by Jerry eBooks
We sat silently on that ride and I did a little thinking. I saw Kincaid’s reasoning. The parked car with the body meant a lack of preparation. The gunmen had had to stop for something that they should have had done if the job had been carefully planned.
Supposing Hammond had killed Otis, what would he do to protect himself? Get rid of the body, and destroy the evidence of his motive. And since he hadn’t arranged in advance for the disposal of the body, it followed that he probably hadn’t had time to destroy the evidence either. Therefore the place to look for Hammond was at the Otis office or at Otis’s home.
It was a neat bit of work and I couldn’t help respecting Kincaid for it. If he guessed wrong, we’d lose nothing but a little time; but if he guessed right, he’d be brilliant.
After a fifteen minute ride, we bumped through an open gate and passed the bins and bunkers and the big piles of sand and gravel. The cab stopped at an old wooden building with an open shed downstairs and the offices on the second floor. There was a light in an upstairs window.
While I paid, Kincaid said to the driver, “Stop at the first phone booth and call police headquarters. Tell ’em there’s a dead body in a car parked on Beech Street. Tell ’em Kincaid’s on the case and he’ll report back as soon as he has something. Now beat it—and snap into it.”
The cab skidded on gravel and shot away in a whine of gears. Kincaid said, “Keep your hand where that steel bracelet won’t show, and stick close to me. And let me do the talking. I’ll break you out of the department if you gum up anything else. Can you remember that much all at once?”
“You ought to have your face smashed,” I said, “and some day I’ll do it for you. Let’s go.” I gave a savage tug on the handcuffs, but he didn’t even grunt. He wrenched right back, only harder.
“This way,” he said.
I thought of Marge. As long as I could see her, smiling up at me with laughter in her eyes, I could stand anything.
Except Kincaid, maybe.
The door was unlocked. We went up a narrow flight of wooden stairs that was dimly lit by a small, grimy bulb. At the top of the stairs a sheet of light blazed across the landing. To cross that patch was like crossing the platform at the daily line-up. You could see nothing, even with Kincaid’s trick of lidding your eyes, but anybody beyond the light could see you perfectly.
We marched up with our bodies close together and our hands touching. Kincaid steered me with a slight pressure on the handcuffs. I tried to see into the room that faced us as we reached the landing, but it was too dark. We swung to the right like a couple of West Pointers. We entered a large shabby office that was brightly lit. A hulk of a man with a bald head, a ruddy, fleshy face and small, twinkling blue eyes looked up from a pile of papers and ledgers.
“Well,” he said, “and who the hell are you?”
“Detective Kincaid. I saw lights and wondered whether anything was wrong.”
“Wrong? Hell no! I’m Charlie Hammond, from the Fourth Ward. I guess you boys know me all right. I was going over some papers of my old friend, Jim Otis. Died last February, and a better man never drank it straight from the bottle. No, sir. Care for a nip, boys?”
Kincaid shook his head. “We’re on duty.”
“Sure enough!” bellowed Hammond. “Well, it’s nice to know you boys are on your toes. Drop around some time when you’re in my neighborhood. Always glad to see you.”
“YOU have permission to be here?” asked Kincaid.
“And what the hell would I need permission for? My best friend, and me executor of his will. I haven’t time in the day to go over his books, and so I do it at night.”
“Young Otis owns this place. Call him up and show me this is all right, and we’ll be on our way.”
“Call Johnny at this hour? You don’t know that bird. He’ll be out somewhere with a girl on one arm and a bottle in the other. Or maybe his two arms around the girl by this time. I’ll call him, but he won’t be home. Not in a million years.”
“Prove you have a right to be here, or come on up to headquarters,” said Kincaid. “That’s all there is to it.”
Hammond stood up and frowned. “I don’t get this,” he said. His eyes focused on our hands that stayed so unnaturally close together. “You claim you’re a cop,” he remarked. “And would you produce your identification?”
Kincaid couldn’t because the hangling handcuff would give him away. I took out my wallet and slapped my card and shield on the desk. “Somers is the name,” I said. “Look it over.”
