Ellery Queen's Secrets of Mystery Anthology 2

by Ellery Queen

  “George Lambeth,” he said, making it a statement and not a question. The guard turned and slowed his pace. In the armored car the driver suddenly became alert. The young man extended his hand, revealing a child’s crumpled red T-shirt. “We have your daughter. She’ll be dead in ten seconds unless you give me that money.”

  “What?” The color drained from the guard’s face and he glanced toward his partner in the truck.

  The driver had his gun out now and was opening the door. “What is it, George?”

  “Five seconds, Mr. Lambeth.”

  “They’ve got my daughter,” Lambeth told the driver. “They’ve got Liz.”

  The uncertain driver raised his gun, but the young man stood his ground. “Shoot me and she dies. My partner is watching from that car across the street, and he has a gun at her head.”

  “Give him the money, George,” the driver said.

  George Lambeth handed over the heavy white sack. The young man accepted it with a nod and tossed the red T-shirt on the pavement. Then he turned and walked back the way he had come.

  In another minute his car disappeared form view around a corner.

  Lieutenant Fletcher brought the report to Captain Leopold’s desk shortly after one o’clock. “This looks like another one, captain. He snatched the nine-year-old daughter of an armored-car guard and threatened to kill her if the guard didn’t hand over the Independent Electronics payroll.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Just before noon. The girl was released unharmed a few blocks away. They’re questioning her now, but it sounds like our loner again. He lured her into his car near the playground, then bound and gagged her and left her on the floor in the back seat.”

  Leopold nodded. “How much money?”

  “Eighty-seven thousand, mostly in small bills. It seems the company maintains a check-cashing service for employees.”

  “Description fit last week’s bandit?”

  “Close enough, and the modus operandi is identical.” A week earlier the son of a supermarket manager had been kidnaped and held for ransom—all the cash in the supermarket safe. Then, too, a lone young man—apparently unarmed—had made the demand for money, and calmly carried it away in a supermarket shopping bag.

  “Get those guards down to look at pictures. The little girl, too, if she’s able to.” Leopold felt a surge of anger at the crimes. There was something about the endangerment of children that hit at his gut the way not even a murder could. Perhaps it was because he had no children of his own. Perhaps this made all of them his children.

  Lieutenant Fletcher scratched his head. ‘Til do that, Captain. But there’s another angle we might check out. Connie Trent was at my desk when the first report came in. She has an idea about it.”

  “Connie? Send her in.”

  Connie Trent was easily the best-looking member of the Police Department. Tall and dark-haired, with a constant twinkle in her large brown eyes, she’d managed to charm the entire Detective Division after only six months on the job. But it wasn’t only her face and figure that Connie had going for her. A college graduate with a degree in sociology, she had joined the force as an undercover narcotics agent. Her cover had been blown after four months when she helped set up the biggest drug raid in the city’s history, but she had continued working among addicts as a known member of the police force. Oddly enough, the people she encountered seemed to show little resentment against her former undercover role. It was almost as if they welcomed the relief that arrest sometimes brought.

  Connie still carried a snub-nosed Colt Detective Special in her handbags, but she was unarmed when she entered Leopold’s office. The tight green dress she wore was hardly immodest, but Leopold observed that it wasn’t designed to hide everything either.

  “Good to see you again, Connie,” he greeted her, extending his hand. It wasn’t his practice to shake hands with women, but he felt somehow that a policewoman was different—especially when she was as attractive and feminine as Connie Trent.

  “You’ve heard about the armored-car robbery?” she asked, getting right to business.

  “Fletcher just told me.”

  “It’s the same as last week’s supermarket job, and I may have a lead for you. I didn’t want to say anything till I was certain, but with this second robbery I can’t take a chance any longer. Next time this guy might kill a child.”

  “It’s someone you know?” Leopold asked.

