Read Blood Relatives for Free Online Page B
Authors: Ed McBain
Saturday night, I mean. Why’d she call the bowling alley instead?”
“I guess she tried to reach me, but I’d probably left already.”
“And you didn’t think to ask her last name, huh? When she called to say she was leaving for California.”
“Well, she was just a casual acquaintance, I figured I’d never see her again.”
“How old is she, this Betsy?”
“Oh, she’s old enough, don’t worry about that.”
“Because I notice on your card here—”
“Yes, you don’t have to worry about that,” Donatelli said. “I know what it says on my card, that was a long time ago. You don’t have to worry about anything like that. Besides, this was only supposed to be some innocent bowling, you know, so really there’s—”
“Let’s run over to the bowling alley, huh?” Kling said.
“What for?”
“See if the manager remembers you.”
“I doubt if he’ll remember me.”
“Well, who the hell is going to remember you?” Kling asked. “You’re giving me an alibi nobody can back, now what do you expect me to do, huh? I told you up front that a girl was murdered Saturday night, you know that’s why you’re in here, now what the hell do you expect me to believe, Mr. Donatelli? That you were bowling alone for two goddamn hours because you got stood up by somebody whose name you don’t know and who conveniently leaves for California the next day? Now come on, willya?”
“Well, that’s the truth,” Donatelli said.
“Steve,” Kling called. “You want to step over here a minute?”
Carella had just finished interrogating a man at his own desk, and he was standing now and stretching while waiting for the next man to be shown in. He walked to where Kling and Donatelli were sitting.
“This is Detective Carella,” Kling said. “Would you mind telling him the story you just told me?”
Some ten minutes later Donatelli changed his story.
They had moved from the squadroom to the Interrogation Room down the hall, and Donatelli was telling them about how he’d been stood up by the mysterious California-bound Betsy whom he’d met in the park on Saturday afternoon. Carella suddenly said, “ How old did you say this girl was?”
“Oh, at least nineteen, twenty,” Donatelli said.
“How old are you? ” Carella asked.
“I’m forty-six, sir.”
“That’s picking them kind of young, isn’t it?”
“He’s picked them younger than that,” Kling said. “Take a look at the card, Steve.”
“Well, that was a long time ago,” Donatelli said.
“Sodomy One,” Carella said.
“Yes, but that was a long time ago.”
“With a ten-year-old girl,” Carella said.
“Well—”
“I’ve got a daughter almost ten,” Carella said.
“Well.”
“So how old was this Betsy? The one you were supposed to bowl with Saturday night?”
“I told you. Nineteen, twenty. Anyway, that’s how old she looked. I only met her that afternoon, I didn’t ask to see her ID card.”
“Fellow with a record like yours,” Carella said, “you ought to make a practice of asking to see the ID.”
“Well, she looked about nineteen, twenty.”
“Yes, but how old was she?” Carella said.
“Well, how would I know? I never even saw her again.”
“Because she got sick, huh?”
“Yes.”
“And called the bowling alley to leave a message for you.”
“Yes.”
“And then left for California the next day.”
“Yes.”
“Where in California?”
“San Francisco, I think she said. Or maybe Los Angeles.”
“Or maybe San Diego,” Kling said.
“Well, no, it was either San Francisco or Los Angeles.”
“If that was where she was going,” Carella said, “and if she left yesterday—”
“That’s when she left, sir,” Donatelli said.
“We can check with the airlines. There aren’t that many lateafternoon flights to California, and there couldn’t have been too many girls named Betsy—”
“Well, I’m not even sure it was California,” Donatelli said.
“Mr. Donatelli,”
“I guess she tried to reach me, but I’d probably left already.”
“And you didn’t think to ask her last name, huh? When she called to say she was leaving for California.”
“Well, she was just a casual acquaintance, I figured I’d never see her again.”
“How old is she, this Betsy?”
“Oh, she’s old enough, don’t worry about that.”
“Because I notice on your card here—”
“Yes, you don’t have to worry about that,” Donatelli said. “I know what it says on my card, that was a long time ago. You don’t have to worry about anything like that. Besides, this was only supposed to be some innocent bowling, you know, so really there’s—”
“Let’s run over to the bowling alley, huh?” Kling said.
“What for?”
“See if the manager remembers you.”
“I doubt if he’ll remember me.”
“Well, who the hell is going to remember you?” Kling asked. “You’re giving me an alibi nobody can back, now what do you expect me to do, huh? I told you up front that a girl was murdered Saturday night, you know that’s why you’re in here, now what the hell do you expect me to believe, Mr. Donatelli? That you were bowling alone for two goddamn hours because you got stood up by somebody whose name you don’t know and who conveniently leaves for California the next day? Now come on, willya?”
“Well, that’s the truth,” Donatelli said.
“Steve,” Kling called. “You want to step over here a minute?”
Carella had just finished interrogating a man at his own desk, and he was standing now and stretching while waiting for the next man to be shown in. He walked to where Kling and Donatelli were sitting.
“This is Detective Carella,” Kling said. “Would you mind telling him the story you just told me?”
Some ten minutes later Donatelli changed his story.
They had moved from the squadroom to the Interrogation Room down the hall, and Donatelli was telling them about how he’d been stood up by the mysterious California-bound Betsy whom he’d met in the park on Saturday afternoon. Carella suddenly said, “ How old did you say this girl was?”
“Oh, at least nineteen, twenty,” Donatelli said.
“How old are you? ” Carella asked.
“I’m forty-six, sir.”
“That’s picking them kind of young, isn’t it?”
“He’s picked them younger than that,” Kling said. “Take a look at the card, Steve.”
“Well, that was a long time ago,” Donatelli said.
“Sodomy One,” Carella said.
“Yes, but that was a long time ago.”
“With a ten-year-old girl,” Carella said.
“Well—”
“I’ve got a daughter almost ten,” Carella said.
“Well.”
“So how old was this Betsy? The one you were supposed to bowl with Saturday night?”
“I told you. Nineteen, twenty. Anyway, that’s how old she looked. I only met her that afternoon, I didn’t ask to see her ID card.”
“Fellow with a record like yours,” Carella said, “you ought to make a practice of asking to see the ID.”
“Well, she looked about nineteen, twenty.”
“Yes, but how old was she?” Carella said.
“Well, how would I know? I never even saw her again.”
“Because she got sick, huh?”
“Yes.”
“And called the bowling alley to leave a message for you.”
“Yes.”
“And then left for California the next day.”
“Yes.”
“Where in California?”
“San Francisco, I think she said. Or maybe Los Angeles.”
“Or maybe San Diego,” Kling said.
“Well, no, it was either San Francisco or Los Angeles.”
“If that was where she was going,” Carella said, “and if she left yesterday—”
“That’s when she left, sir,” Donatelli said.
“We can check with the airlines. There aren’t that many lateafternoon flights to California, and there couldn’t have been too many girls named Betsy—”
“Well, I’m not even sure it was California,” Donatelli said.
“Mr. Donatelli,”