87th Precinct 36 - Ice by McBain Ed

Author:McBain, Ed [McBain, Ed]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery & Detective, Police Procedural, Fiction
ISBN: 9784150707910
Publisher: Hayakawa Books
Published: 1991-12-15T05:00:00+00:00

If there is one thing criminals and cops alike share—aside from the symbiotic relationship that makes each of their jobs possible—it is the sense of smell that tells them when someone is frightened. The moment they catch that whiff, cops and criminals alike turn into savage beasts of prey, ready to tear out the throat and devour the entrails. Miguel Roldan and Antonio Asensio were scared witless, and Meyer smelled their fear the instant Roldan, unsolicited, told him that he and Asensio had been living together as man and wife for the past three years. Meyer didn’t care what their persuasion was. The offered information told him only that the two men were frightened. He knew they weren’t afraid they’d be busted as homosexuals; not in this city. So what were they afraid of? Until that moment, he had been calling them, respectively and respectfully, Mr. Roldan and Mr. Asensio. He now switched to “Mike” and “Tony,” an old cop trick designed to place any suspect at a disadvantage, a ploy somewhat similar to the one nurses used in hospitals. “Hello, Jimmy, how are we feeling this morning?” they would say to the chairman of the board of a vast conglomerate, immediately letting him know who was boss around here, and who was privileged to take your rectal temperature. It worked even better with policemen and anyone who came into their purlieu. Calling a man Johnny instead of Mr. Fuller was the same thing as calling him Boy. It put him in his place at once, and instantly made him feel (a) inferior, (b) defensive, and (c) oddly dependent.

“Mike,” Meyer said, “why do you think I’m here?”

They were sitting in the living room of the brownstone Roldan and Asensio shared. The room was pleasantly furnished with antiques Meyer wished he could have afforded. A fire was going on the hearth. The fire crackled and spit into the room.

“You’re here about Sally, of course,” Roldan said.

“Is that what you think, Tony?”

“Yes, of course,” Asensio said.

Meyer wasted no time.

“You know she was using cocaine, don’t you?” he said.

“Well…no,” Roldan said. “How would we know that?”

“Well, come on, Mike,” Meyer said, and smiled knowingly. “You were at a party with her a week ago Sunday, and she was doing cocaine, so you must know she was a user, right?”

Roldan looked at Asensio.

“You were using it that night, too, weren’t you, Mike?”

“Well—”

“I know you were,” Meyer said.

“Well—”

“How about you, Tony? You snort a few lines last Sunday night?”

Asensio looked at Roldan.

“Who were you and Sally getting your stuff from?” Meyer asked.

“Listen,” Roldan said.

“I’m listening.”

“We had nothing to do with her murder.”

“Didn’t you?” Meyer said.

“We didn’t,” Asensio said, shaking his head, and then looking at Roldan. Meyer wondered which of them was the wife and which was the husband. They both seemed very demure. He tried to reconcile this with the fact that the homosexual murders in the precinct were among the most vicious and brutal the cops investigated.

“Do you know who might have killed her?” he asked.

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