Ed McBain_87th Precinct 47 by Romance Page A

wearing gloves?”
    “Yes. Black gloves.”
    “Did you see the knife?”
    “No. Not really. I sure
felt
it, though.”
    Nervous laughter.
    “You wouldn’t know what
kind
of knife it was, would you?”
    “A sharp one.”
    More laughter. Not as nervous this time. The kid was being a good sport. She’d just been stabbed in the shoulder, inches away
     from the heart, but she was able to joke about the weapon. The reporters liked that. It made good copy. Good-looking woman
     besides. Sitting up in bed in a hospital gown that kept slipping off one shoulder. As the reporters asked their questions,
     the photographers’ cameras kept clicking.
    Kling noticed that neither of the two reporters had yet asked her what
color
the man was. Maybe journalists weren’t allowed to. As cops, he and Carella would ask that question the minute the others
     cleared the room. Then again, they were looking to find whoever had just attempted murder. The reporters were only looking
     for a good story.
    “Did he say anything to you?” one of the reporters asked.
    “Yes. He said, `Miss Cassidy?’ Same thing he calls me on the phone . ”
    “Wait a minute,” the other reporter said. “What do you mean?”
    “He’s been calling me for the past week. Threatening to kill me. With a knife.”
    “This same
man
? The one who stabbed you tonight?”
    “It sounded like the same man.”
    “Are you saying his voice sounded the same? As the man on the phone?”
    “Exactly the same. Just like Jack Nicholson’s voice.”
    Both reporters were scribbling furiously now. Jack Nicholson stabbing a young actress in the alley outside a rehearsal theater?
     Jesus, this was made in heaven!
    “It
wasn’t
Jack Nicholson, of course,” Michelle said.
    “Of course not,” one of the reporters said, but he sounded disappointed.
    “Who
was
he?” the other one asked. “Do you have any idea who he was?”
    “Someone familiar with
Romance,”
she said.
    “Someone familiar with
romance,
did you say?”
    “
Romance
. The play we’re rehearsing.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “Because what happened in that alley
also
happens in the play.
    Carella could now see the subhead on the story:
    ALLEY ROMANCE STABBING
    Now they wanted to know all about the scene in the play, and who else was in the play, and who had written it, and who was
     directing it, and when it would be opening here, and whether there were plans for moving it down-town, the cameras clicking,
     the reporters tirelessly questioning her while a black nurse fluttered about the bed telling them they mustn’t exhaust her,
     didn’t they realize the poor woman had been
stabbed?
    A man wearing a maroon sports shirt open at the throat, a gray sports jacket, and darker gray trousers rushed into the room,
     went immediately to the bed, took Michelle’s hands in his own and said, “Michelle, my
God,
what
happened?
I just heard the news! Who
did
this to
you? My God,
why
you?
”
    The reporters asked him who he was, and he introduced himself as Johnny Milton, Michelle’s theatrical agent, and handed cards
     to both of them, and said he’d heard the news a few minutes ago, and rushed right over. Somewhat imperiously, he asked who
     the two men in the suits at the back of the room were, didn’t they realize a woman had been
stabbed
here?
    “We’re the police,” Carella said quietly, and showed the agent his shield.
    “Hello, Detective Kling,” Michelle said from the bed, waggling her fingers at him.
    And suddenly all reportorial attention was on Kling, the two journalists wanting to know how he happened to know the victim,
     and then soliciting from Michelle herself the fact that she’d reported the threatening calls to Kling at approximately four-fifteen
     that afternoon, before she went back to rehearsal.
    “Got any leads yet, Detective Kling?” one of the reporters asked.
    “None,” Carella said. “In fact, if you’ve got everything you need, we’d like to talk to Miss Cassidy now, if