by Tom Bradby
Quinn skirted around to the rear entrance that led straight to the CIB. An ambulance screamed to a halt beside him and its doors were flung open. Quinn rounded the corner. A rope cordoned off the alley. He pushed past a crowd of onlookers. The doors to the basement corridor were wide open.
He saw a white wall smeared with blood. He saw Schneider, Caprisi and Doc Carter.
Yan lay spreadeagled across the floor, another body beyond him.
Quinn saw a marble-white face, a thread of spittle hanging from pale lips. For a moment, he stood frozen in the doorway.
‘Dad …’ He knelt. Gerry’s pale blue eyes stared back at him. His face was grey, his skin clammy. ‘Where are you hit?’ Quinn pulled back the sheet gently to reveal his father’s bloodstained stomach. Doc Carter had bound it tight, but blood still seeped through.
‘Not much longer, Joe …’ His voice was faint.
‘Dad, the ambulance is here.’
‘Listen to me.’
Quinn leant closer.
His father’s face was distorted by the effort of speech. ‘Did you find her?’
‘I found her, Dad. She’s safe.’
The worry eased in Gerry’s face. ‘Look after them. Look after Aidan. He needs you. You understand?’
‘Of course.’
‘Take them away from here, son. Begin again. Somewhere new. The battle here is lost …’ Gerry closed his eyes against the pain.
Quinn took his hand. ‘Dad, hold on.’
Gerry smiled weakly. ‘It’s okay, Joe.’
‘Hold on.’
‘I’m so …proud of you, my son.’
‘Dad, please …’
‘It’s time.’ He tried to smile again, but the pain was too great. ‘I’ll see your mother and we’ll talk about … what might have been. I’ll see Ruth Scher … tell her … how sorry I am.’
‘Dad, you looked after us.’
Gerry stared at him fiercely and raised his head. ‘Don’t take the same road.’ His face twisted. ‘You understand?’ Passion flared in his eyes for a few more seconds, but then the light faded and he sank back.
‘Dad?’ Quinn gazed at his father’s motionless face. Silence enveloped him. ‘Dad?’ He wrapped his arms around his father’s blood-soaked body and pressed his cheek closer to the failing heart. Blood seeped through the sheet onto his forehead. ‘Dad, please …’ He held him tighter. ‘Dad … please … I’m sorry, I’m here. Don’t go … not now …’
Schneider knelt beside him. ‘Joe, let the medics through.’
‘Dad … I’m sorry, so sorry …’
‘Joe …’ Quinn didn’t budge, so Schneider grabbed him beneath the arms and pulled him to his feet. ‘There’s nothing more you can do.’
The hallway was silent. The ambulance men, the uniform cops, Schneider, Caprisi, Doc Carter, all stood as still as statues.
Quinn shrugged himself free of Schneider’s grip. He turned and punched a hole through the door beside him, then smashed it off its hinges for good measure. Caprisi and Schneider tried to take hold of him. ‘Steady, Joe!’
Suddenly Quinn’s legs turned to water.
‘Steady.’
There were hushed whispers further down the corridor.
Quinn shook himself free and plunged through the door to the stairs. ‘Stop, Joe!’ Schneider called.
Quinn heard footsteps behind him, but burst onto the central floor like a raging bull. Silence fell and anxious faces turned towards him. McCredie’s door was shut, his office shrouded in darkness.
Schneider caught Quinn’s arm and guided him down to his own office. Caprisi was alongside him. He closed the door behind them. ‘He’s not here, Joe,’ Schneider said. He picked up a copy of the Sun and dropped it on the desk. Quinn stared at the headline: ‘Scandal of City Hall “List”’. He moved to the window and watched the rain bounce off the sidewalk. He could hear the water pelting against his mother’s parasol on the journey back from the El station. He could hear his father’s voice. ‘You asked about real stuff … And, pace by pace, you forced me to ask myself what use was a cop if all he did in a city like this was to put away the stick-up men …’
‘Joe, we can help each other,’ Schneider said.
‘How?’
‘With your list, we can destroy him. He knows it. We’ve never run them this close. We’re ready to move. We can do a deal with them, Joe. We can finish him.’
