Where There's Smoke полностью

But aside from that (and I had to consider this attack on the dog-walking old lady a simple extension of the homi­cide), he had made no other mistakes, and I still didn’t know why he’d wanted a dead body, or what he planned to do with it. Yes, I had considered the possibility that the “mass” marked on Natalie’s calendar was to be a witches’ Sabbath requiring a blood sacrifice from a fresh corpse— the killer had, after all, returned a corpse already drained of blood, and stolen one that hadn’t yet been embalmed. But blood sacrifices were usually living victims, a goat or a lamb or—in some cultures—a human being brought to the altar and held there while its throat was slit, its blood allowed to drip into a sacrificial basin. A dead offering? As a blood sacrifice? The two concepts seemed contra­dictory and mutually exclusive. Besides, assuming some­one had been after a warm body (so to speak) for later use in a blood sacrifice, would he have killed someone while stealing that body? There’s nothing in the Penal Law that makes it a crime for criminals to behave illogically. But if the possibility of murder had even peripherally oc­curred to the body snatcher, why hadn’t he simply snatched a live body, and committed his murder on the altar, as a genuine blood sacrifice? No, I didn’t think the swiped body was intended as an offering at a mass— black or otherwise. Then why had it been stolen?

I was whistling as I went into the apartment. The sun wasn’t up yet, nor was there yet a hint of dawn in the sky. I flicked on the kitchen light, and the crow in his cage cawed in what I assumed was annoyance rather than greeting.

“Hello, stupid,” I said, “did anyone feed you?”

The bird squawked again.

I looked into his cage. Not a scrap of food was any­where in sight. I went to the refrigerator, discovered that the meat tray was empty, and found an open can of tuna fish on one of the shelves. Operating on the theory that crows—like sharks—will eat any kind of crap, I spooned the contents of the can into the cage. The crow regarded it suspiciously. I closed the cage door and looked at the bulletin board. No calls. Loosening my tie, I went into the study and dialed the Twelfth Precinct. Dave Horowitz was still there.

“Yes, Ben?” he said.

“Anything from the lab yet?”

“At five in the morning?” he said. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“What’s the matter with you, Dave?”

“Nothing.” He paused. “Well, yes, something. I’m get­ting a lot of static from my partner. He doesn’t like you nosing around on this.”

“I’m saving him legwork, Dave.”

“Well, he doesn’t look at it that way.”

“How does he look at it?”

“He says you’re running the goddamn case for us.”

“I’m not doing that at all.”

“I’ll tell you the truth, Ben, I’m a little nervous, too. This is a homicide. If we crack it, I don’t want it fucked up in court.”

“That’s just what your partner said.”

“Well, maybe he’s right. This is a job for us, Ben, and for you ...” He paused. “Well, forget it.”

“No, go ahead.”

“Well, O’Neil thinks this is only like a hobby for you.”

“It’s not a hobby, Dave.”

“I’m only telling you what he thinks.”

“So I guess when you do get that lab report ...”

“Come on, Ben, don’t make me out a heel. I got one too many ulcers as it is.”

“Do you want me to lay off?”

“I don’t know what I want. That stuff you gave me on the car was real meat. Maybe O’Neil wouldn’t have come up with it, who knows? At the same time, I don’t want you to do anything that’ll maybe blow this thing in court, you follow me?”

“Give me a little more credit than that, Dave.”

“Ah, shit, Ben,” he said, and fell silent. I waited. He was thinking it over. I gave him plenty of time. He sighed, and then said, “I ran an I.S. check on Natalie Fletcher. She hasn’t got a record, but there was a cross-reference card on her.” I waited some more. He was still struggling with it, and I liked him too much to push him. “You’ll be careful, huh, Ben?” he said at last. “I can get my ass in a sling on this.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“The blue card fed back to one Charles S. Carruthers. He’s got a yellow sheet as long as my arm, starting from when he was fifteen. Last time out, he got busted for Bur­glary One, drew the maximum, got paroled last October after serving twelve and a little more.”

“What’s the connection between him and Natalie?”

“According to his parole officer, they’re living to­gether.”

“As of when?”

“As of the P.O.’s last report. I’ve got the date here, just a second.” There was a long pause on the line. “August fifteenth.”

“Have you got an address for him?”

“Yeah, and it’s not Oberlin Crescent.”

“What is it?”

“8212 McKenzie. I can only figure she was living one place and sleeping another.”

“Have you talked to Carruthers yet?”

“O’Neil should be up there right this minute.”

“8212 McKenzie. That’s in Hammerlock, isn’t it?”

“That’s where it is.”

“Is Carruthers black?”

“He’s black.”

“What else have you got on him?”