really donât know,â Foster said. âYou think itâs cause I called him a racist pig?â
âNow whyâd you go say something like that?â Carella asked. His eyes, his faint smile betrayed the knowledge that Lester Henderson had been called this before, in many variations on the theme, the most recent one from a state senator, whoâd called him âHitler without a mustache.â
âItâs a known fact that he was targeting Diamondback for extinction,â Foster said. âIf Iâm not mistaken, Detective Carella, you yourself investigated a case just recently where the drug problem up here played an important role. Well, Henderson was all for toughening the stateâs already Draconian drug laws, laws that are methodically clearing young black people off the streetsâ¦â
Here comes a speech, Kling thought.
ââ¦and throwing them into already overcrowded prisons that are costing taxpayers a fortune to maintain. Instead of helping these youths to become productive members of a thriving community, we are instead turning them into criminals. I pointed this out to Lester, and I casually mentioned that only a racist pig would pursue a course as politically motivated as the one he was promoting. That was when he tried to pop me.â
âSmall wonder,â Carella said. âSo where were you around ten-thirty Monday morning, Gabe?â
âOh dear,â Foster said.
âOh dear indeed.â
âI fear I was asleep in my own little beddie-bye, all by my little self.â
âWhich would have been where?â
â1112 Roosevelt Av. Apartment 6B.â
âAnd what time did you get out of your little beddie-bye?â
âI came to the office here at eleven. I had a scheduled eleven-thirty interview with a reporter.â
âWhat time did you leave the apartment?â Kling asked.
âAround ten-thirty. Whenever the weather is good, I walk to work.â
âSo you werenât anywhere near King Memorial at ten-thirty Monday morning, is that right?â
âNowhere near it at all.â
âBe nice if someone had been in bed with you,â Carella said.
âYes, itâs always nice to have someone in bed with you,â Foster said.
âBut no one was.â
âNo one at all.â
â Whatâd you say your address was again?â Kling asked.
â1112 Roosevelt.â
âThatâs between Twenty-eighth and Twenty-ninth, isnât it?â
âNo, itâs further uptown.â
âNear King Memorial?â
âA few blocks away, yes.â
âWhere exactly?â Carella asked.
âBetween Thirty-first and -second.â
âThe Hallâs on St. Sabâs, corner of Thirtieth,â Kling said.
âSo it is,â Foster said.
âIf youâd walked one block over, you couldâve passed it on your way to work.â
â If Iâd walked one block over,â Foster said. âBut I came straight down Roosevelt. Same way I always do.â
âYou walk the ten blocks down to Twenty-first hereâ¦â
âYes, and then I walk the block crosstown to St. Sabâs.â
âNice walk.â
âIf the weatherâs nice, yes.â
âIt certainly was nice Monday,â Kling said.
âIt certainly was,â Carella said.
âFellas, letâs cut the idle bullshit, okay?â Foster said. âYou know I didnât kill that prick, so it doesnât matter where I was Monday morning. I couldâve been home in bed with the entire Mormon Tabernacle Choir, or I couldâve been right outside King Memorial tying my shoelaces. I may have done some foolish things in my lifetime, but killing a man a week after we had a brawl is definitely not one of them.â
âI tend to agree,â Carella said.
âMe, too,â Kling said.
âBut we have to ask,â Carella said.
âYou know how it is,â
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