by J. T. Edson
‘Who were you talking to on the telephone and over the radio?’
‘Stuff you!’ Kartides spat out. ‘Lousy Gestapo cop!’
The words seemed to jolt Mrs. Kartides out of her daze. Slowly she forced herself out of the chair and walked to Brad’s side. Looking up at his mother, Kartides felt a wave of uneasiness sweep over him as he recognized the expression on her face. He had only seen her look at him in such a manner when his behavior went beyond the bounds of excusable childish mischief; being a college man-of-the-world, he believed he had out-grown such an expression.
‘All our lives,’ his mother told him quietly, ‘your father and I have tried to raise you right, give you respect for the law. We remember this town when it was bad. You didn’t know it then, but we remember. We saw good men, intelligent men who could have made more money in safer jobs, fight and die to make this town fit for human beings to live in. And now you help these men—’
‘They’re after Colonel Colismides—’ Kartides began.
‘Colonel!’ spat his mother. ‘He is no colonel, only a murdering thief. That’s all Colismides is, a stinking, murdering thief. Your father and I sent you to Cardell to make something of yourself. We didn’t interfere when you joined the student organizations and went on protest marches. Andy went on them, but he threw over such foolishness and settled down—and he never did such a bad thing as this. Is that what you learn in college, to treat stinking, murdering thieves like they were men to be proud of?’
‘Mrs. Kartides—’ Brad put in.
The woman did not look at him, but spoke over her shoulder. ‘This is my son, deputy. If he’s gone wrong, then it is for me to try and put things right. He may be able to tell you something that helps catch those murderers. And if he can, I mean to see he does.’
‘No!’ Kartides yelled.
Then his mother slapped him. It was not a gentle tap, but a roundhouse swing that knocked him sprawling from the bed. Blubbering in fear and pain, Kartides crouched on the floor and glared up at the cold face of his mother.
‘You’re going to tell the deputies everything they want to know,’ she said.
And tell he did.
Seated on the bed once more, Kartides told how Papas had met him one evening as he left a class at Cardell University. At first the killer did not introduce himself, but merely sounded the young man out. Learning that Kartides had attempted, without success, to organize a ‘Keep The U.N. Out’ protest march at the time when trouble had flared between the Turkish and Greek communities on the island of Cyprus, Papas hinted at a way in which the young man might further the Greek cause.
To hear Papas tell it, the Colismides gang wished only to return to Cyprus ready to help defend their people against Turkish aggression. Forced to flee before British colonial oppression, the men had been hounded into a life of crime, by virtue of being members of a minority group, on arrival in the United States. Furthermore, the stories of hold-ups and killings were fabrications produced at the instigation of a vindictive British Government and the inefficient, corrupt U.S. police had grabbed eagerly at the presented patsy on which they could blame all unsolved crimes. Could a young man of Peter Kartides’ obvious intelligence and liberal attitude blame Colonel Colismides’ former comrades-in-arms for banding together and rescuing him after his arrest and mockery of a trial?
The more Kartides told the listening group of his mother and the two deputies, the more he read on their faces that showed him what a stupid, blindly bigoted dupe he had been.
Although the young man told everything he knew, it gave the deputies little to go on. After the first two meetings, he and Papas never saw each other again. The killer called Kartides on the telephone, never giving a number at which he might be reached, and the young man relayed messages between Papas and the gang’s unknown hideout.
‘Where’d you get that gun?’ asked Brad at the end of the story, pointing to the revolver on the bed.
‘Through a mail order company,’ Kartides sullenly replied.
‘They ask for your age,’ Alice pointed out.
‘I lied when I filled the order blank in.’
‘Congress should stop the sale of guns,’ Mrs. Kartides put in.
‘I don’t agree, ma’am,’ Brad answered. ‘The right to keep and bear arms is this country’s greatest heritage, and only a few other governments dare allow it. Restriction on purchasing arms doesn’t disarm the criminal, only the honest citizen, and it leaves him at the mercy of the armed hood.’
‘We’ll take your son to the Office now, Mrs. Kartides,’ Alice interrupted, knowing Brad once he got on to the subject of firearms restrictions. ‘Will you come with us?’
