"Larry's the only one who could tell you,
and I don't think he will."
Levine drank some of the coffee, then got to his feet. "Mind if I use your phone?"
he asked.
"Go right ahead. It's in the living room,
next to the bookcase."
Levine walked back into the living room and
called the station. He asked for Crawley .
When his partner came on the line, Levine said, "Has Perkins signed the
confession yet?"
"He's on the way down now. It's just been
typed up."
"Hold him there after he signs it, okay?
I want to talk to him. I'm in Manhattan , starting back now."
"What have you got?"
"I'm not sure I have anything. I just
want to talk to Perkins again, that's all."
"Why sweat it? We got the body; we got
the confession; we got the killer in a cell. Why make work for yourself?"
"I don't know. Maybe I'm just
bored."
"Okay, I'll hold him. Same room as
before."
Levine went back to the kitchen. "Thank
you for the coffee," he said. "If there's nothing else you can think
of, I'll be leaving now."
"Nothing," she said. "Larry's
the only one can tell you why."
She walked him to the front door, and he
thanked her again as he was leaving. The stairs were a lot easier going down.
When Levine got back to the station, he picked
up another plainclothesman, a detective named Ricco, a tall, athletic man in
his middle thirties who affected the Ivy League look. He resembled more closely
someone from the District Attorney's ofl& ce than a
precinct cop. Levine gave him a part to play, and the two of them went down the
hall to the room where Perkins was waiting with Crawley .
"Perkins," said Levine, the minute
he walked in the room, before Crawley had
a chance to give the game away by saying something to Ricco, "this is Dan
Ricco, a reporter from the Daily News."*
Perkins looked at Ricco with obvious interest,
the first real display of interest and animation Levine had yet seen from him. "A reporter?"
"That's right," said Ricco. He
looked at Levine. "What is this?" he asked. He was playing it
straight and blank.
"College student," said Levine,
"Name's Larry Perkins." He spelled the last name. "He poisoned a
fellow student."
"Oh, yeah?" Ricco glanced at Perkins without much eagerness. "What for?" he
asked, looking back at Levine. "Girl? Any sex in it?"
"Afraid not. It
was some kind of intellectual motivation. They both wanted to be writers."
Ricco shrugged. "Two
guys with the same job? What's so hot about that?"
"Well, the main thing," said Levine, "is that Perkins here wants to be famous. He
tried to get famous by being a writer, but that wasn't working out. So he
decided to be a famous murderer."
Ricco looked at Perkins. "Is that
right?" he asked.
Perkins was glowering at them all, but
especially at Levine. "What difference does it make?" he said.
"The kid's going to get the chair, of
course," said Levine blandly. "We have his signed confession and
everything. But I've kind of taken a liking to him. I'd hate to see him throw
his life away without getting something for it. I thought maybe you could get
him a nice headline on page two, something he could hang up on the wall of his
cell."
Ricco chuckled and shook his head. "Not a
chance of it," he said. "Even if I wrote the story big, the city desk
would knock it down to
and I don't think he will."
Levine drank some of the coffee, then got to his feet. "Mind if I use your phone?"
he asked.
"Go right ahead. It's in the living room,
next to the bookcase."
Levine walked back into the living room and
called the station. He asked for Crawley .
When his partner came on the line, Levine said, "Has Perkins signed the
confession yet?"
"He's on the way down now. It's just been
typed up."
"Hold him there after he signs it, okay?
I want to talk to him. I'm in Manhattan , starting back now."
"What have you got?"
"I'm not sure I have anything. I just
want to talk to Perkins again, that's all."
"Why sweat it? We got the body; we got
the confession; we got the killer in a cell. Why make work for yourself?"
"I don't know. Maybe I'm just
bored."
"Okay, I'll hold him. Same room as
before."
Levine went back to the kitchen. "Thank
you for the coffee," he said. "If there's nothing else you can think
of, I'll be leaving now."
"Nothing," she said. "Larry's
the only one can tell you why."
She walked him to the front door, and he
thanked her again as he was leaving. The stairs were a lot easier going down.
When Levine got back to the station, he picked
up another plainclothesman, a detective named Ricco, a tall, athletic man in
his middle thirties who affected the Ivy League look. He resembled more closely
someone from the District Attorney's ofl& ce than a
precinct cop. Levine gave him a part to play, and the two of them went down the
hall to the room where Perkins was waiting with Crawley .
"Perkins," said Levine, the minute
he walked in the room, before Crawley had
a chance to give the game away by saying something to Ricco, "this is Dan
Ricco, a reporter from the Daily News."*
Perkins looked at Ricco with obvious interest,
the first real display of interest and animation Levine had yet seen from him. "A reporter?"
"That's right," said Ricco. He
looked at Levine. "What is this?" he asked. He was playing it
straight and blank.
"College student," said Levine,
"Name's Larry Perkins." He spelled the last name. "He poisoned a
fellow student."
"Oh, yeah?" Ricco glanced at Perkins without much eagerness. "What for?" he
asked, looking back at Levine. "Girl? Any sex in it?"
"Afraid not. It
was some kind of intellectual motivation. They both wanted to be writers."
Ricco shrugged. "Two
guys with the same job? What's so hot about that?"
"Well, the main thing," said Levine, "is that Perkins here wants to be famous. He
tried to get famous by being a writer, but that wasn't working out. So he
decided to be a famous murderer."
Ricco looked at Perkins. "Is that
right?" he asked.
Perkins was glowering at them all, but
especially at Levine. "What difference does it make?" he said.
"The kid's going to get the chair, of
course," said Levine blandly. "We have his signed confession and
everything. But I've kind of taken a liking to him. I'd hate to see him throw
his life away without getting something for it. I thought maybe you could get
him a nice headline on page two, something he could hang up on the wall of his
cell."
Ricco chuckled and shook his head. "Not a
chance of it," he said. "Even if I wrote the story big, the city desk
would knock it down to
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