by Various
"Meanwhile, check all the transportation terminals. Find out if he's ever been issued a passport. If he has, check the foreign consuls here in the city to see if he got a visa. Notify the FBI; they're back in it now, since there's a chance that he may have crossed a state line--unlawful flight to avoid prosecution.
"And tell the boys that do the footwork that they're to say that the guy they're looking for is wanted by the Missing Persons Bureau--that he left home and his wife is looking for him. Don't connect him up with the Donahue case at all. Have every beat patrolman in the city on the lookout for a drunk with a lisp, but tell them the same story about the wife; I don't want any leaks at all.
"I'll call the Commissioner right away to get his O.K., because I don't want either one of us to get in hot water over this. If he's with us, we'll go ahead as planned; if he's not, we'll just have to call in the newsmen. O.K.?"
"Sure, Inspector. Whatever you say. I'll get right to work on it. You'll have the Commissioner call me?"
"Right. So long. Call me if anything happens."
I had added the bit about calling the Commissioner because I wasn't sure but what Kleek would decide I was wrong in handling the case and let the story out "accidentally." But I had to be careful not to make Shultz think I was trying to show my muscles. I called the Commissioner, got his O.K., and turned my attention back to my guest.
He had been listening with obvious interest. "Another one of your zanies, eh?"
"One that went too far, Your Grace. We didn't get to him in time." I spent five or six minutes giving him the details of the Donahue case.
"The same old story," he said when I had finished. "If your pilot project here works out, maybe that kind of slaughter can be eliminated." Then he smiled. "Do you know something? You're one of the few Americans I've ever met, outside your diplomats, who can address a person as 'Your Grace' and make it sound natural. Some people look at me as though they expected me to be all decked out in a ducal coronet and full ermines, ready for a Coronation. Your Commissioner, for instance. He seems quite a nice chap, but he also seems a bit overawed at a title. You seem perfectly relaxed."
I considered that for a moment. "I imagine it's because he tends to look at you as a Duke who has taken up police work as a sort of gentlemanly hobby."
"And you?"
"I guess I tend to think of you as a good cop who had the good fortune to be born the eldest son of a Duke."
His smile suddenly became very warm. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "Thank you very much."
There came the strained silence that sometimes follows when an honest compliment is passed between two men who have scarcely met. I broke it by pointing at the plaque on the front of my desk and giving him a broad grin. "Or maybe it's just the kind of blood that flows in my veins."
He looked at the little plaque that said Inspector Royal C. Royall and laughed pleasantly. "I like to think that it's a little bit of both."
* * * * *
The intercom on my desk flashed, and the sergeant's voice said: "Inspector, a couple of the boys just brought in a man named Manewiscz. A stolen car was run into a fire plug over on Fifth Avenue near 99th Street. A witness has positively identified Manewiscz as the driver who ran away before the squad car arrived."
"Sidney Manewiscz?" I asked. "Manny the Moog?"
"That's the one. He's got a record of stealing cars for joyrides. He insists on talking to you."
"Bring him in," I said. "I'll talk to him. And get hold of Dr. Brownlee."
"Excuse me," I said to the Duke. "Business." He started to get up, but I said, "That's all right, Your Grace; you might as well sit in on it." He relaxed back into the chair.
Two cops brought in Manewiscz, a short, nervous man with a big nose and frightened brown eyes.
"What's the trouble, Manny?" I asked.
"Nothing, Inspector; I'm telling you, I didn't do nothing. I'm walking along Fifth Avenoo when all of a sudden these cops pull up in a squad-car and some fat jerk in the back seat is hollering that I am the guy he seen get out of a smashup on 99th Street, which is a good three blocks from where I am walking. Besides which, I have not driven a car for over a year now, and I have been in all ways a law-abiding citizen and a credit to the family and the community."
"Do you know the fat guy?" I asked. "The guy who fingered you for the boys?"
"I never had the pleasure of seeing him before," said Manny the Moog, "but, on the other hand, I do not expect to forget his fat face between now and the next time we meet."
