The Sixteen Dollar Shooter (A Rockabye County Western Book 1)

by Edson, J. T.

  ‘Lovelace, Oscar Lovelace,’ the man responded. ‘Ain’t that a hell of a name? What can I do for you, gents?’

  ‘Tell us about Mr. Stiffkey, please,’ Tom requested.

  ‘This’s where I should say, “What’s he done” and you go into the “it’s just routine” bit,’ the superintendent grinned. ‘Does it ever happen?’

  ‘It’s been known to,’ Tom admitted.

  ‘Then we’ll take it as said,’ Lovelace declared cheerfully. ‘I don’t know much about him. He’s only been here for about three months. I can tell you exactly how long if it’ll help.’

  ‘Later, maybe,’ Tom drawled. ‘Right now, we’re more interested in general things.’

  ‘Just ask for it any time,’ Lovelace declared. ‘Anyways, he pays his rent regular, never causes any disturbance or has parties in his apartment and must handle all his own repairs. At least, he’s never called on me to fix anything.’

  ‘Has he any friends?’ Brad inquired, silently comparing the superintendent’s attitude to that of Noreen Prentice and not in her favor.

  ‘Not in the building,’ Lovelace replied. ‘Keeps to himself and never accepts invitations to parties, or to visit, from what the other roomers tell me. Although Mrs. Markham who lives across from him has been trying to change that, or so I’ve heard.’

  ‘We met her upstairs,’ Tom admitted. ‘Do you know if he’s been out of his apartment much, either over the weekend or today?’

  ‘I couldn’t say,’ the superintendent answered. Everybody who stays here has keys to the front and rear entrances. I don’t know why we bother to lock them at night, but some of the older folks like it. Must make them feel safer, or something. Anyways, the windows opening on to the fire escapes are never fastened. Comes to that, his apartment’s down by the one on the west side. If he was so minded, he could come and go through that without needing to use the doors.’

  ‘Huh, huh,’ Tom grunted and set about following the routine procedure which would pave the way for a request he was going to make. ‘Will you call the Sheriff’s Office and verify that we’re who we claim to be, please?’

  ‘Hell, I’ve seen your badges and I.D. cards,’ Lovelace protested. ‘That’s good enough for me.’

  ‘We’d still rather you did it, sir,’ Tom insisted. ‘Call collect and ask to speak to the Night Watch Commander.’

  ‘If that’s how you want it, okay,’ the superintendent drawled, crossing to the telephone. ‘What’s the number? The operators always want to know.’

  ‘Could you get it for yourself, out of the book, please?’ Tom requested. ‘It’s for your own protection.’

  ‘You boys’re really playing it careful,’ Lovelace commented. ‘But I suppose you have to these days.’

  With that, the superintendent checked the directory. Dialing the number, he did not bother to reverse the charges. On being put through to the Night Watch Commander, he carried out Tom’s instructions. Knowing what the purpose of the call was, First Deputy Alvarez supplied the necessary information to confirm that Lovelace’s visitors were who and what they claimed to be.

  ‘Well,’ the superintendent announced, hanging up at the end of the conversation. ‘I’m satisfied. If you’re not Deputies Cord and Counter, you’re taking a lot of trouble and must have an organization like the Search Control television shows backing you. So, when you’ve shown me the search warrant, I’ll give you the pass-key.’

  ‘So you guessed what we were leading up to, huh?’ Brad asked, before he could stop himself.

  ‘I’ve been an apartment house super one place and another ever since I left the Army after World War II,’ Lovelace told him with a grin. ‘This’s the first time I’ve been asked for a pass-key here, though, but I’ve heard how you do it.’

  ‘Here’s the warrant,’ Tom stated, producing the document. ‘Check it, please.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ the superintendent stated, after doing so. ‘Come on. Hey though, what about Mrs. Markham?’

  ‘What about her?’ Brad repeated.