‘Of course we will,’ the woman replied, then looked at Alice as they heard the front door open. ‘That’ll be Paul, my husband. Will you come down with me and—and tell him, Miss—’
‘Fayde,’ Alice introduced automatically. ‘Of course I’ll come.’
Left alone, Kartides scowled up at Brad. ‘I suppose you think you’re pretty smart, nailing me.’
‘It’s just routine,’ Brad replied. ‘Lord though, I’ll bet Colismides’ mob had to look hard to find a dilly like you.’
‘How do you mean?’ muttered the young man.
‘One who owned a radio transmitter, had the right slant liberal-wise and would be hog-stupid enough to fall for that line of guff. You came cheap, too. It would have cost plenty to find a crooked operator willing to work for them. Safer, also—you’d be less likely to sing than a paid operator.’
This, Brad guessed, might account for the mob having selected Rockabye County as their base of operations. Probably the Greek Syndicate, who for some reason wanted to aid the gang’s escape from the country, had used their organizational powers to locate the right kind of man. Whoever picked young Kartides had done very well, Brad admitted. Only the selector had failed to take into account the persistence of the investigating officers at following every lead, no matter how unlikely it might seem. Ironically it was the very thing which brought Papas the support of Kartides, namely, assisting the EOKA cause, which indirectly led the deputies to the young man.
‘We’re ready, Brad,’ called Alice from downstairs.
For a moment Brad studied Kartides. The young man wore jeans, a tee shirt, and sneakers, needing only a coat to be ready to go. Reaching out, Brad unfastened and removed the handcuffs.
‘We’re not taking you out of here with them on,’ he told the young man, dropping a handkerchief over the revolver and picking it up. ‘But, so help me, if you try to make a break, I’ll beat you to a pulp.’
‘Typical cop tac—!’ Kartides began.
Brad dropped the gun and shot out his hands. Taking hold of the tee shirt’s front, he swung its wearer clean from the floor and thrust him back to the wall.
‘I’m not doing it for you!’ Brad explained, his voice scarcely above a whisper, but the expression on his face would wake Kartides in a sweat for years to come. ‘You’re nothing, but nothing, and I wouldn’t spit in your face if it was on fire. I’m doing this for your folks. A couple of decent folks who deserve better than having the neighbors know they raised a stupid punk instead of a son.’ Slamming the young man on to his feet again, Brad pointed to the closet. ‘Go grab a coat and then get the hell out of here.’
Seventeen
During the ride across town to the D.P.S. Building, Peter Kartides found time to think of his position. The more he thought, the greater became his concern. Much to his surprise, after over two years of intellectual disdain for his parents, he found them, while not condoning or approving of his actions, willing to do all they could to help him.
By taking the young man in through the rear of the building, Alice and Brad avoided any chance of word leaking out about his arrest. First Deputy Ricardo Alvarez the Night Watch commander, met them at the elevator and escorted them straight to the sheriff’s private office. A cold chill of apprehension ripped through young Kartides on entering. Seated behind
the desk were Sheriff Jack Tragg, Chief of Police Phineas Hagen and no less a person than the District Attorney himself. A somber group comprised of all the senior law enforcement officials for the city and county.
So shaken was Kartides at the sight, that he begged to be allowed to lend every assistance, if doing so would lessen the charges against him; He offered to try to contact the gang again, so that radio-location units could obtain a fix on the reply and locate the hideout. Although Jack Tragg accepted the offer and put it into practice, silence only greeted Kartides’ efforts to raise the gang’s radio. Clearly Colismides had heard Kartides’ words when Brad broke into the room and realized the danger of answering a call.
‘And now what?’ asked Ricardo when the negative report came in from the Communications Bureau.
‘Will they run, or stick and hope we can’t locate them?’ Alice inquired, glancing at her watch.
‘I’d say stick,’ Brad guessed. ‘They’ll know we can’t locate them as long as they maintain radio silence. Making a run at this hour of the night could draw attention their way.’
‘The last reports from the officers checking on criminals of Greek birth just came in,’ Ricardo commented. ‘None of them have seen Papas, or so they claim.’
