Virtuous Benny, I thought. No bad habits except peddling dope to kids.
I said, “So you accepted his invitation.”
She nodded. “I stuck my head in Norman’s door to tell him I was going across the hall. He said he was going to take a shower and go to bed. When we went across the hall, Mr. Polacek left his door open for the same reason I had. That’s how Norman was able to hear the shots.”
“Did you always call him Mr. Polacek?” I asked.
The question startled her. She flushed slightly, then said with an air of honesty, “Actually, no. I suppose I’m trying to disassociate myself from him by giving the impression he was the barest acquaintance simply because he was murdered and I don’t like to be involved. I had never been out with him socially and he was only a neighbor, but we were on rather friendly terms. I called him Benny, he called me Beverly and called my brother Norman.”
“O.K.,” I said. “Go on.”
The girl shifted position again, with the same interesting result as before. But this time it wasn’t deliberate. She was beginning to relive the tragedy of the night before. Hugging her shoulders, she went on in a suddenly low voice.
“I went into the kitchen and sat at the table with my back to the door. Benny went into the bedroom long enough to hang up his suit coat, then came in and put the coffeepot on the stove, and set out cups and saucers. It took about fifteen minutes for the coffee to perk, so we just sat and talked.”
“About what?”
She shrugged, causing her cute breasts to bounce up and down like twin balloons full of water. “Nothing consequential. My job at Whittiker Aluminum—incidentally, I hope I still have it, after not showing for work today. I didn’t even phone in— We talked about our respective vacation plans, Norman’s work at the hospital. Just idle chatter. Finally the coffee was ready, and he got up to pour. He took my cup first. He was just reaching for the pot when he paused and half-turned. I thought he was looking at me, because I hadn’t heard whatever sound came from the doorway that caused him to look around. Then the shots sounded, right over my head. I was so startled, I just sat there frozen as Benny fell to the floor. I swung around just in time to catch a glimpse of a man’s back. Then I started to scream. I don’t remember much after that, because I went into hysterics. I remember Norman being there, attempting to quiet me down and finally giving me a shot. And I remember him putting me to bed, but that’s all.”
I said, “Can you give any description at all of the man? Height and weight, for instance?”
She shook her head. “I only caught a bare glimpse, and I was too dazed to notice anything but that he was male. He wore a dark blue suit, if that helps.”
“It isn’t much of a description,” I said glumly. “Did you know what Benny Polacek did for a living, Beverly?”
She thought for a moment. “He was some kind of salesman, I think. He never talked about his work.”
“Naturally not,” I said dryly. “He was a salesman, all right. He peddled heroin to kids.”
Her dark eyes widened. “You’re fooling.”
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” I said, raising my right hand. “He was a dope pusher.”
She stared at me with an expression of revulsion on her face. “And I actually liked the man!”
I sat quietly waiting for her to get used to the idea that her nice neighbor hadn’t been quite as nice as she had thought. It had the effect of erasing the horror of the previous evening completely from her mind. Suddenly she grinned.
“All at once I don’t feel nearly so bad about Benny being killed, Matt.”
“He won’t leave a gap in the human race,” I agreed. “Do you remember any visitors he had?”
She thought, then said, “I don’t believe I ever saw a visitor go into his place. He may have had some, but I didn’t happen to see any of them. I seldom keep my door open as I did last night, of course.”
I remembered what Hermie Joyce had said about Benny allowing customers to come to his apartment for pops, once he was satisfied they were safe. It seemed that there should have been a regular stream of visitors to his place. However, they would probably enter and leave surreptitiously, so it was quite possible an across-the-hall neighbor would never see them.
“Did you ever hear him mention a friend named Char-lie?”
After thinking again, she said, “I don’t recall him ever mentioning anyone he knew. He gave the impression of being a rather lonely man.”
“How long have you been neighbors?”
“Benny once mentioned that he’d been here about three years. I’ve been here two. Norman moved in only two months ago, when he finished med school and started interning at City Hospital.”
“I see. Now I have to ask another cop question, Beverly. We’re still playing policeman-witness. Are you going to look reproachful again?”
“Ask it and see.”
“All right. Do you own a gun?”
She stared at me. “You think I killed Benny!” she accused.
“No such thing,” I denied. “I merely have to cover all possibilities. Do you own a gun?”
“No!”
“Does your brother?”
“No!”
“Mind if I look?”
A touch of frost appeared in her eyes. “You mean search the apartment?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I most certainly would!”
“I hoped we could stay friends,” I said with a sigh, producing the search warrant and leaning forward to hold it before her face.
CHAPTER 9
She studied the document carefully, at first with resentment, then gradually a wicked grin formed on her face.
“It says the premises and persons of Norman and Beverly Arden. Are you going to search my person?”
“Women have to be searched by matrons,” I said. “That was put in so your brother could be searched before he left for the hospital this morning. Just in case he tried to carry out a gun. I can see you haven’t any guns concealed on your person.”
“How do you know? I might have a very small one tucked under the belt to my pajama bottoms.”