At that point, Dr. Brownlee came through the door.
"Hello, Inspector," he said with a quick smile. He saw Manewiscz then, and his eyebrows went up. "What are you doing here, Manny?"
"I am here, Doc, because the two gentlemen in uniform whom you see standing on both sides of me extend a polite invitation to accompany them here, although I am not in the least guilty of the thing they say I do which causes them to issue this invitation."
I explained what had happened and Brownlee shook his head slowly without saying anything for a moment. Then he said, "Come on in my office, Manny; I want to talk to you for a few minutes. O.K., Inspector?" He glanced at me.
"Sure." I waved him and Manny away. "You boys stay here," I told the patrolmen, "Manny will be all right." As soon as the door closed behind Dr. Brownlee and Manewiscz I said: "You two brought the witness in, too, didn't you?"
"Yes, sir," said one. The other nodded.
"You'd better do a little more careful checking on him. He may be simply mistaken, or he may have been the actual driver. See if he's been in any trouble before."
"The sergeant's already doing that, sir," said the one who had spoken before. "Meanwhile, maybe we better go out and have a little talk with the guy."
"Take it easy, he may be a perfectly respectable citizen."
"Yes, sir," he said. "We'll just ask him a few questions."
They left, and I noticed that the Duke was looking rather puzzled, but he didn't ask any questions, so I couldn't answer any.
The intercom lit up, and I flipped the switch. "Yes?"
"I just checked up on the witness," said the sergeant. "No record. His identification checks out O.K. Thomas H. Wilson, an executive at the City-Chemical Bank; lives on Central Park West. The lab says that the driver of the car wore gloves."
"Thank Wilson for his information, let him go, and tell him we'll call him if we need him. Lay it on thick about what a good citizen he is. Make him happy."
"Right."
I switched off and started to say something to my guest, but the intercom lit up again. "Yeah?"
"Got a call-in from Officer McCaffery, the beat man on Broadway between 108th and 112th. He's got a lead on the guy you're looking for."
"Tell him we'll be right over. Where is he?"
The sergeant told me, and I cut off.
I took out my gun and spun the cylinder, checking if from force of habit more than anything else, since I always check and clean it once a day, anyhow. I slid it back into its holster and turned to the Duke, who was already on his feet.
"Did the Commissioner give you a Special Badge?" I asked him.
"Yes, he did." He pulled it out of his inside pocket and showed it to me.
"Good. I'll have the sergeant fill out a temporary pistol permit, and--"
"I don't have a pistol, Inspector," he said. "I--"
"That's all right; we'll issue you one. We can--"
He shook his head. "Thanks, I'd rather not. I've never used a pistol except when I've gone out after a criminal who is known to be armed and dangerous. I don't think Lawrence Nestor is very dangerous to adult males, and I doubt that he's armed." He hefted the walking stick he'd been carrying. "This will do nicely, thank you."
The way he said it was totally inoffensive, but it made me feel as though I were about to go out rabbit hunting with an elephant gun. "Force of habit," I said. "In New York, a cop would feel naked without a gun. But I assure you that I have no intention of shooting
Mr. Nestor unless he takes a shot at me first."
Just as we were leaving, Dr. Brownlee met us in the outer room.
"Sure, Doc; if you say so." I didn't have any time for introductions just then; Chief Inspector the Duke of Acrington and I kept going.
* * * * *
Eight minutes later, I pulled up to the post where Officer McCaffery was waiting. Since I'd already talked to him over the radio, all he did was stroll off as soon as we pulled up. I didn't want everyone in the neighborhood to know that there was something afoot. His Grace and I climbed out of the car and walked up toward a place called Flanagan's Bar.
It was a small place, the neighborhood type, with an old-fashioned air about it. Two or three of the men looked up as we came in, and then went back to the more important business of drinking. We went back to the far end of the bar, and the bartender came over, a short, heavy man, with the build of a heavyweight boxer and hands half again as big as mine. He had dark hair, a square face, a dimpled chin, and calculating blue eyes.
"What'll it be?" he said in a friendly voice.
