Kiss

15.

He was much better-looking than Nellie had expected. You hear somebody's a hit man from Chicago-with a handle like Denker, no less-you expected some kind of gorilla. A big unshaven guy still wearing the threads the state gave him when he was released on parole. The cold, flat eyes of a professional killer. A thin-lipped mouth. Broken nose, lotsa muscles, no brains. That's what you visualized.

But Andrew Denker-who didn't like to be called Andy-was a tall, well-dressed, slender blond man with an easy, pleasant smile and a gentle voice. When she entered the interrogation room, he was in quiet conversation with a man wearing a brown sharkskin suit. Nellie heard no dems, deses, or doses. Denker was altogether attractive. She was quite taken aback.

"Mr. Denker," Carella said, "we'd like to ask you some questions now. Before we do, though, I want to be sure you still understand what your rights are.

Earlier tonight, we ...”

"Speaking of rights," the man with Denker said, "my client's already been here ... how long have you been here now, Mr. Denker?”

"They entered my apartment illegally at ...”

"We had a warrant," Carella said.

"No-Knock," Meyer said.

"I'm Nellie Brand," Nellie said, extending her hand to Denker's lawyer. "District Attorney's Office. I don't believe we've met.”

"Harvey Keller," he said, "Legal Aid," but did not accept her hand. "Miss Brand, I've been here for an hour and a half already, and my client's been here since ... when was it, Mr. Denker?”

"About twelve-thirty," Denker said.

Keller looked at his watch.

"That makes it more than three hours already, three hours and ten minutes to be exact, and no one has told him why he's here or what he's been charged with. I believe you're familiar with the section in Miranda that ...”

"He hasn't been unduly detained, Counselor," Nellie said. "And with his permission, we'll start the questioning as soon as we're sure he still understands his rights.”

“What am I doing here, anyway?" Denker asked, and smiled. His eyes met Nellie's.

An invitation in those eyes. He was a man accustomed to using his charm on women.

"Detective Carella?" Nellie said, ignoring Denker's steady gaze. "Would you read Mr. Denker his rights, please?”

Carella read Miranda by rote.

Denker affirmed that he still understood all his rights.

"Mr. Denker?" Nellie said. "Are you willing to answer our questions now?”

"What's this in relation to?" Keller asked.

"A homicide that occurred last night, the seventeenth of January.”

"Am I to understand you'll be charging my client with murder?”

"That is our intention, yes, sir," Nellie said.

"So why should he answer any questions?”

"He doesn't have to, of course. You know Miranda as well as ...”

"I would advise you to remain silent,”

Keller said.

"Why?" Denker said. "I didn't do anything.

I have nothing to hide. Besides, I'd like to put on the record that these two officers broke into my apartment and began shooting at ...”

"Mr. Denker, excuse me, sir,”

Nellie said, "but before you say anything else, would you please affirm that you're willing to answer our questions?”

"I would still advise ...”

"Yes, I'll answer any questions you have,”

Denker said.

He was slumped casually in a wooden armchair, long, slender fingers laced across his chest, long legs extended under the table around which they all were sitting. A one-way mirror was on the wall facing him, but no one was in the room behind it.

A detective from the Photo Unit was running the video camera. A police stenographer sat behind a stenograph machine, taking backup notes. Nellie read the date and time into the record and named everyone there present. "Mr.

Denker," she said, and the Q and A began: Q: Can you tell me your full name, please?

A: Andrew Nelson Denker.

Q: And your address, please? A: 321 South Lewiston, Apartment 4C.

Q: Is that a permanent residence?

A: No, I make my home in Chicago.

Q: How long have you been in this city?

A: I got here on the second. Right after New Year's Day.

Q: What is your occupation, Mr. Denker?

A: At present, I'm unemployed.

Q: What is your usual occupation?

A: I do various jobs.

Q: Of what sort?

A: Well, I usually do bodyguard work.

Q: Mr. Denker, did you present yourself to Emma Bowles as a private detective from Chicago?

