rule." ( Burden of Guilt )
Â
Wheeler doesn't spend all his time dealing, or trying to deal, with sex. He does attend to business now and then:
Â
"Yes?" The word exploded out of him like I had just punched him in the solar plexus.
"I'm Lieutenant Wheeler, from the sheriff's office," I told him.
"Only a lieutenant?" He sounded bitterly disappointed. "Is that the best they could do?"
"This is Pine City County," I snarled, "and here, with a homicide, you get me. If you don't like the idea, you can always take your corpse someplace else and start over." ( Burden of Guilt )
Â
"Haven't found your murderer yet?" she asked.
"I was just figuring," I said. "Maybe it's an inside job, one of those least-probable-suspect capers. You get around much in a sarong, carrying a blowpipe in your dainty little hand?"
"Maybe it's high fashion  in Waikiki," she said
sweetly, "but in li'l ole Virginny where I come from,
they'd figure right off a girl was ailing and feed her hot molasses until she started wearing white cotton dresses again."
"They could blame it on the hot sun," I said absently. "The sudden heatâhey! That gives me an idea!"
"Hang onto it quick, honey-chile," she said excitedly. "With you, this doesn't happen very often."
"I'm going to make like that li'l ole sun," I said, "and turn on some heat." ( The Brazen )
Â
"I keep on getting this recurring symptom," I said, "every time I listen to you run off at the mouth. It starts with a feeling of great restlessness and impatience. After awhile . . . comes this almost irresistible impulse to smack you in the mouth. You figure I'm sickening for something?"
"Moronic egotisis," he said promptly. "It's a common disease among morons such as yourself. . .
"How come you're a doctor and still know nothing?" I asked in a wondering voice.
"It wasn't easy," he said. "For the first three years I kept on wondering why everybody figured I was a chiropodist, then I realized I'd hung my shingle upside-down."
"When can you do the autopsy?" I asked, because I know when I'm licked.
"Later this morning," he said. "It looks like a nice day for it."
"You ever look in a mirror and find you're not there?" I muttered.
"And I drink Bloody Marys, with real blood," he said happily. "It's a fun profession, medicine. . .
"So why don't you just flap your wings and fly away?" I suggested. ( Wheeler Fortune )
Â
Wheeler isn't exactly a lone-wolf cop, nor does he do all his bantering with women, male suspects, and coroners. He is forever at odds with Sheriff Layers, his superior, who doesn't care for Wheeler's decorum. And in his early capers, he is forever exchanging quips with a sometime partner named Sergeant Polnik, who just may be the stupidest cop in the history of the roman policier. (Yates must have felt sorry for poor dumb Polnik along about 1970; in Burden of Guilt , published that year, he mercifully killed him off.)
Here is a typical Wheeler/Polnik exchange from a 1963 novel:
Â
"Since when did you get around to using all those two-syllable words?"
"So that's what they were?" he said in a respectful voice. "I didn't know, even, the doctor was talking dirty." He edged closer toward me and lowered his voice to a confidential roar. "Say, Lieutenant? What does that 'gamut' mean, exactly?"
"I'd like to explain but I don't think you're old en,geant," I said quickly. . . .
"Lieutenant, how come you know what it means and you got to be at least ten years younger than me?"
"I had a lousy home life," I said. . . . "I want you to stay here, Sergeant. Check the guards on the gate. Find out who was on duty through the night and if they heard or saw anything unusual. Then check the records on Nina Ross. . . ."
"Sure, Lieutenant." The muscles in his jaw stiffened dutifully. "I got just one question. Who is Nina Ross?"
"The girl who was murdered!" I tried hard but I couldn't keep a note of shrill hysteria out of my voice.
"Cheez! You sure had me worried there, Lieutenant. I figured it was maybe
Â
Wheeler doesn't spend all his time dealing, or trying to deal, with sex. He does attend to business now and then:
Â
"Yes?" The word exploded out of him like I had just punched him in the solar plexus.
"I'm Lieutenant Wheeler, from the sheriff's office," I told him.
"Only a lieutenant?" He sounded bitterly disappointed. "Is that the best they could do?"
"This is Pine City County," I snarled, "and here, with a homicide, you get me. If you don't like the idea, you can always take your corpse someplace else and start over." ( Burden of Guilt )
Â
"Haven't found your murderer yet?" she asked.
"I was just figuring," I said. "Maybe it's an inside job, one of those least-probable-suspect capers. You get around much in a sarong, carrying a blowpipe in your dainty little hand?"
"Maybe it's high fashion  in Waikiki," she said
sweetly, "but in li'l ole Virginny where I come from,
they'd figure right off a girl was ailing and feed her hot molasses until she started wearing white cotton dresses again."
"They could blame it on the hot sun," I said absently. "The sudden heatâhey! That gives me an idea!"
"Hang onto it quick, honey-chile," she said excitedly. "With you, this doesn't happen very often."
"I'm going to make like that li'l ole sun," I said, "and turn on some heat." ( The Brazen )
Â
"I keep on getting this recurring symptom," I said, "every time I listen to you run off at the mouth. It starts with a feeling of great restlessness and impatience. After awhile . . . comes this almost irresistible impulse to smack you in the mouth. You figure I'm sickening for something?"
"Moronic egotisis," he said promptly. "It's a common disease among morons such as yourself. . .
"How come you're a doctor and still know nothing?" I asked in a wondering voice.
"It wasn't easy," he said. "For the first three years I kept on wondering why everybody figured I was a chiropodist, then I realized I'd hung my shingle upside-down."
"When can you do the autopsy?" I asked, because I know when I'm licked.
"Later this morning," he said. "It looks like a nice day for it."
"You ever look in a mirror and find you're not there?" I muttered.
"And I drink Bloody Marys, with real blood," he said happily. "It's a fun profession, medicine. . .
"So why don't you just flap your wings and fly away?" I suggested. ( Wheeler Fortune )
Â
Wheeler isn't exactly a lone-wolf cop, nor does he do all his bantering with women, male suspects, and coroners. He is forever at odds with Sheriff Layers, his superior, who doesn't care for Wheeler's decorum. And in his early capers, he is forever exchanging quips with a sometime partner named Sergeant Polnik, who just may be the stupidest cop in the history of the roman policier. (Yates must have felt sorry for poor dumb Polnik along about 1970; in Burden of Guilt , published that year, he mercifully killed him off.)
Here is a typical Wheeler/Polnik exchange from a 1963 novel:
Â
"Since when did you get around to using all those two-syllable words?"
"So that's what they were?" he said in a respectful voice. "I didn't know, even, the doctor was talking dirty." He edged closer toward me and lowered his voice to a confidential roar. "Say, Lieutenant? What does that 'gamut' mean, exactly?"
"I'd like to explain but I don't think you're old en,geant," I said quickly. . . .
"Lieutenant, how come you know what it means and you got to be at least ten years younger than me?"
"I had a lousy home life," I said. . . . "I want you to stay here, Sergeant. Check the guards on the gate. Find out who was on duty through the night and if they heard or saw anything unusual. Then check the records on Nina Ross. . . ."
"Sure, Lieutenant." The muscles in his jaw stiffened dutifully. "I got just one question. Who is Nina Ross?"
"The girl who was murdered!" I tried hard but I couldn't keep a note of shrill hysteria out of my voice.
"Cheez! You sure had me worried there, Lieutenant. I figured it was maybe
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