Ed McBain_87th Precinct 47 (33 page)

and it is the AFFIRNT’S BELIEF that EVIDENCE or FRUITS OF THE CRIME are presently to be found in the following described location,
to wit:
        714 South Hedley Avenue

Apartment 4C

Isola

Affiant specifically requests warrant to search for:

A
container of prescription drugs with a label from G&R Drugs at 1123 Commerce Street. dated this past 27th day of March, and
bearing the following information:

Rx# 445 358

PAT: PACKER, ANDREA

ADD: HEDLEY AVENUE

MED: DALMANE 30 MG CAP

TAKE ONE CAPSULE AT

BEDTIME AS NEEDED

QTY: 30

REF: 1

THAT THE REASON FOR THE RFFIANT’S BELIEF IS AS FOLLOWS:

1.     At 11:30 P.M. on this past eleventh day of April , Charles William Madden leaped or was pushed to his death from a ten-story
window at 355 North River Street, Isola.

2.     
A
report from the Toxicology Section of the Police Department Laboratory states that traces of the sleeping pill Dalmane found
in the victim’s bloodstream indicate ingestion of amounts of the drug sufficient to have caused a state of sleep.

3.     Victim could not possibly have thrown himself from the window while in a state of Dalmane-induced sleep.

4.     Two glasses found beside victim’s bed indicate the presence of alcohol and suggest that one of the drinks may have been
laced with Dalmane.

5.     Anthony Givens, a pharmacist at G&R Drugs, recalls filling the above cited Dalmane prescription for Ms. Packer on this
past twenty-seventh day of March.

6.     Daryll Hinks, a neighbor living next door to Andrea Packer, in apartment 4D at 714 South Hedley Avenue, states that he
saw Charles William Madden entering or leaving Ms. Packer’s apartment at hours that would indicate he was living with her
at the time of his death.

7.     Based upon the foregoing information and upon affiant’S personal knowledge, there is probable cause to believe that a container
of Dalmane capsules in possession of Andrea Packer may constitute evidence in the crime of murder.

Wherefore AFFIANT PRAYS that a SEARCH WARRANT be issued, according to LAW, commanding all and singular acting within their
jurisdictions, either in the day time or the night time, or on Sunday, as the CIRCUMSTANCES of the occasion may demand or
require, with the proper and necessary assistance, to SEARCH the previously described location, and SEIZE AS EUIDENCE any
of the following:

Container and contents of G&R Drugs prescription numbered 445 358, made out to Andrea Packer, for 30 capsules of 30 MG Dalmane
capsules. And any and all evidence that may relate to the murder of Charles William Madden.

The judge struck out the last sentence of Carella’s affidavit as being too broad in its scope, something Carella knew, anyway.

Otherwise, the petition was granted.

They were waiting in the hallway outside her door when she got back from rehearsal that night at nine. Their court order for
a search warrant had not included a No-Knock provision, which they’d have been foolish to ask for in the first place. This
wasn’t an armed and dangerous desperado living in apartment 4C. This was merely a woman some five feet nine inches tall and
weighing a possible hundred and twenty-five pounds, who’d first dragged a sedated man across the floor of his apartment, and
hoisted him up onto the sill of an open window, and then shoved him out to the street ten stories below.

She was taking her keys out of her handbag as she stepped out of the elevator. She saw them at once, hesitated a moment, and
then walked directly toward them.

She looked tired tonight.

It must have been a grueling rehearsal.

“Hello,” she said, “what a surprise,” and smiled faintly.

“Miss Packer,” Carella said, “I have here a court order authorizing the search of your apar …”

“A
what?”
she said
.

“A search warrant,” Kling said. “Could you please unlock the door?”

“No, I will not unlock the door,” she said, backing away from them. “A
search
warrant? What in the hell
for?”

“Maybe you ought to read it,” Carella said, and handed it to her.

She read it silently.

“I want to call my lawyer,”
she said.

“Fine, you can call him while we conduct our search.”

“No, I want to call him
now
. Before I let you in the apartment.”