A: Yes, I did.

Q: Why did you lie to her?

A: To put her at ease. I thought she might feel more secure if she thought I was a licensed detective.

Q: But you're not a licensed detective, are you?

A: No, I'm not.

Q: Did you also give her a false name?

A: Yes.

Q: And a false business card? With a false address on it?

A: Well, yes. But the telephone number was my own. In case she decided to check on me.

Q: Why did you go to all that trouble?

A: Well, I like to maintain a private identity.

Q: I see. Did you maintain this private identity with Martin Bowles? Or did he know you were Andrew Denker and not Andrew Darrow?

A: He knew, yes.

Q: Did he also know that you're not a licensed detective?

A: Yes, he knew that, too.

Q: But he hired you, anyway.

A: Yes.

Q: Why did he hire you?

A: To protect his wife.

Q: To kill his wife, isn't that what you ...”

A: Excuse me, Miss Brand.

Q: Yes, Mr. Keller?

A: Mr. Denker has indicated that he will answer any questions you may have, and his willingness to cooperate should be noted on the record. But when you begin hurling reckless accusations ...

Q: Sorry, Counselor, would you like me to rephrase what I just asked him?

A: Surely, if this were a court of law, a judge would ...

Q: Well, this isn't a court of law, but I will rephrase the question. Mr. Denker, did Martin Bowles hire you to kill his wife?

Is that okay now, Mr. Keller?

A: Yes, thank you, Miss Brand.

Q: Would you answer the question, please?

A: Martin Bowles hired me to protect his wife.

Q: Not to kill her?

A: No, not to kill her.

Q: I see. Mr. Denker, does your line of work require possession of an automatic pistol?

A: Sometimes, yes.

Q: Do you now possess such a pistol?

A: Yes, I do.

Q: I show you this Colt .45-31liber automatic pistol and ask you if this is your pistol.

A: Yes, it is.

Q: Do you have a license for this pistol?

A: No, I don't.

Q: Wasn't this pistol in your possession when it was taken from you by force last night?

A: Yes, it was.

Q: But you admit not having a license for it?

A: That's correct.

Q: Mr. Denker, I show you a report from the Ballistics Section, comparing bullets and cartridges test-fired from this gun with bullets and cartridges recovered at the scene of a murder committed on the night of January seventeenth. Would you take a moment to ...”

A: May I see that, please, Miss Brand?

Q: Certainly, Counselor. Please have the record indicate that Mr. Keller is reading a Ballistics report dated January eighteenth and signed by DetectivestFirst Grade Anthony Mastroiani.

(Q and A resumed at 3:52 A.M.) Q: May I show this to Mr. Denker now?

A: Please. Q: Mr. Denker, would you take a look at this, please?

A: Thank you.

Q: Have the record show that Mr. Denker is now reading the same Ballistics report.

(Q and A resumed at 3:56 A.M.) Q: Mr. Denker, have you now read the report?

A: I have.

Q: Do you understand what it says?

A: I do.

Q: It says, does it not, that the test cartridges and bullets fired from this pistol ...

A: Well, there are expert witnesses who'll tell you ...

Q: I'm sure you know all about expert witnesses, but the report nonetheless states that the test cartridges and bullets fired from this pistol match exactly the bullets and cartridges recovered in apartment 12A at 907 Butler Street on the night of ...

A: Mr. Denker, I would strongly advise you to keep silent at this time.

Q: Mr. Denker? Do you understand what this report says?

A: I don't care what it says. It has nothing to do with me.

Q: Mr. Denker, this gun was fired by you at two detectives attempting to arrest you ...

A: I thought they were burglars.

Q: This gun was taken from you by the arresting detectives, and it now turns out it's the same gun that was used in a murder that took place last night. How do you explain ...”

A: I don't have to explain anything. This isn't a court of law. I can stop this anytime I want to.

Q: Mr. Denker, I show you certain items confiscated in your apartment tonight at the time of your arrest. Do you recognize these?

