed a button.

'How's it outside?' the elevator operator asked.

'Nice.'

'I never get out. I'm trapped in this building. From eight in the morning 'til five at night, I'm a prisoner. I never see the light. I have my lunch right here in the building. I bring my lunch, I eat it downstairs in a little room we got. I'm a mole.'

Kling nodded sympathetically.

'This is a city of moles, you know that? I know people, they get off the subway, they walk underground to their office. At least I get the two-block walk to this building every morning and every night. Them, they get nothing. They walk underground to the office 'cause it's quicker, rain or shine. They eat their lunch in the arcade, underground. They go back to the subway underground when they leave the office at night. They never see the city. Me, I see two blocks of the city. How is it outside?'

'Nice,' Kling said.

The starter snapped his fingers. The elevator operator closed the doors. 'Eighteen, right?' he asked.

'Right,' Kling said.

'Up and down all day long,' the elevator operator said. 'Up and down, but I'm never going any place. I'm a vertical mole. I'd rather be a subway conductor. Then at least I'd be a horizontal mole. And they come up for air. When they reach Calm's Point or Riverhead, the train comes up outa the ground. Me, up and down, up and down, all day long. It's nice outside, huh?'

'Very nice,' Kling said.

'It seemed nice on the way to work this morning. You got an outside job, mister?'

'Part of the time,' Kling said.

'Listen, even a part-time outside job is good,' the elevator operator said. 'I think I ought to get an outside job. Even maybe a street cleaner's job. That's outside.'

'It gets cold in the winter,' Kling said.

'Yeah?' This was a new idea to the elevator operator. 'Yeah, that's right, ain't it? Say, that's right.' The car slid to a stop. 'Eighteen,' he said.

The door slid open. 'Thank you,' Kling said as he walked out of the car.

'Don't mention it,' the elevator operator said. The door slid shut. Behind the door, the mechanism whirred and faded down the shaft. Kling smiled and looked for Room 1804. He followed the doors down the hallway and stopped before a set of double doors with frosted glass. He opened one of the doors and stepped into a small luxuriously furnished waiting-room. A receptionist sat behind a desk at one end of the room. Kling walked directly to her.

'Mr Boone,' he said.

'Who shall I say is calling, please?'

'Detective Kling.'

The girl looked up suddenly. 'Are you a detective?'

'Yes,' Kling said.

'Just a moment, sir.'

She kept watching him as she pushed a toggle on her intercom.

'Yes?' a voice asked. Kling recognized it as Boone's.

'Detective Kling to see you, sir,' the girl said, her eyes on Kling.

'Send him right in,' Boone said. 'I'm in the studio.'

'Yes, sir.' She flipped up her toggle and said, 'Would you go in please, Mr Kling? Through that door and then down the corridor. It's the last door.'

'Thank you,' Kling said. He opened the door, hesitated, and said, 'Right or left?'

'What?'

'The corridor.'

'Oh.' The girl smiled. 'Left down the corridor.'

'Thank you,' Kling said again. He closed the door behind him and turned left, walking past a series of doors. There was a door at the end of the corridor. He opened it and walked into a huge room which ran at a right angle to the corridor. A platform was set up at the far end of the room. A girl in a leopard skin was lying on a piece of black velvet which had been draped over the platform. Six lights were trained on the girl. A camera was trained on the girl. A man was behind the camera. Another man was arranging the folds in the velvet draped over the platform. A third man stood with his arms folded, slightly to the left of the camera.

'I'd like to shoot up at her, Ted,' the man with the folded arms said.

'I'll do whatever you want,' Boone answered. 'It's your ad.'

'Well, that's what I'd like. I want to get the feeling she's looking down at us.'

'What for?'

'It's what I want.'

'But your copy reads "Women look up to men who use Leopard Aftershave",' Boone said.

'That's right,' the man with the folded arms said.

'So why can't I look up?' the model in the leopard skin asked. 'I photograph better looking up, anyway.'

'I want you looking down.'

'That doesn't make sense,' the model said.

'Honey,' the man with the folded arms said, 'you're getting paid forty dollars an hour to pose, not to be an art director. When I want you to look up, I'll ask you to look up. Right now, I'd like you to look down, and I'd like our friend Mr Boone to shoot from the floor to exaggerate this feeling of your looking down.'

