On The Inside

by Ted Wood

  “Let's go over there right now and check his weapon.” The chief was on his feet again, ready to rush right over and drag Walker out of bed.

  “No need for that, chief. I did last night. It was clean.”

  He shook his head. “You mean you suspected him last night?”

  “I mean I closed out one more possibility. It was the obvious thing to do.”

  “Good God. This a disgusting business we're in,” he said.

  “I don't like it any better than you do. We just do it, that's all.” I was watching him carefully to see if he gave anything away. But he didn't. He was a blank, shocked spectator.

  “So what do we do now?” He looked like one of those aging movie stars who play the U.S. president in movies about an atomic crisis. Only nobody had written him any lines for this part. “I've been giving out the information that it looked as if the sergeant had shot himself accidentally.”

  “The media is the least of our worries, chief. We've got a murderer on the loose.” He didn't answer and I took charge. “The most obvious possibility is Nunziatta,” I said. “He had a police gun. It happens to be mine. He said the sergeant gave it to him. With the sergeant dead, we can't be sure what happened.”

  “That bastard.” Harding looked brighter. Here was a suspect who was already unpopular. He could get indignant about this.

  “I'll go down and bring him in,” I said, then hesitated. “Oh, chief, I hate to mention it, but just for the record, has your gun been fired recently?”

  “What?” He jumped up again. “Are you saying I did it?” He had his hand on his chest as if I'd stabbed him. He wasn't insulted, he was horrified—the way a civilian would have been.

  “Of course not, chief. But if I'm in charge of the case I should be able to state categorically at the inquest that it couldn't have been you or Walker because if I don't, tongues might wag.”

  He was wearing his tunic. Like any officer above the rank of sergeant he wore no gun belt, but he had his pistol in a holster in the back of his waistband. He reached around wordlessly and produced his gun. He didn't even break it, just handed it to me.

  I broke it and checked the barrel. It was shiny clean, but there were dust flecks in it, an indication that it had sat around for years possibly without being fired. I noticed his own rounds were conventional, the same as my own.

  “Thank you, sir. I apologize for any suggestion of impropriety.”

  He took his gun back and snapped the chamber closed. “Thank you,” he said. “You're a very good policeman, Bennett.”

  “I try,” I said. “Would you like to come with me to Nunziatta's house?”

  “Perhaps I should,” he said. He picked up his hat and came with me. “You'll need a topcoat, sir.” I was treating him like an elderly relative, but he didn't seem to mind.

  “I think not.” He looked very military in his uniform. A topcoat wouldn't have improved his appearance, and I was certain that he lived by the impression he was making, not the job he was doing.

  “Right.” I went out to the radio and switched it to its telephone connection, then waited until the chief joined me. We walked out to the car and got in. Sam was still in the rear seat and he keened when I sat down. “Good boy,” I told him.

  We drove to Nunziatta's house in silence. There was no car in the driveway and like all the single-story houses in town, the place had no garage. “Looks as if he's gone,” I said.

  “We'll see,” the chief said grimly. We went to the door and rang. A pretty young woman answered the bell. She had a baby on her hip and a three-year-old boy peeking around her skirts. She had a feeding bottle of orange juice in her hand. The chief touched his cap formally and asked, “Is Frank in, please, Mrs. Nunziatta?”

  “No.” She looked anxious. “Is there trouble?”

  The baby started to wail and she jiggled her hip nervously.

  “Do you know where he's gone, ma'am?” I asked.

  “Out,” she said, shrugging. “He din’ say.”

  “Thank you. May we come in?” The chief was acting now, I could read it. His chin was higher and he was imperious, back in command, until he saw Nunziatta, then he would let me take over and do the police work.

  “Sure.” She stood aside nervously and we went in. I was in plain clothes so I took off my toque. The chief kept his cap on. He was in costume.

  The house was overfurnished. There was thick carpet on the floor and lots of heavy ornate furniture, including one standard lamp that still had the plastic wrapped around the shade. I let the chief do the talking.

  “Do you mind if we check that he's not in?” he asked.

