Ed McBain_87th Precinct 47 (23 page)

“I almost shot you,” he said.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Riganti said.

He was having a little difficulty breathing.

“You got a permit for that piece?” Ollie asked.

“I told you. It’s fake.”

“It looks real.”

“That’s the idea.”

“Why you packing a fake gun?”

“I told you. I’m an actor.”

“Yeah?” Ollie said.

“I play a detective in this play we’re doing.”

“Oh, yeah, right.”

“You scared the shit out of me,” Riganti said.

“Me, too,” Ollie said. “You got anything to drink here?”

“What do you mean?”

“Something medicinal?”

“Like booze, do you mean?”

“Yeah, like booze, beer, wine, whatever.”

“Are you allowed to drink on duty?”

“No,” Ollie said, and sat at the kitchen table.

“I think I have some beer in the fridge,” Riganti said.

“Yeah, beer’ll be fine.”

“That’s very interesting,” Riganti said, going to the refrigerator and opening it. “You’re not allowed to drink on duty, but
you’re accepting a beer from me.”

“Yeah, that’s very interesting, all right,” Ollie said. “What kind of beer is it?”

“Heineken.”

Ollie watched as he popped the caps off two green bottles. Riganti handed him a glass and one of the bottles.

“I almost blew your fuckin head off,” Ollie said. “Cheers.”

He drank straight from the bottle. Riganti poured his beer into a glass, and then sat opposite Ollie at the table.

“So what do you know about this creep who killed her?” Ollie said.

“Who do you mean?”

“Her agent. Johnny Milton.”

“I don’t know him too well.”

“How about the girl?”

“Michelle?”

“Yeah. How well did you know her?”

“Well, we were in rehearsal together for three weeks when she …”

“What does that mean? Were you boffin her?”

“No. Certainly not.”

“Why certainly not? Are you gay?”

“Of
course
not.”

“Why of course not? Lots of actors are gay
.“

“But not me.”

“Did you know he was living with her? The agent?”

“That’s what we began to realize.”

“Who’s we?”

“All of us. The cast, the crew. It got to be pretty evident.”

“That they were living together,”

“Yes.”

“Why do you think he killed her?”

“I’m not sure he did.”

“You think there might’ve been some other guy she was involved with?”

“Do you always conduct an interrogation this way?”

“This ain’t an interrogation.”

“Then what is it?”

“Two guys sittin around talkin, havin a few beers.”

“No, really, I’m interested in the process. I play a lot of detectives, you see.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Casting directors think I look like a cop.”

“They do, huh?”

“You think I look like a cop?”

“I think you look a little faggoty to be a cop.”

“I already told you … ”

“I’m not sayin
you are a
fag. I’m only sayin you
look
like one. For a cop, anyway.”

“Well, casting directors find me authentic-looking.”

“Do I look like a cop?” Ollie asked.

“No.”

“What do I look like?”

A fat tub of shit, Riganti was tempted to say, but didn’t.

“You look like an actor
playing a
cop,” he said.

“No kidding?” Ollie said. “Is there any more of this beer?”

“Sure, let me get you another one.”

“An actor, huh?” Ollie said. “I wished I was.”

“It’s not as easy as you think,” Riganti said, and carried another bottle of beer to the table. He uncapped it, slid it across
the table to Ollie, and then sat down at the table and picked up his own unfinished glass again.

“Thank you,” Ollie said, and tilted the bottle to his mouth, and took a long swallow. Wiping his lips with the back of his
hand, he said, “You think she was cheatin on him?”

“Not from what I could gather.”

“Then why’d he kill her?”

“Well, that’s
your
assumption. I’m not sure he did.”

“One cop to another,” Ollie said, and winked, “why do you think he killed her?”

“One actor to another,” Riganti said, “why do
you
think he killed her?”

“Cause he’s a fuckin liar,” Ollie said.

“How do you know that?”

“I was there when they were questioning him.”

“I do a lot of questioning, too,” Riganti said.

“Me, too,” Ollie said.

“What’s your technique? During a questioning?”

“I ask questions, the perp answers them. What do you mean, technique?”

