Hail to the Chief

by Ed McBain

  'Yeah. Route 14. We traced the tire tracks back to where they must've drove in,' Grundy said. 'The mud and the leaves made that easy. But there's nothing on the road itself that would indicate which direction they came from.'

  'What about the kids who found her? Have you talked to them?'

  'Oh, yeah. They're clean, I think. You never can tell, but these kids had two things going for them: one, they called the cops, and two, they both looked scared shitless.'

  'What'd the coroner have to say about the time of death?'

  'Set it at sometime between ten and twelve P.M. last night. She'd been beaten badly, bleeding welts across her back, looked like somebody whipped her before cutting her throat. No sexual assault. Vaginal vault is clean of semen.'

  'Mind if we talk to the people in the house up there?'

  'Be my guest,' Grundy said.

  The 'people' in the house up there turned out to be only one person. His name was Rodney Sack, and he was seventy-six years old, and he appeared very frightened by the appearance of detectives in his kitchen. He was just sitting down to breakfast, and was wearing blue denim coveralls, a wool plaid sports shirt, a blue cardigan sweater threadbare at the elbows, and a hearing aid. The hearing aid did not help matters much. His obvious fear made matters even worse.

  The detectives were trying to find out exactly who 'Midge' was. They had gone through Broughan's gang files quite thoroughly, and had found no such nickname for any girl-auxiliary member. The scrutiny had not been a simple one; there were records of 153 gangs in West Riverhead alone. The Scarlet Avengers and the Death's Heads had been involved in hostile combat with many of those gangs since their respective formations three and four years back. Picking out the gang that had decided to do in the leaders of the Avengers and the Heads was rather like picking a dish at a Chinese banquet: everything looked good. So far, the detectives had only two leads. They knew that Andrew Kingsley had been with Eduardo and Constantina Portoles for some time before a person or persons unknown had entered the apartment and killed all three of them. They did not know why Kingsley had been there, or what his relationship with Portoles and his sister had been. They also knew that a girl named Midge, presumably an auxiliary member of the rampaging gang, had supplied them with information, and then had turned up in the next state, two days later, with her throat slit But who the hell was Midge?

  'Notice any unusual traffic in the woods down there last night?' Carella asked Sack.

  'No, sir,' Sack said, visibly trembling.

  'Any headlights or anything?'

  'What would red lights be doing down there in—'

  'Headlights. Headlights. Automobile headlights.'

  'Oh, headlights,' Sack said. 'No, didn't see no headlights down there.' He tried to light his pipe, and the match fell from his shaking hand. He took another wooden match from the box of kitchen matches, and broke the match striking it. He looked up at the detectives, smiled weakly, and put the pipe aside.

  'What are you scared of Mr. Sack?' Kling asked.

  'Me? Nothing. What've I got to be scared of?'

  'Did you see something down in those woods last night?'

  'No, sir, I did not.'

  'Where were you last night, Mr. Sack?' Carella said, and realized that both he and Kling were shouting at the old man. Carella's wife was a deaf-mute, and he never thought of her inability to hear or speak as an affliction. But Sack's partial deafness was inordinately irritating. Carella suddenly realized that most people were annoyed by the partially deaf, whereas their patience was normally quite generous toward the partially blind, or the crippled. He put the thought aside, certain he would discuss it later with Teddy, her eyes watching his lips intently, her fingers answering in the deaf-mute language they shared, and which he 'spoke' fluently and with a distinctive accent all his own. Sack was staring up at him. He was not sure the old man had heard him. 'Mr. Sack, where were you…?'

  'I heard you, I heard you," Sack said impatiently, and Carella now saw the other side of the coin, the annoyance of the hard-of-hearing at being subjected to shouting and repetition and constant doubt as to whether they heard what was being said to them.

  'Well, where were you?'

  'Here.'

  'All night?'

  'All night, yes.'

  'What were you doing between ten o'clock and midnight?'

  'Sleeping.'

  'What time did you go to bed?'

  'Nine o'clock. I go to bed nine o'clock every night.'

  'Hear anything unusual down there in the woods?' Kling asked.

  'I'm hard of hearing,' Sack said with great dignity. 'I wouldn't have heard a cannon if it went off on the porch.'

  'Did you get out of bed any time during the night?'