Hammond glanced at Kincaid. “And you?”
“He hurt his hand,” I said. “Are you coming?”
Kincaid’s pressure on my wrist told me he wanted to circle the desk and examine the documents. They were sorted in two piles.
As Kincaid leaned forward to look, Hammond made a sullen swoop with his arm and shoved. I jolted back and the handcuffs came into sight. He couldn’t miss them.
“So!” exclaimed Hammond. “And what the hell’s the idea of that?”
Kincaid didn’t have a thing on Hammond. Suspicion, yes; theories, yes; but not one straw of honest evidence.
“Better explain that IOU on the desk, first,” said Kincaid. “Eighteen thousand, and signed by Johnny Otis.”
Hammond wet his lips. He couldn’t make up his mind whether to keep up his bluff or try a new line.
“I think we’ll look around a little more,” announced Kincaid.
“You wouldn’t want to do anything foolish,” said Hammond. “You wouldn’t want to stick your nose into something you couldn’t pull out of, would you? Because right now you’re heading for one hell of a mess of trouble, and I’ll telling you. But if you wanted to go back to headquarters, say for an hour or so, you could come back and do anything you wanted. Nobody’d know you’d been here before, and in a day or two you’d stop in at my office and get a little present in good honest cash. That’s a pretty good proposition for a couple of plainclothes boys, eh?”
I saw his play. Give him an hour’s time and he’d be out of here, with the Otis papers destroyed and a cast iron alibi to account for his movements all evening long.
Kincaid saw, too. “It’s a lousy proposition,” he said. “You’re under arrest for attempted bribery!”
Hammond jumped and yelled, “Whitey—Earl!” And we were through.
The two gunmen who’d handcuffed us in the tenement plowed through the door and pointed our own guns at us. Or maybe they weren’t our own. What difference does it make?
“This the same pair?” demanded Hammond.
Earl squeaked, “Yeah.” He had bulging eyes that made him look sore, a broad, flat nose and a beautiful chest, Hammond smiled at us. “You see how things are?”
Kincaid barked, “You’re under arrest for murder. The three of you.”
Hammond laughed. “If they made breezes out of stubbornness, sure you’d be a tornado.”
“I am,” said Kincaid. “And you know damn well you can’t get away with this. Lots of people heard young Otis brag, and so you’re the first guy to look for. What chance have you got?”
“A pretty good one,” declared Hammond. “You see, Whitey was taking that body down to where they’d embalm it in concrete and drop it in the river. He stopped off to get. Earl and then the pair of you happened to look in the car. The car, incidentally, was stolen last week and can never in the world be traced, so I have a damn good chance of getting away with it if I rub out the pair of you. And I’m ready to do it, too. Unless you listen to reason.”
“What’s your offer?” asked Kincaid. He saw the force of Hammond’s words and wasted no time arguing.
HAMMOND sat on the edge of the desk. “I want that body. Otis’s. Once I get rid of it, you’ll have a hell of a time proving murder. Or anything else. I have influence in this little town and it takes a pretty tight case to get me. Deliver that body to me, and you walk out of here free. How about it?” Kincaid didn’t hesitated. “Sure,” he said.
That was m
y cue to interrupt. “I’ll be damned if I make any kind of deal with a—”
“Shut up!” snapped Kincaid. “I’m doing this. Hand me that phone.” Hammond lifted it up. “Whitey,” he said, “if either of these men—either of them, understand—tries to give me away or says anything suspicious, let ’em both have it. That clear?”
Whitey grinned as he covered us. Kincaid dialed headquarters. “Kincaid speaking,” he said. “I sent a message and said I’d report back. Has the body from that limousine on Beech Street come in yet?”
Both Hammond and I could hear the answer. “No.”
