The Quarry

by Fish, Robert L. ;

  “All right,” Clancy said. “First of all, Warden, what was your impression of Lenny Cervera? How did he act here? Would you have expected something like this from him, based on what you had learned about him in his three years here?”

  The warden considered the question. When he answered there was a furrow between his eyes. “Lieutenant, I see the new men when they come in, and I see them again when they go out—when their time is up and they’re freed In between, I only see them when they get into some particular trouble—like Blount, for example. I had no contact with Cervera. There are just too many men here, and too many problems. Maybe that’s not the way it should be, but that’s the way it is. All I can say, from what the guards have told me, is that Cervera apparently didn’t get into any particular trouble.”

  He leaned forward, his eyes holding Clancy tightly. The effect of doing without sleep was evident in his voice. “But I’ll tell you this, Lieutenant: after fifteen years on this job, I’d expect about anything from any one of the men in here.…”

  “You mentioned Blount,” Clancy said. “That was another question I had, Warden. I’ve read the newspaper accounts of these men but I’d like your story on them.”

  “Well, you know Cervera and his case. Williams was here for second-degree murder; he knifed a man in a bar fight. Marcus was in for arson—he had a cute stunt of setting fires for insurance, and using just enough explosive to destroy the evidence. Or so he thought. Blount, of course, is a bad man. He was here for bank robbery; he blew a safe in a Glens Falls bank—but he’d been up before for everything from placing a bomb in a car to assault and battery. And up here he gave us nothing but trouble. A real tough guy.”

  “Trouble?” Clancy asked. “In what way?”

  “In every way. Fighting, constant complaining, vandalism.… He spent half his time here in solitary confinement.”

  “I see. Did the four men involved in the escape all work in the same section?”

  “Blount and Cervera both worked in the commissary—when Blount worked at all. Williams was in the laundry and Marcus was in the prison library. Marcus was the most educated of them all.”

  Clancy frowned. “In general, then, the four didn’t have any particular contact with each other? Other than the fact that Blount and Cervera worked together? Were any of them cellmates?”

  “No.” The warden shrugged in a tired fashion. “The men can get together in the recreation hall if they want to, or out in the yard. They can always meet in the library, as well, of course. I believe all four of them went out for the baseball team, but other than that …”

  Clancy nodded. “How about visitors?”

  “Well, Cervera had his mother and his girl friend, and occasionally—not too often—one of his old gang would come up to see him. Williams had a brother who visited him regularly. The brother took the body away this morning, as a matter of fact. Marcus? Nobody.” The warden shrugged. “It’s a funny thing—arsonists and blackmailers—they don’t seem to have any friends either on the outside or the inside. And Blount? Well, his wife was the only one he’d consent to see. She was the only one who had any effect on him at all. For a day or so after her visits he’d be a good boy. If it weren’t for her, I’d guess he would have spent the other half of his time in solitary, as well.”

  “Any sex problem?”

  “There’s always a sex problem in prison. But nothing particularly with those four.”

  Clancy stared at the rim of his hat, hesitating. When he looked up, his eyes were grave but unwavering.

  “Warden, I know you’ve had a hard time and you’re tired and you have a lot on your mind. I don’t want you to misunderstand what I’m going to say next. Security in this institution is your problem and not ours. But you must have considered the possibility of some inside help on this breakout. Here you have four men, different in age, different in character, and crime, working in different sections of the prison with little in common. It would seem to me …” He stopped.

  “We’ve thought of it,” the warden said with no expression on his face at all. “Of course we’ve thought of it. And we have our own ideas about it. Which I’m not going to divulge to you or to anyone else at this time.”

  He leaned over his desk, his voice suddenly hardening, his eyes suddenly narrowing. “But I can tell you this, Lieutenant: if our investigation proves what we’re thinking, somebody else is going to the chair, along with Phil Marcus if he recovers, and with Blount and Cervera, when and if they’re picked up!”

  Clancy’s eyebrows went up. “The chair?”

