The criminals who invade the 87th Precinct aren’t particularly known for their intelligence. Their crimes are usually brutal, stupid, and rash. But every once in a while, the 87th gets a good bad guy to hunt down.

“WITH YOUR ASSISTANCE, I’M GOING TO STEAL $500,000 ON THE LAST DAY OF APRIL.” So wrote the Deaf Man, the 87th Precinct’s own private nemesis. Carella, Kling, Hawes, and Brown know the Deaf Man is trying to make them look stupid. Unfortunately, they have to deal with crimes already committed — including one that introduces Kling to the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. But the last of April is fast approaching, and the men of the Eight-Seven can’t deny that they’re dying to find out what the Deaf Man has cooked up this time…

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Chapter 1

Fat balmy breezes wafted in off the park across the street, puffing lazily through the wide-open windows of the squadron. It was the fifteenth of April, and the temperature outside hovered in the mid-sixties. Sunshine splashes drenched the room. Meyer Meyer sat at his desk, idly reading a D.D. report, his bald pate touched with golden light, a beatific smile on his mouth, even though he was reading about a mugging. Cheek cradled on the heel and palm of his hand, elbow bent, blue eyes scanning the typewritten form, he sat in sunshine like a Jewish angel on the roof of the Duomo. When the telephone rang, it sounded like the trilling of a thousand larks, such was his mood this bright spring day.

“Detective Meyer,” he said, “87th Squad.”

“I’m back,” the voice said.

“Glad to hear it,” Meyer answered. “Who is this?”

“Come, come, Detective Meyer,” the voice said. “You haven’t forgotten me so soon, have you?”

The voice sounded vaguely familiar. Meyer frowned. “I’m too busy to play games, mister,” he said. “Who is this?”

“You’ll have to speak louder,” the voice said. “I’m a little hard of hearing.”

Nothing changed. Telephones and typewriters, filing cabinets, detention cage, water cooler, wanted posters, fingerprint equipment, desks, chairs, all were still awash in brilliant sunshine. But despite the floating golden motes, the room seemed suddenly bleak, as though that remembered telephone voice had stripped the place of its protective gilt to expose it as shabby and cheap. Meyer’s frown deepened into a scowl. The telephone was silent except for a small electrical crackling. He was alone in the squadroom and could not initiate a trace. Besides, past experience had taught him that this man (if indeed he was who Meyer thought he was) would not stay on the line long enough for fancy telephone company acrobatics. He was beginning to wish he had not answered the telephone, an odd desire for a cop on duty. The silence lengthened. He did not know quite what to say. He felt foolish and clumsy. He could think only, My God, it’s happening again.

“Listen,” he said, “who is this?”

“You know who this is.”

“No, I do not.”

“In that case, you’re even more stupid than I surmised.”

There was another long silence.

“Okay,” Meyer said.

“Ahh,” the voice said.

“What do you want?”

“Patience, patience,” the voice said.

“Damn it, what do you want?”

“If you’re going to use profanity,” the voice said, “I won’t talk to you at all.”

There was a small click on the line.

Meyer looked at the dead phone in his hand, sighed, and hung up.

If you happen to be a cop, there are some people you don’t need.

The Deaf Man was one of those people. They had not needed him the first time he’d put in an appearance, wreaking havoc across half the city in an aborted attempt to rob a bank. They had not needed him the next time, either, when he had killed the Parks Commissioner, the Deputy Mayor, and a handful of others in an elaborate extortion scheme that had miraculously backfired. They did not need him now; whatever the hell he was up to, they definitely did not need him.

“Who needs him?” Detective-Lieutenant Peter Byrnes asked. “Right now, I don’t need him. Are you sure it was him?”

“It sounded like him.”

“I don’t need him when I got a cat burglar,” Byrnes said.

He rose from his desk and walked to the open windows. In the park across the street lovers were idly strolling, young mothers were pushing baby buggies, little girls were skipping rope, and a patrolman chatted with a man walking his dog. “I don’t need him,” Byrnes said again, and sighed.