“All right then. Get word that I want to see it. You can broadcast and there’ll be a radio car to get the message. I’m at the Otis sand and gravel works. Tell ’em to stop by and pick me up, with the body. And in case they have any trouble starting the limousine, there’s nothing wrong with it but a disconnected ignition wire under the hood. Got it?” I went cold. I’d been hoping against hope that Kincaid would put over a smart one, drop a word or a phrase that would warn headquarters. But Kincaid hadn’t. He’d spoken to a general operator whose name he didn’t even know’. He’d lived up to his promise to Hammond.
Hammond’s grin was broad with satisfaction and relief as he saw the phone-piece click back into its cradle.
“Any place where we can park these cops while we clean up?” he asked.
Earl pointed to the doorway behind Hammond. “In there. That closet’s as good as a safe.”
It was. We had plenty of room to be comfortable, but there wasn’t a possibility of escape. I found a light and turned it on. We were in one of those oversized storerooms in which office supplies are kept.
As soon as the door was locked, I turned on Kincaid. “You heel!” I spat out. “The first cop up those stairs is a dead man. They’ll never let an armed cop get near them.”
Kincaid shrugged. “A cop ought to know there’s something phony about bringing a body to a place like this. If he doesn’t use his gun in time, that’s his tough luck.”
“It’s a trap and you know it!” I fumed. “One guy at the top of those stairs could hold off an army.”
“There was no choice. Hammond would have bumped us, and we’re the only ones who can ever prove he killed Otis. Did it right in that office, too. Probably still has the gun with him. Notice the bloodstains in the corner, partly wiped up?”
“And you called me yellow!” I sneered. “At least I don’t play with other people’s lives just to save my neck!”
I felt myself trembling. I tried to think of Marge, but I couldn’t keep her image in front of me. I wanted to throttle Kincaid. My fingers itched to grab his throat. I saw a heavy stamping machine within reach. One blow with that could crack his skull.
“I’m playing to get Hammond,” declared Kincaid drily. “The first chance we have, we’ll go into action.”
That steadied me. The prospect of action. And the knowledge that Kincaid had no intention of lying down on the job.
“How?” I demanded.
“Handcuffs. If we do it right, we can knock a man out with these things.”
“How?” I repeated.
“Got to work together. Get our hands over his head and yank him back, and then smash him on the temple. Like this.”
We practiced that motion, out and forward, down and back, then up and back again. First hook him in the throat, then smash him on the temples. It would be like hitting a guy with brass knuckles, only better.
I MUST have practiced it a hundred times before the door opened and Hammond called us out. Earl was covering us with a revolver, but Whitey, in the corner, had an automatic rifle under his arm. At the sight of it, I felt sick.
Hammond said, “We’ll kill those cops if we have to, but it’s never a good idea. The department gets sore, and I was never the boy to go looking for trouble. I take what comes to me and I’ll give back better, but I don’t go asking for it.”
“Damn nice of you,” I cracked, and Kincaid snapped a “Shut up!” at me.
“So,” continued Hammond, “I’m going to give you a chance. We’ll all be in that dark room facing the head of the stairs. The landing will be lit. If you can make the cops put down their guns while they’re in that patch of light, there won’t be any shooting. I don’t care what you say or how you do it, but if you manage, nobody’ll get killed. I’ll lock the bunch of you in that closet and tie you up, and that’ll give me time to get rid of Otis’s body and burn these papers.” He pointed to a package he had fastened and placed on the desk. “And if you can bust the alibi I’ll have by tomorrow morning, I’ll deserve the chair.” He grinned confidently. “That’s playing square with you, huh?”
“Sure,” said Kincaid. “I’ll manage.” He spoke as emotionally as if he’d just promised to buy a bottle of ink on his way home.
The five of us were in the semi-dark room at the head of the stairs when two cars rolled through the gate. Whitey, with the automatic rifle, had the stairs covered. Earl and Hammond, with revolvers were watching us closely. The light was dim, but they were near us and could see every move we made.
From the window, I noticed that a patrol car was in the lead and the death limousine was trailing it. The autocade stopped in the patch of light from the window and two cops climbed out of the prowl car. One of them yelled, “Hey, Kincaid!”
Kincaid called out “Come on up.” If they’d suspected a trap, they were reassured by the confident note in his voice.
