Kiss

13.

A cold, hard drizzle drilled the Tuesday morning streets, washing away most of what was left of the weekend's snow. Outside the courthouse The Preacher and his troops had gathered in support of today's star witness, Sonny Cole himself. The demonstrators were chanting, "Black Double Jeopardy, Black Double Jeopardy," which was not the name of a new game show, but was instead The Preacher's view of what was happening to Cole.

The Preacher's real name was Thomas Raleigh, but he had abandoned this slave-society appellation for the trendier Akbar Zaroum, - which sounded vaguely African and which served him well in a day and age of heightened awareness of one's roots. Under whichever name he chose to use, it was estimated that he'd cost the city some $1,400,000 last year alone, for extended police coverage of his various marches, protests, and demonstrations.

"Black Double Jeopardy," he kept chanting into his bullhorn, "Black Double Jeopardy," and his followers behind him echoed the chant, bellowing it into the ice-edged drizzle, "Black Double Jeopardy, Black Double Jeopardy.”

The chant had nothing whatever to do with reality.

Sonny Cole had been charged with two separate counts of first-degree murder. These murders had occurred in different locations, weeks apart. There were two different victims.

He was now being tried for the murder of Anthony Carella. Next month, he would be tried for the murder of Dolly Simms. There was no possible way anyone could even imagine he was being tried for the same crime twice-which was what the doctrine of double jeopardy aimed to prevent. But The Preacher operated on the theory that if you told a big enough lie often enough, people would accept it as the truth.

Wearing a long black coat and a red fez, rain-spattered dark glasses covering his eyes, long black hair slicked back, thick gold crucifix showing in the open throat of the coat, bullhorn to his mouth, Zaroum paced behind the blue-and-white police sawhorses set up on the street before the courthouse, chanting, "Black Double Jeopardy, Black Double Jeopardy.”

His followers paced solemnly behind him, all of them wearing dark blue trench coats, blue suits, white shirts, and red ties, lockstepped into the cadence of the chant, "Black Double Jeopardy, Black Double Jeopardy.”

The rain fell relentlessly.

Inside the courthouse, Sonny Cole was testifying.

He would have been a handsome man were it not for the scar on his face, running through his eyebrow and coming down his cheekbone to his jaw. Addison had advised against the hi-top fade Cole had groomed in jail, which the attorney said looked like a black flowerpot sitting on top of his head. Cole had styled his hair differently for the trial; he was now wearing it in a modified crew cut that made him look like a college student.

To heighten the effect, he was wearing a gray tweed jacket with darker gray flannel slacks, a white button-down shirt, and a blue tie. He was also wearing eyeglasses, which Addison felt added a serious scholarly touch.

Cole did, in fact, need glasses; without them he squinted, which Addison felt made a man look "mean and squinched," his exact words.

"Mr. Cole," he said now, "you have heard testimony in this courtroom regarding the events that occurred on the street outside the AandL Bakery on the night of July seventeenth last year, have you not?”

"I heard it, yes," Cole said.

His voice low. A pleasant voice.

Deep. Well-modulated. The voice of a thoughtful, reasonable man.

"And you've heard testimony as to whether there was one man, two men, a dozen men ...”

"Objection, Your Honor ...”

"Sustained.”

"Hyperbole, Your Honor, forgive me,”

Addison said, smiling, spreading his arms wide in apology, "I withdraw the question. Mr. Cole, do you remember where you were at around nine-thirty on the night of July seventeenth last year?”

"I do.”

"Were you outside the AandL Bakery?”

"I was not.”

"Were you anywhere near the AandL Bakery?”

"I was not.”

"Can you tell us where you were?”

"I was on a bus coming from Greenville, South Carolina.”

"What were you doing in Greenville?”

"Just passing through, sir. Seeing a little bit of the United States.”

"And you say you were on a bus?”

“Yes, sir.”

"What time did you board this bus?”

"Oh, it m/'ve been six o'clock or thereabouts.”

"Where were you going?”

"I was coming here, sir.”

"You were on a bus coming to this city, is that correct?”

"Yes, sir.”

"Can you tell us approximately where - you were at nine-thirty that night? Which city, for example? Which state?”

"I think we were in Virginia by then. Passing by Roanoke.”

"When did you arrive here, do you remember?”

"At two o'clock on the afternoon of the eighteenth.”