A: The previous tenant probably left all that in the closet.

Q: You're saying that whoever had the apartment before you occupied it ...

A: Yeah, that's probably what happened.

Q: Left behind a hundred thousand dollars in T-bills and cash, is that it? Plus jewelry worth ... do you have that list, Mr.

Carella?

A: (from Carella) Right here.

Q: Thank you. This is a typewritten list of the contents of the safe in the Butler Street apartment. I believe the detectives found it in a desk drawer ...

A: (from Carella) The living-room desk.

Kneehole drawer.

Q: It itemizes jewelry worth some fifty thousand dollars. The exact jewelry, piece for piece, that was found in your apartment.

The serial numbers on the T-bills match as well. Now, Mr. Denker ...

A: That's it. No more.

Q: Am I to take it that you wish the questioning to stop at this point?

A: (from Mr. Keller) You heard the man, he said no more. What does no more mean if it doesn't mean no more?

Q: Fine. If that's what you want, that's the way we'll play it. But you know, Mr.

Denker ... turn that off, will you, please?

The camera operator hit the OFF button.

The room was silent now. When Nellie spoke again, her voice was soft, almost gentle. Not the murmur of a threat in it. But Carella knew what she was about to do, and he watched her in silent admiration.

"If I can just offer a few words of advice,”

she said. "Off the record.”

"Sure," Denker said, and smiled confidently.

"I know you're from Chicago, so perhaps you don't understand how the law works here in this state. I can tell you we've got a very strong case with the murder weapon and the ...”

"Well, that's for a jury to decide, isn't it? Whether a case is strong or not.”

Still smiling confidently.

"Well, I think it's a very strong case, both the murder weapon and the jewelry. So I can tell you we'll be going for Murder Two-which is as high as we can go in this state unless you've killed a police officer or a prison guard or ... well, we won't go into all that just now.

Murder Two will be the charge, and I'm sure the grand jury will indict on what we've got, and if we get a conviction ... which I'm sure is a lock with everything we've got ... then the minimum mandatory sentence'll be fifteen to life, and the mandatory max'll be twenty-five to life, all depending on what judge you get.

We've got some pretty tough judges - in this city. And, of course," she said, almost casually, "you'd be serving your time in a state penitentiary.”

She paused for just a moment, and then repeated the words.

"A state penitentiary, Mr. Denker.”

And allowed them to sink in.

"Now I don't know if you're familiar with the state penitentiaries in this fine country of ours,”

she said, "but I don't think you'd find any of them very much to your liking.”

"I'm willing to take my chances," Denker said.

"Oh, I'm sure you are. Good-looking white guy ...”

The operative word was white.

The fear word.

Carella was still watching her, listening to her intently. There was something professionally cold-blooded about her performance, almost chilling, but there was also something extremely seductive about it.

He wondered what being married to her was like.

"Man who takes such good care of himself," she said, "dresses so beautifully ...”

"Thank you," Denker said, but he seemed to be paying more attention now.

"Very confident of yourself, I'm sure you think you'll be able to handle yourself just fine in a prison population where all at once you're the minority group.”

Playing on the fear again.

"Maybe a ratio of ten to one, Mr.

Denker, black to white, Hispanic to white, that's what you're likely to find. Streetwise hoodlums serving hard time, that's what you'll find in a state penitentiary. Running the show.

Calling the tune. A topsy-turvy world, all at once. Your ass'll be grass, Mr.

Denker. Literally.”

"Now see here," Keller said.

"This is all off the record," Nellie said.

"Even so.”

"I think Mr. Denker is listening, though.

Aren't you listening, Mr. Denker?”

"What's the upside?" he said.

Carella saw her eyes flash almost imperceptibly. She knew she had him hooked now, and she was going to reel him in.

"The upside would be a federal penitentiary.”

"Uh-huh.”

“Something like Danbury or Allenwood.”

"Uh-huh.”

"A country club.”

She let this sink in, too.

