by Gerard Denza
-Hey, Ginny, what gives? Help out your shamus friend.
Miss Gray turned about with a big smile on her face. She recognized the voice.
-Eddie, baby! Give us a hug and I'll tell you what I know...which isn't a helluva' lot, I can tell you!
Edward obliged.
-Okay, handsome, we got two stiffs laid out on the second floor with no sign of a break in.
-What about this radiation?
Ginny wiped the wet snow from her face.
-Now, that's the interesting part. I hear tell from a source of mine – and all of my sources are reliable – that some boys from the Feds. are in there right now with their Geiger counters and lead lined overalls poking around. And, the bodies haven't even been taken out yet.
-Why not? Medical Examiner not through with them? What's the hold up?
-That's just it. The Medical Examiner came and went looking real worried. And, then – now, get this – they brought in these lead lined containers...and, not just a couple of them either. So, handsome, what do you make of it?
Edward shook his head, took of his Fedora and shook the snow off of it. He trusted Ginny Gray and decided to level with her. But, before he could open his mouth, the front door of the building was flung open. No one came out, but two police vans pulled up and double parked right in front of the building. The back doors were flung open, but Edward couldn't see inside the van from where he was standing.
And, then, the chaos began.
Three cops came out of the building and pushed the barricades farther back and the protesting crowd along with it. Then, two lead containers resembling coffins were hauled out of the building and into the two vans. The men carrying them wore radiation suits. News cameras flashed and questions were shouted at no one in particular. Ginny's voice was the loudest.
-Are the two murdered men in those containers? What did they die of: bullet wounds or radiation? Talk to me, damn it!
No one answered her.
Another newspaper man joined in.
-What about the radiation? Is the city in danger? Have we been infected? You deaf or something?
The back doors of the two vans stayed open and another lead lined container was brought out.
Ginny was the tenacious type and so were the other dozen reporters. They were not to be put off.
-What the hell is in those containers? Radioactive bodies? Is the public in danger? The people have a right to know!
-Any leads on who did this?
Edward noticed an older man stepping out of the front entrance. It was the Chief of Police: Malcolm Webster. He never met the man, but knew of him. He was tough on crime and even tougher with punishment. Mr. Webster addressed the crowd.
-Good morning. What I have to say will be said once and only once, so listen up. I can take no questions from the press at this time. The current situation is considered dire, but under control. We must ask everyone within the confines of 47th St. between 5th Ave. and Ave. of the Americas to evacuate the area immediately with no exceptions.
Ginny interrupted the Chief of Police.
-Then, there is radiation?
-Traces of a certain isotope have been found and removed.
-Where did this radiation come from?
-Then, why the damned evacuation?
-Were those two victims infected?
The Chief of Police gave Ginny and the other reporters a dirty look.
-We prefer, madame and gentlemen, to err on the side of caution,.
Another reporter shouted a question.
-Is the National Guard being called in?
The Chief of Police hesitated for a moment.
-No. Police units are being brought in to assist in the evacuation which must begin now. Good day.
A reporter shouted.
-Where are the bodies being taken.
Another reporter shouted.
-Hey, Webster, you running for the hills, man?
The Chief of Police was escorted through the crowd and into his car followed by every reporter present.
The crowd around Edward was breaking up so he made for the downtown subway.
Ginny Gray got back to her office on 44th St. and 8th Ave. It was a cramped cubbyhole set in the corner of the main editorial floor. A “semi-private” office is what Ginny called it that had been earned through hard-bitten and aggressive but honest reporting.
She flung off her coat, took off her ski cap and ignored her fellow workers' inquiries. She had a story to get out for the night edition...and what a story! Not a scoop, mind you, but if she played her cards – and byline – right it could mean a pay raise and additional recognition as the best reporter on the god-damned paper.
Ginny uncovered her typewriter and put a sheet of paper in the Remington.
-Now, for the headline. Should I aim for panic as long as it's the truth...or just the plain facts of a good-old-fashioned police cover up? Or should I let my darling, fat editor decide who's probably sitting on his fat rump?
Before she could decide, her telephone rang.
-Ginny Gray. Who's this?
-You were in the Diamond District a few minutes ago, I assume, Miss Gray.
-Is that a question or an accusation, pal? And, what of it?
-Those two men are dead.
-Tell me what I don't know. And, you've got one half of one minute; so, let's have it.
-They would have died of radiation poisoning, but unlike any radiation known to man. Many more will die after the first demonstration of power.
-Your half minute is up. Did you bump them off?
-The victims' bodies will be sealed in lead containers and buried as radioactive waste.
-How do you know that?
-Miss Gray? Avoid the subways.
The caller hung up.
Ginny put down the receiver. She chose to ignore the crank, but she cataloged the call in her razor sharp mind.
-Now, for that headline.
Edward got off the subway and headed for his office. The wind was kicking up and the snow was coming down a lot harder. He held on to his Fedora and made a fast path to get out of this damned winter storm.
Once inside his office, he shook the snow from his hat and coat and sat down at his desk. He wanted to finish his breakfast.
-Well, Edward Mendez, now what?
He knew what and needed just a little help. He dialed the phone number. And, then, he reached down to open the bottom desk drawer and took out the half eaten egg sandwich.
-Sgt. Rayno here.
-It's Eddie. Let me brief you on what I know, Tom. It isn't much but it's kind of tantalizing.
Edward filled his friend in on all the details: his own observations and the Ginny Gray info..
-So, you think the government might be involved?
-Looks like it on the surface; but, I'm not ready to put a bet on it. It's still just a guess and maybe not a wild one.
-And, they're shutting down the Diamond District? I'll bet that went over big.