"Couple of beers," I told him.
I waited until he came back before I identified myself. Officer McCaffery had told me that the bartender was trustworthy, but I wanted to make sure I had the right man.
"You Lee Darcey?" I asked when he brought back the beers.
"That's right."
I flashed my badge. "Is there anywhere we can talk?"
"Sure. The back room, right through there." He turned to the other bartender. "Take over for a while, Frankie." Then he ducked under the bar and followed the Duke and me into the back room.
We sat down, and I showed him the picture of Lawrence Nestor. "I understand you've seen this guy."
He picked up the picture and cocked an eyebrow at it. "Well, I wouldn't swear to it in court, Inspector, but it sure looks like the fellow who was in here this afternoon--this evening, rather, from six to about six-thirty. I don't come on duty until six, and he was here when I got here."
It was just seven o'clock. If the man was Nestor, we hadn't missed him by more than half an hour.
"Notice anything about his voice?"
"I noticed the lisp, if that's what you mean."
"Did he talk much?"
Darcey shook his head. "Not a lot. Just sat there and drank, mostly. Had about three after I came on."
"What was he drinking?"
"Whisky. Beer chaser." He grinned. "He tips pretty well."
"Has he ever been in here before?"
"Not that I know of. He might've come in in the daytime. You'd have to check with Mickey, the day man."
"Was he drunk?"
"Not that I could tell. I wouldn't have served him if he was," he said righteously.
I said, "Darcey, if he comes back in here ... let's see--Can you shut off that big sign out front from behind the bar?"
"Sure."
"O.K. If he comes in, shut off the sign. We'll have men here in less than a minute. He isn't dangerous or anything, so just act natural and give him whatever he orders. I don't want him scared off. Understand?"
"I got you."
His Grace and I went outside, and I used my pocket communicator to instruct a patrol car to cover Flanagan's Bar from across the street, and I called for extra plainclothesmen to cover the area.
"Now what?" asked His Grace.
"Now we go barhopping," I said. "He's probably still drinking, but it isn't likely that he'll find many little girls at this time of night. He's probably got a room nearby."
At that point, a blue ElectroFord pulled up in front of us. Stevie stuck his head out and said: "Your office said you'd be around here somewhere. Remember me, Dad?"
I covered my eyes with one hand in mock horror. "My God, the fifty!" Then I dropped the hand toward my billfold. "I'm sorry, son; I got wrapped up in this thing and completely forgot." That made two apologies in two minutes, and I began to have the uneasy feeling that I had suddenly become a vaguely repellant mass of thumbs and left feet.
I handed him the fifty, and, at the same time, said: "Son, I want you to meet His Grace, Chief Inspector the Duke of Acrington. Your Grace, this is my son, Steven Royall."
As they shook hands, Steve said: "It's a pleasure to meet Your Grace. I read about the job you did in the Camberwell poisoning case. That business of winding the watch was wonderful."
"I'm flattered, Mr. Royall," said the Duke, "but I must admit that I got a great deal more credit in that case than was actually due me. Establishing the time element by winding the watch was suggested to me by another man, who wouldn't allow his name to be mentioned in the press."
I reminded myself to read up on the Duke's cases. Evidently he was better known than I had realized. Sometimes a man gets too wrapped up in his own work.
"I'm sorry," Stevie said, "but I've got to get going. I hope to see you again, Your Grace. So long, Dad--and thanks."
"So long, son," I said. "Take it easy."
His car moved off down the street, gathering speed.
"Fine boy you have there," the Duke said.
"Thanks. Shall we go on with our pub crawling?"
"Let's."
* * * * *
By two o'clock in the morning, we had heard nothing, found nothing. The Duke looked tired, and I knew that I was.
"A few hours sleep wouldn't hurt either one of us," I told His Grace. "It's a cinch that Nestor won't be able to find any little girls at this hour of the morning, and I have a feeling that he probably bought himself a bottle and took it up to his room with him."
"You're probably right," the Duke said wearily.
