Nocturne by Ed McBain Read Free Book Online Page B

my car quits dead, and next somebody steals my gun from the glove
     compartment.”
    “Let’s back up a little,” Hawes said.
    “No, let’s back up a
lot,”
Pratt said. “Reason you’re putting me through this shit three a.m . in the morning is I’m black. So just do your little ritual dance and get the hell out, okay? You’ve got the wrong party
     here.”
    “We may have the wrong party,” Carella said, “but we’ve got the right
gun
. And it happens to be yours.”
    “I don’t know anything about what that gun was doing earlier tonight. You say it killed somebody, I’ll take your word for
     it. I’m telling you the gun has not been in my possession since Thursday night, when my car quit and I stopped at an all-night
     gas station to have it looked at.”
    “Where was that?”
    “Just off the Majesta Bridge.”
    “Which side of it?”
    “This side. I’d driven a diamond merchant home and was coming back to the city.”
    The locution marked him as a native. This sprawling city was divided into five separate distinct geographical zones, but unless
     you’d just moved here from Mars, only one of these sectors was ever referred to as “the city.”
    “Started rattling on the bridge,” Pratt said. “Time I hit Isola, she quit dead. Brand-new limo. Less than a thousand miles
     on it.” He shook his head in disgust and disbelief. “Never buy a fuckin American car,” he said.
    Carella himself drove a Chevrolet that had never given him a moment’s trouble. He said nothing.
    “What time was this?” Hawes asked.
    “Little before midnight.”
    “This past Thursday.”
    “Hoodoo jinx of a day,” he said again.
    “Remember the name of the gas station?”
    “Sure.”
    “What was it?”
    “Bridge Texaco.”
    “Now that’s what I call inventive,” Hawes said.
    “You think I’m
lying
?” Pratt said at once.
    “No, no, I meant …”
    “When did you discover the gun was missing?” Carella asked.
    Get this thing back on track, he thought. Pratt wasn’t quite getting all this. He thought two white cops were here hassling
     him only because he was black when instead they were hassling him only because he owned a gun used in a murder. So let’s hear
     about the
gun
, okay?
    “When I picked the car up,” Pratt said, turning to him. He still suspected a trap, still figured they were setting him up
     somehow.
    “And when was that?”
    “Yesterday morning. There weren’t any mechanics on duty when I pulled in Thursday night. The manager told me they’d have to
     work on it the next day.”
    “Which they did, is that right?”
    “Yeah. Turned out somebody’d put styrene in my fuckin crankcase.”
    Carella wondered what styrene in the crankcase had to do with buying an American car.
    “Broke down the oil and ruined the engine,” Pratt said. “They had to order me a new one, put it in on Friday.”
    “And you picked the car up yesterday?”
    “Yes.”
    “What time?”
    “Ten o’clock in the morning.”
    “So the car was there all night Thursday and all day Friday.”
    “Yeah. And two hours yesterday, too. They open at eight.”
    “With the gun in the glove compartment.”
    “Well, it
disappeared
during that time.”
    “When did you realize that?”
    “When I got back here. There’s a garage in the building. I parked the car, unlocked the glove compartment to take out the
     gun, and saw it was gone.”
    “Always take it out of the glove compartment when you get home?”
    “Always.”
    “How come you left it at the garage?”
    “I wasn’t thinking. I was pissed off about the car quitting on me. It’s force of habit. I get home, I unlock the box, reach
     in for the gun. The garage wasn’t home. I just wasn’t thinking.”
    “Did you report the gun stolen?”
    “No.”
    “Why not?” Hawes asked.
    “I figured somebody steals a piece, I’ll never see it again, anyway. So why bother? It’s not like a TV set. A piece isn’t
     gonna turn up in a hockshop. It’s gonna end