"Now I don't know what you may have done anyplace else but here," she said. "I know you did that murder last night, and I'm going to nail you for it, believe me. But if we can clear up anything else while we're at it, then maybe we can talk a shorter term in a federal pen, that's entirely up to you.”

"How short?”

"Well, I don't know what you've done yet, do I?”

"Nothing here.”

"Except for last night.”

"I haven't said anything about last night.”

"Okay, so where?”

"Chicago. Mostly.”

"Let's concentrate on Chicago then, okay? Let's say ... I'm not asking you anything yet and I'm not making any promises either ... but let's say you've done some things we can clean up for the feds there ...”

"Like what? I'm not saying I did anything ...”

"I understand. This is all off the record.”

"But like what kind of things did you have in mind?”

"Well, considering your line of work ...”

"I told you I'm a bodyguard, is what my line of work is. What kind of things did you have in mind?”

"Loan-shark collections?" Nellie said, and shrugged. "Laundering drug money? A little extortion here and there?" She shrugged again. "We'd be asking you to testify against anyone you may have done such work for. If there was anything like that, stuff I could talk over with the people in Chicago, it might help me get what you're looking for.”

"What is it you think I'm looking for?”

"Let's say ten to life in a federal pen, how does that sound to you? If I can swing it.”

"I'm not saying I did any of these things, you understand. ...”

"I realize that. Besides, we'd have to clear up all the details of the case here before I could even ...”

"No way. Talk to your people first. Tell them I can maybe give you the kind of stuff you want, and then find out if you can get me a federal pen. And ten to life sounds high.”

"Let me make some phone calls, okay?”

"Sure. I'm in no hurry," Denker said.

Nellie nodded, said, "Give me a few minutes," and left the room. Denker sat with his hands folded on the table before him, studying them. The clock threw minutes into the room. The video-camera operator passed wind, mumbled, "Sorry," and then yawned. When Nellie came back some ten minutes later, she said, "Depending on what you've got for me, I think I can get it down to eight-and-a-third to life.

Want to play?”

"You think you can get it down?”

"I can promise you the eight-and-a-third, okay? Provided this is real meat. The feds don't like being jerked around.”

"Give me a Queen-for-a-Day letter," Denker said, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind about his professionalism.

"Nothing in writing," Nellie said flatly.

"What do you say?”

"How do I know ...?was "We can always go the other route," Nellie said, and shrugged in dismissal. "Some state pens are better than others.”

Denker looked at her.

"So what do you say?" she asked. "Are we done here, or are we just beginning?”

"What do you want to know?" he said.

"The stuff here first.”

"Okay.”

She nodded to the camera operator. He hit the button.

"Did Martin Bowles hire you to kill his wife?" she asked.

"Yes.”

"When was this?”

"I called him from Chicago.”

"When, Mr. Denker?" And then, more gently.

"Please tell us when, won't you?”

"On the thirtieth of December.”

"And said what?”

"That I understood he had a job for me.

Someone had recommended me for a job he needed done down here.”

"You both knew what that meant, did you?”

"Yes, we both knew what that meant.”

"What happened then?”

"We arranged to meet.”

“Where? Here in this city?”

"Yes.”

"When did you actually meet with him?”

"On January third.”

"Where?”

"In a restaurant downtown. In the Old City. Near the Seawall down there ... is that what you call it, the Seawall? His office was down there, he wanted me to meet him down there.

But not in his office. He was too smart for that. It was very cold that day, in fact much colder than Chicago had been when I left, I was surprised. Here in this city ...”

Everything is still decorated for Christmas, the trees still hung with lights, the shop windows brimming with merchandise on sale now that the giving season is over. This is a few days after the start of the new year. The city looks extravagantly beautiful, a dazzling snow princess in silver and white. The restaurant is one of those places that seem phony because they're so real, genuine wooden beams that went back to the British occupancy, or so Bowles tells him, leaded-glass windows, a copper-topped bar, all of it looking exactly the way it must have looked in the eighteenth century. Denker almost expects their waiter to be wearing white stockings, knee breeches, and a powdered wig.