“Miss Packer,” Carclla said, “I’m not sure you understand. This is a court order. If you refuse to …”

“I’m not refusing anything. I simply want my lawyer here while you …”

“Miss Packer,” Kling said, “I suggest …”

“Oh, stop with the Mutt and Jeff routine, will you please?”

“Either open the door or we’ll be forced to arrest you for obstructing governmental administration,” Carella said.

“What kind of double talk is that?”

“It means you’re preventing a search ordered by a court,” he said. “And if you persist, we’ll have to arrest you,”

“Is he telling me the truth?” she asked Kling.

“He’s telling you the truth.”

“What is this, Nazi Germany?”

“No, it’s America,” Carella said.

“Jesus,” she said, and angrily rammed her key into the keyway. She unlocked the door, threw it open, and stamped immediately
to the phone on the kitchen wall. The detectives followed her into the apartment, pulling on white cotton gloves as she dialed.

“Where’s your bathroom?” Kling asked.

“Don’t you
dare
use my bathroom!” she shouted.

“Nobody’s going to use your bathroom,” Carella said. “You’ve already read the warrant, you know what we’re looking for.”

“You just keep out of my personal … Mr. Foley, please. This is Andrea Packer, tell him it’s urgent. Don’t you go anywhere
in this apartment without me!” she warned.

“Miss Packer …”

“You can damn well wait till my lawyer …”

“No, we can’t,” Carella said.

“Holly?” she said into the phone. “This is Andrea. I’ve got two detectives here … where are you
going?
” she shouted to their backs. “Holly, you’d better get here right away,” she said into the phone again. “They’re searching
my apartment, they’ve got something signed by a judge, just
get
here!” she shouted, and slammed down the phone and went flying through the apartment after them.

They had passed through the bedroom already, where they’d glanced toward an open closet door revealing what were clearly men’s
clothes. If the judge hadn’t specifically deleted the “And any and all evidence” phrase from Carella’s petition, they might
have risked taking the stuff as proof that Madden had been living here. After all, they hadn’t been
searching
for the clothing, but had merely happened to spot it hanging there “in plain view,” a favorite expression of confiscating
cops the world over. But with Andrea Packer in hot pursuit, they were unwilling to jeopardize finding what they had come here
for, so they barged straight into a bathroom done in pale blue tile and decorated with midnight-blue towels and went directly
to the sink where they also happened to notice a man’s razor sitting an the rim in plain view. Carella yanked open the mirrored
door of the cabinet with his gloved right hand, and he and Kling leaned in over the sink, their eyes riffling the labels on
the various little brownish-orange, white-lidded plastic bottles on the shelves. Several of the drugs had been prescribed
for Charles Madden, another pretty good
sign that he’d
been living here. Most of them were prescriptions in Andrea’s name, though, the 250-milligram capsules of amoxicillin, and
the A.P.C. with codeine, and the 400-milligram tablets of meprohamate, and the Nasalcrom 4% spray, and the Donnatal, and the
500-milligram capsules of tetracycline, and the AVC cream and …

“There it is,” Kling said, and reached into the cabinet.

He rattled the container to see if there were any pills still in it, and then pried off the lid with his thumb. They were
looking at possibly a dozen capsules of Dalmane.

“All right,” Andrea said, appearing behind them in the bathroom doorway, “my lawyer’s …”

“You’re under arrest,” Carella said.

S
HE CALLED HER LAWYER AGAIN FROM THE SQUADROOM, TO
let him know she was now in a police station, and he promised to get there immediately. It was now almost ten P.m. and he
still wasn’t there. They asked Andrea if she’d like a cup of coffee or something, and she told them to go to hell. They had
already recited Miranda to her and presumably she now understood her rights, which is why she refused to say anything but
“Go to hell” until her lawyer got here. She’d already told them his name was Hollis Foley, and that he’d be bringing with
him a criminal lawyer whose name she didn’t know, so
they
should be expecting
two
attorneys to show up at any moment.

“Meanwhile, just leave me the hell alone,” she said, which was a rough equivalent of “Go to hell” again.