  “He's not in. I told you,” she said. I felt sorry for her. The whole fabric of her life was coming undone.

  “It won't take a moment, ma'am,” I said.

  The baby started to yowl again and she sat down and gave it the orange juice. “Okay,” she said grimly. “You don’ believe me, you look around.”

  It took a minute. He wasn't there. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Nunziatta,” I said and the chief took over. “Tell Frank to call me as soon as he gets back,” he said.

  She was concentrating on feeding the baby. “I wish somebody would tell me what's happening,” she said softly.

  “Ask your husband,” Harding said. “Thank you for your assistance. We'll see ourselves out.” He touched his cap curtly and turned away. I followed, feeling guilty. This is the side of crime that hurts the most, seeing what it does to innocent people.

  We went back to the car and the chief got in. “He's taken off,” he said. “I'll call the OPP and tell them to be on the lookout for his car. He's halfway to either Thunder Bay or the Soo, right now.”

  “If he is, we'll know he's guilty,” I said. “But I'm not sure.”

  “Where else could he be?” Harding was cocky again. It looked as if the case was all wrapped up.

  “Perhaps he's got another drug stash somewhere. He may have gone to check it out.” I backed out of the drive and headed to the station. “Perhaps if you'll call the OPP, chief, I'll take a look around town. I'll call Levesque as well, have him on the lookout for the car.”

  “Good thinking.” The chief nodded, then laughed shortly. “There's also the possibility that he's gone to the mine.”

  “If he'd gone to work, his wife would have known. He would have been dressed for it.”

  “I suppose so.” Harding stared out of the car window, looking at the familiar scene of low houses and snow. Nothing was moving except us. It was a cold day with the smoke from the chimneys rising straight up. All the miners’ wives would be in front of the television watching what life was like in Hollywood, wishing they were there.

  At the station I took a few minutes to parcel up the sergeant's gun and the round I had dug out of the wall. Then I contacted the express agent in town and arranged for him to pick it up for shipment to Toronto. After that I went back to the car and put Sam in the front seat, where he could be immediately useful if I needed him. I drove back through town, looking for Nunziatta's car. I half expected it to be on the lot of the Headframe. That would have tied things together a little more neatly. I still felt that Berger involved in all was that had happened.

  But Nunziatta's car was not there. I drove all around town without seeing it and then turned and headed over to the old town to check for it at the old mill. It wasn't there either and I stopped for a minute, thinking. Then, on impulse, I pulled into Wilcox's driveway and went up to the door. I could see him in his greenhouse. He peered out when he heard me drive up. He opened the front door as I reached it.

  “Hi. What's up?” He seemed cheerful. I think the news of Ferris's suicide had given him a bleak satisfaction.

  “More developments,” I said. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure, please.” He stood back and I went in. His dog yapped around me until he told it to be quiet.

  “Looks like the sergeant was murdered,” I said.

  “What?” His chin dropped. “I thought you
said he shot himself.”

  “His own gun had been fired, but it wasn't fired near a body. I think somebody blew him away, then fired his gun out of the door and dropped it by him.”

  He sat down, then shook his head and waved me to another chair. I sat. “Who did it? Any idea?”

  “Nunziatta's gone missing,” I said.

  “Sonofabitch.” His dog jumped up into his lap and he stroked it absently.

  I looked at him and wondered. Everyone thinks that they're a pretty good judge of character. I'm no exception. I was asking myself how far I could trust him. I plunged.

  “Look. I shouldn't be asking you this, but I think I'm going to need some help.”

  “What kind of help?”

  “There was a mark on Ferris's calendar. That's all. Just a mark, for tomorrow.”

  “And?” He bent down and lowered his dog to the floor. It stood there nervously, wagging its tail. He sat back and it jumped back into his lap. He ignored it.

  “I've found out since that there's a gold shipment going out tomorrow.”

  He whistled. “You think he was gonna grab it?”

  “I'm not sure but I don't want to go to the chief with the idea, in case he's part of the same scheme.”

