by Edson, J. T.
‘Your parents have come back, Mrs. Coyle,’ Tom Cord announced, entering accompanied by a policewoman. He nodded approvingly at Brad for having remembered to request the assistance of a female police officer. ‘Don’t worry, your mother’s staying in the car while your father comes to help us. If Brad’s through with his questions, Miss Gray here will keep you company.’
‘You look as if a cup of coffee would be welcome, Mrs. Coyle,’ the policewoman remarked, having received a nod to the unspoken question which she had flashed at the big blond. ‘If you’ll show me the kitchen, I’ll make some.’
At that moment, a big, bulky, white-haired and well-dressed man hurried in. Going across to Mrs. Coyle, he took her in his arms and asked if she was all right. Allowing the woman and her father to talk until he was reassured, Tom asked him to take them around the house and check on what was missing.
Accompanied by the deputies, after they had all donned cotton gloves—which Brad had collected from the Oldsmobile—to avoid leaving fingerprints, Thadeus Beagan went upstairs. Leading the way into the front bedroom, he glared around in anger. The drawers of the dressing table and the doors of the fitted wardrobe were open, the contents from all of them being scattered about the floor.
‘God damn it!’ Beagan gritted furiously.
‘Don’t touch anything, sir,’ Tom cautioned quietly, as the man took a step forward. ‘We have to have some photographs taken. Can you give me any idea, just by looking, of what might be missing?’
‘Money, for one thing!’ Beagan ejaculated, standing still and indicating the dressing-table.
‘How much, sir?’ Tom prompted.
‘A thousand dollars,’ Beagan answered bitterly. ‘One hundred and fifty British pounds and two thousand, five hundred francs.’
‘Why did you have so much cash in the house, sir?’ Brad wanted to know.
‘Why the hell shouldn’t I?’ Beagan barked, swinging towards the big blond with an expression of fury. Then it died away and a look of contrition came to his face as he shrugged and continued, ‘I’m sorry, deputy. But this’s got me rattled—’
‘I understand, sir,’ Brad said gently, taking out his notepad and pen. ‘Go on, please.’
‘It’s just that we’ve had trouble getting traveler’s checks cashed in Europe on other vacations,’ Beagan continued. ‘So we like to have some ready cash on hand. I never thought—expected—’
‘Can you remember how the dollars were made up, sir?’ Tom interrupted.
‘Tens and twenties, all new bills,’ Beagan replied and resumed his scrutiny of the room. ‘I got them from the bank on Friday.’
‘Which bank, sir?’ Brad asked.
‘The First National in Gusher City South. The pounds were fives and tens and the francs fifties and hundreds.’
‘Huh huh,’ Tom grunted, watching his partner writing down what they had been told and then studying the room once more. ‘Can you tell me anything else that’s gone?’
‘Well I’ll be damned!’ Beagan ejaculated, staring at a brown fur coat which lay by the wardrobes.
‘What’s up, sir?’ Tom asked.
‘Verna—my wife—has two fur coats, a mink and a simulated ocelot. He’s left the mink. Well I’ll be damned!’
‘Anything else?’ Tom inquired, keeping his thoughts on the last matter to himself.
‘Our jewelry, from the looks of it,’ Beagan decided.
‘Was it valuable, sir?’ Brad put in.
‘It wasn’t junk!’ Beagan snorted. ‘There was a diamond bracelet I had made up for Verna when we were married, our wrist watches, both Omegas. Damn it to hell—!’
‘It always gets at you, sir,’ Tom commiserated, being aware of the sense of frustrated outrage being experienced by the man. Footsteps sounded outside the room and he went on, ‘This’ll be the photographer. Can you see anything else before we go and look in the other rooms?’
‘He’s taken the Coffeemade de Luxe that we kept on the dressing-table,’ Beagan decided, ‘but that’s all I can make out.’
‘Can I make a start in here?’ asked the photographer, appearing at the bedroom door. ‘I’ve finished outside.’
‘Sure,’ Tom authorized. ‘We’ll take a look in the other rooms, Mr. Beagan.’
The check on the other rooms added little to the deputies’ fund of knowledge. All had been searched with equal thoroughness, but Beagan was unable to be sure what had been taken.