  “Not exactly.” Connie Trent sat down, crossing her long legs. “When I was doing undercover work I met a girl named Kathy Franklin. She was on heroin, and she led me to a lot of the others who were arrested later. I helped Kathy get a suspended sentence, and signed her onto a methadone maintenance program. I’ve seen her about once a week over the past two months, and she’s really straightening herself out. She has a job as a waitress in a bowling alley, down near the Sound.

  “Anyway, she has a boy friend named Pete Selby who’s still on heroin. I think he’s the one who got her hooked originally, though she’d never admit it. I’ve never seen Pete, so I figure he’s been avoiding me. But one night last week when I stopped by to check on Kathy it was obvious Pete had just left.”

  “How obvious?”

  “You know—she was sort of tensed up, and there were cigar butts in the ashtray. I asked her and she admitted he’d been there. In the kitchen there was a shopping bag from the Wright-Way Supermarket. It’s way the other side of the city from Kathy’s apartment, but there was this bag on the table next to a bottle of rye and two glasses. So when I heard about the robbery the next day I was suspicious. The robber carried the money away in a shopping bag just like that one.”

  You didn’t report it then?” Connie Trent shrugged. “You can’t convict anyone with just a shopping bag. But he’s still on heroin, and that means he needs money. I figure someone would have to need money a great deal to pull anything like these two jobs, with the children.”

  “She’s worth talking to,” Leopold agreed. “Want to go there with me?”

  “Of course!” Connie said quickly. She seemed honored by the invitation, which surprised Leopold.

  “Let’s go, then. Fletcher, you talk to the guards and the little girl, see if you get anywhere with the pictures on file.”

  Kathy Franklin lived in a fourth-floor walkup apartment near downtown.

  The area was part of a much-delayed urban renewal program that had left the blocks around her building barren and scarred as if by war.

  Here and there a single sickly tree grew, revealed after years of hibernation by the demolition work around it; but for the most part the setting was depressing even on a sunny July afternoon.

  Leopold stepped over a shallow puddle of water that had accumulated from the recent rains and followed Connie up the steps of the building. As they climbed to the fourth floor he wondered for the first time if Kathy Franklin was black or white, and he found out when a pretty white girl opened the door to Connie’s knock.

  “Oh! Come in,” she said, her voice a bit reluctant as she stepped aside.

  Connie introduced Leopold and explained why they had come. “Today an armored car was robbed, Kathy. By the same person who robbed the supermarket last week.”

  “I don’t know anything about that,” Kathy Franklin said, a little too quickly.

  Leopold cleared his throat. “We want to ask you about Pete Selby.”

  “I haven’t seen him in months.” Too quickly again.

  “Miss Franklin, the man who committed these crimes is a particularly vicious person. He endangered the lives of two children. Now you say you haven’t seen Pete Selby in months, but you admitted to Miss Trent that you’d seen him just last week.”

  She shot Connie a deadly glance. “I forgot about that time. He was only here a few minutes.”

  “He brought a shopping bag with him, from a supermarket that was robbed.”

  “I asked him on the phone to bring me a loaf of bread and some milk. Are you going to arrest
him for that?”

  “What about today?” Leopold asked, ignoring her question. “Where was he this morning, just before noon?”

  “I told you I haven’t seen him, and I meant it.” She was suddenly nervous, grabbing for an open pack of cigarettes that slid from her grasp; the cigarettes spilled across the carpet. She cursed and bent to retrieve them.

  Connie was on the floor helping her, and Leopold drew back. He wasn’t getting anywhere. Perhaps a woman had a better chance with her.

  “Look here, Kathy,” Connie began, reaching for the last of the cigarettes. “If Pete is involved in these crimes you have to tell us. Can you imagine how you’d feel if one of those child hostages was killed?”

  I don’t know anything,” Kathy insisted. Not a thing.”

  “Where’s Pete living these days, Kathy? Is he shacked up with another woman?”

  “No!” she screeched from the floor, still on her knees. “He’s with Tommy Razenwood!”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know. They have an apartment somewhere.”

  Then, as if suddenly remembering Leopold’s presence, Kathy got to her feet and lit a cigarette. “I don’t know anything about it,” she told him. “I don’t see Pete any more.”

