The Seventh Commandment by Lawrence Sanders Page A

a tissue. "All right, I'll ask for a rundown on Callaway and the Pierces. I warn you it's going to take time; Records is undermanned and overworked, like the rest of the Department."
    "I can wait," Dora said. "That insurance claim isn't going to get paid until I say so."
    He took a deep breath, put his head back, stared at the ceiling. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised that a member of his family or a close friend might have iced the old man; it happens all the time. But I thought those people were class. What do you figure the motive was?"
    "Money," Dora said.
    "Yeah," Wenden said, "probably. When money comes in the door, class goes out the window. Every time."
    She laughed. "I didn't know you were a philosopher."
    "How can you be a cop and not be a philosopher?" He lowered his head, stared at her with bleary eyes. "I lied to you, Red."
    "How so?"
    "I told you I wasn't going to pass out. Now I'm not so sure."
    "Whatever," she said, "you're in no condition to drive. I have an extra bedroom; you can sack out in there."
    "Thanks," he said.
    "What time do you want to get up?"
    "Never," he said. "Give me a hand, will you."
    She helped him to his feet and half-supported him into the bedroom. He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.
    "Can you undress?" she asked him.
    "I can get my shoes off," he said in a mumble. "That's enough. I've slept in my clothes before."
    "I never would have guessed," she said. "Want more aspirin?"
    "Nope. I've had enough."
    "I'd say so. I'm not going to wake you up in the morning. Sleep as long as you can. It'll do you the world of good."
    "Thanks again, Red. And listen…" He tried a grin. "You don't have to lock your bedroom door."
    "I know that," she said.
    But she did.

Chapter 13
    Solomon Guthrie lived alone in a six-room apartment on Riverside Drive near 86th Street. The prewar building had gone co-op in 1974, and Guthrie had bought his apartment for $59,500. His wife had told him it was a lot of money- and it was, at the time. And why, she had asked, did they need so much space since their two grown sons had moved away: Jacob, an ophthalmologist, to Minneapolis, and Alan, an aerospace designer, to Los Angeles.
    But Solomon didn't want to give up an apartment he loved and in which he and his wife had lived most of their married life. Besides, he said, it would be a good investment, and it turned out to be exactly that, with similar apartments in the building now selling for $750,000 to a million.
    Then Hilda died in 1978, of cancer, and Solomon was alone in the six rooms. His sons, their wives and children visited at least once a year, and that was a treat. But generally he lived a solitary life. After all these years it was still a wrench to come home to an empty house, especially on dark winter nights.
    Every weekday morning Guthrie left his apartment at 7:30, picked up his Times from a marble table in the lobby, and walked over to West End Avenue to get a taxi heading south. An hour later and it would be almost impossible to find an empty cab, but Solomon usually had good luck before eight o'clock.
    This particular morning was cold, bleak, with a damp wind blowing off the river. He was glad he had worn his heavy overcoat. He was also wearing fur-lined gloves and lugging his old briefcase stuffed with work he had taken home the night before. One of the things he had labored over was a schedule of Christmas bonuses for Starrett employees.
    Solomon arrived at the southwest corner of West End and 86th Street, stepped off the curb, looked uptown. There was a cab parked across 86th, but the off-duty light was on, and the driver appeared to be reading a newspaper. He moved farther into the street to see if any other cabs were approaching. He raised an arm when he saw one a block away, coming down West End.
    But then the cab parked across 86th went into action. The off-duty light flicked off, the driver tossed his newspaper aside, and the cab came gunning across the street and pulled up in front of