They sit in a booth with high wooden sides, private and apart.

They are here to discuss murder.

Bowles tells him he's an investment broker up for a promotion with his firm, he'll be a partner by the first of May if all goes well. He is a man in his late thirties, Denker guesses, exceedingly handsome, with dark hair and brown eyes, wearing an elegant gray business suit on this very cold night in January, drinking first one martini and then another, looking almost cheerful as he tells Denker that he wants his wife killed.

"Why?" Denker asks.

"You don't need to know that, do you?" Bowles says.

"You're right, I don't," Denker says.

Business is business, he thinks. He himself has been nursing a vodka on the rocks for the past half hour now. When murder is the topic, he likes to keep a clear head. Only amateurs drink when details are being discussed.

Denker is a pro. - They look at the menu ...

Bowles orders the prime ribs, Denker the lamb chops ...

... and return to the problem at hand. It seems that Bowles has been trying to dispose of his wife since shortly after Thanksgiving, having hired a man who claimed to be an expert but who, in fact, turned out to be the world's worst bungler. In the middle of December, the man made a blatant attempt to shove Emma under a goddamn subway train with half a dozen people watching. And just last week-and this is what prompted Bowles to start looking elsewhere-he tried to run her over with a car. Now Emma knows for sure that someone is after her. ...

"What do you mean? Did she suspect before then?”

"She told me she thought someone was following her, yes.”

"I see.”

"And she was right, of course. The man I hired had been following her.”

"Uh-huh.”

"Waiting for his opportunity.”

"To push her under a subway train.”

"Brilliant, wasn't it?”

"Or run her over with a car.”

"I know this might make your job more difficult.”

"Might?”

"Her knowing she's been targeted.”

"Mmm.”

"But I'm willing to pay you well. Provided ...”

"Did your people in Chicago tell you what I normally get?”

"Only a ballpark figure. They said I should discuss the fine-tuning with you.”

"Uh-huh. What was the figure they gave you?”

"They told me fifty thousand. Ballpark.”

"They told you wrong. Ballpark. They haven't been keeping up with the times.”

"Well, I must tell you, fifty ...”

"No, I must tell you, Mr. Bowles.

Fifty was what I got five years ago.

Even adjusting for inflation ...”

"Well, obviously I was misinformed.”

"Does that mean I don't get to eat my lamb chops?”

“It means we're here to talk. I'm used to making multi-million-dollar deals every day of the week, Mr. Denker. Tell me what you want and we'll discuss it.”

"I'll tell you what I want, but we won't discuss it. There's no room for discussion.

I normally get seventy-five, half on agreement, half on delivery. But someone has already fucked up here, and your lady's on emergency alert. For all I know, she may have gone to the police already. ...”

"I understand the risks involved. How much do you want?”

"A hundred grand. Half now, half on delivery.”

"Agreed.”

"Good.”

"Provided.”

"Provided what?”

"Provided you make it look like an accident.”

"I have to pay for your mistakes, right? You and the dumb guy who tried to shove her under a train.”

"No, I have to pay for the mistakes. Through the nose, it seems. Have we got a deal or haven't we?”

"We've got a deal.”

"Good. When can you start?”

"When do I get the first half?”

Q: When, actually, did you start?

A: On the seventh.

Q: Of January?

A: Yes.

Q: And last night ... well, tell me about last night.

"Mr. Denker," Keller said, "I would still advise you to ...”

"Do you want to go to a fucking state pen?”

Denker said, whirling on him.

Nellie wondered what he was thinking in that moment. The job had gone wrong, true, and often this seemed a good enough reason for a criminal to explain what had been planned, show the brilliance of the plan, demonstrate how fate had conspired to fuck it up. But so far he hadn't explained anything except the details of how he'd been hired. No confession so far, nothing but the gun so far, all they had so far was the gun. And the jewels, of course. Maybe enough to convict him, maybe not, you couldn't tell anything with juries nowadays. Nellie wanted to put him away for a long, long time; the man was a murderer.