"As I understand it, then, you weren't even in this city on the night Anthony Carella was shot and killed.”

"That's correct, sir. I was somewhere in Virginia around that time.”

"How long is the trip from Greenville, Mr. Cole?”

"Twenty hours.”

"And you boarded the bus when? I know you told us, but perhaps ...”

"At six o'clock on the night of July seventeenth.”

"And you were scheduled to arrive here when?”

"At two o'clock on the afternoon of the eighteenth.”

"Which is when you did arrive.”

"Yes, sir, give or take a few minutes.”

"Where did this bus leave you off?”

"Union Terminal.”

"Do you know a man named Desmond Whittaker?”

"I do.”

"He is now deceased, isn't that so?”

"Yes.”

"Did you know him on the night of July seventeenth?”

"No, I did not.”

"When did you first meet Mr. Whittaker?”

"On the twenty-second of July.”

"Which would have been five days after Mr.

Carella was killed.”

"Yes, sir.”

"Where did you meet him?”

"In a cafeteria on The Stem.”

"By The Stem, do you mean Stemmler Avenue?”

"Yes, sir, Stemmler.”

"What was the occasion of this meeting? How did it come about?”

"We happened to be sitting at the same table, and we struck up a conversation. He was from out of town, and so was I, we just started talking.”

"What happened then?”

"We went out looking for some girls.”

Addison nodded, went to the table where the - evidence was arrayed, picked up the Uzi assault pistol, and carried it to the witness stand.

"Mr. Cole," he said, "I show you this pistol and ask if you've ever seen it before.”

"I have," Cole said.

"Can you tell me the make and caliber of this pistol?”

"It's a nine-millimeter Uzi.”

"When did you first see this pistol?”

"Desmond Whittaker showed it to me.”

"When?”

"The night we met.”

"Which was when?”

"The twenty-second of July.”

"How did he happen to show it to you?”

"We were with this girl, and he showed the gun to both of us.”

Addison went to the defense table, picked up a paper there, and carried it back to the witness chair. "Mr. Cole," he said, "I ask if you have ever seen this document before.”

Cole took the document, studied it carefully.

"I have, yes, sir.”

"When did you first see it?”

"I only saw it once before now.”

"And when was that?”

"On the twenty-second of July.”

"How did you happen to see it?”

"Desmond Whittaker showed it to me and the girl.”

"Can you tell me what it is?”

"It's a bill of sale for that Uzi.”

"Objection, Your Honor!" Lowell said.

"I've heard nothing about this until this very moment.

My demand for discovery specifically asked for any physical evidence the defense planned to ...”

"Your Honor, the document was recovered only yesterday from an out-of-state gun-shop owner. I regret this surprise ...”

"It's a surprise, all right," Lowell said sourly.

"Let's see it," Di Pasco said. "Come up here, both of you.”

Addison carried the document to the bench and handed it up to Di Pasco, who read it silently and then passed it on to Lowell.

"Your Honor," Lowell said, "I cannot believe this turned up only yesterday.”

“I'm prepared to provide a witness who ...”

"He's always prepared to provide a witness, Your Honor, but ...”

"What witness?" Di Pasco asked.

"The private detective who visited the gun shop in Memphis and found this copy of ...”

"Oh, it's a copy," Lowell said. "We don't even have the original here.”

"The original went to Whittaker at the time of the sale.”

"How'd you know where this gun shop was?" Di Pasco asked.

"Your Honor, excuse me, but this is a copy of a document we've never seen ...”

"Well, it looks like a good copy to me,”

Di Pasco said. "How'd you get hold of it?”

he asked Addison, obviously impressed.

"Whittaker told my client he'd purchased the gun in Memphis. It was a matter of elimination, sir. Which is why it took such a long time to find it.”

"Well, I admire your tenacity, but I must tell you I look askance at this kind of last-minute evidence.”

"Your Honor, I would have provided it sooner, believe me, but the search was a long and difficult one.”

"Are you asking that it be moved into evidence?”

"I am, Your Honor.”

"Your Honor," Lowell said, "this document should have been listed on the defense response to my demand for discovery.”

"We didn't have the document at that time, Your Honor. The search has been an ongoing one.”

"In any event," Lowell said, "lacking the testimony of the private investigator-and for that matter, the gun-shop owner as well-there's insufficient foundation to admit.”

"Well, here we go again," Di Pasco said.