“Well, do you
prepare
for a questioning in any way?”

“Prepare?”

“Yes. The way I use a fake gun to … ”

“I almost blew your fuckin brains out.”

“… put me in a detective’s frame of mind. I carry that gun with me everywhere I go. On the subway, in a restaurant, wherever.
Because a gun is a vital part of being a detective, isn’t it?”

“Oh sure.”

“Take away a detective’s gun, you take away his penis.”

“Well … sure.”

“Carrying the gun helps me
live
the part, do you see?”

“Sure.”

“It’s my way of preparing for the role.”

“Sure.”

“So how do
you
prepare?”

“Prepare?”

“Yes. For questioning someone.”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

“I just go in, I say Where the fuck
were you
last Tuesday night, you little shit? He don’t answer me, I keep at him I keep tellin him this can go easy, it can go hard,
it can go however he wants. You help me, I’ll help you. You want a local jail, you want a state pen, you want niggers fucking
you in the ass? Tell me where you were, you dumb shit!”

“Uh-huh.”

“Like that,” Ollie said, and picked up his bottle, drank, set it down again, belched, and said, “Sorry.”

“For example,” Riganti said, “suppose you were questioning this girl who … well, here, take a look,” he said, and picked up
the
Romance
script in its binder, pulled his chair closer, and said, “This scene here. How would you approach it? The scene I have with
the girl.”

“What girl?” Ollie asked.

“Her understudy.”

“Whose understudy?”

“The girl who got killed.”

“The Cassidy girl?”

“Well, no, this is in the play.”

“I hear it’s a dumb fuckin play.”

“It is.”

Ollie picked up the script. Squinting at it, he asked, “Why are these pages blue
^?
”

“They’re new pages. They’re blue to differentiate them from the original pages. We can have blue, yellow, pink, green, sometimes
even
purple
pages before all the revisions are done.”

“These are hard to read, blue fuckin pages.”

“They are.”

Ollie kept squinting at the script. At last, reluctantly, he reached into his jacket pocket and took out an eyeglass case.
The glasses he pulled from it were little Ben Franklin glasses. He suddenly looked like a fat scholar.

“For reading,” he explained apologetically.

“I wear contacts myself.” Riganti said consolingly.

Adjusting the glasses on his nose, Ollie cleared his throat as if he were about to read aloud, but then didn’t. Silently,
he read the page. Turned it. Read another one.

“You’re right,” he said, shaking his head, “this
is
a dumb fuckin play.”

“I told you. But … just for the hell of it … how would
you
conduct this questioning?”

“This questioning right here?”

“Yeah. Where he wants to know whether she’s ever thought of … ”

“Yeah, I sec it,” Ollie said. “What I’d do, I’d say `Look, miss, let’s be realistic here, okay?’ This is a
girl
I’m talkin’ to, right?”

“Yes.”

“Cause you have to clean up the act a little with a girl. I mean, you can’t talk to a girl the way you can talk to a fuckin
thief,
you understand me? You got to be more gentle. So what I’d say …
what’s
her name?”

“She doesn’t have a name.”

“What do you mean she doesn’t have a name?”

“She doesn’t. She’s just called the Understudy.”

“So what do you
call
her, if she doesn’t have a name?”

“I don’t call her anything.”

“That makes it harder.”

“How so?”

“Because say her name is Jean, you can start by tellin her ’Look, Jeannie, let’s be realistic here, okay?’ You use the diminative,
you understand, You say Jeannie, instead of Jean. You put yourself on personal terms with her right away. Unless she don’t
even
have
a fuckin name, which makes it difficult.”

“That’s a good point.”

“Nobody in the
world
doesn’t have a name.”

“Except in this play.”