  “Jimmy Hughes died about an hour ago,” the warden said slowly. “He was the policeman who stopped them in town yesterday.” He stared at Clancy a moment and then his eyes swung around, looking through the window with pain. “I knew Jimmy very well. Every now and then we’d run into each other at the Elks, and we’d play a game of rotation, or sometimes eight ball. Jimmy always rammed the balls too hard—that was Jimmy …”

  Clancy cleared his throat and broke into the embarrassing silence that had fallen. “Warden, is there any chance of my seeing Marcus while I’m here? Talking to him?”

  The warden came back from the depths of his grim, unhappy thoughts. He shook his head. “It wouldn’t do any good. He’s still unconscious.” His voice became bitter. “Four pints of good, useful blood they’ve poured into him, trying to keep him alive. For what? For the chair.…”

  Clancy came to his feet. The expression in the warden’s eyes was a little embarrassing, and also a bit frightening. “Well, thank you for your trouble, Warden.”

  The warden swung about, pressing a button behind him.

  “A guard will see you out, Lieutenant. And if we get anything that might be useful to you, we’ll be in touch.”

  “Thank you.”

  His last impression as he followed the uniformed guard from the office was of a tired-faced man looking down at the papers on his desk, his eyes not seeing them, his thoughts far away in some private hell. And any time you start to complain about responsibility at the 52nd, Clancy, he said to himself suddenly, just think of this man, sitting on a volcano for fifteen long years, with fresh fuel being fed into it every day.

  The sunlight outside the gray walls never seemed so bright.

  Wednesday—4:20 P.M.

  Clancy walked into his office to find Kaproski tilted back against a filing cabinet, his hat pushed back from his unruly blond hair, and his eyes fixed calmly on a young man of about twenty or so who was sitting sullenly before the desk. The young fellow needed a haircut, and his black-leather motorcycle jacket could also have stood repair. Clancy raised an inquiring eyebrow at Kaproski.

  “Meet Julio Sagarra,” Kaproski said conversationally. He brought his chair down with a loud thump and leaned over, wrapping a large hand about the young man’s thin arm and squeezing slightly. The young man’s jaw tightened. “This is Lieutenant Clancy, Julio. You’re going to be a nice boy and talk to him.”

  The young fellow pulled his arm free with a vicious jerk. “I ain’t got nothing to say I ain’t already said.”

  Clancy hung up his coat, scaled his hat onto a filing cabinet, and walked around his desk. He dropped into his chair and looked at Kaproski questioningly.

  “Julio is the head of the El Cids,” Kaproski said. “He’s a tough little monkey. He’s also a goddamned liar.”

  “You say!” the boy sneered.

  Kaproski raised a big hand; Julio automatically ducked.

  “I say,” Kaproski said darkly. He turned back to Clancy. “He and I had a long talk but I didn’t like all the answers he gave me, so I figured a little chat down here at the station might get him to reconsider some of them answers.”

  “Well, now,” Clancy said reasonably. “I’ve known that to happen. But there isn’t any reason to be rough on the boy, Kaproski. What did you object to in his answers?”

  “Well,” Kaproski said, glowering meanly at the boy, “to begin with, I don’t like his face, and I don�
��t like the way he wears his clothes. And he needs a haircut. And to tell the truth I’d just as soon knock his teeth down his throat as sit here looking at him!”

  “Here, now!” Clancy said, sitting straighter. “There’ll be none of that here! Just answer my question, Kaproski!”

  “Well, all right, Lieutenant,” Kaproski said grudgingly. “But you don’t know these punks like I do.…”

  “Just answer,” Clancy said coldly.

  “Well,” Kaproski said, “he keeps insisting neither he nor any of the others in the gang would give Lenny Cervera the right time, let alone a car. Like the guy said somewhere, methought the Queen was protesting a trifle too much.”

  Young Sagarra turned with a snarl. “Watch who you’re calling a queen, Copper!”

  Kaproski raised his huge hand; Julio ducked back, subsiding.

  Clancy suppressed a grin, keeping his face straight and his voice stern. “I told you before, Kaproski, there’ll be none of that here. We don’t use tactics like that. I’m sure there’s no need for it.”

  “There ain’t,” the young man said angrily.

  “You see? All right, son, suppose you tell me all about it.”