A team from the Scientific Investigation Bureau arrived while the inspection was being made, the photographer having come with the local detectives. Leaving Beagan with the new arrivals, Brad and Tom went to the kitchen and took Mrs. Coyle through her story again. She admitted that, on recollection, she had heard a vehicle of some kind coming from the street towards the front of the house. However, believing that it was her parents returning, she had not bothered to look. One other piece of information came from the repeated questioning. The man had been upstairs, probably in the Beagans’ bedroom, when the patrolman had arrived and had returned to continue with his work after going down and shooting them.
‘She’s still giving the same description,’ Brad remarked, as he and Tom went into the sitting-room at the conclusion of the interview. ‘At Quantico they reckoned that’s always a good sign.’
‘It is,’ Tom conceded. ‘We’re lucky to have such a good one. I’ll have an A.P.B. put out for him.’
‘We could come lucky,’ Brad said, after his partner had used the telephone to call Central Control and arrange for the all points bulletin to be put out over the radio. ‘Or Mrs. Coyle’ll maybe pick him out of our mug-shot files.’
‘I hope she does,’ Tom said grimly. ‘I want to nail that bastard, boy.’
‘And me,’ Brad admitted. ‘He shot Mano Segovia in the head after he was down and helpless.’
‘That’s only one reason I want him,’ Tom told the big blond. ‘You heard what Mrs. Coyle just told us. He went upstairs and finished the robbery after wasting two officers. Anybody with that kind of nerve’s too dangerous to be walking the streets.’
‘I’m with you on that, amigo,’ Brad declared. ‘Could be R. and I. [xxiii] will pull him out of the files for us.’
‘I’ll be surprised if them, I.C.R. or the F.B.I, can’t make him,’ Tom stated. ‘He might be young, but he’s turned this place over like a real pro.’
‘Sure,’ Brad agreed and wondered if the case he was now working on would end in roaring guns and sudden death like his first.
~*~
‘R. and I. haven’t been able to make him from the description,’ Bradford Counter told his partner, after reading the message which they had found on their desk at the Deputies’ Squad Room. ‘The best they’ve come up with is the names and addresses of some other daylight burglars.’
‘We’ll pass them out and have the local houses check them,’ Deputy Sheriff Tom Cord replied. ‘Maybe one of them’ll know him and talk. It could happen if he’s from out of town. Local crooks don’t take to strangers coming in and wasting peace officers. It makes too much heat.’
Although the time was four thirty and the Day Watch had ended officially half an hour earlier, neither Brad nor Tom had any thought of logging off. There was still much routine work which required their attention and they would be remaining at the Sheriff’s Office until they had completed the most important parts of it.
The deputies had stayed at the Beagans’ house for over two hours, but they had not learned a great deal. Despite a very thorough search, the technicians from S.I.B. had not produced a single hint as to the killer’s identity. The fact that he had been wearing gloves had ruined any hope of fingerprints even. One surprising development had been the discovery that he had not taken any of the money.
Nor had he overlooked it, as it had been found under some clothes from the dressing table. He had also left behind what Beagan had claimed were their most valuable pieces of jewelry, which was even more puzzling. The items had been small enough for him to have carr
ied them away in his pockets, even if for some reason he had not wished to take them in one of the suitcases he had appropriated to carry off some of his loot.
None of the patrolmen and detectives who had been questioning the occupants of the houses on the street had had any success. Nobody had seen or heard anything. So Tom had called the Department of Public Safety’s Public Relations Bureau and asked for them to have the local radio and television stations request that any person who had been on Sandford Street around the time of the lolling contact the Sheriff’s Office.
Beagan had mentioned that he owned a Colt Government Model .45 automatic. However, he had left it with a friend who owned a sporting goods store for safe keeping while he was on vacation. As always, he had arranged for the police to keep a watch on his property in his absence. Although he had not left when he had expected to, he had not bothered to cancel the house check. Nor had he found the time to mow his lawn, which accounted for its condition.
With the preliminary, on the spot, work completed, Brad and Tom had returned to the Sheriff’s Office. They had brought Mrs. Coyle with them and she was working with a police artist to produce a composite sketch of the killer.
