The Night and The Music Read Online Free PDF Page A

anywhere near her when it happened.”
    He could have been. The times were vague, and whoever Sunny turned out to be, the odds were good that she’d have no more time sense than a koala bear. There were any number of ways he could have found a few minutes to go up to Fifty-seventh Street and heave Paula out a window, but it didn’t add up that way and he just didn’t feel like a killer to me. I knew what Ruth meant and I agreed with her that he was capable of murder but I don’t think he’d been capable of this particular murder.
    I said, “When did you go back to the apartment?”
    “Who said I did?”
    “You picked up your clothes, Cary.”
    “That was yesterday afternoon. The hell, I needed my clothes and stuff.”
    “How long were you living there?”
    He hedged. “I wasn’t exactly living there.”
    “Where were you exactly living?”
    “I wasn’t exactly living anywhere. I kept most of my stuff at Paula’s place and I stayed with her most of the time but it wasn’t as serious as actual living together. We were both too loose for anything like that. Anyway, the thing with Paula, it was pretty much winding itself down. She was a little too crazy for me.” He smiled with his mouth. “They have to be a little crazy,” he said, “but when they’re too crazy it gets to be too much of a hassle.”
    Oh, he could have killed her. He could kill anyone if he had to, if someone was making too much of a hassle. But if he were to kill cleverly, faking the suicide in such an artful fashion, fastening the chain bolt on his way out, he’d pick a time when he had a solid alibi. He was not the sort to be so precise and so slipshod all at the same time.
    “So you went and picked up your stuff.”
    “Right.”
    “Including the stereo and records.”
    “The stereo was mine. The records, I left the folk music and the classical shit because that belonged to Paula. I just took my records.”
    “And the stereo.”
    “Right.”
    “You got a bill of sale for it, I suppose.”
    “Who keeps that crap?”
    “What if I said Paula kept the bill of sale? What if I said it was in with her papers and canceled checks?”
    “You’re fishing.”
    “You sure of that?”
    “Nope. But if you did say that, I suppose I’d say the stereo was a gift from her to me. You’re not really gonna charge me with stealing a stereo, are you?”
    “Why should I? Robbing the dead’s a sacred tradition. You took the drugs, too, didn’t you? Her medicine cabinet used to look like a drugstore but there was nothing stronger than Excedrin when I took a look. That’s why Sunny’s in the bathroom. If I hit the door all the pretty little pills go down the toilet.”
    “I guess you can think that if you want.”
    “And I can come back with a warrant if I want.”
    “That’s the idea.”
    “I ought to rap on the door just to do you out of the drugs but it doesn’t seem worth the trouble. That’s Paula Wittlauer’s stereo. I suppose it’s worth a couple hundred dollars. And you’re not her heir. Unplug that thing and wrap it up, McCloud. I’m taking it with me.”
    “The hell you are.”
    “The hell I’m not.”
    “You want to take anything but your own ass out of here, you come back with a warrant. Then we’ll talk about it.”
    “I don’t need a warrant.”
    “You can’t — ”
    “I don’t need a warrant because I’m not a cop. I’m a detective, McCloud, I’m private, and I’m working for Ruth Wittlauer, and that’s who’s getting the stereo. I don’t know if she wants it or not, but that’s her problem. She doesn’t want Paula’s pills so you can pop them yourself or give them to your girlfriend. You can shove ‘em up your ass for all I care. But I’m walking out of here with that stereo and I’ll walk through you if I have to, and don’t think I wouldn’t enjoy it.”
    “You’re not even a cop.”
    “Right.”
    “You got no authority at all.” He spoke in tones of wonder. “You said you were a