Leisurely, they moved out of sight as they headed for the front door. Another cop got out of the limousine. He hitched his thumbs in his belt and gazed up at the sky.
In the room, nobody moved and nobody spoke. I could feel the tension. I didn’t trust Whitey. He had an automatic rifle in his hands and two cops knew he was an accessory to a murder. He must have realized that while Hammond had a good chance of getting away with this night’s business, neither he nor Earl had a prayer. I swear I could practically feel Whitey’s finger itching on the trigger.
He was holding himself back. Firing down a flight of stairs is tricky, and no matter how careful you are you’re liable to overshoot. But once those cops were in the glare of the landing, Whiter couldn’t miss. Not with an automatic rifle at ten feet.
Kincaid started talking. “Come on up,” he said, in a matter-of-fact voice. “Have any trouble finding the place? A taxi took us up here and almost dumped us out on that bump near the gate. Something funny happened. You know that stiff you got in the car?”
The long muzzle of Whitey’s rifle weaved slightly, like a serpent’s head measuring its distance before the strike. Hammond was staring in fascination. He must have known Whitey was going to shoot and that nothing in the world could stop him. Earl turned his head slightly in order to see the cops walk into the light and die.
Kincaid’s voice droned on. “Well, that stiff passed out with his fingers crossed. You notice it? He had his fingers crossed like dying had brought him luck at last.”
I couldn’t stand it any more. I nudged Kincaid and yelled “Look out!” At the same time I jerked up my arm.
Kincaid worked with me beautifully. We’d practised it so much that our arms worked instinctively. We got Earl on the throat and yanked him back. His gun spat wildly and I grabbed for it while our two hands went up and down in the motion we knew so well. Steel crashed on Earl’s temple and he went down for the count.
Meantime Whitey and Hammond went into action. They’d been so intent on the two cops that they’d forgotten all about us. Whitey started spraying lead down the staircase. With Earl’s captured revolver, I ripped three bullets at him. His gun gave a jerk and a spluttering explosion and thumped to the floor. Kincaid’s spare handcuff whipped out and smacked Hammond. As I whirled, the gun was slapped out of Hammond’s hands and he was raising them slowly and beginning to whimper. He just wasn’t used to gun battles.
Kincaid yelled, “You all right down there?”
One of the cops answered. “Yeah. Nicked me a litt
le. But on our feet all right, and nothing wrong. You okay?”
Kincaid said, “Sure,” and that was that.
WE WERE handcuffed while we questioned Hammond and handcuffed as we rode back to the precinct house. I couldn’t help warming up to Kincaid. The way we’d worked that handcuff trick had been beautiful, if I say it myself. Teamwork like that means something. The ice was broken at last, and I was proud to Work with him. And it was his brainwork that had set us on the trail.
I chuckled to myself. When you’ve been as near death as I had been with Kincaid, you feel drawn to a man. He might be the same Kincaid to everybody else, but from now on we were real partners. To me, those handcuffs were a symbol.
Bolger got a lot of fun out of it before he unlocked us. Then Kincaid reported briefly on the evening’s work.
“Otis had refused to pay on his gambling IOU and had threatened to give the newspapers the evidence of the building graft. Hammond got the kid to meet him at the office and show him the evidence was really there, in black and white. Then Hammond killed him and called in the gunmen to get rid of the body.”
Kincaid paused and looked at me. I felt good.
“As for Somers,” he ended, and I was watching Bolger to see how he’d react to the new set-up between Kincaid and me. “As for Somers, he got us into the trouble and he questioned every order I gave him. He’s dumb, insubordinate and yellow, and I want him brought up on disciplinary charges.”
For a second, I was speechless with shock. All I could think of was eleven months, two weeks and four days to go, with Kincaid.
Then I hauled off and socked him.
I saw the look of surprise on his face. Simultaneously, Lieutenant Bolger forgot himself and smiled.
That’s why I’ve still got my detective’s rating. But also, I’ve still got Kincaid for a partner.