‘There’s something bugging me about this caper,’ Brad remarked, putting down the R. and I.’s report and picking up the sheaf of scene-of-the-crime photographs. They had been taken with a self-developing Land Polaroid camera. ‘But I’m damned if I can put my finger on it.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Tom admitted. ‘The son-of-a-bitch steals a Coffeemade and a portable typewriter, but takes a simulated ocelot and leaves a mink that’s worth four-five times as much. He leaves all the money and the best pieces of jewelry too. Good stuff any fence’d pay high for.’
‘Maybe he doesn’t know any fences,’ Brad suggested, studying a photograph of Segovia’s body and the empty cartridge cases encircled by a pen to show their positions.
‘That was a real pro’s job,’ Tom objected. ‘A feller who could do it would know more fences than R. and I. and I.C.R. could put a name to.’
‘Even if he was from out of the State?’
‘He’d likely have contacts. A feller like him wouldn’t be working on the chance that he might find a buyer.’
‘I reckon you’re right,’ Brad conceded.
About to put the photograph down, the big blond stiffened slightly. Then he looked at the top one again. His right hand went to touch the butt of his big Colt.
Suddenly Brad realized what was wrong.
It had been under his nose all the time!
In fact, he in particular should have seen it immediately!
For all the realization, Brad did not tell Tom what he suspected. He could be wrong and had no wish to make a fool of himself. After all, there had been a number of older, more experienced men on the scene and not one of them had reached a similar conclusion.
‘What’s up, boy?’Tom inquired.
‘I was wondering if F.I.L.’s come up with anything,’ Brad answered.
‘Jed Cornelius and Simmy Wotjac’re away,’ Tom warned. ‘So maybe nothing’s been done yet. Let’s go ask.’
Leaving the Squad Room, the deputies crossed the passage and went through a door marked, ‘FIREARMS INVESTIGATION LABORATORY’. Tom pressed a bell button on the dividing rail which prevented visitors from going into the two working rooms of the department. After about a minute, a plumpish, sallow-faced man wearing khaki cover-alls entered.
‘Howdy, Tom,’ Patrolman Harvey Rice greeted, with the casual informality of a trained technician who knew that he had a position of importance despite the low grade of his rank. He looked Brad over from head to toe, acting as if he had all the time in the world. ‘So this’s your new partner, huh?’
‘Sure,’ Tom replied and the big blond noticed that his voice lacked cordiality. ‘Have you met Patrolman Rice, Brad?’
‘Nope,’ Brad admitted, not caring for the technician’s somewhat mocking attitude but willing to try to be friendly. The instructors at Quantico had stressed the importance of keeping on good terms with such specialists. ‘Howdy, Mr. Rice.’
‘Something I can do for you, Tom?’ Rice inquired, without offering to reply.
‘Sure,’ the stocky deputy confirmed, seeing Brad’s cheeks redden a little. ‘We’re on the Sandford Road case—’
‘Heard about it,’ Rice conceded. ‘It’s a bad one.’
‘Yeah,’ Tom agreed, although the technician’s words had sounded to him as if they merely expressed a conventional, expected comment and he did not really care about what had happened to the two officers. ‘We were wondering if you’d got anything for us on the empty cases we sent in.’
‘They’re standard G.I. issue,’ Rice stated in an off-hand manner that irritated the stocky deputy. ‘The M.E.’s not let me have the bullets yet, so that’s all I can give you right now.’
If the technician’s attitude was anything to go by, he considered that he had done all that was necessary and expected the deputies to leave.
Glancing at Tom, Brad hesitated before speaking. If he had been talking to either Lieutenant Cornelius or Sergeant Wotjac, both of whom he had met and taken a liking to, he would not have minded asking the question which had brought him to the F.I.L. The same did not apply to Rice. Clearly the man was filled with self-importance due to the nature of his duties. So the big blond could imagine what the response would be if he should be wrong in his assumption.
‘Were they fired from an automatic?’ Brad asked, as the technician started to turn away.
Swinging back to face the big blond, Rice directed a long sardonic stare at him and then gave Tom a look that was pregnant with meaning.