  “If he’s still on drugs he needs money. Is Razenwood on the stuff, too?”

  “I don’t know. I know nothing about Razenwood.”

  Her face was frozen into an expression that told Leopold they had pressed it to the limit. If there was more information to be had, they weren’t going to get it from her this afternoon. “All right,” he said with a sigh. “Come on, Connie. We’d better be getting back.”

  The policewoman nodded, then reached out to touch Kathy on the arm. “If you hear anything, Kathy, you have my number. Please call me.”

  Downstairs Leopold asked, “What do you think?”

  “Oh, she’s still seeing him. There’s no doubt about that. But she may just be covering up his usual drug activities. Until we get an identification from that armored-car driver or the supermarket manager, it’s all guesswork.”

  He had to agree. “Let’s get back downtown. Maybe Fletcher had some luck with the witnesses.”

  Fletcher came into the office almost at once, holding a group of files and mug shots. “We got it, Captain! The driver picked him out, and the manager and the little girl confirmed it.”

  “Let me guess,” Leopold said. “Pete Selby.”

  Fletcher shook his head. “I struck out on Selby. He was the right age and build, but the wrong face. I was running through some of the people arrested with him in drug raids, though, and I hit a bull’s-eye. A guy named Tommy Razenwood.”

  “Razenwood.” Leopold took the picture and studied it. “He and Selby are rooming together somewhere. If we find one we’ll find the other.” The young man in the photo was grim-faced and sleepy-eyed. His age was 23, the same as Selby’s, but he had only one drug arrest, for LSD There was no evidence that like Selby he was on heroin.

  “No known address,” Fletcher pointed out.

  “Kathy Fletcher knows where they’re holed up. I’m sure of it.” He pressed a buzzer on his desk. “And if anyone can get through to her, Connie can.”

  “You sorta like her, don’t you, Captain.?”

  “Connie? She’s an intelligent young woman.”

  Fletcher winked. “I wasn’t talking about her brains.”

  Connie Trent appeared at the door and smiled at them both. “Something else. Captain?”

  “More of the same, I’m afraid. The witnesses identified Selby’s roommate, Tommy Razenwood, as the man we want. Do you think you could talk to Kathy again and tell her this, convince her it’s Razenwood and not Selby we’re after? I’m sure she knows where they are, and at this point she’s the only lead we have.”

  “I’ll do what I can, Captain.”

  After she’d left, Leopold said, “Fletcher, I think we’d better put a twenty-four hour watch on Kathy Franklin’s apartment. If Connie doesn’t get anywhere, I still want to know if Selby shows up there again.”

  “What orders if he does show?”

  “Follow him. Tommy Razenwood is the one we’re after now.”

  The next mornings at an hour still too early for most activity, a boy on a bicycle was starting out to deliver the morning newspapers on a quiet residential street near the north edge of the city. His name was Jim Maclves and he was twelve years old. He lived in the big white house on the corner with his parents and his two sisters.

  This morning, as usual, he’d been the first one up. His father could sleep another hour before the alarm would ring to rouse him for his job at the bank. By that time young Jim would be back home and ready for breakfast.

  The car was waiting at the first intersection, and the young man opened the door to call out, “Got an extra paper I can buy, kid?”

  Always thankful for another sale, Jim said, “Sure,” and wheeled up next to the car.

  That was when the man grabbed him around the neck, yanking him off his bike.

  Jim tried to fight back, to break the grip on his throat and keep from being pulled into the car, but the man was too strong. The boy felt something hit him on the side of his head and the strength went out of him. He slipped to the pavement, feet tangled in his bike. The man stepped quickly from the car to lift him inside.

  “What’s going on there?” a voice shouted from the ground floor of one of the houses. Even in his dazed condition Jim recognized old Matthews, who always sat by the front window waiting for his paper, even at seven in the morning. “Leave that boy alone!”