  'Well, yes, I suppose so.'

  'When?'

  'Don't remember exactly when. Had to go to the toilet, so I got out of bed.'

  'Where's the toilet?' Carella asked.

  'Back of the house.'

  'Overlooking the woods?'

  'Yes.'

  'Is there a window in the toilet?'

  'Yes.'

  'Did you look out that window while you were in there?'

  'Don't recall as I did.'

  'Try to recall,' Kling said.

  'I suppose I might've glanced out there.'

  'What'd you see?'

  'The woods.'

  'Anything in the woods?'

  'Trees, bushes.' Sack shrugged.

  'Anything else?'

  'Animals maybe. Lots of deer come close to the house, foraging.'

  'Did you see any animals last night?'

  'Well, yes, I suppose so.'

  'What kind of animals?'

  'Well, hard to say. Pretty dark out there except for the…' Sack stopped in midsentence.

  'Except for the what?' Carella said.

  'Porch light,' Sack said. 'Always keep the porch light on.'

  'By the porch, do you mean that porch on the front of the house?'

  'Yes, that's the porch.'

  'Is there a back porch, Mr. Sack?'

  'No, just that front porch there.'

  'But you said the toilet is at the back of the house.'

  'Well, yes. Yes, that's where it is.'

  'Then what's the light on the front porch got to do with what you saw or didn't see from the back?'

  Sack blinked, and then suddenly began crying. 'I'm an old man,' he said, and fumbled for a handkerchief in the pocket of his coveralls. 'I can't hear worth a shit, and I'm living on my disability pension and what I get from the welfare. I got maybe five, six years left of living, if that much. I don't want trouble. Please leave me alone. Please.' He blew his nose and dabbed at his eyes, and then put the handkerchief away, even though tears were still running down his cheeks. 'Please,' he said.

  'Want to tell us what happened last night, Mr. Sack?' Carella said gently.

  'Nothing,' Sack said. 'I already told you…' He could not go on. A sob strangled the sentence, and he began coughing, and again reached for his handkerchief.

  'Did you see headlights down there in the woods, Mr. Sack?'

  Sack did not answer.

  'Yes or no?'

  'I saw headlights,' he said, and sighed heavily. 'I'm an old man, Please, I don't want trouble.'

  'What time was this, Mr. Sack? The headlights.'

  'Must've been about two in the morning.'

  'You saw them from the bathroom window?'

  'Yes.'

  'What'd you do?'

  'I should've gone back to bed, but I thought… I thought somebody maybe got off the road by accident… and was stuck in the mud down there by the bottom, so I… I put on a pair of pants and a shirt, and my sweater and my lumberjack, and I went down there to see if… if I could offer some assistance. Phone a garage or… I'm an old man, and I'm deaf, but I ain't worthless, I have some value, you see. I thought I could phone, if the people down there needed help.'

  'Go on,' Kling said. He said the two words quite
softly, and was not at all sure that Sack heard them.

  'I wasn't carrying no light, I looked for the damn flashlight, but I couldn't find it. I keep losing things around here, I don't know what it is. But there was a pretty good moon, and I know those woods like the back of my hand, I was born and raised in this house, I know every inch of them woods. And I made my way down to where the lights were, and… and then I saw what was going on.'

  'What was that, Mr. Sack?'

  'I said I saw what was going on.'

  'Yes, and what did you see?'

  There was a girl laying on the ground in front of the truck. There was blood all over her dress. There was two young boys standing in the headlights near her. They were having an argument.'

  'What about?'

  'One of them wanted to bury her. He said they'd brought along the shovels so they could bury her. The other one said he wanted to get out of there fast, it was good enough what they'd already done, covered her with leaves.'

  'What'd they look like?'

  'They were just kids, couldn't've been older than sixteen or seventeen.'

  'White or black?'

  'White.'

  'Did they use names in addressing each other? Did you hear any names?'

  'I'm hard of hearing,' Sack said again, 'but I think I heard one of them calling the other one "Pig." '

  'Pig? P-I-G?'

  'That's right. Pig.'

  'Are you sure that's what he said?'

  'I'm not sure, no. But that's what it sounded like to me.'

  'All right, what happened?'

  'The one named Pig said he was in charge, and he didn't want to spend no more time there in the woods. So they got in the truck and drove off.'