But she was willing to settle for the eight-and-a-third she'd promised rather than risk a jury trial and the attendant possibility that he'd walk entirely. All she wanted to do now was get her confession, get whatever other Chicago shit she needed for the feds, seal the bargain, call it a day.

"How'd you get in the building?" she asked, almost casually.

But he was silent now.

Q: Mr. Denker?

A: (Silence) Q: Can you tell me how you got in the building?

A: I ...

Q: Yes. Go ahead.

A: I thought ... at first I thought I'd cause a diversion, some kind of diversion to get the doorman away from the front door, but suppose I set a fire up the street or something and he just didn't pay any attention to it? I mean, I haven't been in this city long, but it's plain to see that the people here just don't give a damn. You can be ...

... slitting somebody's throat in the street, they'll tip their hats and walk right on by, this is some city, I've got to tell you. So the more I thought about a diversion, the more it looked like it wouldn't work. What I did, I watched the front door of that building all day Tuesday and Wednesday, and I recognized there was a routine the doormen followed, and that it would just be a matter of working myself into that routine.

For example, the afternoon guy comes on at three-thirty, and he gets relieved at eleven-thirty. Now three-thirty was too early for me to go in, and eleven-thirty was too late, I wanted it finished and done with by eight o'clock, latest. Out of the apartment and the building by eight o'clock, latest.

Watching the front door, I realized that the afternoon guy took a coffee break an hour or so after he came on, four-thirty, five o'clock, around then. Locked the inner lobby door, walked to the McDonald's up on Woodcrest, came back with coffee in a container. Didn't take his dinner break till seven-thirty or so, which was too late for me, I wanted to be in the apartment long before then. So all I had to do was wait for him to take his coffee break, and then let myself into the building. Once I was inside ...

Q: How did you let yourself in?

A: I had a key.

Q: A key to the inner lobby door?

A: Yes. And also the keys to the apartment. There are two locks on the apartment door.

Q: Where did you get all these keys?

A: Emma gave them to me. I spent a weekend with her when Bowles was out of town.

That's when she gave me the keys.

Q: So you waited for the doorman to take his dinner break ...

A: His coffee break. Watched him walking up the street ...

Q: And then you let yourself in the building. ...

A: Yes.

Q: What time was this?

A: Around twenty to five.

Q: Did you go directly upstairs to the apartment?

A: Yes.

Q: Was there anyone in the apartment when you got there?

A: No.

Q: The apartment was empty?

A: Yes.

Q: You let yourself into the empty apartment ...

A: Yes.

Q: Used the keys Emma Bowles had given you ...

A: Yes.

Q: And then what?

A: I marked the safe, used a chisel to mark the safe, you know, make it look like an amateur was trying to bust into it, and then I opened it with the combo Bowles had given me. And I cleaned it out. Took all the cash and the T-bills and the jewelry. And then I sat back to wait.

Q: Was this a spur-of-the-moment thought?

A: Ma'am?

Q: Taking all that stuff from the safe.

A: No, no, that was part of the plan from the beginning.

Q: Why was it necessary to ...”

A: To make it look like an - interrupted burglary.

Q: I see. So you burglarized the safe ...

A: Yes. Well, no, I didn't have to break into it, if that's what you mean. I already had the combination, Bowles had given me the combination.

Q: But you did open the safe ...

A: Yes.

Q: And you did remove the contents ...

A: Yes.

Q: And took the contents with you when you left the apartment ...

A: Yes.

Q: ... and the building.

A: Yes.

Q: Tell me, Mr. Denker, how did you get out of the building?

A: Down the fire stairs to the basement and then out the doors leading to the alley.

Q: Where did you go then?

A: Up to Woodcrest Avenue, where I caught a taxi downtown.

Q: To your apartment?

A: Yes, ma'am.

