Lady, Lady, I Did It!

Chapter 13

Wednesday, October 18.

Indian summer is leaving the city. There is a chill in the squadroom even though the thermostat has been turned up and the radiators are beginning to clang.

Autumn has arrived suddenly and seemingly without warning. The men sit with their hands wrapped around mugs of hot coffee.

There is a chill in the squadroom.

“Bert, there are some questions we have to ask you.”

“What kind of questions?”

“About Claire.”

The telephone rings.

“87th Squad, Detective Carella. Oh, yes, sir. No, I’m sorry, we haven’t been able to locate them as yet We’re making a routine check of all pawnshops. Mr. Mendel. Yes, sir, as soon as we have anything. Thank you for calling.”

There was something ludicrous about the scene. Bert Kling sat in the chair facing the desk. Carella replaced the telephone in its cradle and then went to stand beside Kling. Meyer sat on one corner of the desk, leaning over, his elbow cushioned on his knee. Kling’s face was drawn and gaunt. He looked for all the world like a harried suspect being grilled by two hardened detectives.

“What do you want to know?” he asked.

“Did she ever mention Eileen Glennon to you?”

Kling shook his head.

“Bert, please try to think back, will you? This might have been in September sometime, when Mrs. Glennon was in the hospital. Did Claire mention having met Mrs. Glennon’s daughter?”

“No. I would have remembered the minute the Glennons came into the case. No, Steve. She never mentioned the girl.”

“Well, did she ever mention any girl? I mean, did she seem troubled about any of her patients?”

“No.” Kling shook his head. “No, I don’t remember, Steve.”

“What did you talk about?” Meyer asked.

“What do you mean?”

“When you were together.”

Kling knew exactly what Meyer was trying to do. He was a cop, and he had used the same technique himself, many times before. Meyer was simply trying to start a train of thought, trying to get words flowing in the hope that they would trigger a significant memory. But, even knowing this, he felt a numbing pain. He did not want to talk about Claire. He did not want to repeat aloud the things they had whispered alone together.

“Can you remember?” Meyer said gently.

“We... we talked about a lot of things.”

“Well, like what?”

“Well... she had a toothache. This was... It must have been the early part of September.”

“Yes, go ahead, Bert,” Carella said.

“And she... she was going to a dentist. I remember she... she hated it. She... she met me one night with her jaw numb. From the novocaine. She asked me to hit her. She... she said, ‘Go ahead, strong man! I’ll bet you can’t hurt me.’ She was kidding, you know. Because... we had a lot of little jokes like that. You know... because I’m a cop.”

“Did she ever talk about school, Bert?”

“Oh, sure,” Kling said. “She was having a little difficulty with one of her teachers. Oh, nothing like that,” Kling said immediately; “nothing serious. The instructor had certain ideas about social work, and Claire didn’t agree with them.”

“What were the ideas, Bert?”

“I don’t remember now. You know how it is in a class. Everybody’s got their ideas.”

“But Claire was a working student.”

“Yeah. Well, most of the people in the class were. She was doing graduate work, you know. She was going for her master’s.”

“Did she ever talk about that?”

“Pretty often. Social work was very important to her, you know.” He paused. “Well, I guess you don’t know. But it was. The only reason we... we weren’t married yet is because... well, you know, she wanted to finish her schooling.”

“Where did you go when you went out, Bert? Any place special?”

“No, just around. Movies, plays sometimes. Dancing. She liked to dance. She was a very good dancer.” The squadroom was suddenly still. “She was...” Kling started and then stopped.

The silence persisted.

“Bert do you remember any of her ideas about social work? Did she ever discuss them with you?”

“Well, not really. I mean, except where it crossed with police work, do you know what I mean?”

“No.”

“Well, where she was puzzled about a legality. Or where she felt we were doing a bad job. Like with street gangs, you know. She thought we handle them wrong.”

“How, Bert?”

“Well, we’re more interested in crime, you know. A kid shoots somebody, we’re not too damn interested in the fact that his father’s an alcoholic. That’s where the social work came in. But she felt social workers and cops should work more closely together. We had a lot of jokes about that, too. I mean, about us personally.” He paused. “I told her all about the PAL, and about social workers doing work with street gangs already, but she knew all that. What she wanted was a closer working relationship.”

“Had she done much work with young people?”

“Only in connection with her own patients. A lot of people she dealt with had families, you know. So she naturally worked with the kids involved.”