‘We can do a deal?’
‘Sure.’
‘What in hell’s that going to change?’
‘You’re full of rage. I understand that—’
There was a knock on the door. ‘There’s a call for Joe,’ Mae said. She glanced at each man in turn. ‘It’s … He said it was urgent.’
As Quinn passed Mae in the doorway, she squeezed his hand. He picked up the telephone on her desk.
‘I’m sorry about your father, son.’
Quinn clenched his teeth.
‘Hegarty … some of the other boys, they can get a little out of hand. They panic, you know. They’ll have to be punished. I give you my word on that.’
Quinn took a quarter from his pocket and turned it over and over in his hand.
‘Your father was an honourable man. Nobody denies that. I once had a deal with him. I was sad it didn’t hold, but I understand that, with your mother’s death, maybe things looked a little different.’
‘I’m touched by your concern.’
‘We can do a deal, Joe. Nobody wants a fight.’
‘What kind of deal do you have in mind?’
‘You’ve got some papers that don’t belong to you, something our friend Mr Duncan shouldn’t have kept and that his dumb showgirl wife should never have handed over. We’d like them back.’
‘What do I get?’
‘Like I said, son, nobody wants a fight. If there’s anything else you need, we can talk about it.’
Quinn took Duncan’s list from his pocket. Johnny Brandon was watching him intently from across the floor.
‘We should meet,’ McCredie said. ‘There’s a good place in Brooklyn, a warehouse down in the Navy Yards. We can work something out.’
‘I’ll meet you on Wall Street, by the Subtreasury steps.’
‘I don’t think so, son. Half the city’s on Wall Street today.’
‘You don’t say. Be there. And be sure to leave your dogs at home.’
‘Maybe, in a few days, we can think about—’
‘I’ve arranged to meet Goldberg at noon. If I don’t show, he’ll get a copy, along with one or two little extras. I’ll make sure to include your confession to the murder of my father.’
‘I’m not sure I like your tone, son. And the goddamn Subtreasury steps are out. There are several thousand half-crazed suckers crawling all over them.’
‘Then I’ll see you on top of the building where Matsell worked, the roof of number eighty. In one hour.’
‘You think I’m stupid enough to believe it won’t be a set-up?’
Quinn glanced at Brandon again. ‘You want the list? You’ve got one hour. Make sure you come alone.’
Quinn cut the connection and returned to Schneider’s office, where the deputy commissioner and Caprisi sat.
Johnny Brandon crossed the room. His eyes were like chips of ice. ‘You’re finished, all of you. You know that, don’t you? This time it’s over.’
Quinn closed the door behind him.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
HALF AN HOUR LATER, QUINN HEADED SOUTH. AS HE PASSED through City Hall Park, a cloud of starlings and blackbirds darkened the sky, gathering for winter migration. The birds came in so hard that the traffic ground to a halt. They bumped and scratched at the hood, windshield and roof as they sought places to rest and forage. When they left a few minutes later, the street was strewn with the corpses of those that had keeled over from exhaustion or starvation.
Some of the birds had flocked above Wall Street, but the assembled throng paid little heed. Newspaper billboards yelled yester
day’s calamity in bold type: STOCK MARKET CRISIS OVER. Stock Houses Survive Worst Day in History; MANY STOCKS DOWN DESPITE RALLY AFTER 12,894,650 SHARE PANIC! SENATE TO PROBE FINANCIAL SYSTEM. Losses 3 Billion More; Morgan stems stampede.
The shoeshine boys and street urchins were huddled around newspapers or glued to the translux brokerage windows, an illuminated reflection of the moving ticker tape. While yesterday’s panic had stimulated hysteria, the whispers of new losses were now met with up-all-night fatigue. Tour buses were backed up along South Street. Their occupants strolled along damp sidewalks to record the disconsolate scenes for their picture books back home. Four or five hundred men from the First Precinct station house stood patiently by. Between them, the street sweepers attempted to clear up the debris from yesterday.
Quinn walked into number eighty.