“I’ll settle for a search of the apartment,” I told her, rising to my feet. “You can come along to make sure I don’t lift any family heirlooms.”
I started with her bedroom, which was about as feminine as a room can be. Pink and white, it was full of lacy frills, and oversized stuffed animals stared at you from every corner.
Beverly stood in the doorway watching as I rapidly went through the dresser and closet without disturbing a thing. Her eyes widened when I stripped the bed and flipped over the mattress to check the springs, and she looked bemused when I quickly and efficiently remade the bed exactly as it had been.
“You’d make some nice lazy girl a fine husband,” she said. “You could do all the housework. Or are you already married?”
“No,” I said shortly.
I took her brother’s room next, and it was equally free of guns. The bathroom took only about three minutes. I went through a linen closet, glanced into the medicine cabinet, and probed through a clothes hamper. She looked bemused again when I lifted the lid of the water tank.
“You don’t miss a thing, do you, Matt? I never would have thought of that.”
“You’re unusual, then,” I said. “That’s one of the common places amateurs think it’s cute to hide things.”
Within twenty minutes I had completed the search of the whole apartment. After years of experience, I don’t miss a possible hiding place. There was no gun there.
“I guess that’s that,” I said finally.
We had ended in the front room. I went over to pick up my hat.
“Haven’t you forgotten something?” she asked.
I gave her an inquiring look.
“You still haven’t searched my person.”
“It’s a pleasant thought,” I said dryly. “But they board cops who put their hands on female witnesses.”
“I k
now my constitutional rights,” she said. “That warrant says the premises and persons of Norman and Beverly Arden. Norman had his person searched. I demand the same right.”
I scowled at her. “Are you trying to get me in trouble?”
“I’m trying to keep myself out of it. I know how you policemen operate. If you can’t find the real killer, eventually you’ll arrest me just to silence the clamor of the press. At the trial some smart prosecutor will ask if you searched for a gun. ‘Sure,’ you’ll say. ‘The whole apartment.’ Then he’ll ask, ‘Was the person of the accused searched?’ When you say, ‘No,’ the jury will think, ‘Aha! That’s where she hid it.’ I want complete clearance.”
Except for the wicked glint in her eye, she acted so serious that I couldn’t help grinning.
“O.K.,” I said. “I’ll phone for a policewoman.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said crossly. “Your dumb old rule must mean you can’t search a woman forcibly. When they demand it as a constitutional right, it must be permissible.”
I thought this over, and it seemed to make sense. There was nothing to that effect in the rule book, but I don’t suppose it ever occurred to the rule-makers that the matter might come up. What the hell, I thought. If she did report me, it might be interesting to see what a tizzy the board was thrown into when I presented my defense.
Tossing my hat back on the sofa, I walked over to her and said, “Put your arms straight out from your sides.”
Obediently they shot straight out.
Starting at her wrists, I gently patted her arms clear to the shoulders. Then I ran my hands along her sides from beneath her armpits to her waist. I didn’t find any shoulder or belt holsters, but I found some nice soft curves.
She must have stepped out of the shower just before I arrived, because I could smell the clean scent of perfumed soap on her. I had to resist the impulse to gather her into my arms.
Stooping, I put one palm on the inside of one thigh, the other on the outside, and ran my hands clear to her ankle. Then I checked the other leg. They felt firm and shapely under my hands. She wasn’t wearing any leg holsters, either.
I was perspiring slightly when I rose again. She continued to stand with arms outthrust and her back stiff, staring at me without expression.
“I guess you’re clean,” I said huskily.
“You didn’t do nearly as thorough a job as you did on the apartment.”
A man can take only so much urging, and when it comes to a woman as beautiful as Beverly, I have a low boiling point.
“All right,” I said, and reached out and loosened the top button of her black pajama top.
When she remained rigidly unmoving, I loosened the rest of the buttons and the top fell open. Her face assumed a slightly strained expression, but she still kept the same rigid stance, her arms ridiculously outthrust from her sides. It struck me that we were behaving as a pair of very young children experimenting with sex for the first time, the boy tentatively exploring while the girl stood perfectly still, pretending she didn’t know what was going on.
I attempted to remove the jacket, but with her arms held out that way, it was impossible. As she seemed determined to continue playing statue until I was through searching, I gave up.
Loosening the belt of her gold pajama bottoms, I undid a couple of side buttons. The garment slithered down her legs to bunch around her ankles. Kneeling, I lifted one unresisting foot, then the other, and tossed the bottoms aside. When I stood up again, she still held her statue-like pose, gazing at me with the strained expression on her face.
This was getting silly, I thought. I hadn’t as yet even kissed the girl.
I remedied that by pulling her into my arms. Instantly her rigidity collapsed. Her arms went about my neck, and her mouth was wide open when it reached mine.
After a time I came up for air and tried tugging the pajama top down over her shoulders. She violently shook her head.
“It won’t be in the way,” she said in a strangled voice. “Don’t waste time.” So I didn’t waste time.
It must have been twenty minutes later when I picked up my hat for the second time. Following me over to the door, she cupped my face in both hands and reached up on tiptoe to kiss the end of my nose.
“I don’t suppose I’ll ever see you again, will I?” she asked matter-of-factly.
“Sure,” I said. “You’re a material witness. I’ll probably have to be seeing you often.”
“Umm,” she said. “I hope it takes years to solve the case.”
The cop outside in the hall gave me an inquiring look.
“You can pull the stakeout,” I said. “Tell the guy out back, too. And phone the hospital to tell the man on Doc Arden he can knock it off.”
“O.K., Sarge,” he said in a grateful voice. “This is about as dull a detail as you can catch.”
CHAPTER 10
It had been three-thirty when I left headquarters. It was five when I got back. Hank Carter had returned and sat with Wynn and Lincoln at the same table where Wynn had given us our instructions.
The lieutenant greeted me with, “I said an hour, Rudowski. You’ve been gone an hour and a half.”
“I stopped to seduce a woman,” I said.
I knew he wouldn’t believe me. His face reddened and he said, “Get it through your head, Sergeant, that I won’t stand for insubordination. That’s the last smart crack I expect to hear from you as long as I remain your superior officer.”
Beverly had left me in too relaxed a mood to let even Wynn upset me. I said mildly, “Yes, sir. I’ll try to remember.”
After glaring at me a moment more, he said stiffly, “Well, what did you find out?”
I gave him a thorough report of everything that had happened, omitting only the cause of my delay. By the time I finished, he had simmered down enough to be civil.
He asked, “What’s your opinion of her story?”
“It sounded on the up-and-up. Of course she may just be a good actress, but I couldn’t detect any discrepancies. Incidentally, I lifted the stakeout.”
The lieutenant’s glare returned. “You took it upon yourself to relieve a detail ordered by a superior officer?”
“Sorry,” I said, starting to rise. “I assumed since their job was done, you’d want them back on regular duty. I’ll put them back on.”
“Sit down, Sergeant,” he said testily. “The stakeout isn’t needed any more. But you could have checked with me by phone.”
Obviously what he wanted was three messenger boys instead of assistant investigators. I suppose if I had worked under him permanently, I would do what Hank Carter did and never make a move without instructions. But I was anxious to get this case over with and get Wynn off my back. I planned to continue taking original action whenever I felt it necessary, and just put up with the hell I caught.
I said equably, “I thought you’d approve the action. Anything happen while I was gone that you think I ought to know?”
He seemed to imagine I had apologized for doing some original thinking, for his tone became mollified. “A little. Corporal Lincoln wasn’t able to locate April French through theatrical agents, but Carter brought back a little information. Bring Rudowski up to date, Sergeant.”
After five years as a team, Wynn still never called Hank Carter anything but Sergeant or Carter, and Hank always addressed him as Lieutenant or Sir. It was no wonder the redhead seldom smiled.
Carter said sadly, “He had three thirty-two-caliber slugs in him, which doesn’t seem likely for a gang kill. Usually the pros go in for heavier artillery. Two of the slugs are good enough for comparison purposes, if we ever turn up the weapon. The other hit a bone. Fingerprints lifted six sets of prints from the apartment, but none of them were Goodie White’s. His are on file because he’s got a gun registered with the department. A thirty-two revolver.”
I raised my eyebrows. “That’s interesting.”
“I checked the gun register for Norman and Beverly Arden too.
Neither one of them have any guns registered.”
Wynn said, “I think I’ll go see Mr. White this evening. I’ll take Lincoln along. Rudowski, you can start hitting night clubs to see if you can locate April French, since you seem to have a way with women. Carter, you’ll stand by here as liaison.”
Captain Spangler had come from his office as the lieutenant started to speak. Overhearing him, he walked over to our table.
“You’re going to see Goodman White tonight, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir,” Wynn said. He gave the captain a brief rundown of developments. “Under the circumstances I think we’re justified in asking him to account for his movements last night and to turn over his thirty-two for comparison purposes.”
Spangler frowned. “I think you’d better take Rudowski instead of Lincoln with you, Lieutenant. And I’d suggest you let him do most of the talking.”
Wynn looked surprised. But he was consistent in his philosophy. Just as he expected subordinates to accept his orders without question, he wouldn’t have dreamed of questioning the order of a superior.
Without the least sign of resentment he said, “Yes, sir, if you want it that way.”
The captain told us all good night, logged out, and went home. Wynn rose to his feet.
“Let’s catch some dinner,” he said. “Then get back to work.”
We all had dinner together in the headquarters cafeteria. Afterward Hank Carter returned to the squadroom to stand by for any calls in the rest of us might make. Carl Lincoln went off in search of the deceased Benny Polacek’s honey blonde girl friend. Wynn and I checked out an F car and headed for the Twelfth Ward, with me driving.
The White Bowl was pretty fancy for the East Side, which is largely populated by dock wallopers and warehouse workers. If an outsider had opened the place, probably the glitter of the cocktail lounge and dining room would have scared the local working men away. But Goodie was a local boy, not only known to everyone in the ward, but looked up to as a leader. The White Bowl was the Twelfth Ward’s center of social activity.
Death of a Pusher Page 6