Edward took a bit of his sandwich.
-Mr. Chief of Police didn't win a popularity contest, that I can tell you! But, Tom, I need to get into that building and I'm counting on your help.
-That's a pretty tall order, man. I mean, like, your Waltham is not gonna' stop radiation poisoning. And, if the government's involved, no one's getting anywhere near that place. It's what they call a hot spot.
Edward thought it over for a second and took another bite of his sandwich.
-You're right. You know what? I think I'll do some of what I do best.
-Like what? I thought you were a jack-of-all-trades?
-If I can't get into that “hot spot,” I can nose around it. Be talking to you, Tom.
Two
MARLENA LAKE and her daughter, Susan, were in their living room listening to the “All News” channel and not quite believing what they were hearing. Susan was the first to speak.
&nbs
p; -Has this ever happened before, mother?
-I'm certain that it hasn't. But, the question is why? And, there must be more to it than mere murder. Finance must be involved in some way. Or, more specifically, diamonds or something related to that gemstone.
-One of the victims was a gem cutter. At least, they were hinting at that.
-I had the same impression, dear. But, why cordon off the entire district? The losses must be in the millions.
-Maybe the murderer is still there and the police are making certain that he doesn't escape.
-It's a possibility; but, I doubt it. If the perpetrator had any sense, he'd be long gone.
-Since when do murderers think like rational people? Edward might know something.
-Dear child, you must have been reading my mind.
Edward was on the phone with his girlfriend. He finally got a hold of her at the ice rink in midtown and told her he would be late getting home and not to worry. She didn't mind because she wanted to get in some extra practice time.
Edward hung up and dialed Ginny Gray.
-Ginny Gray here. Who's this?
-Edward Mendez. Any more info. for me?
-And, hello to you too, handsome. As a matter of fact, I got an anonymous phone call about half an hour ago. Kind of a threat against the city...demonstration of power, that kind of thing. Didn't take it too seriously.
-Threat against who and when and how?
-Didn't say. Wants to keep us in suspense- no wait just a second. He told me not to ride the subways.
-Any specific line?
-No. Just keep clear of the subway system.
-I wouldn't take this too lightly, Ginny. Did the guy sound sane enough?
-He did, come to think of it. A cultured voice with a trace of the European accent to it. I'd say a man in his late thirties or forties...good diction, too.
-You're an ace, baby.
-I am at that. And, now, shamus, any news for me?
-What time were the gem cutter and guard bumped off? Had to be early this morning.
-Around five...five thirty..give or take.
-Then, the murderer must have known the gem cutter to okay the guard to let him into the building which must have been locked up. You got his name, Ginny?
-No, but it should be easy enough to trace. I'll get on it.
-Thanks. And, stay in touch.
-I suppose that's your way of saying goodbye.
Edward hung up and dialed Sgt. Rayno; but, he was on call and not expected back until late afternoon. He sat back and decided to wait for Ginny's call. He knew she'd be on it like lightning.
His phone rang.
-Ginny?
-It's I. Samuel Eisenstein. Been in business even before they moved the whole Diamond District from lower Manhattan to its present spot.
-How long ago was that, Ginny?
-About twenty years back. Before my time, even. Why?
-You wouldn't have his old address, would you?
-I believe I do. Not Eisenstein's actual suite number, but the building where most of those gem cutters were holed up.
-Give, baby.
-15 Maiden Lane. Right around the corner from you. How convenient. And, Eddie, I want to know everything...and I do mean everything that you dig up. Don't short change me and you just might make the headlines, again. Ginny will see to it.
Edward put on his overcoat and Fedora and headed out into the diminishing snow storm. Maybe a couple of inches had fallen, but no more...just enough to slip on.
The P. I. entered 15 Maiden Lane and almost collided with an elderly woman who was on her way out.
-Sorry.
-My fault, I'm sure.
Edward took a wild gamble. His P. I. radar sense told him to.
-You wouldn't happen to know a Samuel Eisenstein, would you? His office isn't here anymore-
The elderly woman interrupted him.
-And, hasn't been here for twenty years, I'd say. You know something...
She looked around the narrow but long lobby...a lobby that still had its original art-decor fixtures along with the original marble floor.
-What is it?
-I've seen your photo in the paper. You're Edward Mendez, a private dick. Read all about you and that serial killer, Angel Correa. What you doing here?
-Testing your memory.
-Molly. Molly Logan,.
-Molly, do you know where Eisenstein's old office was?
-As a matter of fact, I do. It's seven floors up in Room 7B. He ain't there no more. We both know that.
-Who's there now, Molly?
-Never liked Mr. Eisenstein. Kept to himself. Never said hello. And, talk about tight fisted! Not so much as a by-your-leave during the holidays.
-What kind of clientele did he have?
-Stuck up like himself. Men in expensive overcoats with no manners...and always coming at odd hours...early in the morning, like.
-Did he ever greet them by name?
-Not in front of the likes of me, he didn't. I guess he was civil enough behind closed doors.
-Who took over his office, Molly.
-A court stenographer's agency run by a Mr. Sebastian Sims. Nice guy. A little on the colorful side, if you get my drift, but nice enough. He took over the office space when Eisenstein vacated.
-And, Mr. Sims is the only one who's occupied that office since?
-It wasn't easy for him, at first, that is. Used to be he was always behind in his rent, but not anymore. You heading on up there?
-You bet. And, you've been a big help.
-Will I be reading about you in the papers, Mr. Mendez?
-You never know, Molly. Be careful walking, it's real slippery out there.
Edward knocked on the door of office 7B, “Sebastian Sim's Reporting Service.”
-Do come in. