“The Boulevard and a Hundred Twelfth.”
“Raleigh Boulevard?”
“Yes.”
Abbas knew the neighborhood. It was residential and safe, even at this hour. He would not drive anyone to neighborhoods that he knew to be dangerous. He would not pick up black men, even if they were accompanied by women. Nowadays, he would not pick up anyone who looked Jewish. If you asked him how he knew whether a person was Jewish or not, he would tell you he just knew. This man dressed all in black did not look Jewish.
“Let me open it,” he said, and took his keys from the right-hand pocket of his trousers. He turned the key in the door lock and was opening the door when, from the corner of his eye, he caught a glint of metal. Without turning, he reached for the bread knife tucked into the door’s pouch.
He was too late.
The man in black fired two shots directly into his face, killing him at once.
Then he ran off into the night.
“Changed his MO,” Byrnes said. “The others were shot from the back seat, single bullet to the base of the skull...”
“Not the one Tuesday night,” Parker said.
“Tuesday was a copycat,” Genero said.
“Maybe this one was, too,” Willis suggested.
“Not if Ballistics comes back with a match,” Meyer said.
The detectives fell silent.
They were each and separately hoping this newest murder would not trigger another suicide bombing someplace. The Task Force downtown still hadn’t been able to get a positive ID from the smoldering remains of the Merrie Coffee Bean bomber.
“Anybody see anything?” Byrnes asked.
“Patrons in the diner heard shots, but didn’t see the shooter.”
“Didn’t see him painting that blue star again?”
“I think they were afraid to go outside,” Carella said. “Nobody wants to get shot, Pete.”
“Gee, no kidding?” Byrnes said sourly.
“Also, the cab was parked all the way up the street, near the corner, some six cars back from the diner, on the same side of the street. The killer had to be standing on the passenger side...”
“Where he could see the driver’s hack license...” Eileen said.
“Arab name on it,” Kling said.
“Bingo, he had his victim.”
“Point is,” Carella said, “standing where he was, the people in the diner couldn’t have seen him.”
“Or just didn’t want to see him.”
“Well, sure.”
“Cause they could’ve seen him while he was painting the star,” Parker said.
“That’s right,” Byrnes said. “He had to’ve come around to the windshield.”
“They could’ve at least seen his back.”
“Tell us whether he was short, tall, what he was wearing...”
“But they didn’t.”
“Talk to them again.”
“We talked them deaf, dumb, and blind,” Meyer said.
“Talk to them again” Byrnes said. “And talk to anybody who was in those coffee shops, diners, delis, whatever, at the scenes of the other murders. These cabbies stop for coffee breaks, two, three in the morning, they go back to their cabs and get shot. That’s no coincidence. Our man knows their habits. And he’s a night-crawler. What’s with the Inverni kid? Did his alibi stand up?”
“Yeah, he was in bed with her,” Carella said.
“In bed with who?” Parker asked, interested.
“Judy Manzetti. It checked out.”
“Okay, so talk to everybody else again,” Byrnes said. “See who might’ve been lurking about, hanging around, casing these various sites before the murders were committed.”
“We did talk to everybody again,” Genero said.
“Talk to them again again!”
“They all say the same thing,” Meyer said. “It was a Jew who killed those drivers, all we have to do is look for a goddamn Jew.”
“You’re too fucking sensitive,” Parker said.
“I’m telling you what we’re getting. Anybody we talk to thinks it’s an open-and-shut case. All we have to do is round up every Jew in the city...”
“Take forever,” Parker said.
“What does that mean?”
“It means there are millions of Jews in this city.”
“And what does that mean?”
“It means you’re too fucking sensitive.”
“Knock it off,” Byrnes said.
“Anyway, Meyer’s right,” Genero said. “That’s what we got, too. You know that, Andy.”
“What do I know?” Parker said, glaring at Meyer.
“They keep telling us all we have to do is find the Jew who shot those guys in the head.”
“Who told you that?” Carella said at once.
Genero looked startled.
“Who told you they got shot in the head?”
“Well... they all did.”
“No,” Parker said. “It was just the cousin, whatever the fuck his name was.”
“What cousin?”
“The second vie. His cousin.”
“Salim Nazir? His cousin?”
“Yeah, Ozzie something.”
“Osman,” Carella said. “Osman Kiraz.”
“That’s the one.”
“And he said these cabbies were shot in the head?”
“Said his cousin was.”
“Told us to stop looking for zebras.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Byrnes asked.
“Told us to just find the Jew who shot his cousin in the head.”
“The fucking Jew,” Parker said.
Meyer looked at him.
“Were his exact words,” Parker said, and shrugged.
“How did he know?” Carella asked.
“Go get him,” Byrnes said.
Ozzie Kariz was asleep when they knocked on his door at nine-fifteen that Wednesday morning. Bleary-eyed and unshaven, he came to the door in pajamas over which he had thrown a shaggy blue robe, and explained that he worked at the pharmacy until midnight each night and did not get home until one, one-thirty, so he normally slept late each morning.
“May we come in?” Carella asked.
“Yes, sure,” Kariz said, “but we’ll have to be quiet, please. My wife is still asleep.”
They went into a small kitchen and sat at a wooden table painted green.
“So what’s up?” Kariz asked.
“Few more questions we’d like to ask you.”
“Again?” Kariz said. “I told those other two... what were their names?”
“Genero and Parker.”
“I told them I didn’t know any of my cousin’s girlfriends. Or even their names.”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with his girlfriends,” Carella said.
“Oh? Something new then? Is there some new development?”
“Yes. Another cab driver was killed last night.”
“Oh?”
“You didn’t know that.”
“No.”
“It’s already on television.”
“I’ve been asleep.”
“Of course.”
“Was he a Muslim?”
“Yes.”
“And was there another...?”
“Yes, another Jewish star on the windshield.”
“This is bad,” Kiraz said. “These killings, the bombings...”
“Mr. Kiraz,” Meyer said, “can you tell us where you were at three o’clock this morning?”
“Is that when it happened?”
“Yes, that’s exactly when it happened.”
“Where?”
“You tell us,” Carella said.
Kiraz looked at them.
“What is this?” he asked.
“How’d you know your cousin was shot in the head?” Meyer asked.
“Was he?”
“That’s what you told Genero and Parker. You told them a Jew shot your cousin in the head. How did you...?”