Kling went to his desk to call Sharyn. He was still on the phone when Andrea’s attorneys arrived at ten twenty-five, both
of them brusque and businesslike, her personal attorney immediately asking Andrea if she was all right. The criminal lawyer
introduced himself to the detectives—his name was Felix Bertinotti—and then asked why his client had been arrested. Carella
explained that they planned to charge Miss Packer with second-degree murder, and the lawyer at once advised Andrea not to
answer any questions. Andrea wanted to know if that wouldn’t look bad for her, and Bertinotti counseled that her silence could
in no way be considered prejudicial if or when this specious case ever came to trial. He was already spouting “Innocent Client”
talk even though there wasn’t a television camera in sight. Andrea insisted that she hadn’t done anything and therefore had
nothing to fear from the police, so why
couldn’t
she answer whatever questions they had? The cops stood by, saying nothing. The decision was for Andrea and her attorney to
make. As Carella had mentioned earlier, this
was
America, after all.

“May we please talk to Miss Packer privately?” Bertinotti asked, at which point Carella and Kling and Lieutenant Byrnes—who
had come in when he’d learned of the arrest—debated whether or not they should get the D.A.’s Office in on this right now,
or wait until they were sure they had real meat here. They decided to wait. Andrea and her lawyers did not finish deliberating
till a quarter past eleven.

“Miss Packer has decided to answer your questions,” Bertinotti announced, which came as a surprise to Carella. He could never
understand why it was always the hardened criminals who took full advantage of Miranda and refused to give you even the right
time, whereas the amateurs always figured they could beat you at your own game. Or maybe Andrea figured this was the role
of a lifetime and was now relishing the opportunity to give an Academy Award performance that would prove she was something
more than just another pretty face. Besides, she had two attorneys here with her to call off all bets if the going got rough,
so maybe she figured she had nothing to lose. Though her personal attorney clearly knew nothing about criminal law and would
be as useful to her as an onstage telephone that didn’t ring when it was supposed to.

They read Andrea her rights yet another time and ascertained that she understood them and was willing to answer their questions.
She was still in the clothes she had worn to rehearsal, blue jeans, loafers, and a lemon-colored T-shirt. Her long blond hair
was pulled back into a ponytail and she was wearing no makeup. Carella wondered if they should offer her a lollipop.

“Miss Packer,” he said, “I wonder if you can tell us where you were last night at about this time?”

The clock on the wall of the interrogation room now read eleven-eighteen
P.M.
Andrea sat at the head of the long narrow table, her attorneys flanking her right and left. A police stenographer was sitting
alongside Bertinotti, taking notes. Kling was sitting beside him and across the table from Byrnes. Carella was standing. He
worked best on his feet.

“I was home,” Andrea said.

“Home is where?” Carella asked.

“Home is where you barged in earlier tonight,” she said angrily, and snapped a look first at him and then at Kling.

“There was a search warrant,” Carella told Bertinotti, and smiled. “No doors broken down, Counselor.”

Bertinotti did not return the smile. Instead, he shrugged as if he didn’t believe Carella. He was wearing a dark blue suit,
as was Andrea’s other attorney, and it looked as if he had freshly shaved before coming over here. Carella guessed he was
expecting TV cameras outside, though at two hundred pounds and some five feet eight inches, one would have thought he’d try
to avoid such exposure.

“What I was asking for was your address,” Carella said pleasantly. “For the record.”

“You
have
my address.”

“Would it be … ?”

He picked up the arrest form.

“… 714 South Hedley Avenue, apartment 4C?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you. And you were there last night between what time and what time?”

“I got home from rehearsal at eight. I didn’t go out again after that.”

“Was Charles Madden at that rehearsal?”

“He was. He’s our stage manager.”

“
Was
your stage manager,” Carella corrected, just to keep this thing in perspective.

“Yes.”

“Did he go home with you from the theater?”

“No.”

“But you
were
living together, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“How long had he been living in your apartment, Miss Packer?”

“Since the beginning of March.”

“Since the first of March?”

“No, the sixth, the seventh, around then.”

“Where did he live before then?”

“He had an apartment on River Street.
Still
had it until … well.”