‘Which’s likely,’ Jack answered. ‘Some stoolie would have heard before now if he’d been around any crook hang-outs. Starting in the morning, I aim to have every hotel, rooming house, apartment building and flop in the city visited by officers with photographs of Papas. I had some made up. With his mustache taken off, he looks different. That’s the kind they’ll be using.’
‘A dragnet that big’ll be more than we can handle,’ Ricardo stated.
‘Chief Hagen’s promised me all the help I need,’ Jack replied. ‘In addition, I’m sending choppers out to scout every deserted ranch, farm and house in the county. Road blocks will be set up as for Operation Close-Off. If we flush the gang out, I want them stopped.’
‘That’ll take some organizing,’ Ricardo drawled. ‘I’ll get on it.’
‘Need any help, sir?’ asked Alice.
‘We’ve had a quiet night, I’ve all my teams in. You pair can log off, go home and grab some sleep.’
‘I’ve found the list of amateur radio operators on my desk,’ the girl went on. ‘Eight in all, not counting Kartides. Ought we to check them out?’
‘In the morning,’ Jack ruled. ‘There’s not much chance that Papas found two punks stupid enough to work for him.’
‘I think Alice’s just trying to get out of cooking my supper,’ Brad remarked. ‘Can’t remember ever seeing her so keen to stay on watch before.’
‘I’d forgotten all about that,’ Alice answered. ‘We’ll be too late for the Badge now, so you’d better come over.’
‘I reckon I’ll do just that,’ grinned Brad.
On reaching the squad room to log off, they found that Ricardo had just finished warning his teams of the work that lay ahead.
‘I was getting bored sitting around anyway,’ commented Joan Hilton, Alice’s friend and opposite number on the Night Watch.
‘Our watch never has time to sit around and get bored,’ Alice claimed and raised a chorus of derision.
‘Don’t be catty, girls,’ Grantley called. ‘And you-all stop abusing the heroine of the Office.’
Alice finished logging off, placed her pen in the shoulder bag and turned to face Grantley. During an interview Vera had made some comments on Alice’s bravery which raised blushes on the deputy’s cheeks and made her promise to visit a certain housewife and hand-scalp her. Looking back, Alice felt sure that Grantley had encouraged Vera to speak out as she did.
‘I don’t wish you any harm, Ian,’ she purred. ‘But I hope it’s twins.’
‘I don’t get it,’ declared a puzzled-sounding Grantley.
‘You will,’ promised Alice. ‘In a few months’ time.’
In keeping with Jack Tragg’s plan, Grantley and Melnick had reported for duty with their watch that afternoon. However a police guard stayed at each man’s home and Grantley’s neighbors united, armed with shotguns and sporting rifles, to assure him that no damned hood would get near his wife while he went on duty. Standing by his desk, he began to scratch his head. Then the light dawned.
‘Damn it, Alice, you don’t mean— Hey, fellers, I’m going to be a father.’
‘Tell Vera to hold off the happy event for a couple of days,’ Ricardo ordered with a grin. ‘I can’t spare any of you right now.’
By the time Alice and Brad reached the ground floor, they found the drivers of their escort vehicles waiting.
‘Straight home?’ asked one of the drivers.
‘I’m calling at Alice’s pad for supper,’ Brad replied. ‘How’d you want us to work it then?’
‘One of you follow us to the Chadwick as arranged, the other can go straight to the Beverly Arms and stake it out,’ Brad answered. ‘I don’t reckon Papas’d chance tailing us, so I should be safe enough.’
‘If that’s how you want it,’ grunted the driver.
‘It’s either that or have both trucks around the Chadwick for a time,’ Alice pointed out. ‘I don’t want to take the chance of scaring him off if he’s watching my place.’
‘We’ll play it your way,’ promised the second driver. ‘I’d bet he’ll lay low for a spell.’
‘Could be,’ Brad agreed. ‘Or he might decide that’s what we’ll think and make a move. Talking about it won’t help any and I’m hungry.’
‘Sure wish I had a partner who could cook,’ commented one driver.