  “What are you planning to do about it?” His eyes were bright with excitement. I had picked the right man.

  “I'm not exactly sure, but I'll need some help. Are you game?”

  He stood up, ignoring his dog which jumped down with a yap of alarm. “You bet,” he said happily. “You bet your boots.”

  He made a fresh pot of coffee and we sat and talked. When I had laid out the few facts I had he scratched his chin and said, “Looks like we have to identify the truck, when it gets to the motel, then ride shotgun until it's out of town.”

  “That's not enough,” I said. “First question: How could anybody get away with a half ton of anything? The road can be sealed at the highway. Nobody could get off this stretch of it without being stopped in an OPP road check.”

  “They couldn't,” he said. And suddenly I saw how I could be wrong. They might not have to.

  “What if they don't take it out of town? What if they disperse it, hide it all over town? Hell, half a ton of gold isn't that big. A piece the size of a house brick would weigh maybe eighty pounds, more probably. They'd have to hide a dozen bricks. That's all. If they sat on them for a while, until the heat was off, they could smuggle them out of town easily. We couldn't search everything that went down the road.”

  We sat and looked at one another like a couple of astronomers who had just discovered a new star.

  NINETEEN

  “Okay. So it could happen,” Wilcox said. “What can we do?”

  I set down my cup and slipped into my parka. “'We can be there and follow them. That's about it. Right now I have to get back to the station. Thank you for the offer of help. I'll come by this evening and let you know what's breaking.”

  He saw me to the door, scooping up his dog to keep it from rushing out into the cold. “Good,” he said. “This beats the hell out of ‘Wheel of Fortune.'”

  I bumped him on the shoulder as I passed and went to the car. I fussed Sam, who sniffed me with interest, picking up the scent of Wilcox's terrier on my jacket. I drove and called the station. “Unit one. Any messages?”

  Levesque answered. “Yeah, sarge. Nunziatta's wife called. He's back and he's barricaded himself in the house. You just caught us. Me'n the chief're headin’ down there.”

  “Be right there.”

  The scout car was at the end of Nunziatta's street. I got out, bringing Sam with me, and went to the other car. The chief was sitting in it, talking into the radio. Levesque was standing beside him.

  “Is Nunziatta home?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” Levesque was excited. “So's his wife and kids. He's crazy. He slapped the hell out of her when he found her on the phone.” Levesque pointed down the street at a car in the driveway opposite Nunziatta's house. The back window was gone. “He's been shooting. He's on the phone now, talking to the chief.”

  I took charge. “Okay. He can't shoot while he's on the phone. It's in the kitchen where he can't see the street. Take my car and go around the block to the other end of the street. Stop anybody coming in.”

  “Right.” He ran to the scout car I had been driving.

  I opened the door on the other car and heard the chief talking. “Look. You're surrounded. Just cut the crap and come on out. You'll go away for years if you hurt your family.”

  Nunziatta's voice was a squawk. The chief was trying to cut in but I tapped him on the shoulder and indicated the receiver. He gave it to me, his face tight. “See if you can get some sense out of the sonofabitch,” he said.

  I waited until Nunziatta's voice died down, then cut in. “Hi, Frank. This is Reid Bennett. What's happening, man?” I drawled a little, laid back to the point of torpor. I figured he'd been into some drug or other, probably his uppers.

  “You're the goddamn cause of all this,” he shouted. “You said we had a deal.”

  “We do, Frank. You know that. You want to talk terms?”

  “Terms?” His voice rose an octave. “You already told me your goddamn terms. You got me busted.”

  “Listen, Frank. Nothing's happened yet,” I said. “Hell, we can still negotiate what's gonna happen.” I've been in a couple of situations like this. The first rule is to stay calm.

  “I'm tellin’ you what's gonna happen. I want a car and I want clear passage to Toronto. That's what I want.”

  “Well, hell, why didn't you say so?” I kept a smile in my voice. “Jeez, Frank. You want it. You got it.”

  I let go of the microphone and glanced around. “Where the hell's his own car?”