"I'm sure Mr. Addison can call both those people if you insist, but do you honestly doubt the authenticity of this paper? Do we really want a costly adjournment?”

Lowell looked at him.

"It looks genuine enough to me," Di Pasco said. "Doesn't it to you?”

"It looks genuine, Your Honor, yes, but ...”

"I'm prepared to call both the shop owner and the private investigator, Your Honor," Addison said. "The investigator lives here in this city. The shop is in Memphis, of course, but I'm sure we could expedite ...”

"What do you say, Mr. Lowell?”

"I'll withdraw my objection," Lowell said, "provided we can verify that the document was not altered and that it was, in truth, uncovered only yesterday.”

"How do you plan to do that, Mr. Lowell?”

"I'll have a detective in our office telephone the gun-shop owner at once.”

"May we proceed while verification is pending?”

"If Your Honor wishes.”

"Let's move it along then," Di Pasco said.

Lowell walked back to his table, where he leaned over and whispered something to his assistant.

The assistant nodded gravely. Carella glanced at his mother to see if she'd noticed this.

She had not. But Angela had. Their eyes met.

There were questions in her eyes that he could not answer.

At the table, Lowell and his assistant sat stone-faced and silent as Addison elicited from his witness testimony regarding the bill of sale for an Uzi assault pistol legitimately purchased back in June, shortly after Desmond Whittaker was released from prison in Louisiana, Addison asking if this was the bill of sale Whittaker had shown him, and then asking Cole to read the serial numbers out loud, and then showing him the gun again and asking him to read the serial numbers on it, again out loud, which seemed to constitute incontrovertible proof that the pistol that had shot and killed Carella's father had belonged to Cole's partner and not to Cole himself. What they were trying to do was show that since the gun was owned by Whittaker, and since Cole was nowhere near the bakery on the night of the murder, then it had to be Whittaker who'd done the shooting. A man now dead, a man who could not possibly be questioned, had killed Carella's father. He felt Angela's eyes on him again. He did not turn to meet them this time.

"No further questions," Addison said.

Lowell approached the witness stand.

"So you were in Virginia that night of the murder, huh?" he said. "Yes, sir.”

"You didn't happen to save your bus ticket, did you?”

"No, sir.”

"Threw it away, did you?”

"Yes, sir.”

"Did you get a receipt for it when you bought it?”

"No, sir, I bought it right at the depot.

Nobody gave me a receipt.”

"How much did you pay for it?”

"A hundred twenty-three dollars and seventy-five cents.”

"Give your name to anybody?”

"No, sir, I wasn't asked to.”

"Meet anyone you knew in the depot?”

"No, sir.”

"Or on the bus?”

"No, sir.”

"What were you doing down there in Greenville?”

"Just passing through.”

"Passing through from where?”

"I was down in Florida for a while.”

"Where'd you stay while you were in Florida?”

"I slept on the beach.”

"Uh-huh. Did you sleep on the beach in Greenville, too?”

"I was only in Greenville that one day. I caught a bus out that night.”

"Is there a beach in Greenville, would you know?”

"No, I wouldn't.”

"Can you tell me anything at all about Greenville?”

"Just that it seemed like a nice city.”

"Can you tell me the names of any of the streets there?”

"No, I can't.”

"Any of the hotels?”

"No, sir. I didn't stay at any hotel. I just walked around.”

"Walked around, uh-huh. Can you tell me where the bus depot was?”

"No, I'm sorry.”

"You just walked around and wandered into this depot, is that right?”

"No, sir. I knew where it was 'cause I'd come up from Miami by bus.”

"I don't suppose you have that Miami ticket, either, do you?”

“No, sir.”

"Miami-Greenville, you don't have that ticket.”

"No, sir.”

"Mr. Cole, do you have any proof at all that you were on a bus coming from Greenville the night Anthony Carella was murdered?”

"I'm sure people saw me on that bus, but I wouldn't know who they were.”

"Did you talk to anyone on the bus?”

"No, sir.”

"So we have just your word that you were on that bus that night.”

"Maybe there's a record of the ticket someplace.”

"Yes, maybe there is, but you don't have such a record, do you?”

"No, I don't.”

“So we don't really know for sure, do we, that you took the bus that night and not the night before? Or two nights before? Or a week before? We have just your word for it, isn't that correct?”

"My word is good," Cole said, and suddenly there was a look of fierce pride on his face.