  'What kind of truck?'

  'Old Chevy pickup.'

  'Notice the license plate?'

  'It was an Isola plate, but I couldn't make out the numbers on it.'

  'When you say old… what year do you mean?'

  'Sixty-four, sixty-five, something like that.'

  'What color?'

  'Green, it looked like. Or blue. A bluish-green.'

  'An open pickup?'

  'Yes.'

  'Anything in the back of the truck?'

  'Nothing I could see. I guess there were shovels in it, because that's what they were talking about. But I couldn't see them from where I was.'

  'Anything else you remember about the truck? Any dents, any peculiar markings, anything painted on its sides?'

  'There was a funny flag painted on the door closest to me.'

  'Which door was that?'

  'The door on the driver's side.'

  'What kind of flag?'

  'I couldn't make it out, I think it was a flag, it looked like a flag, anyway.'

  'What color was it?'

  'Red, white, and blue.'

  'But it wasn't an American flag?'

  'No, no, I know what the American flag looks like, don't I? This had a big blue cross on it. Stars, too, now that you mention it. But it wasn't the Stars and Stripes, that's for sure. I fought for that flag, I sure as hell ought to know what it looks like. World War I. That's how come I'm deaf.'

  'What'd these boys look like, can you tell us that?'

  'Both had dark hair, and both were wearing blue jackets with… Hey, that's right. That's right, come to think of it'

  'What's right, Mr. Sack?'

  'That same flag was on the back of their jackets. That's right Same damn flag.'

  'Uh-huh. How tall were they?'

  'Average height.'

  'Notice anything else about them? Scars or…?'

  'Yeah, one of them was wearing a scarf.'

  Carella did not mention that he had said 'Scars.' Instead, he picked up on the old man's recollection, and said, 'What color was the scarf?'

  'Red.'

  'Which one was wearing it? Pig or the other one?'

  'I don't recall.'

  'Any other identifying marks?' Carella said, and then amended his earlier question so that Sack wouldn't realize he had misheard it. 'Any disfigurations? Old healed wounds? Anything like that?'

  'Scars, do you mean?' Sack said.

  Carella smiled. 'Yes, Mr. Sack,' he said. 'Scars.'

  'No. No scars. Oh, is that what you meant before? Oh, I see. No. No scars.' Sack, for some strange reason, was smiling too.

  'Thank you, Mr. Sack,' Carella said. 'I wouldn't worry about those two coming back here. They've no reason to believe they were seen by anyone. They didn't see you, did they?'

  'No, but… I figured if I told you about it, they might guess where the information came from and… that girl's dead, you know. It don't take a mastermind to dope out it was them two who did it.'

  'If it'll make you feel more secure, I'm sure Detective Grundy can arrange to have his men tighten the patrol around your place. Mr. Grundy?'

  'Oh, sure,' Grundy said, taken by surprise and not at all sure he could ask his men to provide such a service.

  'You've been very helpful, Mr. Sack,' Carella said. 'We're sorry to have interrupted your breakfast.'

  'We're grateful,' Kling said.

  'Don't care for it,' Sack said. 'Too bitter.'

  In the squadroom of the One-Oh-One, they went through Broughan's file again. They learned that there was a gang called, in seeming contradiction, the Yankee Rebels. Their colors were red, white, and blue, and their identifying insignia was the same one the Confederacy had used during the War Between the States - the distinctive blue cross with its thirteen white stars and white edges against a field of red. The names and nicknames (called 'aliases' in Broughan's file) of the gang members were included in the dossier, together with pertinent facts about them - family make-up, school and/or employment histories, records of arrests and convictions, probation and/or parole dispositions, and the like. One of the members of the Yankee Rebels was called Little Anthony, apparently in an attempt to distinguish him from Big Anthony, who was listed as the gang's treasurer. The detectives assumed that what Rodney Sack had heard on the night of Midge's murder was not the name 'Pig,' but rather the name 'Big,' short for Big Anthony Sutherland. The legal name of the gang's 'enforcement officer' was Charles Ingersol; his nickname was Chingo. The gang's negotiator was a boy named Edward Marshall, but he was called Doc because he had once dug a bullet (with apparent success) from the shoulder of a fellow member who'd been wounded in a street fight. The gang's war counselor was named Edward Mason, and his nickname was Mace.