“Did she ever mention a furnished room on South First Street?”

“No.” Kling paused. “A furnished room? What’s this?”

“We think she rented one, Bert. In fact, we know she did.”

“Why?”

“To take Eileen Glennon to.”

“Why?”

“Because Eileen Glennon had an abortion.”

“What’s Claire got to—”

“Claire arranged for it.”

“No,” Kling said immediately. He shook his head. “You’re mistaken.”

“We’ve checked it, Bert.”

“That’s impossible. Claire would never... no, that’s impossible. She was too aware of the law. No. She was always asking me questions about legal matters. You’re wrong. She wouldn’t have any part of a thing like that.”

“When she asked about legal matters... Did she ever ask about abortion?”

“No. Why would she ask—?” Bert Kling stopped talking. A surprised look crossed his face. He shook his head once, disbelievingly.

“What is it, Bert?”

He shook his head again.

“Did she ask about abortion?”

Kling nodded.

“When was this?”

“Last month sometime. I thought at first... I thought she was...”

“Go ahead, Bert.”

“I thought she... Well, I thought it was for herself, you know. But... what it was... She wanted to know about legal abortions.”

“She asked you that? She asked you when an abortion was considered legal?”

“Yes. I told her only if the life of either the mother or the child was in danger. You know. PL 80 — ‘unless the same is necessary to preserve the life of the woman or of the—’ ”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“That’s all.”

“Are you sure?”

“No, wait a minute. She asked me a specific question. Just wait a second.”

They waited. Kling’s brow knotted. He passed his hand over his face.

“Yeah,” he said.

“What was it?”

“She asked me if the victim of a rape... a girl who got pregnant because of a rape... She asked me if the abortion would be legal then.”

“That’s it!” Meyer said. “That’s what all the goddamn hiding was about! Sure. That’s why the furnished room — and that’s why Eileen couldn’t go home. If the brother ever found out she’d been raped—”

“Hold it, hold it,” Kling said. “What do you mean?”

“What did you tell Claire?”

“Well, I told her I wasn’t sure. I told her it seemed to me that morally it should be permissible to have an abortion in those circumstances. I just didn’t know.”

“And what did she say?”

“She asked me to check it for her. She said she wanted to know.”

“Did you check it?”

“I called the DA’s office the next day. Preserve the life of the mother or child, they told me. Period. Any other induced abortion would be criminal.”

“Did you tell that to Claire?”

“Yes.”

“And what did she say?”

“She blew her stack! She said she thought the law was designed to protect the innocent, not to cause them more suffering. I tried to calm her down, you know — what the hell, I don’t write the laws! She seemed to hold me personally responsible for the damn thing. I asked her why she was getting so excited, and she said something about Puritan morality being the most immoral thing in the world — something like that. She said a girl’s life could be completely ruined because she was the victim of a crime and of the law both.”

“Did she ever mention it again?”

“No.”

“Did she ever ask you if you knew any abortionists?”

“No.” Kling paused. “From what I get...” He paused again. “You think Eileen Glennon was raped, is that it?”

“That’s our guess,” Meyer said. “And probably while her mother was in the hospital.”

“And you think Claire knew about this, and knew she was pregnant, and... and arranged an abortion for her?”

“Yes. We’re sure of that, Bert.” Carella paused. “She even paid for it.”

Kling nodded. “I suppose... I suppose we could check her bank book.”

“We did that yesterday. She withdrew five hundred dollars on the first of October.”

“I see. Then... then I guess... well, I guess it’s what you say it is.”

Carella nodded. “I’m sorry, Bert.”

“If she did it, you know,” Kling said, and stopped. “If she did it, it was only because the girl had been raped. I mean, she... she wouldn’t have broken the law otherwise. You know that don’t you?”

Carella nodded again. “I might have done the same thing,” he said. He did not know if he believed this or not, but he said it anyway.

“She only wanted to protect the girl,” Kling said. “If you... if you look at it one way, she... she was actually preserving the girl’s life, just like the Penal Law says.”

“And in the meanwhile,” Meyer said, “she was also protecting the guy who raped Eileen. Why does he get out of this clean, Steve? Why does that son of a bitch—”

“Maybe he doesn’t,” Carella said. “Maybe he wanted to do a little protecting of his own. And maybe he started by taking care of one of the people who knew about the rape but who wasn’t connected in any personal way.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean Eileen and her mother wouldn’t dare tell about it for fear of what young Glennon would do. But maybe he couldn’t be sure of Claire Townsend. So maybe he followed her to that bookshop and—”

“Does the mother know who?” Kling asked.

