The Crazy Kill Part 4

"Youd better get into the wagon," a white patrol cop said, approaching Dulcy. Grave Digger gestured him back.

Johnny escorted Dulcy toward his parked Cadillac convertible as though she were an invalid.

When Alamena came out, she stepped from line, walked quickly to the Cadillac and got in beside Dulcy.

No one said anything to her.

Johnny started the motor, but was held up for a moment by a car from the coroner's office that had stopped in front of him. The a.s.sistant coroner got out with his black bag and walked toward the body. Two cops came from the apartment entrance with Mamie Pullen and Reverend Short.

"Over here," Alamena called.

"Thank G.o.d," Mamie said. She made her way slowly between the parked cars and climbed into the back seat.

"There's room for you too, Reverend Short," Alamena called.

"I'll not ride with a murderer," he replied in his croaking voice, and went tottering toward the second of the wagons that had just pulled up.

The eyes of every cop went quickly from his face toward the occupants of the cream-colored Cadillac.

"Take your curse off me!" Dulcey screamed, becoming hysterical again.

"Shut up!" Alamena said harshly.

Johnny s.h.i.+fted into drive without looking around, and the big s.h.i.+ny car moved slowly off. The small black battered sedan bearing Coffin Ed and Grave Digger followed close behind.

6.

The preliminary questioning was made by another sergeant, Detective Sergeant Brody from dowtown Homicide, with the precinct detectives, Grave Digger Jones and Coffin Ed Johnson, a.s.sisting.

The questioning was conducted in a soundproof room without windows on the first floor. This room was known to the Harlem underworld as the "Pigeon Nest." It was said that no matter how tough an egg was, if they kept him in there long enough he would hatch out a pigeon.

The room was lit by the hot bright glare of a threehundred-watt spotlight focused on a low wooden stool bolted to the boards in the center of the bare wooden floor. The seat of the stool was s.h.i.+ny from the squirming of countless suspects who had sat on it.

Sergeant Brody sat with his elbows propped atop a big battered flat-topped desk that stood along the inner wall beside the door. The desk was beyond the edge of shadow that screened the interrogator from the suspects sizzling in the glaring light.

At one end of the desk, a police reporter sat in a straight-backed chair with his notebook on the desk in front of him.

Coffin Ed made a tall indistinct shadow in the corner behind.

Grave Digger stood at the other end of the desk, his foot propped on the one remaining chair. Both had kept on their hats.

The princ.i.p.als--Val's friends and intimates, Johnny and Dulcy Perry, Maniie Pullen, Reverend Short and c.h.i.n.k Charlie--were being held upstairs in the detective bureau for the last.

The others had been herded into the bull pen downstairs and were brought out four at a time and lined abreast in the circle of light.

The sight of the corpse and the subsequent ride in the wagon had sobered them too suddenly. They were sweaty and evil, men and women alike, their haggard, van-colored faces looking like African war masks in the dead white light.

After their names, addresses and occupations had been taken, Sergeant Brody asked them routine questions in a pa.s.sionless copper's voice: "Were there any arguments at the wake? Fights? Did any of you hear anyone mention Valentine Haines's name? Did any of you see c.h.i.n.k Charlie Dawson leave the room? What time? Was he alone? Did Doll Baby leave with him? Before? After?

"Did any of you see Reverend Short leave the house? Leave the sitting room? Go into the bedroom? Did you notice whether the bedroom door was open or closed most of the evening? How much time elapsed between the time he disappeared until his return?

"Did any of you notice Dulcy Perry leave the house? Before or after Reverend Short returned?

"How much time elapsed between Reverend Short's return and when all of you went to the window to look for the bread basket? Five minutes? More? Less? Did anyone else leave during that time? Do any of you know if Val had any enemies? Anyone who might have had a grudge against him? Was he in any kind of trouble?"