  ‘The walls are kind of thin and she might hear you,’ Lovelace warned. ‘And, if I know her, she’ll open up. If she sees you—’

  ‘That could be kind of tricky,’ Tom conceded. ‘I’m not saying that she’d warn him, or anything—’

  ‘I reckon I can help you,’ Lovelace declared. ‘She called me earlier this evening to ask if I could go up and fix a dripping faucet. That ought to keep her occupied while you get in.’

  ‘Gracias,’ Tom drawled and accepted the pass-key which he was offered. ‘Say, does that window overlook the parking lot?’

  ‘Sure,’ Lovelace agreed.

  ‘Best make sure that he’s not come back first, Brad,’ Tom suggested.

  Crossing to the window, Brad drew open the drapes a little and looked out. There was no sign of a Land Rover, so he let them fall together again and satisfied his partner’s curiosity on that score.

  Returning to the first floor, Tom and Brad remained out of sight at the top of the stairs. While Lovelace went to deal with Mrs. Markham, the deputies donned the thin cotton gloves which they had had in their pockets. Then, after the superintendent and the woman had disappeared into her apartment, they went silently to Stiffkey’s door.

  Making sure that they were not observed, Tom inserted and turned the pass-key. The lock clicked and he pushed. For a moment, the door held. However, that proved to be caused by the snug fit. Following his partner into the apartment, he closed the door behind them. Once again it held. Pushing gently until the key worked and secured the lock, Tom failed to notice the door was not as tightly against the jamb as it had been before he opened it.

  The deputies found themselves in the sitting-room. It was untidy, but comfortably furnished. There were two doors on the right and one at the left, all of them closed.

  ‘Let’s get to work,’ Tom ordered, looking around. ‘Take the side-piece.’

  ‘Yo!’Brad replied.

  While his partner was carrying out his instructions, Tom went to the bookcase and studied its contents. All of the books covered some aspect of police training and procedures, showing signs of having been read frequently.

  ‘There’s nothing to help in here,’ Brad reported, at the completion of his examination. ‘Some of the stuff might have come from the other houses he hit, though.’

  ‘Sure,’ Tom agreed and walked towards the door on the left. ‘We’ll try the bedroom next.’

  Following his partner, Brad looked at the Coffeemade set up on the dressing-table next to an expensive combined alarm clock and radio. However, as Tom was going in that direction, the big blond went to and opened the doors of the big wardrobe. There were several suits and other garments hanging inside. One caught his eye immediately. It was a woman’s simulated ocelot coat.

  ‘It looks like we’ve found our man,’ Brad announced, turning around.

  ‘I was just, starting to think so myself,’ Tom admitted, standing by the dressing-table and adding a small box to a line of articles which he had removed from a drawer.

  Crossing the room, Brad ran his gaze along the line. There was a wig of longish blond hair, a plastic red nose and a set of false buck-teeth such as could be purchased from a novelty shop or a theatrical costumier. Tom opened the small box, which proved to hold two very light blue contact lenses. There was also a box of rimless .45 bullets.

  However, while the continued search produced several more items which had been stolen from the Beagans, the Colt M1911 revolver was nowhere to be found.

  ~*~

  Hearing footsteps approaching along the corridor outside Arthur Stiffkey’s apartment, Deputy Sheriff Bradford Counter halted the queen he had started to move across the chessboard. His right hand set the piece down and went to enfold the butt of the big Colt automatic which lay ready on the table. Taking up his short-barreled Smith & Wesson revolver, Deputy Tom Cord rose. Swiftly, but in complete silence, they took up their positions on either side of the door. Then Tom, at th
e right, switched off the light.

  Holding their weapons ready for use, Brad and Tom listened to the sound of the feet coming closer.

  While the discoveries that the deputies had made in Stiffkey’s apartment were convincing proof that they had been correct in their identification of the two patrolmen’s killer, they still had to arrest him.

  On reporting to Sheriff Jack Tragg, using the telephone in the apartment, Tom had stated that he and Brad would wait there until Stiffkey returned. However, the stocky deputy had declined the offer of assistance. To assemble, organize and move into position the number of officers who would be required would take time. They had no way of knowing when Stiffkey would return. He had told Mrs. Markham that he would not be back until late, but it might have been nothing more than an excuse to avoid her attentions.

