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Savage said understandingly. Carella glanced at his watch again. “Where does she live?” “Riverhead,” Carella said. “Theodora Franklin of Riverhead,” Savage said. “Yes.” “Well, I’ve appreciated listening to your ideas.” Carella rose. “None of that was for print, remember?” he said. “Of course not,” Savage assured him.
When he ate in a Chinese restaurant, he wanted it to look and feel Chinese. He did not appreciate an expanded, upholstered version of a Culver Avenue diner.
“How’s August nineteenth sound to you?” Teddy shrugged. “It’s a Saturday. Would you like to get married on a Saturday?” Yes, her eyes said.
Leo will roar—sleep no more.
“What the hell kind of crap is this, Carella?” “What?” “Today’s issue of this…this goddamn rag!” he shouted, pointing to the afternoon tabloid on his desk. “August fourth!”
Sure enough, the story was on page four, and it was headlined: COP DEFIES DEPARTMENT “MAY KNOW MURDERER,” DETECTIVE SAYS
“If I ever meet this guy Savage again,” Carella promised, “I’m going to rip him in half.” “Or at least give him a speeding ticket,” Byrnes commented.
He had read the name very carefully in the newspaper, Theodora Franklin, and then he had checked the Riverhead directory and come up with the address. He wanted to talk to this girl. He wanted to find out how much Carella knew. He had to find out.
She tried to slam the door, but he rammed his foot into the wedge and then shoved it back.
“What does Carella know?” he asked. She shook her head.
“Lies, huh?” Yes, she nodded. His eyes narrowed. “Newspapers don’t lie,” he said. They do, they do!
“A woman gets under your skin. Some women are like that. Listen, I’ve been around. I’ve been around plenty. I had me more dames than you could count. But this one—different. Different right from the beginning. She just got under my skin. Right under it. When it gets you like that, you can’t eat, you can’t sleep, nothing. You just think about her all day long. And what can you do when you realize you can’t really have her unless…well…unless you…Hell, didn’t she ask him for a divorce? Is it my fault he was a stubborn son of a bitch? Well, he’s still stubborn—only now he’s dead.”
Teddy watched the knob with fascination. She rose suddenly. She brought back her glass and then threw it at him. It grazed his forehead, the liquid splashing out of the glass and cascading over his shoulder. He leaped to his feet, his face twisted in fury, the .45 pointed at her. “You stupid bitch!” he bellowed. “Why the hell did you do that?”
Carella left the precinct at 6:30 on the button.
He did not want to leave Teddy alone in that apartment, not after the fool stunt Savage had pulled.
He stopped outside her door. He could hear the persistent drone of what sounded like the radio going inside. He reached for the knob. In his usual manner, he twisted it slowly from side to side, waiting for her footsteps, knowing she would come to the door the moment she saw his signal.
“You bastard,” the man on the floor said. “You bastard.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Carella said. He turned to the man again. “Get up!”
“What’s your name?” Carella asked. “Mercer. Paul Mercer.”
“She put me up to it,” Mercer said, a scowl on his dark face. “She’s the real murderer. All I done was pull the trigger. She said we had to kill him, said it was the only way. We threw the others in just to make it look good, just to make it look as if a cop hater was loose. But it was her idea. Why should I take the rap alone?” “Whose idea?” Carella asked. “Alice’s,” Mercer said. “You see…We wanted to make it look like a cop hater. We wanted—”
“Don’t get glib, Alice!” Carella said angrily. “I’ve never hit a woman in my life, but I swear to God—” “Relax,” she told him. “It’s all over. You’ll get your gold star, and then you’ll—”
“What the hell do you want me to do? Break down and cry? I hated him, all right? I hated his big, pawing hands, and I hated his stupid red hair, and I hated everything about him, all right?”
“No, I didn’t ask for a divorce. Hank would’ve never agreed to one.” “Why didn’t you give him a chance?”
“You could’ve asked for a divorce, Alice. You could’ve tried.” “I didn’t want to, damn it. I wanted him dead.”
The jury had found them both guilty of murder in the first degree, and the judge sentenced them to death in the electric chair.
On August 19, Stephen Carella and Theodora Franklin listened to their own sentence. “Do either of you know of any reason why you both should not be legally joined in marriage, or if there be any present who can show any just cause why these parties should not be legally joined together, let him now speak or hereafter hold his peace.”
Teddy came to him. He put his arm around her. “Well,” he said, “let’s go.”
HEAT WAVE BREAKS! HAPPY DAY!
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