“Yes, we think so.”

Kling nodded once, tightly. There was nothing in his eyes, nothing in his voice, when at last he spoke.

“She’ll tell me,” he said.

It was a promise.

The man lived on the floor above the Glennons.

Kling left the Glennon apartment and began climbing the steps. Mrs. Glennon stood in her doorway with her hand pressed to her mouth. It was impossible to know what she was thinking as she watched Kling climb those steps. Maybe she was simply wondering why some people never seemed to have any luck.

Kling knocked on the door to apartment 4-A and then waited.

A voice inside called, “Just a second!”

Kling waited.

The door opened a crack, held by a chain. A man peered out. “Yes?” he said.

“Police,” Kling said flatly. He held up his wallet, open to his detective’s shield.

“What is it?”

“Are you Arnold Halsted?”

“Yes?”

“Open the door, Mr. Halsted.”

“What? What is it? Why...?”

“Open the door before I bust it in!” Kling answered.

“Okay, okay, just a minute.” Halsted fumbled with the chain. As soon as it was loose, Kling shoved the door open and entered the apartment.

“You alone, Mr. Halsted?”

“Yes.”

“I understand you have a wife and three children, Mr. Halsted. Is that right, Mr. Halsted?”

There was something frightening in Kling’s voice. Halsted, a short thin man wearing black trousers and a white undershirt, backed away from it instinctively. “Y... yes,” he said. “That’s right.”

“Where are they?”

“The children are... in school.”

“And your wife?”

“She works.”

“How about you, Mr. Halsted? Don’t you work?”

“I’m... I’m temporarily unemployed.”

“How long have you been ‘temporarily unemployed’?” There was a biting edge to Kling’s words. He spit them out like razorsharp stilettos.

“Since... since last summer.”

“When?”

“August.”

“What did you do in September, Mr. Halsted?”

“I—”

“Besides raping Eileen Glennon?”

“Wh... what?” Halsted’s voice caught in his throat. His face went white. He took a step backward, but Kling took a step closer.

“Put on a shirt. You’re coming with me.”

“I... I... I didn’t do anything. You’re mistaken.”

“You didn’t do anything, huh?” Kling shouted. “You son of a bitch, you didn’t do anything! You went downstairs and raped a sixteen-year-old girl! You didn’t do anything? You didn’t do anything?”

“Shhh, shhh, my neighbors,” Halsted said.

“Your neighbors?” Kling shouted. “You’ve got the gall to...”

Halsted backed away into the kitchen, his hands trembling. Kling followed him. “I... I... I... it was her idea,” Halsted said quickly. “She... she... she wanted to. I... I didn’t. It was—”

“You’re a filthy lying bastard,” Kling said, and he slapped Halsted openhanded across the face.

Halsted made a frightened little sound, a moan that trembled onto his lips. He covered his face with his hands and mumbled, “Don’t hit me.”

“Did you rape her?” Kling said.

Halsted nodded, his face still buried in his hands.

“Why?”

“I... I don’t know. Her... her mother was in the hospital, you see. Mrs. Glennon. She’s... she’s a very good friend of my wife, Mrs. Glennon. They go to church together, they belong to the same... They made novenas together... they...”

Kling waited. His hands had bunched into fists. He was waiting to ask the big question. Then he was going to beat Halsted to a pulp on the kitchen floor.

“When... when she went to the hospital, my wife would... would prepare food for the children. For Terry and... and Eileen. And...”

“Go ahead!”

“I would bring it down to them whenever... whenever my wife was working.”

Slowly Halsted took his hands from his face. He did not raise his eyes to meet Kling’s. He stared at the worn and soiled linoleum on the kitchen floor. He was still trembling, a thin frightened man in a sleeveless undershirt, staring at the floor, staring at what he had done.

“It was Saturday,” he said. “I had seen Terry leaving the house. From the window. I had seen him. My wife had gone to work — she does crochet beading; she’s a very skilled worker. It was Saturday. I remember it was very hot here in the apartment. Do you remember how hot it was in September?”