Q: Let's get back to right after you'd opened the safe and removed its contents. You said you sat back to wait ...

A: Yes, ma'am.

Q: For what?

A: For the moment when I actually had to do it.

Waiting is always the most difficult time. He is waiting to do murder. The contents of the safe are in a dispatch case on the bedroom floor, and he is sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the bedroom door, waiting to hear the click of a key in the front door lock, the click that will tell him to thumb off the safety catch on the .45. It is getting late, he is beginning to wonder if he's made a mistake, beginning to wonder if he'll be sitting here all night, waiting for nobody to come home.

His watch reads a quarter past six.

A hundred and fifty thousand dollars' worth of jewels, cash, and treasury bills in that dispatch case.

He sits waiting.

Tapping his foot.

Waiting.

Remembering what happened in this bed. Waiting.

It is twenty minutes to seven when he hears a key in the front door latch. He thumbs off the safety. He gets off the bed. Takes up a position just inside the bedroom door, to the left of it. He hears the front door being closed again. The click of the thumb bolt as it's locked. Sound of the closet door opening.

Closing again. Footsteps coming through the apartment. You and me, he thinks. Footsteps closer now.

Closer. Now.

"You!”

Eyes opening wide in surprise.

"Me," he says, and fires.

Q: How many shots did you fire?

A: Three.

Q: All to the head?

A: All to the head.

Q: You shot Martin Bowles three times?

A: I shot Martin Bowles three times.

Q: You killed Martin Bowles?

A: I killed Martin Bowles.

The basic plan, of course, was already in place. Nothing much had to be changed. Simply shoot the husband instead of the wife. Because it was a much better deal, you see.

Certain very definite advantages to be gained from doing it this way. Dollar advantages. If he'd gone through with it the way Bowles wanted it, he'd have gotten the second half of his fee, plus the jewels, which he'd never planned to return, anyway. So that would have come to a hundred in cash, total, and maybe thirty for the fenced jewels.

But the way they talked it over that weekend when Bowles was away, the way they'd finally planned it, there was going to be a lot more money involved.

Lots of money. Forget the thirty the jewelry would bring-if, in fact, it really did bring that much. If he fenced it, which was still the plan, by the time they discounted it, he might end up with twenty-five, maybe less, maybe only twenty. That didn't matter because they'd get what the jewelry was worth, anyway, the minute Emma filed an insurance claim. This was, after all, a felony murder. Her dear husband had been killed during the commission of a burglary. And the jewels were insured against theft, so the fifty thou would come back to Emma in the long run, and coming back to Emma was the same as coming back to him.

"She told me she wanted to marry me," he said, and smiled. "Can you imagine?" And shook his head in wonder. "Why not, I told her.

Good-looking woman, why not?”

Marry her and forget the lousy fifty and some change for the jewels, forget the hundred in cash and T-bills, that was all chicken feed. The real money would come when Bowles's will was probated.

Lots of money, she'd told him.

Most of which Bowles had inherited from his father, all of which would go to Emma as sole beneficiary.

Marry all that money.

And the beauty part was that the inheritance would never be questioned because nobody would even guess that Emma had been involved in any way. Last night, while a burglar was killing her husband, she'd been nowhere near the apartment. She had in fact ...

"She told us she'd been out to dinner with a girlfriend," Carella said.

"Exactly," Denker said.

"Yes, we checked. An early dinner. Her alibi's a good one. She was nowhere near the apartment when you killed him.”

"Which is exactly the way we planned it. I told Bowles I wanted him out of town on Friday night, I was going to do it Friday night, tonight. But instead I did it last night.

He never expected to see me there in a million years. I think he realized what was happening a second before it happened. But by then it was too late, wasn't it?”

"It was too late, all right," Carella said.

"Do you know what else she told us when we got to the apartment last night? After she came home, and found her husband dead, and called the po ...”

"I know exactly what she ...”

"She told us, again, that she thought you'd already gone back to Chicago. Told us, again, that she'd said goodbye to you on Tuesday afternoon.”

