I had just pulled the last page of Cop Hater out of the typewriter. I read the final lines and sat there thinking for several moments. I used to work in the back bedroom of a development house on Long Island. I walked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, where my former wife was spoon-feeding our infant twins. I said, “How’s Ed McBain?” She said, “Good,” and went back to feeding the twins. So here’s Cop Hater. By Ed McBain. The first of them.
