voice, Carella said, “Tommy has a will leaving everything he owns to you.”
“That? For Pete’s sake, what the hell does he own?”
“What does he own, Jonesy?”
“How do I know? He’s not a rich man, that’s for sure. If he dies, there might be some money on his GI insurance policy. And he’s got a 1958 Buick and probably a small savings account. But that’s all that I know of.”
“You seem to know an awful lot about it.”
“Well, I’m his best friend. Why shouldn’t I know? Besides, this isn’t something a man would keep hidden. God, you don’t think I’d try to kill Tommy—Tommy! My best friend!—for a few thousand dollars, do you?”
“It’s been done for less,” Carella said. “With best friends. With husbands and wives. With mothers and sons. Some people like money, Jonesy.”
“Yeah, but…you’re on the wrong track. I could never do a thing like that.”
“There’s Tommy’s will.”
“He’s married now. He’ll change that as soon as he comes back from his honeymoon.”
“Which might be a damn good reason for killing him now,” Kling said.
“Look, you guys are crazy,” Jonesy said. “I wouldn’t. I just wouldn’t do a thing like that. You think I could kill Birnbaum? A nice old guy I’ve known since I was a kid? You think I could do a thing like that?”
“Somebody did a thing like that,” Carella said.
“But not me. Why would I want to?” He paused and studied the detectives. “For Pete’s sake, would I kill the only living witness to those wills? Does that make any sense to you?”
“He’s got a point, Steve,” Kling said.
“Look, I’m telling you,” Jonesy said. “I had nothing to do with either Birnbaum’s—”
There was a frantic knocking at the door. Christine Maxwell did not wait for anyone to open it. She threw it open and burst into the room waving the Magnum.
“I found this in my purse,” she said. “Not my purse. A girl took mine by accident. In the ladies’ room. She left this one. I thought it was…”
“Slow down,” Carella said.
“…my bag, and I opened it to get a hanky, and this was inside.” She waved the gun again.
“Stop waving that damn thing, it may be loaded!” Carella shouted, and he took the gun from her. Then he nodded. “This is it, Bert,” he said. He sniffed the barrel. “We won’t have to look any further for the gun that killed Birnbaum.” He turned to Christine. “You said this was in your purse?”
“No. I only thought it was my purse. A blonde girl was in the ladies’ room with me. She must have taken my bag by mistake. She left this one.”
“A blonde?” Kling said.
“Yes.”
“What did she look like?”
“A very big girl,” Christine said, “in a red silk dress.”
“Ouch!” Kling said. “I was dancing with her before dinner.”
“Let’s find her,” Carella said, and he started for the door.
“She’s probably a million miles—” Kling started, and at that moment Tommy Giordano came breathlessly into the bedroom.
“Steve!” he said. “Steve, I’m…I’m going out of my mind with worry.”
“What is it?” Carella asked.
“It’s Angela! I can’t find her anywhere. She’s gone!”
There was the strong smell of cigar smoke.
There was a long shaft of light far away, and a silhouette filling the piercing beam.
There was pain, excruciating pain that throbbed and vibrated and sang with a thousand shrill voices.
There was warmth, a warmth that was thick and liquidy, oozing, oozing.
Cotton Hawes fought unconsciousness.
He felt as if his body was quivering. He felt as if every part of him was swinging in a wild circle of nauseating blackness. Some inner sense told him he was lying flat on his back, and yet he had the feeling that his hands were clutching, grasping, trying to reach something in the blackness, as if his legs and feet were twitching uncontrollably. The pain at the side of his face was unbearable. It was the pain, finally, which forced away the uncon-sciousness, needling him with persistent fire, forcing sensibility into his mind, and then his body. He blinked.
The cigar smell was overpowering. It filled his newly alert nostrils with the stink of a thousand saloons. The shaft of light was penetrating and merciless, flowing steadily through an open window at the end of the room, impaling him with sunshine. A man stood at the window, his back to Hawes.
Hawes tried to get to his feet, and the nausea came back with frightening suddenness, swimming into his head and then dropping like a swirling stone to the pit of his stomach. He lay still, not