"Hello. Carella there?"
"Who's this?"
"Atchison at the lab. Where's Carella?"
"Out. Can I take a message?"
"Yeah, I suppose so. What'd you say your name was?"
"Bert Kung."
"I don't think I know you."
"What difference does it make?" Kung asked.
"I like to know who I'm dealing with.
Listen, on thi Scott kill?"
"Yeah?"
"Sam Grossman gave me some photos to study. Of th door jamb?"
"Yeah?"
"You familiar with the door jamb?"
"Carella's talked to me about it. Give me the information and I'll pass it on to him."
"What's your hurry? Don't you like conversation?"
"I dote on it. But we're a little busy here right now."
"I like conversation," Atchison said.
"Breaks the manotony You should have to sit here all day with tel tubes and photoeraphs and fluorescent light. You shoul' have to examine clothes that stink of blood and pus an' piss all day long. Then you wouldn't mind a little conversation."
"I bleed for you," Kung said.
"What about the door jamb?"
"I should be home right now. Instead, I've been blowing up pictures all day long, trying to help you mugs. That's the gratitude I get."
"I'll send you some of my old laundry so you can check for laundry marks. How's that?" Kung said.
"That's very funny. Be sure it's unwashed laundry, like the kind we always get. The kind that stinks of blood and pus and ..
"Yeah, I get the picture."
"What'd you say your name was?"
"Bert Kung."
"You're a comedian, huh, Kung?"
"Kung and Cohen, haven't you heard of us?"
"No," Atchison said flatly.
"Bird calls, dance routines, and snappy patter. We play bar mitzvahs and Irish weddings. You've never heard of Kung and Cohen?"
"Never. Is that supposed to be another joke?"
"Fm making conversation. That's what you're hungry for, isn't it?"
"Don't be so damn obliging. Someday you'll come in here and want a favor, and I'll throw a bag of laundry at you."
"What about the door jamb?"
"Maybe I shouldn't even tell you. Let you sweat it out on your ~ "Okay, suit yourself."
"Sure, and Sam would blow a gasket.
What's with him and this Carella? You'd think he was his son-in-law or something, the way he's knocking himself out here."
"No,~~ Kung said.
"Steve's his father.
There's a strong father-son relationship there."
There was a long pause on the line. Then, in a flat voice, Atchison said, "For the sake of the act, I hope Cohen is funnier than you.
You want to take down this dope?"
"I've been waiting," Kung said.
"Okay. I blew up the photos and studied them. There are markings on the inside of the door jamb, where the lock was hanging loose. It was hanging by one screw, do you follow, allegedly snapped off when the guys there used a crowbar on the door."
"Go ahead."
"Well, it looks at though somebody used either a chisel or a screwdriver to pry that lock loose from the inside."
"What are you saying?"
"That the crowbar used on the outside didn't rip that lock loose. There's evidence that it was torn off from the inside. The jamb's all marked up. The guy who did it was probably in pretty much of a hurry."
"You're saying the door wasn't locked."
"That's what I'm saying."
"Then why couldn't they open it?"
"That's the sixty-four dollar question, Mr.
Kung Why couldn't three strong guys open a door that wasn't locked? We thought maybe the body hanging like that~ held it closed. But three strong men could have pulled it open in spite of the body. Either that, or the rope would have snapped. So it ain't that."
"Then what is it?"
"Tell you what you do," Atchison said.
"Yeah."
"Ask Cohen," and he hung up.
Kung replaced the receiver on the cradle, Virgini2 Dodge put down her phone.
"Is there any way of reaching Carella?"
she asked.
"No. I don't know where he is," Byrnes lied, "Shouldn't he have all this informatioa that's pourin~ in?"
"Yes."
"Then why don't you call to give it to him?"
"Because I don't know where he is."
"Wouldn't he be at this Scott house?
That's where the murder was committed, isn't it?"
"Yes, that's right. But if he's interrogating suspects, he could be anywhere."
"Why don't we try the Scot house?"
"What for?"
"Because if he's there, I want you to tell him to come back to the station house immediately. It's hot as hell in here, and I'm getting tired of waiting."
"I don't think he's there," Byrnes said quickly, "Besides, if I pull him back to the squad, he'll think something's fishy."
"Why should he think that?"
"Even you should realize that homicide gets priority Over anything else."
Virginia Dodge thought this over for a moment.
"I wish I knew whether or not you're lying," she said. But she did not ask Byrnes to make the call.
Sitting behind the high desk downstairs in the muster room, the desk which looked almost like a judge's altar of justice, the desk which had a sign requesting all visitors to stop there and state their business, Dave Murchison looked through the open doors of the station house to the street outside.
It was a beautiful night, and he wondered what ordinary citizens were doing on a night like this. Walking through the park with their lovers? Screwing with the windows open? Playng bingo or mahjongg or footsie?
They certainly weren't sitting behind a desk answering telephones.
Now what the hell had the lieutenant meant?
Murchison tried to reconstruct the dialogue in his own mind. He had gone upstairs to see what the hell the noise had been about, and the loot had said it was just an accident, and he had said something about well, so long as everything's okay, and the loot had said yes, everything's fine or something like that and then ... now here was the important part, so let's get it straight.
He had said to the loot, "Well, long as everything's okay. I'll be seeing you, Pete."
And Byrnes had answered, "Forthwith."
Now that was a very strange answer for the loot to give him because in police jargon "Forthwith" meant "Report immediately."
Now flow could tie report immediately it He was ai read standing there in front of the lieutenant?