The Heckler

“Come on, come on,” Parker said, just as Lieutenant Byrnes pushed his way through the slatted-rail divider and into the office.

“Mark my words,” he said, “this precinct is going to have the biggest traffic problem in the city as soon as that damn shopping center is finished. I just drove through there and even theworkmen’s cars are causing a bottleneck. You can imagine what it’s going to be like when all those stores are finished.” Byrnes shook his head and said to Parker, “I thought you were supposed to be in that candy store.”

“Ten-thirty,” Parker said.

“Won’t kill you to get there a little early,” Byrnes said.

“I already established that I’m a late sleeper.”

“You established that the minute you began working for this squad,” Byrnes said.

“Huh?”

“I’m telling you, Frick’s gonna have to detail six squad cars to that shopping center,” Byrnes said, dismissing Parker’s puzzled look. “Did you see the big sign they’ve got up, listing all the stores? There’s gonna be a bakery, and a movie house, and a supermarket, and a bank, and a delicatessen, and a department store, and—”

“That’s why he’s the lieutenant around here,” Meyer said. “Because he’s so observant.”

“The hell with you,” Byrnes said, grinning, and he went into his office to the left of the divider. He paused at the door and said, “Steve in yet?”

“Not yet,” Meyer said.

“Who’s catching?”

“I am,” Kling answered.

“Let me know when Steve gets in, will you?”

“Yes, sir.”

The telephone on Meyer’s desk rang. He picked up the receiver quickly. “Eighty-seventh Squad, Meyer. Oh yes, Dave, put it right through.” He covered the mouthpiece and said to Kling, “My New Bedford call,” and then waited.

“Detective Meyer?” a voice asked.

“Yes?”

“I have your party on the line. One moment, please.”

Meyer waited.

“Go ahead, please,” the operator said.

“Hello?” Meyer said.

A static-filled voice on the other end said, “Sandhurst Paper Company, good morning.”

“Good morning,” Meyer said. “This is Detective Meyer of the Eighty-seventh Detective Squad down in—”

“Good morning, Detective Meyer.”

“Good morning, I’m trying to trace an order that was placed for—”

“One moment please, I’ll give you our Order Department.”

Meyer waited. In the promised moment, a man’s voice came onto the line.

“Order Department, good morning.”

“Good morning, this is Detective Meyer of the Eighty-seventh Squad, in—”

“Good morning, Detective Meyer.”

“Good morning. I wonder if you can help me. A man named David Raskin here in Isola received several cartons of envelopes and stationery from your company, but he did not place an order for this material. I wonder if you could tell me whodid .”

“What was his name again, sir?”

“David Raskin.”

“And the address?”

“Darask Frocks, Inc., Twelve thirteen Culver Avenue here in the city.”

“And when was the order delivered, sir?”

“Just yesterday.”

“One moment, please.”

Meyer waited. While he waited, Steve Carella came into the squadroom. Meyer covered the mouthpiece and said, “Steve, the loot wants to see you.”

“Right. Did the lab call?”

“Nope.”

“Any luck on the photo so far?”

“Not a peep. Give it time. It only ran yester—Hello?”

“Detective Breyer?” the voice on the phone said.

“Yes?”

“That orderwas placed by Mr. Raskin.”

“When was this, please?”

“Ten days ago. It usually takes us a week to ten days to fill an order.”

“Then that would be on April first, is that right?”

“March thirty-first, to be exact, sir.”

“Was it a mail order?”

“No, sir. Mr. Raskin called personally.”

“He called and ordered the material, is that right?”

“Yes, sir, he did.”

“What did he sound like?”

“Sir?”

“What kind of a voice did he have?”

“A very nice voice, I think. It’s difficult to remember.”

“Is there anything youdo remember about him?”

“Well, not really. We handle a great many orders each day, you understand, and—”

“I understand. Well, thank you very much for—”

“Therewas one thing.”

“What was that, sir?”

“He asked me to talk a little louder, Mr. Raskin did. During the conversation. He said, ‘Excuse me, but would you talk a little louder? I’m slightly deaf, you know.’”

“I see,” Meyer said, shrugging. “Well, thanks again.”

The telephone on the desk nearest Meyer’s rang. Andy Parker, who was doing nothing but killing time, picked up the receiver.

“Eighty-seventh Squad, Detective Parker,” he said.

“Carella there?” the voice on the other end asked.

“Yeah, just a second. Who’s this?”

“Peter Kronig at the lab.”

“Just a second, Kronig.” Parker put down the phone and bellowed, “Steve, for you!” He looked around the squadroom.

“Where the hell’s Carella? He was here a minute ago.”

“He went in to see the loot,” Kling said.

Parker picked up the phone again. “Kronig, he’s in with the lieutenant. You want him to call back, or you want to give it to me?”

“This is just a report on those shoes and socks the mortuary sent over. You got a pencil?”