Kling said nothing in reply, but Halsted had not expected an answer. He seemed unaware of Kling’s presence. There was total communication between him and the worn linoleum. He did not raise his eyes from the floor.

“I remember. It was very hot. My wife had left sandwiches for me to take down to the children. But I knew Terry was gone, you see. I would have taken down the sandwiches anyway, you see, but I knew Terry was gone. I can’t say I didn’t know he was gone.”

He stared at the floor for a long time, silently.

“I knocked when I got downstairs. There was no answer. I... I tried the door, and it was open, so I... I went in. She... Eileen was still in bed, asleep. It was twelve o’clock, but she... she was asleep. The cover... the sheet had... had got... had moved down from... I could see her. She was asleep and I could see her. I don’t know what I did next. I think I put down the tray with the sandwiches, and I got into bed with her, and when she tried to scream I covered her mouth with my hands and I... I did it.”

He covered his face again.

“I did it,” he said. “I did it, I did it.”

“You’re a nice guy, Mr. Halsted,” Kling said in a tight whisper.

“It... it just happened.”

“The way the baby just happened.”

“What? What baby?”

“Didn’t you know Eileen was pregnant?”

“Preg... what are you saying? Who? What do you...? Eileen. No one said... why didn’t someone...?”

“You didn’t know she was pregnant?”

“No. I swear it! I didn’t know!”

“How do you think she died, Mr. Halsted?”

“Her mother said... Mrs. Glennon said an accident! She even told my wife that — her best friend! She wouldn’t lie to my wife.”

“Wouldn’t she?”

“An automobile accident! In Majesta. She... she was visiting her aunt. That’s what Mrs. Glennon told us.”

“That’s what she told your wife maybe. That’s the story you both invented to save your miserable hide.”

“No, I swear!” Tears had welled up into Halsted’s eyes. He reached forward eagerly now, pleadingly, grasping for Kling’s arm, straining for support. “What do you mean?” he said, sobbing. “What do you mean? Please, oh, please God, no...”

“She died getting rid of your baby,” Kling said.

“I didn’t know. I didn’t know. Oh, God, I swear I didn’t—”

“You’re a lying bastard!” Kling said.

“Ask Mrs. Glennon! I swear to God, I knew nothing about—”

“You knew, and you went after somebody else who knew!”

“What?”

“You followed Claire Townsend to—”

“Who? I don’t know any—”

“—to that bookshop and killed her, you son of a bitch! Where are the guns? What’d you do with them? Tell me before I—”

“I swear, I swear—”

“Where were you Friday night from five o’clock on?”

“In the building! I swear! We went upstairs to the Lessers’! The fifth floor! We had supper with them, and then we played cards. I swear.”

Kling studied him silently. “You didn’t know Eileen was pregnant?” he said at last.

“No.”

“You didn’t know she was going for an abortion?”

“No.”

Kling kept staring at him. Then he said, “Two stops, Mr. Halsted. First Mrs. Glennon, and then the Lessers on the fifth floor. Maybe you’re a very lucky man.”

Arnold Halsted was a very lucky man.

He had been “temporarily unemployed” since August, but he had a wife who was an expert crochet beader and willing to assume the burden of family support while he sat around in his undershirt and watched the street from the bedroom window. He had raped a sixteen-year-old girl, but neither Eileen nor her mother had reported the incident to the police because, to begin with, Louise Halsted was a very close friend, and — more important — the Glennons knew that Terry would kill Arnold it he ever learned of the attack.

Mr. Halsted was a very lucky man.

This was a neighborhood full of private trouble. Mrs. Glennon had been born into this neighborhood, and she knew she would die in it, and she knew that trouble would always be a part of her life, an indisputable factor. She had seen no reason to bring trouble to Louise Halsted as well — her friend — perhaps her only friend in a world so hostile. Now, with her daughter dead and her son being held for assault, she listened to Bert Kling’s questions and, instead of incriminating Halsted in murder, she told the truth.

She said that he had known nothing whatever of the pregnancy or the abortion.

Arnold Halsted was a very lucky man.

Mrs. Lesser, on the fifth floor, said that Louise and Arnold had come upstairs at 4:45 on Friday afternoon. They had stayed for dinner and for cards afterward. He couldn’t possibly have been anywhere near the bookstore where the killings had taken place.

Arnold Halsted was a very lucky man.

All he had facing him was a rape charge — and the possibility of spending twenty years behind bars.