'Well, that's certainly a mystery to me,' the girl said. 'The copy says "look up" and you want look down. That's certainly the mystery of the decade. That's certainly the inscrutable mystery of the Orient.'

Kling cleared his throat.

Boone turned from the camera.

He was not a good-looking man, and yet he was a good-looking man. He was a trifle short perhaps, with thick black hair, and with the irregular features of a boxer. But he was narrow-waisted and wide-shouldered, and he turned with an economy of movement that told Kling he was quick on his feet and probably as sharply trained as a Commando. He had bright brown eyes, and they focused instantly on Kling, and he moved away from the camera just as instantly and walked to Kling with his hand extended.

'Detective Kling?' he asked.

'Yes,' Kling said. 'I hope I'm not intruding.'

'Not at all.' Boone turned and said, 'Karl, mind if we take a short break?'

'I'm only paying the jungle queen forty dollars an hour,' the man with the folded arms said.

'I can use a break,' the model said. 'This looking down bit can get strenuous.'

'Go ahead,' Karl said, unfolding his arms. 'Take a break. Practise looking down. Practise looking down and giving the feeling that you're looking up at the same time.'

'For that, you've got to be double-jointed,' the model said. 'You should have hired a circus performer.'

'Sometimes I get the feeling I have,' Karl said.

Kling followed Boone to the side of the room. He took a package of cigarettes from his pocket and extended it to Kling.

'Smoke?'

'Thanks, no,' Kling said.

Boone shook a cigarette free and lighted it. He blew out a stream of smoke, sighed, and said, 'Who killed her?'

'We don't know,' Kling said.

'How can I help?'

'By answering some questions, if you don't mind.'

'Not at all.' Boone sucked in on his cigarette. 'Shoot,' he said.

'You were married how long?'

Boone did not stop to calculate. Quickly, he said, 'Five years, two months, and eleven days.'

'You remember that closely?'

'It was the happiest time of my life,' Boone said.

'It was?' Kling said. His face was expressionless. He was remembering all that Mrs Travail had told him, but his face remained expressionless.

'Yes,' Boone said.

'Why'd you get divorced?'

'She didn't want me any more.'

'Let me get this straight,' Kling said. 'She asked for the divorce?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'I don't know. I wish I did know. I thought everything was going along fine. Christ knows, I loved her.'

'We'd better start from the beginning,' Kling said.

'All right. Where do you want me to start?'

'Where'd you meet?'

'At the public library.'

'When was this?'

'Eight years ago. 1949?'

'Good enough. Remember the month?'

'June.'

'What were you doing at the library?'

'I was free-lancing at the time. I'd had a job possibility, some industrial stuff, but I couldn't find any samples to clinch the deal. I'd had some stuff in one of the photography magazines, and I went to the library to locate the back issue.'

'Did you?'

'Yes. I also met Annie.'

'How?'

'It was strange. I guess I'm a nervous type. I was drumming my fingers on the table. I'd taken the… what do you call it… reader's guide to magazines or something, because I couldn't remember the issue the stuff had been in, and I was thumbing through it at the table and drumming my fingers. I'm a nervous type. Lots of nervous energy. I always tap a foot or drum my fingers or something. You know?'

'Go ahead.'

'She was sitting at the table reading. She asked me to please stop drumming my fingers. I guess we had sort of a little argument about it. I wasn't really angry. She was a damned attractive girl, and I started the argument just so I could get to apologize later on.'

'Did you?'

'Yes. I apologized and asked her out to dinner. She accepted. That was the beginning.'

'What kind of a girl was Annie?'

'Annie?' Boone's eyes went reflectively sad. 'The most wonderful girl I've ever met in my life. Alive, Mr Kling. Really alive. You meet a lot of redheads who only have the red hair, and that's their fire. The rest is just washed-out pale complexion and no life. Have you noticed that most redheads have very pale complexions? When they get in the sun, they turn red all over, like lobsters. Annie wasn't that way. She was alive. Her red hair only set the pace. She loved doing things. Swimming, skiing, riding, everything. We had a ball. We really did. She didn't burn in the sun. She turned bronze. She was beautiful. I loved that girl. I gave that girl everything I had. I loved her.'

'What happened?'

'I don't know.'

'You don't have any inkling?'

Boone shrugged helplessly. 'Monica was born. Have you met my daughter?'

'Yes.'

'She's a charmer, isn't she?'

'Yes.'

'Then you've met the Bag, too?'