There was a translux in the hall so nobody paid him the slightest attention. He stepped into the elevator, rose to the top floor and emerged into the gloom of the morning sky.
A seaplane skimmed the surface of the East River and spun back towards the downtown skyport on pier twelve. He trod across the gravel to the edge of the roof. The crowd stretched away below him towards the Exchange, where newsmen jostled for space. Film cameras rolled.
‘It’s not a good place to jump.’
Quinn turned. McCredie stood a few yards away, hands thrust deep into his pockets and a cigarette clamped to his lips.
He was not alone.
Martha was behind him, handcuffed to the rail, her face bruised and bloodied.
Quinn took a pace towards her.
‘Stay where you are, Joe.’ McCredie motioned towards the street. ‘Take a look down there.’
Aidan stood on the far pavement. His was the sole face tilted skywards. He was surrounded by men with bulging raincoats.
‘There’s no escaping us, son. You should know that by now.’ McCredie smiled. ‘But, like I said, we don’t want a fight. In fact, you could say we owe you a favour. We were scratching our heads about who in hell had our number when you figured it out for us: a cop. Of course! It had to be your old man. If you hadn’t been so smart, Joe …’
‘You remember Ruth Scher, McCredie?’
‘Sure I do.’ He flicked his cigarette over the lip of the roof. ‘But we’re not here for a history lesson.’
‘Was she the first girl you killed or just the first we know about?’
‘What is this? Confession time?’
‘She was sixteen.’
‘So she got in out of her depth. There are hundreds of dames with tight little tits all over this city begging for a shot at the big-time. Just ask your girlfriend here.’ McCredie’s smile became a leer. ‘Screwing your brother’s woman, Joe? Now that is dirty.’
‘How many of you were there when Ruth was torn to pieces?’
‘She was just another broad!’
‘She was a girl. She was Abe and Mary’s only child, their pride and joy.’
‘Yeah? Then they should have educated her better in the ways of the world, because she cried the whole goddamn time,’ McCredie snapped. ‘What is it with guys like you? We’ve been creating the greatest business the world has ever known. You get offered a nice big cut of the action, and for doing what? Nothing. Not a damn thing. All you have to do is sit on your fat ass and stay in line while we make you richer than any of the suckers down there could ever dream of. Tell me, honestly, what the hell do a couple of broads matter?’
‘They matter to their families. They matter to their friends. They mattered to my dad. And they matter to me.’
‘I don’t think so.’ McCredie acknowledged the Bull with a tilt of his head as Brandon emerged from the doorway.
The Bull trained a revolver on Quinn’s stomach. ‘Okay, son,’ McCredie said, ‘this has been a real swell discussion, but I’m tired of the small-talk. If there’s a deal to be done, let’s do it.’
‘You figure I’m naïve enough to think you’ll let me walk away from here?’
‘You’re a real smart guy, Joe. You can work out the score. You let me take a look at those papers and get them into safe hands and I don’t give two bits what you do.’
‘You just confessed to the murder of a sixteen-year-old girl.’
‘Did I, son? Well, blow me down. But, hell, if you figure the fate of some girl who wouldn’t stop crying and wouldn’t keep her mouth shut when we were screwing her is going to change anything in this city, you’re more of a fool than I thought. Duncan’s indiscretion will cause us discomfort while this election is running and Major La Guardia continues to make himself a pain in the ass, which is why I’m prepared to offer you a deal, but that’s all. Now if we could get on with—’
Quinn started to move towards Martha.
‘Stay there!’ McCredie moved two paces closer. ‘We’ve written the script for you, son. You busted the case. You went out on a limb and trailed our killer to a distant, lonely place. We’ll find some hustler who needs to be put six feet under and you’ll walk away from his corpse a hero. We do the deal and I’ll go down these stairs now and start spinning the story for Billy and his gang. All you have to do is play your part and you’ll be as big a star as your old man. That’s what you want, isn’t it? But remember this. You work for the New York Police Department. And we don’t believe in fairy tales.’
Quinn continued to walk towards Martha.
‘Last chance, kid.’ McCredie glanced at Brandon. ‘Take him, Johnny.’