  Possibly the killer had told Mrs. Markham the truth, but surrounding the building in daylight could hardly be done without attracting unwanted interest. Word of what was happening might, almost certainly would, be received by the local newspapers, radio and television stations. While, with the possible exception of the Mirror— none of them would deliberately betray the preparations, Stiffkey might draw conclusions from their comments. Even if he did not read, or hear, about what was awaiting him, he might still make the discovery in time to evade capture. He had clearly made an extensive study of police methods if his collection of books was anything to go by.

  Having taken all that into consideration, Tom had decided—in consultation with Brad—that the two of them could handle the situation without help. Arresting Stiffkey in his apartment, where he would have arrived without seeing anything to alert him to his peril, would be far less dangerous and more certain than taking the chance of him being scared off, or engaging in a gun battle on the streets. Not only that, it also increased their chances of capturing him alive and uninjured.

  From what the deputies had been able to hear of people walking up and down in the passage, the superintendent had been correct in his warning about the thin walls of the building. So they had planned their strategy accordingly. Moving a table and two chairs near to the door, they had settled down to wait. At first, after rehearsing the action they would take, they had passed the time by reading some of Stiffkey’s books. Then, having learned that Brad could play chess, Tom had suggested that they made use of a set which had been part of the loot taken from the Beagans’ house.

  As night had arrived, Brad had drawn the window’s drapes and Tom had put on one of the room’s lights. Each time they had heard somebody in the passage, he had doused it and they had taken up their positions. Once again, they had practiced until certain that they could move in silence.

  Until half past ten, there had been some coming and going outside. However, for the past hour all had been quiet in the passage.

  The latest footsteps, a firm and masculine-sounding tread, were coming nearer and nearer!

  Due to the tight fit of the door in its frame, no light showed under it to help the deputies determine the exact location of the man who was approaching along the passage. It was a disadvantage, but not a serious one and they accepted that it also had its uses in allowing them to avoid sitting in the darkness.

  Realizing that the man they could hear would soon be in front of the door, Brad strained his ears to catch the first sound of the key being inserted into the lock.

  The big blond could feel a tingle of anticipation rising. It was accompanied by a sense of uneasiness as he wondered if he might once again have to use his weapon and send a bullet into another human being. For all that the hand grasping the Colt’s butt was firm enough.

  There was no way in which Brad could see his partner. However, he was certain that Tom was waiting ready to spring into action. Being the senior member of the team, the stocky deputy had insisted on taking the side of the door nearest to the handle. That was so he would be the one who made the initial and most dangerous contact with Stiffkey when it opened.

  Neither the reading, nor the games of chess had been able to divert Brad’s thoughts completely from why they were waiting in the apartment. It was to capture a dangerous criminal who had already killed twice, the second time in cold blood and against a man who had been too badly injured to pose any immediate threat to him. So each time they had adopted their positions of readiness, the big blond had experienced a similar sensation of tension which had slowly ebbed away when it had proved to be yet another false alarm. He wondered if this would be another abortive occasion and found himself hoping that it would not.

  There was one good thing, Brad told himself as his right thumb rubbed gently at the Colt’s enlarged manual safety catch, the suspense would not endure for many more seconds. He could not help wondering if Tom, the veteran of many such stake-outs—was matching his thoughts and emotions. Certainly there had been little indicative of it that the big blond had been able to detect.

  Despite Brad’s thoughts about him, Tom was standing as tense as a compressed coil spring and peering through the pitch darkness. Without being able to see the door, he had its exact location fixed in his mind. What was more, he had already decided what he would try to do. Once it opened and Stiffkey started to come through, Tom intended to catch hold of his arm or shoulder and heave. Doing so would throw the killer off balance, being unexpected, and, even if it did not cause him to fall down, would reduce his chances of drawing a weapon. If everything went as Tom planned, finding himself covered by two handguns, Stiffkey would be unlikely to resist and would be at a disadvantage should he attempt to do so.

