she curls into an
unresponsive ball beneath the sheets, and our hand is on her rich hip. We can
feel life there, but we do not know her. She is faceless and featureless in the
dark. She could be any city, any woman, anywhere. We touch her uncertainly.
She has pulled the black nightgown of early morning around her, and we do not
know her. She is a stranger, and her eyes are closed.
The
landlady was frightened by the presence of policemen, even though she had
summoned them. The taller one, the one who called himself Detective Hawes, was
a redheaded giant with a white streak in his hair, a horror if she’d ever seen
one. The landlady stood in the apartment where the girl lay dead on the rug,
and she talked to the detectives in whispers, not because she was in the presence
of death, but only because it was three o’clock in the morning. The landlady
was wearing a bathrobe over her gown. There was an intimacy to the scene, the
same intimacy that hangs alike over an impending fishing trip or a completed
tragedy. Three a.m. is a time for slumber, and those who are awake while the
city sleeps share a common bond that makes them friendly aliens.
“What’s
the girl’s name?” Carella asked. It was three o’clock in the morning, and he
had not shaved since 5 p.m. the day before, but his chin looked smooth. His
eyes slanted slightly downward, combining with his clean-shaven face to give
him a curiously oriental appearance. The landlady liked him. He was a nice
boy, she thought. In her lexicon the men of the world were either “nice boys”
or “louses.” She wasn’t sure about Cotton Hawes yet, but she imagined he was a
parasitic insect.
“Claudia
Davis,” she answered, directing the answer to Carella whom she liked, and
totally ignoring Hawes who had no right to be so big a man with a frightening
white streak in his hair.
“Do you
know how old she was?” Carella asked.
“Twenty-eight
or twenty-nine, I think.”
“Had
she been living here long?”
“Since
June,” the landlady said.
“That
short a time, huh?”
“And this has to happen,” the landlady said. “She seemed like such a nice girl. Who
do you suppose did it?”
“I don’t
know,” Carella said.
“Or do
you think it was suicide? I don’t smell no gas, do you?”
“No,”
Carella said. “Do you know where she lived before this, Mrs. Mauder?”
“No, I
don’t.”
“You
didn’t ask for references when she took the apartment?”
“It’s
only a furnished room,” Mrs. Mauder said, shrugging. “She paid me a month’s
rent in advance.”
“How
much was that, Mrs. Mauder?”
“Sixty
dollars. She paid it in cash. I never take checks from strangers.”
“But
you have no idea whether she’s from this city, or out of town, or whatever. Am
I right?”
“Yes,
that’s right.”
“Davis,”
Hawes said, shaking his head.
“That’ll
be a tough name to track down, Steve. Must be a thousand of them in the phone
book.”
“Why is
your hair white?” the landlady asked.
“Huh?”
“That
streak.”
“Oh.”
Hawes unconsciously touched his left temple. “I got knifed once,” he said,
dismissing the question abruptly. “Mrs. Mauder, was the girl living alone?”
“I don’t
know. I mind my own business.”
“Well,
surely you would have seen… “
“I
think she was living alone. I don’t pry, and I don’t spy. She gave me a month’s
rent in advance.”
Hawes
sighed. He could feel the woman’s hostility. He decided to leave the
questioning to Carella. “I’ll take a look through the drawers and closets,” he
said, and moved off without waiting for Carella’s answer.
“It’s
awfully hot in here,” Carella said.
“The
patrolman said we shouldn’t touch anything until you got here,” Mrs. Mauder
said. “That’s why I didn’t open the windows or nothing.”
“That
was very
unresponsive ball beneath the sheets, and our hand is on her rich hip. We can
feel life there, but we do not know her. She is faceless and featureless in the
dark. She could be any city, any woman, anywhere. We touch her uncertainly.
She has pulled the black nightgown of early morning around her, and we do not
know her. She is a stranger, and her eyes are closed.
The
landlady was frightened by the presence of policemen, even though she had
summoned them. The taller one, the one who called himself Detective Hawes, was
a redheaded giant with a white streak in his hair, a horror if she’d ever seen
one. The landlady stood in the apartment where the girl lay dead on the rug,
and she talked to the detectives in whispers, not because she was in the presence
of death, but only because it was three o’clock in the morning. The landlady
was wearing a bathrobe over her gown. There was an intimacy to the scene, the
same intimacy that hangs alike over an impending fishing trip or a completed
tragedy. Three a.m. is a time for slumber, and those who are awake while the
city sleeps share a common bond that makes them friendly aliens.
“What’s
the girl’s name?” Carella asked. It was three o’clock in the morning, and he
had not shaved since 5 p.m. the day before, but his chin looked smooth. His
eyes slanted slightly downward, combining with his clean-shaven face to give
him a curiously oriental appearance. The landlady liked him. He was a nice
boy, she thought. In her lexicon the men of the world were either “nice boys”
or “louses.” She wasn’t sure about Cotton Hawes yet, but she imagined he was a
parasitic insect.
“Claudia
Davis,” she answered, directing the answer to Carella whom she liked, and
totally ignoring Hawes who had no right to be so big a man with a frightening
white streak in his hair.
“Do you
know how old she was?” Carella asked.
“Twenty-eight
or twenty-nine, I think.”
“Had
she been living here long?”
“Since
June,” the landlady said.
“That
short a time, huh?”
“And this has to happen,” the landlady said. “She seemed like such a nice girl. Who
do you suppose did it?”
“I don’t
know,” Carella said.
“Or do
you think it was suicide? I don’t smell no gas, do you?”
“No,”
Carella said. “Do you know where she lived before this, Mrs. Mauder?”
“No, I
don’t.”
“You
didn’t ask for references when she took the apartment?”
“It’s
only a furnished room,” Mrs. Mauder said, shrugging. “She paid me a month’s
rent in advance.”
“How
much was that, Mrs. Mauder?”
“Sixty
dollars. She paid it in cash. I never take checks from strangers.”
“But
you have no idea whether she’s from this city, or out of town, or whatever. Am
I right?”
“Yes,
that’s right.”
“Davis,”
Hawes said, shaking his head.
“That’ll
be a tough name to track down, Steve. Must be a thousand of them in the phone
book.”
“Why is
your hair white?” the landlady asked.
“Huh?”
“That
streak.”
“Oh.”
Hawes unconsciously touched his left temple. “I got knifed once,” he said,
dismissing the question abruptly. “Mrs. Mauder, was the girl living alone?”
“I don’t
know. I mind my own business.”
“Well,
surely you would have seen… “
“I
think she was living alone. I don’t pry, and I don’t spy. She gave me a month’s
rent in advance.”
Hawes
sighed. He could feel the woman’s hostility. He decided to leave the
questioning to Carella. “I’ll take a look through the drawers and closets,” he
said, and moved off without waiting for Carella’s answer.
“It’s
awfully hot in here,” Carella said.
“The
patrolman said we shouldn’t touch anything until you got here,” Mrs. Mauder
said. “That’s why I didn’t open the windows or nothing.”
“That
was very
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