87th precinct 01 cop h.., p.18
87th Precinct 01 - Cop Hater,
p.18
“What about it?” Carella asked.
“What about it?” she repeated, shrugging. “It’s all over, isn’t it?”
“You must have really hated him. You must have hated him like poison.”
“You’re directing,” Alice said. “I’m only the star.”
“Don’t get glib, Alice!” Carella said angrily. “I’ve never hit a woman in my life, but I swear to God—”
“Relax,” she told him. “It’s all over. You’ll get your gold star, and then you’ll—”
“Alice—”
“What the hell do you want me to do? Break down and cry? I hated him, all right? I hated his big, pawing hands, and I hated his stupid red hair, and I hated everything about him, all right?”
“Mercer said you’d asked for a divorce. Is that true?”
“No, I didn’t ask for a divorce. Hank would’ve never agreed to one.”
“Why didn’t you give him a chance?”
“What for? Did he ever give me a chance? Cooped up in that goddamn apartment, waiting for him to come off some burglary or some knifing or some mugging? What kind of life is that for a woman?”
“You knew he was a cop when you married him.”
Alice didn’t answer.
“You could’ve asked for a divorce, Alice. You could’ve tried.”
“I didn’t want to, damn it. I wanted him dead.”
“Well, you’ve got him dead. Him and two others. You must be tickled now.”
Alice smiled suddenly. “I’m not too worried, Steve.”
“No?”
“There have to be some men on the jury.” She paused. “Men like me.”
* * *
There were, in fact, eight men on the jury.
The jury brought in a verdict in six minutes flat.
Mercer was sobbing as the jury foreman read off the verdict and the judge gave sentence. Alice listened to the judge with calm indifference, her shoulders thrown back, her head erect.
The jury had found them both guilty of murder in the first degree, and the judge sentenced them to death in the electric chair.
* * *
On August 19, Stephen Carella and Theodora Franklin listened to their own sentence.
“Do either of you know of any reason why you both should not be legally joined in marriage, or if there be any present who can show any just cause why these parties should not be legally joined together, let him now speak or hereafter hold his peace.”
Lieutenant Byrnes held his peace. Detective Hal Willis said nothing. The small gathering of friends and relatives watched, dewy‐eyed.
The city clerk turned to Carella.
“Do you, Stephen Louis Carella, take this woman as your lawfully wedded wife to live together in the state of matrimony? Will you love, honor, and keep her as a faithful man is bound to do, in health, sickness, prosperity, and adversity, and forsaking all others keep you alone unto her as long as you both shall live?”
“Yes,” Carella said. “Yes, I will. I do. Yes.”
“Do you, Theodora Franklin, take this man as your lawfully wedded husband to live together in the state of matrimony? Will you love, honor, and cherish him as a faithful woman is bound to do, in health, sickness, prosperity, and adversity, and forsaking all others keep you alone unto him as long as you both shall live?”
Teddy nodded. There were tears in her eyes, but she could not keep the ecstatic smile off her face.
“For as you both have consented in wedlock and have acknowledged it before this company, I do by virtue of the authority vested in me by the laws of this state now pronounce you husband and wife. And may God bless your union.”
Carella took her in his arms and kissed her. The clerk smiled. Lieutenant Byrnes cleared his throat. Willis looked up at the ceiling. The clerk kissed Teddy when Carella released her. Byrnes kissed her. Willis kissed her. All the male relatives and friends came up to kiss her.
Carella smiled idiotically.
“You hurry back,” Byrnes said to him.
“Hurry back? I’m going on my honeymoon, Pete!”
“Well, hurry anyway. How are we going to run that precinct without you? You’re the only cop in the city who has the courage to buck the decisions of stubborn, opinionated Detective‐Lieutenant Byrnes of the—”
“Oh, go to hell,” Carella said, smiling.
Willis shook his hand. “Good luck, Steve. She’s a wonderful gal.”
“Thank you, Hal.”
Teddy came to him. He put his arm around her.
“Well,” he said, “let’s go.”
They went out of the room together.
Byrnes stared after them wistfully.
“He’s a good cop,” he said.
“Yeah,” Willis answered.
“Come on,” Byrnes said, “let’s go see what’s brewing back at the house.”
They went down into the street together.
“Want to get a paper,” Byrnes said. He stopped at a newsstand and picked up a copy of Savage’s tabloid. The trial news had been crowded right off the front pages. There was more important news. The headlines simply read:
HEAT WAVE BREAKS! HAPPY DAY!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photograph © Dragica Hunter
Ed McBain was one of the many pen names of the successful and prolific crime fiction author Evan Hunter (1926–2005). Born Salvatore Lambino in New York, McBain served aboard a destroyer in the US Navy during World War II and then earned a degree from Hunter College in English and psychology. After a short stint teaching in a high school, McBain went to work for a literary agency in New York, working with authors such as Arthur C. Clarke and P.G. Wodehouse, all the while working on his own writing on nights and weekends. He had his first breakthrough in 1954 with the novel The Blackboard Jungle, which was published under his newly legal name Evan Hunter and based on his time teaching in the Bronx.
Perhaps his most popular work, the 87th Precinct series (released mainly under the name Ed McBain) is one of the longest running crime series ever published, debuting in 1956 with Cop Hater and featuring over fifty novels. The series is set in a fictional locale called Isola and features a wide cast of detectives including the prevalent Detective Steve Carella.
McBain was also known as a screenwriter. Most famously he adapted a short story from Daphne Du Maurier into the screenplay for Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds (1963). In addition to writing for the silver screen, he wrote for many television series, including Columbo and the NBC series 87th Precinct (1961–1962), based on his popular novels.
McBain was awarded the Grand Master Award for lifetime achievement in 1986 by the Mystery Writers of America and was the first American to receive the Cartier Diamond Dagger award from the Crime Writers Association of Great Britain. He passed away in 2005 in his home in Connecticut after a battle with larynx cancer.
Ed McBain, 87th Precinct 01 - Cop Hater