  Being aware of his partner’s intentions, Brad hoped that they would succeed. He realized what could happen if things went wrong. The last thing either he or Tom wanted was gun play in the thin-walled building, but it would almost certainly come to that if there should be a slip up for any reason.

  The same question was in each deputy’s mind.

  Was the man in the passage Stiffkey?

  Both knew the likelihood of it being anybody else at that hour was slim. One thing was for sure. In much less than a minute they would know for certain.

  The footsteps went by the door without stopping!

  ‘It’s not him!’ Tom breathed out the words just loud enough to reach his partner and started to reach for the light’s switch.

  ~*~

  Bare-headed, wearing a brown suit, dark gray roll neck sweater and black shoes, Arthur Stiffkey was confident that he had presented the desired impression—that of a lower middle-class college senior student who was having to pawn various items to raise money for his tuition—while he was disposing of some of the loot which he had gathered in his latest series of burglaries. He was equally satisfied that he had changed his appearance sufficiently to have prevented the men with whom he had dealt from being able to describe him as he really looked. In the small document case he was carrying, along with the big Colt M1911 revolver, were a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles, a wig and Zapata mustache of reddish-brown—the former of a different style to the one he had worn when he had killed the patrolmen—and a box holding a pair of dark gray contact lenses. In the breast pocket of his jacket was the reason for the crimes which he had been committing. A dozen small packets of heroin.

  Like many of his generation, Stiffkey had been led by left wing pop singers and movie actors to believe that cannabis was not only harmless, but beneficial. He was also one of the many who had discovered too late that the addiction was a growing and increasing process. Soon the ‘harmless’ ‘grass’ had no longer been sufficient and he had been compelled to seek his relief in the more costly hard drugs.

  Having decided upon a life of crime as a means of obtaining the now necessary fixes, Stiffkey had devoted considerable thought to evading the consequences. He had made an exhaustive study of law enforcement methods and techniques, remembering much of what he had learned. Following the system which had already paid dividends in three other towns, he had become a civilian employee of the Gusher City Police Department on his arr
ival. Cultivating the officers at the Division’s station house, he had gained a great deal of local knowledge. From them and as a result of his reading, he had realized the danger of using a criminal fence, even if he could contact one. So he had taken only such articles as he could pass over the counter of a legitimate pawnshop without arousing unwanted interest as to how they had come into his possession. Even the ocelot coat and women’s jewelry could be disposed of in that way, as he had a letter which purported to be from his mother giving him permission to hock them.

  While the peace officers’ friendship had not allowed Stiffkey to have access to classified information, he had been able to discover which properties would be empty in their owners’ absence. His first two calls that morning had been as uneventful as the robberies he had committed in the other towns. Unfortunately, the situation had taken a turn for the worse on his third visit.

  On ringing the doorbell, a precaution which he had taken at each house, Stiffkey had been surprised when a woman had opened it. Reacting instinctively, he had dealt with her and was almost at the end of his work when the patrol car had arrived. Normally in daylight, it would have driven straight by. However, probably because they had noticed the panel truck which he had hired rather than chance using the Land Rover that could be traced back to him due to its comparative rarity, the two officers had come to investigate. While Enright had gone towards the side of the house—knowing nothing of the invitation to take coffee, Stiffkey had presumed he was meaning to look around at the rear of the building—Segovia had examined the vehicle. Although his subsequent behavior had suggested that he did not suspect anything was wrong, he had then approached the front door.

  Without hesitation, as he was still high from his last fix, Stiffkey had opened the door and sent a bullet into Segovia’s chest. Even as the patrolman had gone down, Stiffkey had stepped outside and thrown two bullets into Enright. Believing that they were both dead, he returned to complete his work. He was satisfied that nobody had seen what had happened. Even if the shots had been heard and reported, he had estimated that it would be at least another five minutes before a second car arrived.