‘I wish I had a wife who could,’ the second drawled and walked to the waiting undercover truck.
The drive to the Chadwick Building was without incident and Brad parked his M.G. alongside Alice’s Ford Mustang, then followed the girl through the rear entrance. Both tensed slightly as a door opened ahead of them, but the bald dome of the superintendent appeared at it, looking in their direction.
‘Oh. It’s you, Miss Fayde,’ he said, throwing a calculating glance in Brad’s direction. ‘I thought it might be Jube come back. You haven’t seen him around town tonight, have you?’
‘No,’ Alice replied. ‘Is anything wrong?’
‘Nothing much. He just went off without turning in his pass keys again. If the head office ever hears about it, it’s his neck—and mine. They’re strict about janitors turning in the pass keys.’
Ordinarily Alice might have dismissed the incident as of no importance. Under the prevailing conditions, however, any slight deviation from normal aroused her interest.
‘Are you sure he left?’ she asked, throwing a glance at Brad.
‘Well, I didn’t see him go and we don’t run a punch-clock here. But he’s not been around since early on. His uniform’s hung on the peg and his tuxedo’s gone. He told me when he came on that he wanted to get away early for some hop. I don’t mind that. It’s his taking the pass keys that riles me. If they fell into the wrong hands—Well, I don’t need to tell you what that could mean.’
He spoke the literal truth. With the pass keys in his possession, a man could open any and every door in the building; including the one to Alice’s apartment. Not a comforting thought when one expected a killer to make an attempt on one’s life.
‘I’ve just brought my partner in for a bite to eat,’ she remarked, hiding her feelings. There was no need to cause alarm or involve the super in what might be nothing.
‘It’s your apartment,’ the man replied and returned to his room.
‘How about it, Brad?’ Alice asked as the door shut.
‘Give me your keys and I’ll check it out,’ Brad replied. ‘We don’t want to alarm the whole building. And we don’t want anybody who might be watching to see the stake-outs, so we won’t fetch any of them in.’
‘Then we’ll both—’ Alice began.
‘This is a one man chore, Brad interrupted. ‘I’d let you take it, but you’re not using a decent gun yet. Don’t argue, boss lady.
I’d hate to knock you cold and take the keys.’
In her heart Alice knew Brad to be more suited for the work ahead than she, ‘Expert’ shooting rating or not, would be.
‘All right,’ she breathed. ‘But watch yourself.’
‘With a supper cooked by you at the end of it, you can count on that,’ Brad replied. ‘Is there a phone down here?’
‘In the front hall.’
‘Give me its number. When everything’s set, I’ll call you and you can come up. Do you have anything to drink up there?’
‘Try the cupboard of the side-piece,’ Alice said. ‘I’ll have a dry martini, with an olive.’
‘One dry martini, with olive,’ Brad repeated. ‘And how about the phone number?’
Eighteen
Although the Negro janitor appeared to make a habit of forgetting to hand in his pass keys, Brad knew they did not dare take a chance on this having happened that night.
Instead of taking the elevator to the first floor, the big deputy decided to use the stairs. He wanted the extra few seconds in which to think and used them to form a plan of action. Peace officer training, and perhaps instincts going back to his gun-fighting ancestor, gave him answers which ran almost parallel to Papas’ thoughts on where to make the attack on Alice. Brad doubted if the man would chance waiting in the passage and making his move outside the elevator, having no way of knowing who might be coming up in it and aware that hanging about would draw attention to himself. The move, if any, would come inside Alice’s apartment.
Approaching Alice’s door, Brad debated on whether to draw his gun, but decided to leave it holstered. With his combat rig, the difference between an empty hand and holding the automatic could be measured in a split second. He took the precaution of standing alongside the door instead of before it while manipulating its key. The lock clicked and he twisted the handle, pushing the door open.
No shot came. Not even a sound from inside the apartment.
Reaching around the door, Brad felt for, found and clicked down the light switch, illuminating the room and giving himself a slight edge. If the man should be inside, the sudden transition from darkness to light would momentarily dazzle him, while Brad’s eyes were accustomed to it.