There were seven men in the pickup who hadn't been at the wake. Brody asked if they'd seen anyone fall from the third-story-front window; if they'd seen anyone pa.s.sing along the street, walking or in a car. None admitted seeing anything. All swore that they'd been inside of their homes, in bed, and had gone out on the street after the patrol cars arrived.

"Did any of you hear anyone cry out?" Brody asked. "Hear the sound of a car pa.s.sing? Any strange sound of any kind?"

His questions all drew negatives.

"All right, all right," he growled. "All of you were in bed, sleeping the sleep of the righteous, dreaming about the angels in heaven--you didn't see anything, didn't hear anything, and you don't know anything. All right. .

All were asked to identify the murder knife, which Brody exhibited to each group. None did.

In between the questions and the answers, the stylo of the police reporter was heard scratching on sheet after sheet of foolscap paper.

The contents of each person's pockets had been dumped on top of the desk as each group was ushered in. The sergeant examined only the knives. When the blades exceeded the two inches allowed by law, he inserted them into the crevice between the top of the center drawer and the desk top and broke them with a slight downward pressure. As time went on broken blades piled up inside the drawer.

When he'd finished with the last group, Brody looked at his watch.

"Two hours and seventeen minutes," he said. "And all I've learned so far is that the folks here in Harlem are so respectable their fingers don't stink."

"What did you expect?" Coffin Ed asked. "For somebody to say they did it?"

"Do you want me to read the transcript?" the police reporter asked.

"h.e.l.l no. The coroner's report says the victim was killed where he lay. But n.o.body saw him arrive. n.o.body remembers exactly when c.h.i.n.k Charlie left the flat. n.o.body knows when Dulcy Perry left. n.o.body knows for certain whether Reverend Short even fell out of the G.o.dd.a.m.ned window. Do you believe that, Digger?"

"Why not? This is Harlem, where anything can happen."

"We people here in Harlem will believe anything," Coffin Ed said.

"You're not trying to pull my leg, are you, pal?" Brody said dryly.

"I'm just trying to tell you that these people are not so simple as you think," Coffin Ed replied. "You're trying to find the murderer. All right, I'll believe anybody did it if we get enough proof."

"Okay, fine," Brody said. "Bring in Mamie Pullen."

When Grave Digger escorted Mamie into the room, he placed the chair he'd been Using for a footrest in a comfortable position so she could lean an arm on the desk if she wished, then went over and adjusted the light so it wouldn't bother her.

Sergeant Brody's first glance had taken in the black satin dress with its skirt that dragged the floor, reminiscent of the rigid uniform of wh.o.r.ehouse madams in the 1920's. He'd gotten a peep at the toes of the men's straight-last shoes protruding from beneath. His gaze remained longer on the two-carat diamond in the platinum band encircling her gnarled brown ring finger, and rested for an appreciable time on the white jade necklace that dropped to her waist like a greatly cherished rosary with a black onyx cross attached to the end. Then he looked at the old brown face, lined with grief and worry, sagging in loose folds beneath the tight knot of short, straightened, graystreaked hair.

"This is Sergeant Brody, Aunt Mamie," Grave Digger said. "He must ask you a few questions."

"How do you do, Mr. Brody," she said, sticking her gnarled unadorned right hand across the desk.

"It's a bad business, Mrs. Pullen," the sergeant said, shaking her hand.

"It looks like one death always calls for another," she said. "Been that way ever since I could remember. One person dies and then there ain't no end. I guess that's the way G.o.d planned it."

Then she looked up to see the face of the cop who had been so gentle with her, and exclaimed, "Lord bless my soul, you're little Digger Jones. I've known you ever since you were a little shavetail kid on 116th Street. I didn't know you were the one they called Grave Digger."

Grave Digger grinned sheepishly, like a little boy caught stealing apples.

"I've grown up now, Aunt Mamie."

"Doesn't time fly. As Big Joe always used to say; _Tempers fugits_. You must be all of thirty-five years old now."

"Thirty-six. And here's Eddy Johnson, too. He's my partner."

Coffin Ed stepped forward into the light. Mamie was stunned at sight of his face.