"A man of your word, are you?" Lowell asked.

"Yes, sir.”

"Isn't it a fact, Mr. Cole, that you killed ...?was "Objection!”

"Overruled. But I must warn the jury at this time ...”

"Thank you, Your Honor.”

"... to consider the defendant's prior conviction only as it impacts on his credibility. It should not be taken as a propensity to commit this particular crime." He turned back to Lowell, and nodded to him to continue.

"Mr. Cole," Lowell said, "isn't it a fact that you killed an eighty-two-year-old man during a grocery store holdup in Pasadena, California, in nineteen ...”

"That's what I was charged with.”

"Well, you weren't only charged, you were convicted, weren't you? And sentenced, weren't you?

You served time, didn't you?”

"I served time, yes.”

"And you were paroled last year in April, weren't you?”

"Yes, I was.”

"And you headed East and South, just - seeing a little bit of the United States, isn't that what you said?”

"That's what I was doing in Greenville.”

"And you ended up in this city ...”

"Yes.”

"Where you met Desmond Whittaker.”

"Yes.”

"Have you ever been to Washington, D.C.?”

"Yes.”

"Isn't it true that you met Mr. Whittaker for the first time in Washington and not here in this city?”

"I met him for the first time in this city. In a cafeteria on The Stem. On July twenty-second.”

"Isn't it true that you met him several weeks before Anthony Carella was murdered and that in fact you came here together from Washington, D.C.?”

"I met him for the first time in this city," Cole said again. "In a cafeteria on The Stem. On July twenty-second.”

"Mr. Cole, when you were arrested on the night of August first last year, were you in possession of a nine-millimeter semi-automatic pistol?”

"I was.”

"I show you this Uzi, and ask if it is the gun recovered from you by Detective Randall Wade that night.”

"It is.”

"The same gun, is it? You're sure about that?”

"Yes, it's the same gun.”

"When did this gun come into your possession?”

"It was not in my possession on the night of ...”

"I didn't ask you when it was not in your possession. I asked you when it came into your possession. You're under oath, and you're a man of your word, so how about answering my question?”

"It came into my possession that very day.”

"August first last year?”

"Yes.”

"Have you ever fired this gun?”

"Never.”

"When you were arrested that night, did you turn this gun on Detectives Wade and Carella?”

"I turned to them. I didn't turn the gun on them.”

"But you had the gun in your hand, didn't you?”

"Yes.”

“So when you turned, the gun also turned, didn't it?”

"I suppose it did.”

"Were you planning to fire it?”

"No.”

"You just had it in your hand to ... well, why did you have it in your hand, Mr. Cole?”

"For self-defense.”

"Ah. Then you did intend firing it.”

"I'd already been shot, damn it!”

"Please answer the question. Did you intend firing that pistol at the arresting officers?”

"No, I did not.”

"Tell me, Mr. Cole, do you know how to use this gun?”

"I've seen guns like it.”

"Answer my question, please.”

"I could figure out how to use it if I had to.”

"Mr. Cole, do you or do you not know how to use this pistol? Please answer my question.”

"I do.”

"Even though you've never fired it?”

"Guns are pretty much all the same, one like the other.”

“No more questions," Lowell said.

Addison came back to his witness.

"Mr. Cole," he said, "I have only one other question." He lowered his voice. "Did you kill Anthony Carella?”

"I did not.”

"Thank you. I have no further questions. The defense rests its case, Your Honor.”

"I just want to clarify one point, Your Honor," Lowell said, and approached the witness stand again. "Mr. Cole, are you saying that before the night of August first you had never even held this pistol in your hand?”

"That's what I'm saying.”

"Thank you, I have nothing further.”

"All right then," Di Pasco said, "I'd like to recess till one o'clock this afternoon, at which time we'll hear your closing arguments. One o'clock suit everybody?”

"Yes, Your Honor.”

"Yes, Your Honor.”

"This court is recessed," Di Pasco said, and slammed down his gavel.

As Carella did every evening when he got home, he was now telling Teddy everything that had happened at the courthouse that day. Explaining trial procedure in sign language wasn't an easy task, but he went through it dutifully, augmenting his faltering fingers with speech so that she could read what he was talking about on his mouth as well.