'What? I'm sorry.'

'My ex mother-in-law, Mrs Travail.'

'Yes. I met her.'

'The bitch,' Boone said. 'I'm taking her to court, you know.'

'I didn't know.'

'For custody of the child.'

'I got the impression she liked you,' Kling said.

'Really? She's a great actress, the Bag. I think she had more to do with Annie and me splitting up than anything else.'

'How do you figure that?'

'She hated Annie. The Bag lost all her men, and she didn't like the idea that her daughter had one. The Bag also lost her looks, and Annie still had hers. The Bag was stupid, Annie was bright.'

'Bright?'

'Intelligent. Smart as a whip. There wasn't anything Annie couldn't do and do well. A quick learner, Mr Kling. Quick. I had a hard time keeping up with her.'

'She… she wasn't stupid?'

'Stupid? Hell, no. She was that rare combination, a brain with good looks. And she didn't flaunt the brain. She didn't make you feel like an idiot. Oh, Jesus, Mr Kling, how can I tell you about Annie? She was the best thing that ever happened to me. She's responsible for whatever I am now. I was a dumb kid with a camera when I met her. Now I know what I want out of life, now I know the things that are important. Annie did all that. The day I lost her was the blackest day of my life.'

'You were trying to explain why you got divorced.'

'Oh. Yeah. Well, Monica was born. You can't have so much fun when you've got an infant on your hands. I mean, no matter how much you love the child, you're still tied down. Annie wouldn't leave her with anyone but the Bag. She wanted the Bag to come and live with us. I flatly refused. I didn't see why we couldn't get baby sitters, the way other young married people do. Annie wouldn't. She simply wouldn't. She loved that kid like… well, she loved her. But at the same time, I think she resented her. Because she tied us down, do you know? Because we couldn't go off on those long ski week-ends any more. Because we couldn't pack up and go to the beach for a week on a moment's notice.'

'What else?' Kling asked.

'Well, I hate to admit this…'

'Yes.'

'She was outgrowing me.'

'What?'

'I'm a camera. That's really all I am. Photography is my profession, and I see everything as if I'm looking through a camera. I feel things that way, Mr Kling. I'm one of those people who…who feel things. But I'm not much in the brain department, never was.'

'I see,' Kling said.

'Annie was growing. I wasn't. Cameras don't grow, Mr Kling, they only record.'

'Annie outgrew you.'

'Yes.'

'Not the other way around?'

'Oh, don't be ridiculous. God, she had a mind like a trap. Click! A hungry mind. Devoured things. Wonderful. A wonderful girl.'

'Why'd she go to work in a liquor store after she divorced you?'

'I don't know. A girl like her, I figured she'd want a challenge. Advertising, radio, television, something like that, something where she could use her mind. So first she works selling furniture, and then liquor. I didn't get it. I asked her once. When I went up to see Monica.'

'What did she say?'

'She said, "I need a rest, Ted. Everybody has to rest every now and then." Well, she got her rest.'

'I should imagine, if what you said was accurate, that she'd had enough of a rest. Being cooped up with the child, I mean.'

'Yes,' Boone said. 'That's what I would have thought.' He dropped his cigarette to the floor and stepped on it.

'Then why'd she take those jobs?'

'I don't know.'

'Did you argue much, Mr Boone? When you were married to her?'

'The usual. You know how marriage is.'

'Once a week? Twice a week?'

'Oh, I don't know. I never kept count. You know how marriage is. Two people get on each other's nerves every now and then. So an argument starts. I never kept count.'

'Would you say you were happily married?'

Boone hesitated. At last he said, 'No.'

'Why not?'

'I guess… I guess I wasn't enough for Annie.'

'Were there any other men in her life?'

'No. You don't think they'd have given her custody of the child if there were, do you?'

'And you? Another woman?'

'No. Annie was enough for me.'

'But you weren't enough for her?'

'No.'

'And yet, there were no other men?'

'No. None that I know of. Adultery was never an issue. We couldn't have got a divorce in this state if we'd wanted to.'

'Did you want custody of the child?'

'No. Not at the time of the divorce. I didn't want anything to remind me of Annie.'

'Because you loved her so much?'

'Yes. After a while, I realized I was behaving stupidly. I sought her out. Her and Monica. I went to see them. My daughter loves me, Mr Kling. I've got a good relationship with my daughter. I want her to live with me. I can give her things the Bag can never give her. The Bag's holding her illegally. The courts awarded that child to Annie, not to my mother-in-law. She's holding her illegally, and if the goddamn courts weren't so slow, I'd have Monica now.'