  The chief shrugged. “It's not here. I don't know where it's gone. That's why he wants another one, I guess.”

  Nunziatta's voice came back on the air. “You're shittin’ me,” he said. He was still as angry but the pitch of his voice was lower.

  I took over again, explaining calmly, “Look. I told you. We don't want any trouble. All we're concerned about here is the town of Elliot. You want to go to Toronto, fine. Why don't you come on out and I'll hand you the keys to the police car.”

  “Great,” he sneered. “How goddamn dumb do you think I am, Bennett? Might as well drive a goddamn fire reel.”

  “Well what's wrong with your own car? It was going fine yesterday?”

  “It ain’ here,” he shouted. “Somethin’ wrong with your eyes? See my car out there do you?”

  “Whoa. Sorry, Frank. Just asking.” I put a chuckle in my voice. “Wasn't thinking, that's all. Anyway, how about my car? Nice dark Chev. It's only got sixty-thousand K on the clock, goes like a bird.” I released the button on the mike and the chief bent down to bluster at me. “You can't promise him immunity. Give me that microphone.”

  It was showdown time. I lied. “Chief. I once took the FBI course on hostage negotiations. I don't think you have. If anything happens to those kids while I'm negotiating, you're covered.”

  The chief worked his mouth convulsively but didn't say anything. Over his shoulder I saw Levesque wheel across the other end of the street and get out. Good. Now if I could just keep the chief occupied I might have a chance.

  “When did you take this course?” He was weakening.

  “About five years ago.” More lies, vital lies.

  “Very well.” He nodded grimly. “But do not make any bargains with him without my permission.”

  “Thank you, sir.” I buffed the apple to a high gloss.

  At the other end of the radio I heard a tinkling of glass, then a shot. I glanced up and saw the car across from Nunziatta's house buck then sink. He had shot one of the tires out. It was my cue. “Good shooting, Frank. You're pretty good with that thing.”

  There was no answer at first, then we heard a burble of voices, then Nunziatta was speaking. “I've got a .3030 deer gun here. I want you to know that, Bennett.”
/>
  “Hey, I know that. And you're goddamn good with it. Do much hunting, do you?”

  It wasn't a frivolous question. You have to break the guy's concentration, it gets him off balance.

  “Hunting?” He sounded startled.

  “Yeah? I've got one of those things, a Remington. They're great for deer. Bit light for moose though, unless you're a real pro. Ever get a moose, did you?”

  There was a mystified silence, then more anger. “I don’ wanna talk about guns. I got a woman and two kids in here and they're gone if you don't give me what I want.”

  “Lookit. I've already told you. I'll get the car. We can't do it at the moment because I need this one to talk to you. But if you'll come out—”

  He didn't let me finish. He laughed, a shrill cackle. “You think I was born yesterday? Get that goddamn car here. Okay?”

  “You want a car, you got a car,” I said. “Just hold the phone a second.”

  I turned to the chief. “We should send Levesque to get my car.”

  “All right.” He nodded, tight-lipped. “But he's not driving out of town. I want you to be very sure of that.”

  “He's softening,” I said. “Once he sees the car he'll be fine.”

  I could hear a baby crying at the other end of the line, then his wife's voice, then a slap. I took up the receiver and waved to Levesque at the other end, indicating the speaker, then my ear. He nodded and got into his car.

  “Okay, Frank. This message is for Officer Levesque. Officer, please come and see me, in your car, and pick up my car keys. Then go to Haley's Garage and get my car. Fill it up and bring it here.”

  “Right.” Levesque hung up and wheeled away around the block.

  “Okay, Frank. I did what you said. That thing'll get you to the Soo without even stopping for gas.”

  “Good,” he said. “Now you're thinking.”

  He sounded a little calmer, so I worked on him. “Listen, Frank, I'm sorry you're acting this way. I thought you were a nice guy.”

  “I am a nice guy. Ask anybody,” he snapped.

  “Well what's making you so mad? I promised you wouldn't get a lot of trouble out of this business thing of yours.”