‘Well,’ the technician finally said, in a voice which was oozing with sarcasm. ‘Seeing’s how they were found laying where they’d been ejected, are rimless and have got USMC 45 Government printed on their bases, I reckon we can assume they came from an automatic.’
‘But were they fired through one?’ Brad insisted, gritting the words out.
‘I wasn’t there, but—’ Rice began.
‘Hey, Brad,’ Tom interrupted, seeing the anger on the big blond’s face and intervening. ‘We’ve got to report to the sheriff, can you go and get the work off of our desk and meet me there?’
‘Sure,’ the big blond replied ‘But—’
‘I’ll tend to things here,’ Tom promised. Waiting until his partner had left, he turned his attention to the technician. ‘Some idea, huh?’
‘Yeah,’ Rice agreed with a smirk. ‘It bugs me when some young punk comes here trying to tell me how to do my job. Who is he, Jack Tragg’s nephew?’
‘I’ve never heard either of them mention it,’ Tom replied mildly. ‘But he’s sure enough new to the job.’
‘Yeah,’ Rice repeated, delighted by the support he appeared to be getting.
‘Coming in here with a fool notion like you hadn’t made sure those shells had come out of an automatic,’ Tom continued. ‘Which you’ve done, naturally.’
‘Well—’ Rice began.
‘As if he’d know anything,’ Tom drawled even more gently and showing no sign of having noticed the other’s hesitation and guilty look. ‘Trouble being, I’m a mite older—and I’m wondering about them, too.’
‘Huh?’ Rice grunted.
‘I said I was wondering about them cases, same as Brad was,’ Tom repeated and his whole attitude seemed charged with menace despite the mildness which still permeated it. ‘You have checked them, haven’t you?’
‘Well, I—’ the technician commenced.
Two hands slapped on to the rail divider with a crack which made Rice jump and withdraw a pace.
‘Brad’s maybe only a rookie and not yet dry behind the ears, like you showed him to be,’ Tom growled savagely. ‘But I’m not. I was a detective with the G.C.P.D. when you came in here from the Academy. And I’m saying straight out, “Have you checked those cases?”’
‘N-No,’ Rice admitted sullenly. ‘With the lieu
tenant and sergeant away—’
‘I want it done!’ Tom declared.
‘I log off at five—’ Rice protested, meaning to promise that he would make it his first task in the
morning.
‘I should have logged off at four, but I’m still here,’ Tom pointed out unsympathetically. ‘And I don’t have time to stand arguing. I’m going to report to the sheriff and I’ll either have the answer, or I’ll get him to ask for it.’
‘All you want to know is if they were ejected, huh?’
‘That’ll do for now.’
‘I’ll find out right now,’ Rice promised. ‘Do you want to wait?’
‘Why sure,’ Tom replied.
Going back through the door from which he had appeared, the technician was only away for about a minute. The expression on his face when he returned told Tom the answer even before he spoke.
‘I don’t know how the hell they got by the body,’ Rice stated, sounding as if he hated every word. ‘But they weren’t thrown out by an automatic. There’s no trace of an ejector’s mark on any of them.’
‘Well son-of-a-gun!’ Tom ejaculated, eyeing the other man in a sardonic manner. ‘That new partner of mine’s not such a dumb punk after all. In fact, I’d say he’s one smart deputy sheriff, wouldn’t you, Patrolman Rice?’
‘Yeah,’ the technician answered sourly and with a scowl.
‘Then the next time he comes in for information, I hope nobody forgets it,’ Tom drawled, with an undertone of warning that was all too plain. ‘Dig?’
‘I’ll remember it,’ Rice promised.
‘Bueno,’ Tom replied. ‘See you around. And thanks for being so helpful.’
~*~
‘How did you figure out about those cases, Brad?’ Sheriff Jack Tragg inquired, after listening to Deputy Tom Cord’s report on the progress of their investigation.
Having joined his partner in the passage, Tom had given him the news. Then Tom had claimed that Rice had apologized for behaving in such a manner. Although Brad had been skeptical about that aspect, he had not debated the point. There were more important matters which had needed their attention. Not the least was for them to go and make their report to the Sheriff.