'You said you didn't want Monica at first, is that right?'

'Yes.'

'And you loved Annie very much?'

'Very much.'

'Tell me, Mr Boone. When you were divorced, did you ever think there was any chance of you and Annie getting together again?'

'In the beginning, I did.'

'For how long?'

'Six months or so. I kept thinking she'd call me. Especially when I found out she'd got a job selling furniture. I kept thinking she'd call me and try to patch it up. For about six months, I kept hoping that.'

'She didn't call.'

'No.'

'And during this time, you made no attempt to see either her or Monica, is that right?'

'That's right.'

'When did you see Monica again? After the divorce, I mean.'

'About six or seven months after the divorce.'

'Did you ever ask Annie for custody of the child?'

'Well… yes.'

'And?'

'She refused. She felt the child's place was with her mother.'

'I see. Did you ever try to do anything about it legally?'

'I consulted a lawyer. He said the courts had awarded the child to Annie, and that was it.'

'There was no chance, then, of your gaining legal possession of the child.'

'Well, there is now. The Bag has no claim to her. After all, she's my daughter.'

'Yes, now there's a possibility. I didn't mean that, Mr Boone. I meant, while Annie was alive.'

'Oh. No, no. While Annie was alive, I couldn't have the child. I could visit her, of course, and she could spend time with me. I had her for a month every now and then. But I couldn't have her with me all the time. No. Not while Annie was alive. Things are different now. I'll fight the Bag if it takes every cent I've got.'

Kling sighed. 'When was the last time you saw Annie, Mr Boone?'

'About three weeks ago.'

'What was the occasion?'

'I went to see Monica. Annie happened to be home. Usually, I tried to time my visits so that I wouldn't run into her.'

'Were you friendly on that occasion?'

'We were always friendly.'

'No arguments?'

'None.'

'Did custody of the child come up?'

'No. That was a closed issue as far as I was concerned. I knew I couldn't have her, and so I made the best of it. Now, things are different. The moment Annie died, I looked into it. The Bag doesn't stand a chance. That's why I've started the legal machinery going.'

'When did you start, Mr Boone?'

'When Annie died.'

'The same day?'

'The day after.'

'Do you own a gun, Mr Boone?'

'Yes.'

'What make and calibre?'

'It's an Iver Johnson. A .22.'

'Do you have a pistol permit?'

'Yes.'

'Carry or premises?'

'Premises. It's just a small gun, you know. I keep it for protection at home. I live on the South Side in Stewart City. That's an expensive part of Isola. A lot of burglaries there. I keep the gun for protection.'

'Do you have any other pistols?'

'No.'

'A .25 perhaps?'

'No.'

'Just that one gun? A .22 Iver Johnson, right?'

'Yes.'

'Did Annie have any enemies that you know of?'

'No. She was well-liked by everyone.'

'What's your lawyer's name?'

'My lawyer?'

'Yes.'

'Why do you want to know his name?'

'I'd like to talk to him.'

'About what?'

'Routine,' Kling said.

Boone studied him for a moment. 'Jefferson Dobberly,' he said at last.

'Do you know where I can reach him?'

'His offices are downtown in the Meredith Street section. 413 Margaret Place. Do you want his number?'

'If you have it handy.'

'Cooke 4-8310,' Boone said.

Kling wrote it into his pad. 'Thank you, Mr Boone,' he said. 'I hope you'll be available if any further questions come to mind.' He took a card from his wallet. 'If you should happen to remember anything you feel is important, just call me, won't you. The 87th Squad, Detective Kling. The number's on the card.'

Boone took the card and studied it.

From the other side of the room, Karl—standing with his arms folded—said, 'Hey, Ted, can we get this show on the road? The jungle queen's getting rich.'

'I've got to get back to work,' Boone said.

'I appreciate the time you've given me,' Kling said.

'One thing, Mr Kling.'

'Yes?'

'You don't think I did this, do you?'

'You know the answer to that one, Mr Boone,' Kling said.

'Come on, Ted,' Karl called. 'Let's go.'

'Okay, okay,' Boone said. 'Good luck, Mr Kling.' And then he turned his back and walked toward the model and said, 'Now let's get this jazz right this time, okay?'