Brandon didn’t move.
‘Finish him.’
McCredie turned to stare at the Bull. ‘What are you telling me here, Johnny?’ His laugh rang short and hollow. ‘After all these years, you’ve found your conscience?’
Brandon still didn’t move.
‘What are you saying, my friend? You’ve sold me out, is that it? You’ve sold me out to that prick La Guardia? You’ve done a deal with the kid here?’
‘Yeah, I sold you out.’
‘You son of a bitch. After all I did for you?’
Quinn closed slowly on his quarry.
McCredie blanched. ‘You reckon you’re changing the world, Joe? Is that it? Forget it!’ They circled. ‘If Johnny’s done a deal it’s to give himself the keys – and that’s all the goddamn change you’ll ever see.’
Quinn took another pace towards him.
‘Come on, son, don’t—’
Quinn hit him.
McCredie stumbled back. He clutched his jaw, startled by the insolence. ‘Jesus,’ he said. But he recovered fast and parried the follow-up. He was good and quick, but his time was past. Old bones and guile were no match for Quinn’s speed and strength.
McCredie absorbed a punch to the stomach and one to the shoulder, but another clean right to the jaw sent him reeling back.
McCredie shook his head and came forward again, but Quinn pummelled him with blow after blow. He staggered back. By the time they reached the lip of the roof, McCredie was beat. He looked groggy and uncertain on his feet. ‘Joe, one minute.’
Quinn smacked him in the mouth so hard that he teetered on the edge of the roof, arms flailing, then crumpled.
He fell awkwardly and scrabbled to hold onto the parapet. ‘Joe
– please …’ Quinn stood above him, motionless. He saw the fear in McCredie’s eyes.
The Bull came alongside him. He lowered his revolver. ‘Goodbye, Ed,’ he said. ‘It’s been swell knowing you.’ He fired a single shot through McCredie’s forehead.
There were shouts from below. The crowd surged down from the Exchange. A whistle blew.
Quinn looked down into the street. A man lay on his back, face up to the glowering sky. His derby had landed rim up, and as the rain came once more, it started to fill with water.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
THE WIND TUGGED AT QUINN’S HAIR AND COAT. THE RAIN COOLED his cheeks. He looked down again. McCredie appeared to be floating on a sea of umbrellas, arms outstretched.
Aidan stood motionless on the far side of
the street.
Quinn crossed the roof, took out his revolver and fired a shot through the metal link of the handcuffs.
Her tears were wet upon his cheeks as he carried her into the stairwell. Halfway down she wriggled free. She kissed him hard, her body moulded to his and her arms tight around his neck.
He picked her up again. She didn’t struggle. As they emerged onto Wall Street, the crowd spilled forward. A whistle blew to keep them back. A flashbulb exploded in the gloom.
Quinn saw Aidan at the front of the throng. He was close enough to see the hurt and fear in his brother’s eyes. He forced himself forwards and placed Martha gently in Aidan’s arms. She would not release him, but he broke her grip.
‘Joe,’ she called. ‘Joe!’
A newsman shouted, ‘Mr Quinn? Detective!’
He walked towards South Street, the breeze fresh on his cheeks. A lone tree rustled beside him, but all he could hear was the sound of the rain on an old Chinese parasol.
Reporters crowded in. He recognized Billy Burke from the Mirror.
‘Detective, I hear it was you who bust this open. McCredie was the Wall Street Killer, right? You cornered him? What did he say before he fell?’
Quinn turned into South Street.
‘Just one line, sir,’ Burke shouted. ‘It’s a hell of a story – multiple homicide, the killer one of the most powerful men in the city, a struggle high above Wall Street. It was about this list, right? McCredie was overseeing the take for City Hall? Spencer Duncan and Moe Diamond were going to go on the record for La Guardia so he had them rubbed out? Detective, c’mon, we’ll make you a hero.’
Quinn did not break his stride.
‘C’mon, Detective, just a line!’
He walked faster.
‘Detective, a single line!’
Quinn turned on him. ‘I’m a detective from the New York City Police Department,’ he said. ‘And we don’t believe in fairy tales.’