"Look," I said, "there's no point in your going all the way down to your hotel. My place is just across town, I have plenty of room, it will be no trouble to put you up, and we'll be ready to go in the morning. O.K.?"
He grinned. "Worded that way, the invitation is far too forceful to resist. I'm sold. I accept."
By that time, we had left several dollars worth of untasted beers sitting around in various bars on the West Side, so when I arrived at my apartment on the East Side, I decided that it was time for two tired cops to have a decent drink. The Duke relaxed on the couch while I mixed a couple of Scotch-and-waters. He lit a cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke with a sigh.
"Here, this will put sparks in your blood. Just a second, and I'll get you an ash tray." I went into the kitchen and got one of the ash trays from the top shelf and brought it back into the living room. Just as I put it down on the arm of the couch next to His Grace, the buzzer announced that there was someone at the front door downstairs.
I went over to the peeper screen and turned it on. The face was big-jawed and hard-mouthed, and there was scar tissue in the eyebrows and on the cheeks. He looked tough, but he also looked worried and frightened.
I could see him, but he couldn't see me, so I said: "What's the trouble, Joey?"
A look of relief came over his face. "Can I see ya, Inspector? I saw your light was on. It's important." He glanced to his right, toward the doorway. "Real important."
"What's it all about, Joey?"
"Take a look out your window, Inspector. Across the street. They're friends of Freddy Velasquez. They been following me ever since I got off work."
"Just a second," I said. I went over to the window that overlooks the street and looked down. There were two men there, all right, looking innocently into a delicatessen window. But I knew that Joey Partridge wasn't kidding, and that he knew who the men were. I went back to the peeper screen just as Joey buzzed my signal again. "I buzzed again so they won't know you're home," he said before I could ask any questions. "Freddy must've found out about my hands, Inspector. According to the word I got, they ain't carrying guns--just blackjacks and knucks."
"O.K., Joey. Come on up, and I'll call a squad car to take you home."
He gave me a bitter grin. "And have 'em coming after me again and again until they catch me? No, thanks, Inspector. In one minute, I'm going to wal
k across and ask 'em what they're following me for."
"You can't do that, Joey!"
He looked hurt. "Inspector, since when it is against the law to ask a couple of guys how come they're following you? I just thought I oughta tell ya, that's all. So long."
I knew there was no point in arguing with Joey Partridge. I turned and said: "Want some action, Your Grace?"
But he was already on his feet, holding that walking stick of his. "Anything you say."
"Come on, then. We'll take the fire escape; the elevator is too slow. The fire escape will let us out in the alley, and we won't by outlined by the light in the foyer."
I already had the bedroom door open. I ran over to the window, opened it, and started down the steel stairway. The Duke was right behind me. It was only three floors down.
"That Joey is too smart for his own good," I said, "but he's right. This is the only way to work it. Otherwise, they'd have him in the hospital eventually--or maybe dead."
"He looked like a man who could take care of himself," the Duke said.
"That's just it. He can't. Come on."
* * * * *
The ladder to the street slid down smoothly and silently, and I thanked God for modern fire prevention laws. When we reached the street, I wondered where they could have gone to so quickly. Then the Duke said: "There! In that darkened area-way next to the little shop!" And he started running. His legs were longer than mine, and he reached the area-way a good five yards ahead of me.
Joey had managed to evade them for a short while, but they had cornered him, and one of them knocked him down just as the Duke came on the scene. The other had swung at his ribs with a blackjack as he dropped, and the first aimed a kick at Joey's midriff, but Joey rolled away from it.
Then the two thugs heard our footsteps and turned to meet us. If we'd been in uniform, they might have run; as it was, they stood their ground.
But not for long.
The Duke didn't use that stick as though it were a club, swinging it like a baseball bat. That would be as silly as using an overhand stab with a dagger. He used it the way a fencer would use a foil, and the hard, blunt end of it sank into the first thug's solar plexus with all the drive of the Duke's right arm and shoulder behind it. The thug gave a hoarse scream as all the air was driven from his lungs, and he dropped to the pavement.