"G.o.d in heaven!" she exclaimed involuntarily. "What hap--" then caught herself.

"A hoodlum threw a gla.s.s of acid in my face." He shrugged. "Occupational hazard, Aunt Mamie. I'm a cop. I take my chances."

She apologized. "Now I remember reading about it, but I didn't know it was you. I hardly ever go anywhere, but just out with Big Joe, when he was alive." Then she added with sincerity, "I hope they put whoever did it in the jail and throw away the key."

"He's already buried, Aunt Mamie," Coffin Ed said.

Then Grave Digger said, "Ed's having skin grafted on his face from his thigh, but it takes time. It'll take about a year altogether before it's finished."

"Now, Mrs. Pullen," the sergeant inserted firmly, "suppose you just tell me in your own words what happened in your place last night, or rather this morning."

She sighed. "I'll tell you what I know."

When she'd finished her account, the sergeant said, "Well, at least that gives us a pretty clear picture of what actually happened inside of your house from the time Reverend Short returned upstairs until the body was discovered.

"Do you believe that Reverend Short fell from your bedroom window?"

"Oh, I believe that. There wasn't reason for him to say he'd fallen if he hadn't. 'Sides which, he was outside and n.o.body had seen him leave by the door."

"You don't think that's extraordinary? For him to fall out of a third-story window?"

"Well, sir, he's a frail man and given to having trances. He might have had a trance."

"Epilepsy?"

"No, sir, just religious trances. He sees visions."

"What kind of visions?"

"Oh, all kinds of visions. He preaches about them. He's a prophet, like Saint John the Divine."

Sergeant Brody was a Catholic and he looked bewildered.

Grave Digger explained, "Saint John the Divine is the prophet who saw the seven veils and the four hors.e.m.e.n of the apocalypse. The people here in Harlem have a great regard for Saint John. He was the only prophet who ever saw any winning numbers in his visions."

"The _Revelation_ is the fortune teller's Bible," Coffin Ed added.

"It's not only just that," Mamie said. "Saint John saw how wonderful it was in heaven and how terrible it was in h.e.l.l."

"Well now, to get back to this murder, would c.h.i.n.k Charlie have any reason to try to kill Reverend Short?" Brody questioned. "Other than the fact the Reverend was a prophet."

"No, sir, absolutely not. It was just that Reverend Short had the sense knocked out of him by his fall and didn't know what he was saying."

"But he and c.h.i.n.k had been arguing earlier."

"Not really arguing. Reverend Short and him was just disagreeing about the kind of people I had to the wake. But it weren't neither one of them's business."

"Is there bad blood between Dulcy and Reverend Short?"

"Bad blood? No, sir. It's just that Reverend Short thinks Dulcy needs saving and she just takes every chance to b.i.t.c.h him off. But I suspects he's carrying a secret torch for her, only he's shamed of it 'cause of him being a preacher and she being a married woman."

"How was the Reverend with Johnny and Val?"

"They all three respected one another's intentions and that's as far as it went."

"How long was it between the time Dulcy left the house and you went to the window and discovered the body?"

"It wasn't no time at all," she declared positively. "She hadn't even had time to get downstairs."

He asked a few questions about the other mourners, but found no connection with Val.

The he came in from another angle.

"Did you recognize the voice of the man who telephoned you after the body was discovered?"

"No sir. It just sounded distant and fuzzy."

"But whoever it was knew there was a dead body there in that bread basket?"

"No, sir, it was just like I told you before. Whoever it was wasn't talking about Val. He was talking about Reverend Short. He'd seen the reverend fall and thought he was lying there dead, and that's why he called. I'm sure of that."

"How could he know he was dead unless he had come close enough to examine him?"

"I don't know, sir. I suppose he just thought he was dead. You'd think anybody was dead who'd fallen out a third-story window, and then lay there without getting up."

"But according to testimony, Reverend Short did get up and come all the way back upstairs on his own power."