  “Sure,” Julio said, leaning forward, his dirty hands pressing on the desk. “This character—” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder in Kaproski’s direction without taking his eyes from Clancy’s benign face. “—this guy he comes around asking about a car, like did we get one for Lenny, and stuff like that. And I told him the truth, ten times at least, only he don’t want to believe it.”

  “I see. And what did you tell him that he didn’t want to believe?”

  “I told him that first, do we look like we got cars? Huh? In the whole gang we got one crummy motorcycle, half the time it ain’t even running. And I told him that even if we had ten garagefuls of cars, we wouldn’t give Lenny Cervera a busted bicycle!”

  “Oh? Why not?”

  “Because he’s a fink, that’s why not!”

  “Oh?” Clancy pulled out his cigarettes and withdrew one; he followed the boy’s eyes to the pack in his hand. He pushed it across the desk; Julio hesitated a moment and then took one. Clancy held out a lit match, waited until Julio had taken a light, and then lit his own. He flipped the match away and leaned back negligently.

  “And why is Lenny a fink, Julio?”

  “Because he killed Marcia, that’s why! She was a good kid. There wasn’t no need for him to do that.…”

  “I see.” Clancy studied the end of his cigarette calmly. “But Julio, you have to understand Detective Kaproski’s point of view, too. You say you wouldn’t have given him a car because he killed Marcia—but whoever gave him the car gave it to him before he killed Marcia. So you can understand why Detective Kaproski found your story weak.”

  Julio shook his head hopelessly. “What do I got to do to convince you guys? We ain’t got no cars, can’t you see that? We didn’t give Lenny no car or no nothing.” His dark eyes stared at Clancy broodingly. “And for my dough, he’s still a fink.”

  “Well,” Clancy said easily. “You also have to look at the thing from Lenny’s standpoint. I heard a rumor just the other day that somebody told Lenny it was Marcia who tipped off the police about the stolen car—the one that got him picked up in the first place.”

  Julio sneered. “Marcia? That’s nuts!”

  “I’m merely saying that I heard the rumor. He might have believed it.”

  Julio snorted. “Then he’s a double fink! First for believing it, and second—” He stopped short.

  Clancy read him like a book. “And second for not having passed the word on to the gang? Well, he may yet. What I’d like to know is what you intend to do about it if he does?”

  Julio frowned. He took a deep drag on the cigarette, pinched it out, and thrust the butt into his jacket pocket. His eyes came back to Clancy’s, thoughtful.

  “You’re conning me, ain’t you?”

  “I’m not conning you, Julio,” Clancy said quietly, impressively. “I’m simply asking you a question.”

  “You want me to be a fink, too. Is that it?”

  Clancy leaned forward, his voice changing subtly. “I want you to think about something, Julio. Really think about it; that’s all. I want you to think that Lenny Cervera was involved in a prison break that cost a policeman’s life. And that after that he killed his girl friend in cold blood; ran her down like a dog. And that when he gets picked up he’s going to die in the electric chair. And that anybody who helps him in any way whatsoever is getting in pretty far over his head. It’s a lot more serious than pinching apples from a fruit stand!”

  Despite his best intentions his voice had hardened; the eyes that held the young man were icy. Julio Sagarra stared at him, startled at first, and then turned to look at Kaproski. He nodded his head slowly in sudden comprehension.

  “I get it,” he said wisely. “I’m not bright, but I finally get it. The Dolly Sisters.…” He pushed his chair back, coming to his feet with a faint grin. “Can I go now, Lieutenant? Or is the bad guy going to threaten to swat me again?”

  “You can go,” Clancy said quietly, looking up at the young face with its thin sneer. His own face was expressionless. “Just don’t forget what I told you. Lenny Cervera is going to die in the electric chair. Whoever helps him is an accessory. If you’ve ever gone up to Sing Sing to visit Lenny, you know what it’s like. Just think about it.”

  “I’ll do that, Lieutenant,” Julio said, with a wise look on his young, hard face. “I’ll think about it. I promise.” He turned and winked at Kaproski and then swaggered to the door. He paused there and turned. “And thanks for the smoke, Lieutenant.” With a grin he was gone.

  Clancy shook his head hopelessly. Kaproski got to his feet, stretching. He grinned down at Clancy.