“Yeah
,”
Ollie said, shaking his head, and looking at the script again, and then saying, “But even
without
a name, what I’d say is ’Look, miss, let’s be realistic here, okay? Do you expect me to believe you’re understudyin the starring
role in this play, and the girl gets killed and you never even once think Gee, maybe I’ll get to go on in her place? Don’t
you ever go to the fuckin
movies,
miss? Didn’t you ever see a movie where the star breaks her leg and the understudy has to go on for her? And all these fuckin
workmen are sittin up on these little catwalks, high above the stage where the lights are hangin, and they all catch their
fuckin breaths when she starts singin? And this old guy who pulls the curtain is standin there with his fuckin mouth open
in surprise and a little old lady with costumes in her hands and pins stickin in her dress is standin there like
she
got struck blind, too, and all over the fuckin theater they’re
amazed
by what this understudy is doin, you mean to tell me you never
saw
that movie, miss? Let’s be
realistic
, miss.’ Is what I would say to her.”

“Wonderful,” Riganti whispered. “Thank you.”

“You ever get to kiss a girl in any of these plays you’re in?” Ollie asked.

“Oh sure.”

“What does a gay guy do when he has to kiss a girl in one of these plays?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“I’m not sayin
you’re
gay, you understand. I’m just wonderin how they’d
feel
about something like that. You think they go home afterwards and wash out their mouths with soap?”

“I’m sure they don’t.”

“I was just wonderin. You ever
throw
yourself into any of these scenes? Where you have to kiss a girl in one of these plays?”

“Oh sure.”

“But somebody’s gotta do it, I guess, huh?” Ollie said, and grinned like a shark.

“Still, it’s not as easy as you think.”

“Hey. It must be
very
difficult, soul-kissin some strange girl in front of ten thousand people.”

“It is.”

“I’ll bet. You ever have to play a nude scene with one of these girls?”

“Oh sure.”

“What do they tell these girls when they want them to take off their clothes?”

“Who do you mean?”

“Whoever it is that tells them to take off their clothes.”

“The director, you mean?”

“Yeah, what does he tell them?”

“Well, if the scene calls for it …”

“Yeah, let’s say the scene calls for it.”

“He’ll just say, ’People, we’ll be doing the scene now.’ Something like that.”

“And she just takes off her clothes, right?”

“If the scene calls for it.”

“Are there any scenes in
this
play where they have to take off their clothes?”

“No.”

“Michelle Cassidy didn’t have to take off her clothes anyplace in this play, did she?”

“No.”

“So her boyfriend couldn’ta been annoyed by anything like that, huh?”

“No.”

“So what got him mad enough to stab her twenty-two times?”

“
If
he did it,” Riganti said.

“Oh, he did it, all right,” Ollie said.

“Maybe Andy did it.”

“Who’s he?”

“She. Andrea Packer. She plays the Understudy. Remember the scene you just read … ?”

“Yeah, right,”

Ollie was thoughtful for a moment

Then he said, “No, it couldn’ta been her. Nor the
other
actress, either.”

“Why not?”

“Cause they’re actresses,” he said.

“What does that … ?”

“They both had to’ve seen the movie,” he said.

T
HE MOMENT CARELLA GOT OUT OF BED, HE CALLED RIGANTI
hoping to set up an interview for later that Friday. Riganti told him a detective had already interviewed him last night.

“What detective?” Carella asked.

“Ollie Weeks,” Riganti said. “He was very valuable.”

Carella wondered what
that
meant.

“If you have a few minutes later on,” he said, “maybe we can …”

“Oh, sure, but I’ll he rehearsing from nine to … ”

“Few other people I want to talk to at the theater, anyway.”

“Well, sure, come on down,” Riganti said. “Happy to talk to you.”

Valuable
how
? Carella wondered, and hurried into the shower.

A traffic jam on the Farley Expressway delayed him for a good forty minutes. He did not get to the theater till ten past nine.
He scanned it quickly, relieved to see that Ollie hadn’t beat him to the punch again.

Riganti, in jeans, Italian loafers without socks, and a loose-fitting cotton sweater, was already onstage with Andrea Packer.
This morning, she was wearing a moss-green wraparound mini, orange-colored sneakers and an orange-colored T-shirt with no
bra. Her long blond hair was stacked on top of her head like a small sheaf of wheat.

Riganti was trying to explain something to their director and their playwright, who both sat in what Carella now realized
were their customary seats out front. Carella stood at the back of the theater, his eyes adjusting to the dark, trying to
see if anyone else was sitting out there.