  Matthews came running up, his slippers slapping on the sidewalk, and the young man straightened to face him. He hit the old man on the side of the head, but harder than he’d hit Jim. Then, as Matthews fell forward on his face, the young man seemed to panic. He kicked the bicycle aside and jumped back in his car, and in a moment he was gone.

  Jim tried to shake the pain from his head and stand up. The first thing he thought of was poor old Matthews, who’d come running out to save him.

  But it was too late for Matthews now. Looking at him there on the sidewalk, Jim could see he was dead.

  Captain Leopold came back to headquarters that afternoon feeling old and tired. Perhaps it was the surge of fresh anger that had swept through him at the sight of the dead old man. Or perhaps it was just the senselessness of it all. Why did it have to happen. Why did people like Tommy Razenwood have to go through their lives robbing and killing?

  Connie Trent came in, very quietly, and took the chair that Fletcher usually sat in. “I heard about it,” she said simply.

  He nodded. “That makes it murder now.”

  “You’re sure it was Razenwood?”

  “I’m sure. The boy is the son of a bank manager. Razenwood was after another big haul. And he probably would have made it if that old guy hadn’t gotten involved.”

  “The boy identified Razenwood?”

  “Right away. Picked the photo out from a handful I showed him.” He stared at the picture on his desk, as if trying to conjure up the physical presence of Tommy Razenwood.

  “What about Kathy Franklin? Did you talk to her again?”

  Connie nodded and crossed her long legs. “Kathy promised to call me here tonight, before eight. She’s talking to Pete about turning Razenwood in. I think the decision will be easier after this killing.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Do you have someone watching her place?” Connie asked.

  Leopold nodded. Then, because his eyes were on her legs, he said, “You should get married and settle down, Connie. This is no life for a woman as good-looking as you.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “Is that an offer?”

  “Just an observation,” he said, realizing he was sounding like an old fool.

  They waited until eight o’clock for Kathy’s call, with Connie growing increasingly nervous. Fletcher had been out all day, checking known pushers for a line on Selby, but t
hey’d heard nothing from him. It was as if the case had come to a dead end, with only the reporters keeping the phone lines busy, trying for a fresh morning lead on the story.

  Then, at 8:15, Kathy Franklin phoned.

  Connie motioned Leopold to pick up the extension as she talked. “Hello, Kathy! I was beginning to worry that we wouldn’t hear from you.”

  “I said I’d call, and I’m calling.”

  “How does it look? Did you talk to Pete?”

  A hesitation. Then, “Yes.” Very softly.

  “Well?”

  “We’ll do it.”

  Connie managed to smile at Leopold. “Fine. Where is he?”

  “One thing first,” Kathy said. “Pete insists on it. Tommy has a lot of friends in town and they might find out what we did. Pete doesn’t want to go through life wondering if his next fix might be poisoned. He wants plane tickets out of here for both of us.”

  Connie looked questioningly at Leopold. He hated to let a junkie off the hook, but at this point they had no evidence against Selby. And they had plenty against Razenwood. He nodded, and Connie said, “Agreed. Where do you want to go?”

  “Latin America. He wants two tickets to Mexico City, and then we’ll go on from there. Who knows? Maybe it’ll be a new life for both of us.”

  “I hope so,” Connie said. “You’ll get the tickets when you deliver Tommy Razenwood to us.”

  “Pete says he can do it tomorrow night. I’ll phone you tomorrow and let you know where. Get us out of here on the midnight flight.”

  “Don’t fail us, Kathy. You know it’s murder now, and you could both be accessories. It’s jail or Mexico, and the choice is yours.”

  “I know.”

  Connie hung up and sat facing Leopold. “She’ll come through.”

  “I hate the thought of that guy walking around free for another twenty-four hours.”

  “We have no choice, unless Lieutenant Fletcher comes up with a lead.”

  “We can always hope for that,” Leopold said.

  But there were no leads from Fletcher. Both Selby and Razenwood seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth. No one had seen them at their usual haunts, and even the pushers insisted they did not know their whereabouts.