"That's right. That was my alibi. I was gone, I was in Chicago, it was a burglar who killed her husband. That's what we worked out together. She was supposed to tell you ...”

"Well, she did. And she also said your relationship had been strictly business ...”

"Right ...”

“... and whereas she wasn't sorry her husband was dead, she couldn't see how you'd had anything to do with it.”

"She was supposed to say that, too.”

"Good, she did. And, of course, she'd had nothing to do with it, either. She was out having an early dinner with a girlfriend. How much money would you say was involved here, Denker?”

"In the will? A million-six.”

"That's a lot of money.”

"Sure. Well, that's the only reason I went into it. She kept talking about love, but I was counting all that money. It was a good plan.”

"Still is," Carella said.

Denker looked at him.

"But guess who'll end up with all of it,”

Carella said.

Denker kept looking at him.

"The recovered jewelry, the cash, the T-bills, the million-six in the will ...”

Denker was already shaking his head.

"Yes," Carella said, nodding.

"No.”

"She set you up, Denker.”

"No, she didn't.”

"Yes, she did. She used you.”

"You're wrong.”

"Just a few questions, Denker, set it straight.”

"Sure.”

"Did she ever once mention that we knew of your existence?”

"No, how could you ...?was "Because she told us all about you, you see. We began tracking you almost from minute one.”

Denker looked at him.

"Did she mention that we knew you'd bought a gun?”

"No, she never ...”

"Didn't mention that, either, huh?”

"No, but ...”

“Because she also knew that, you see. That you'd bought a gun. We'd given her that information.”

Silence.

"A Colt forty-five.”

Silence.

"She let you use a gun we knew about, Denker.”

Another silence. The silence lengthened. He was realizing that the gun was the only real thing that linked him to the murder. She'd known they were - onto the gun ... but she hadn't warned him.

"But ...”

He shook his head.

"She wanted to marry me," he said.

Carella said nothing.

"She told me she loved me," he said.

Carella still said nothing.

"For Christ's sake, we planned it together!”

Denker shouted.

"Can you prove that?" Carella asked.

"Well, no, but ...”

"Neither can we.”

It was six o'clock on Friday morning.

Dawn was yet almost half an hour away, but there was already a faint reddish stain on the horizon to the east. Denker had been taken away in handcuffs. Nellie Brand had all she needed, and now she and the two detectives sat in the squadroom drinking fresh coffee they'd ordered from the all-night deli on Culver. They were trying to figure how they could bring Emma Bowles into this. They couldn't see any way to do it.

"We can't use his confession to implicate her," Nellie said.

"No, we can't," Carella said.

"That's the law.”

"That's the law," Meyer said.

"Otherwise everybody and his brother'll say somebody else put him up to it.”

The squadroom was silent. The clock ticked loudly into the stillness.

"Can you see any way to charge her with anything?" Nellie asked.

"No," Carella said.

"No," Meyer said.

"So that's it," Nellie said, and drained her cup. She looked up at the clock, stretched, and said, "If I leave for home right this minute, I'll get half an hour's sleep before the alarm rings.”

The two detectives said nothing.

"Cheer up," she said.

Carella nodded.

Nellie shook hands with Meyer.

"Good night," she said. "I'll talk to you.”

"Good night," he said.

She extended her hand to Carella. He took it.

"Good night," she said. "Good night, Nellie.”

Their eyes met.

"Come on," she said. "Half a loaf is better than none.”

Carella nodded.

He was thinking that yesterday afternoon Samson Wilbur Cole had walked out of that courtroom a free man, and today Emma Katherine Bowles was walking, too. He was thinking that nowadays if you got anywhere near half a loaf you were lucky.

Most of the time, all you got were the crumbs left on the table.

"Come on, Steve," she said softly.

For an instant-but only an instant-it seemed as if she might lean in to kiss him gently and comfortingly on the cheek. The moment passed. She released his hand.

"See you guys," she said, and went out of the squadroom.

THE END