He told her that the way a criminal trail ended was first the defense attorney made his closing argument and then the D.A. made his, after which the judge charged the jury, explaining the law to them and the possible verdicts they could reach in the case under consideration. It had taken Lowell an hour and a half to tell the jury what he had told Carella and his sister at the Golden Lion last Friday, before which Addison had taken a full two hours to tell them what a wonderful person of sterling character was his client Samson Wilbur Cole, who-as Addison had proved -was nowhere near the city on the night of the Carella murder, and moreover did not come into possession of the evidence pistol until two weeks after the murder was committed.

Di Pasco then told the jury that each witness's testimony should be weighed carefully and with the greatest solemnity as to the reliability and credibility of the witness, and urged them to put aside all thoughts of sentencing or sympathy, allowing only the evidence they had seen and heard to govern their verdict. He explained further that if they decided Samson Cole himself had not pulled the trigger on the night of the murder, but had in fact been acting in concert with another during the commission of a felony when the murder took place, then he was as guilty as whoever may have done the actual shooting, and should be found so by the jury. He reminded them again of the oaths they had taken as jurors, asked them to be fair-minded and open-minded in reaching their verdict and warned them again -as he had at the beginning of the trial-not to discuss the case with anyone but themselves while they were in deliberation. In conclusion, he wished them good luck in reaching a true verdict.

"Lowell said it may take a week, ten days," Carella said, signing, "or they might surprise everybody and decide earlier. He's known juries to come back in less than an hour.”

Teddy nodded, watching his fingers, alternately watching his lips. "But he said usually the longer a jury's out, the more likelihood there is of a compromise verdict.

There's no hard-and-fast rule, they can come back in ten minutes and say guilty, or they can come back next week and say not guilty, there's really no way to gauge it.”

How will you, she started to sign, but he anticipated what she was about to say, and overrode her flying fingers with his own, talking at the same time.

"He'll beep me when it looks close. The lieutenant has a car and driver standing by for me.

We'll ride the hammer all the way downtown.”

He was telling her they'd use the siren. She knew the expression. She nodded. Then, her face grave, she asked, What do you think the verdict will be?

"I don't know," he said.

They went to see Emma Bowles the very next morning.

She was just coming out of the building as they pulled up in the car. Wearing red tights, black leg warmers, black jogging shoes, a short black parka. No hat. Blonde hair glistening in the sunlight. It was one of those cold, clear, crisp days that made this city seem livable even in the wintertime, the sidewalks and streets spanking clean after yesterday's rain, all vestiges of sullied snow gone. The doorman outside started waving them off until Meyer lowered the visor to show a placard with the city's Police Department logo on it. He came over apologetically then, and asked if they'd move the car just a little bit up, away from the canopy and the front door. Meyer got out to run after Emma. Carella moved the car and then caught up with them.

She was walking very fast.

She explained that she went to aerobics three times a week, on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, and walked on all the other mornings but Sunday, when even the Lord rested. She smiled when she said this, and then conversationally asked the detectives if they did much walking. Carella admitted that they didn't walk too often, except when they were tailing someone. Emma said they should both make sure they got plenty of exercise, it was paramount to one's health. That was exactly the word she used. Paramount. Both detectives were already out of breath, trying to keep up with her.

"What we wanted to tell you," Meyer said, "is that we've arrested the man who killed Tilly ...”

"Oh?”

"Yes. Got a signed confession from him, he was arraigned Monday morning.”

"That's wonderful," she said.

"It clears up a few questions, anyway. At least now we know your husband didn't have anything to do with Tilly's death.”

"The reason we're really here, though,”

Carella said, "is to tell you what progress we've made regarding this Denker person.”

"Denker?" she said.

"She doesn't know his real name, Steve,”

Meyer said.

She turned to look at Meyer on her left and then immediately turned to Carella, not missing a step, long legs reaching for pavement, fists pumping.

"The man your husband hired," Carella said.

"The so-called private eye.”

"But he is one," she said.

"Well, we don't think so, ma'am,”

Carella said. "The Chicago phone number he gave you is listed to someone named Andrew Denker, which we're assuming is his real name. We know he started shopping for a gun practically the minute he arrived here ...”

"Yes, he told me he has a gun.”

"He's got one, all right," Meyer said.

"A Colt forty-five, which he bought from a small-time dealer in Diamondback. Guy named Gofredo Cabrera, who also put him in touch with someone who rented him a room downtown.”

"Yes, he told me he was living somewhere near the Calm's Point Bridge.”