  The president's name was Randall M. Nesbitt.

  He was known to his followers as Randy.

  Chapter Six

  What happened was she tried to get away.

  They had her word of honor that she wouldn't try to pull anything like that, but if you can't trust somebody once, then you certainly can't trust them twice. I always believed, by the way (and I still believe), that there's no such thing as trusting somebody only halfway, or three-quarters of the way, or even ninety-nine and one-hundredths percent of the way. You either trust them completely, or you're not trusting them at all. Which is why in all these peace negotiations, I was the one who insisted that everything be spelled out to the letter. Otherwise, we'd have had to depend on trust, you see, and I don't trust neither the Heads nor the Scarlets as far as I can throw them.

  The house Big Anthony's aunt has is really more like a cottage. There's only one bedroom, so Big Anthony and Jo-Jo, who's the guy he picked to go with him, gave the bedroom to Midge, and they slept in the living room, Big Anthony on the couch and Jo-Jo on the floor in a sleeping bag. They never made no sexual advances to Midge because they knew she was Johnny's girl, and they know this clique prides itself on its honor. They stripped her to the waist every morning and every night to give her the prescribed twenty lashes, but that had nothing to do with sex. That was only a sentence being carried out. It really must have bothered Big Anthony to carry out such a sentence against a girl, because this clique truly honors the women who belong to it. In our eyes, they are equal members an
d they are entitled to equal rights. Just because I didn't appoint any of them as my advisers don't mean nothing. Before this thing with Midge happened, I was planning to appoint one of the girls as secretary. I was ready to bring it before the council, in fact. Then Midge had to get smart. Or stupid, if you want to be exact about it.

  It was right after they gave her that night's twenty. She was bleeding a little, but not much. She put on her blouse and went in the bedroom. Big Anthony told me she never made a peep while they were administering justice. He thought she'd learned her lesson. He thought she'd got the message, just the way I thought she had. Neither of us had made a mistake; it was just that Midge was a very devious person. Along about nine-thirty Big and Jo-Jo were watching television in the living room, and they had the sound very low so as not to disturb Midge if she was trying to sleep, when they heard something outside that sounded like somebody trying to get in the house. Jo-Jo ran around one side, and Big ran around the other, and it wasn't nobody trying to get in the house, it was somebody trying to get out of the house. It was Midge, in fact, and not only was she trying to get out, she was already out by the time they ran around back and caught her. She had jumped out the window (which was the noise they heard) and had started for the woods by the time they got to her, and she was carrying a knife she had managed to steal from the kitchen earlier in the day.

  Neither Jo-Jo nor Big had any intention of hurting her. All they wanted to do was get her back in the house. But she came at them with the knife in her hand, and she stabbed Jo-Jo in the arm (he's still got a bandage where she cut him) and then she went after Big, who ain't called Big for nothing, and who's been in enough fights to know how to take a weapon away from somebody. But she kept slashing at him, too, and by the time he got the knife away, he was beginning to lose his temper. He grabbed her from behind, with one arm holding her, you know, and he put the blade against her throat, and he told her one more move and he'd kill her. She turned hallway around, and she kicked him in the balls, and that was what did it. Big killed her on the spot. He had good reason.

  I told him he done the right thing.

  They did not find Randall Nesbitt until Saturday morning, January 12, in an ice cream parlor on the corner of Hitchcock and Dooley in Riverhead. He was eating a banana split. A skinny, light-eyed blond girl was sitting in the booth opposite him, drinking a chocolate ice cream soda. She looked shy, somewhat anemic, and somewhat anachronistic, as though she had stepped out of a Betty Co-ed movie of the forties. Nesbitt himself had dark hair and dark brooding eyes and a sloping, bulbous nose, and heavy jowls, and apparently a heavy beard as well; he looked as though he had recently shaved, but a bluish cast tinted his jaw and both sides of his face below the cheeks. He did not look up when the detectives approached the booth. He had undoubtedly known they were coming because they had seen a runner, wearing a blue denim jacket with the Confederate insignia on its back, entering the ice cream parlor as they came up the street. The runner was now sitting at the counter. He watched the detectives as they stopped before the booth.