  “I thought we were going real good there for a while, Lieutenant. When we going on the stage?”

  “When we get a better act,” Clancy said sourly. He stared down at his desk, and then looked up at Kaproski. “I was raised in Hell’s Kitchen, Kap. Where were you raised?”

  “Red Hook,” Kaproski said, surprised at the question. “Why?”

  “What makes some of them go sour?” Clancy asked in a wondering tone. “It can’t be the neighborhood.…”

  “I’ll tell you, Lieutenant,” Kaproski said with one of those bursts of insight that never ceased to amaze Clancy. “Most of them run scared, the way I figure. Me, I never was scared; and I guess you never were, either. Besides which,” he added with a grin, “my old lady would have broke my back.”

  “Maybe that’s the answer,” Clancy said. He sighed and looked at his wrist watch, shook it, and then brought it to his ear. “What time is it? This thing has stopped.”

  “About five or so,” Kaproski said, checking.

  “And no word from Stanton yet?” Clancy shrugged. “Well, I’m going to get something to eat and then I’m going home. To sleep, or anyway, to try.” He was busy winding his watch. “But first …”

  He reached for the telephone. “Sergeant, I’m leaving for home, now. If Stanton comes in, or calls, tell him to get in touch with me at home.”

  He hung up and got to his feet. “Can I drop you someplace, Kap?”

  “I’m going with you,” Kaproski said. “I’m going to stay with you again tonight.” He held up a hamlike hand. “Those are Captain Wise’s orders, Lieutenant. Don’t get mad with me.”

  Clancy smiled. “I’m not angry. As a matter of fact, after last night I’m in favor of it. And I’ll tell you something that will please you.” His eyes ranged over the other’s tall body. “I’m even going to let you sleep in the bed, and I’ll take the couch. That way it’ll be a better fit for the both of us.”

  Kaproski grinned at him.

  “And I’ll tell you something that will please you, Lieutenant,” he said. “For a change, I ain’t going to argue.…”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Wednesday—8:50 P.M.

  Kaproski cocked
his head, leaning over with well-founded trepidation, and tapped delicately on the bathroom door. The drumming sound of the shower, harmonizing rather melodiously with Clancy’s fair tenor, continued unabated. Kaproski took a nervous swallow, waited a moment, and then tapped again. The concert continued. In desperation the large detective waited one moment more and then began to pound. The sound of water eased; the tenor voice trailed off in the middle of a nostalgic song. The water stopped completely. An irritated voice came from within the bathroom, echoing from the tiles.

  “What do you want?”

  “It’s Stanton, Lieutenant. On the phone.”

  “Oh, Christ! Well, tell him to wait—I’m taking a shower.” There was a pause. “Oh, all right! I’m coming.…”

  There was a sharp click as the bathroom door was unlocked and Clancy, wrapped in a towel, appeared in a cloud of steam somewhat in the manner of the hero of a Wagnerian opera coming on-stage. He tramped into the bedroom, attempting to make the towel serve an area greater than its designer intended, and picked up the telephone with a wet hand.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Stanton, Lieutenant. I just got back.”

  “I know it’s Stanton!” He looked at the bed, hesitated a moment, and then remembered that Kaproski was going to sleep there that night. He settled down firmly and damply. “What did you find out in Jersey?”

  “That it’s a lot bigger than it looks on a map, and that Lenny Cervera’s old lady is a liar, whether she swears on the biggest Bible in town, or on a telephone book.”

  “Don’t try to be subtle,” Clancy said icily. “I’m sitting here in a towel and freezing to death. What happened?”

  Stanton took a deep breath. “Well, the old lady gives me this address of the used-car lot in Jersey, and the name of the guy who owns it—the one who was a friend of Lenny’s dad, who was going to hire Lenny—so I hustle right over there and I find myself in the middle of a block in Paterson full of hat shops and beauty parlors and those cute little tearooms; but no used-car lot or anything that looks like one. Well, I figured I loused up somewhere—marked it down wrong, or something—so I try to call the old lady but there isn’t any answer. So then I check in the phone book for guys with this guy’s name, and that don’t work, and then I check the book for used-car lots to see if any of them even sound like the street I got marked down. And that don’t work.”