"321 South Lewiston," Meyer said, nodding. "Apartment 4C.”

"Anyway, we figured if we requested a search warrant for the gun, it'd be denied,”

Carella said. "Insufficient cause-we were already turned down on a telephone tap. So all we can do, really, is keep an eye on him, make sure he ...”

"Keep an eye on him?”

"Yes. Ask the lieutenant to ...”

"But how?”

“Well, get some detectives assigned ...”

"But he's gone.”

Both of them almost missed the beat.

Emma kept running as if she hadn't just dropped a bombshell. They kept running beside her, flanking her, each turning to look at her.

"Back to Chicago," she said.

"How do you know?" Carella asked.

"He told me he was leaving. He said with Tilly dead, my husband saw no further need for his services.”

"When did he tell you this?”

"Yesterday afternoon.”

"And you think he's already gone?”

"He told me he was catching a plane late last night.”

"To Chicago?”

"Yes. To Chicago.”

"Shook hands, said goodbye ...”

"No, nothing that formal. Just came by to say he'd be leaving, it'd been a pleasure working with me, he hoped everything turned out all right. But you know ...”

They waited.

"I believe you, of course, I'm not suggesting that your information is wrong. But I think he really was a private detective, and I think he really was trying to protect me. I don't know why he used a false name, if he did ...”

"He did," Carella said.

"... but perhaps there was a reason for it. In any case, he's gone now. So even if he did pose a threat-which I doubt-he no longer does.”

"Unless he was lying," Carella said.

"Did he say which flight he was taking?”

Meyer asked.

"No," Emma said. "But, really, why would he ...?was "To put you off guard," Carella said.

"I think you're wrong. I think he was here to do a job, and when my husband told him he was no longer needed, the job ended.”

They had reached a Stop sign at the end of the road. Carella figured they'd come at least a mile and a half from her building. The sign was obviously a turnaround point for her. As if obeying it, she stopped for an instant, breathing hard, head lowered, sucking in great gulps of air. At last, she looked up at them. Apparently continuing her thought of a moment ago, she said, "Things do begin, you know ... and then they end.”

"Well," Carella said, and for a moment didn't know quite what else to say. "If you should need any further assistance ...”

"No, I'll be fine," she said. "I'll be alone this weekend, but with Tilly dead ...

well, I'm sure there's nothing to worry about anymore.”

"Just in case you should need us," Meyer said, "you know where we are.”

"Thank you," she said, "I appreciate that.”

There was a small, sad smile on her face.

The superintendent at South Lewiston told them he wasn't in the habit of checking on the comings and goings of his tenants and didn't know whether the man in apartment 4C was still there or not.

Nobody had told him anybody was leaving, and it wasn't none of his business anyhow.

"Do you have a passkey to that apartment?" Meyer asked.

"I do, but ...”

"Think you could let us in, take a look around?" Carella asked.

"Not without a search warrant," the super said.

"Five, ten minutes is all we'd need,”

Meyer said.

"I wouldn't give you five, ten seconds,”

the super said.

"Thank you," Carella said, and hoped he didn't sound unappreciative.

A call to the phone number on the Darrow Investigations business card got a recorded voice that was presumably Denker's. It said: "Hi, I'm back in Chicago, but I'm out just now. If you leave a message when you hear the beep, I'll return your call as soon as I can. Thanks a lot.”

Carella did not leave a message.

Instead, just as he'd suggested to Emma Bowles, he went into the lieutenant's office and requested a round-the-clock on Denker's building, just in case he hadn't left the city at all and was merely laying down smoke.

The lieutenant went in to see Captain Frick, who was in command of the entire - precinct and who normally wasn't too terribly bright. This time, he seemed to make sense.

"Why are we still fucking around with this?" he asked.

"Well, sir, there were two murder attempts, you know ...”

"Yes, but the man who made those attempts was himself killed later on, wasn't he?”

"Yes, sir.”

"And we've already got the man who did it, haven't we?”

"Yes, sir, but ...”

"So who is this woman, the governor's wife or something?”

"Well, no, sir, but ...”

"I had a nickel for everybody had attempts made on their lives in this city, I'd be a rich man. People are really getting killed every fucking day in this city, I can't waste men on somebody who might get killed. The request is denied. Drop the case, mark it cleared.”

"Yes, sir, cleared," Byrnes said.

"That it?”

"That's it, sir.”

"I'm busy," Frick said.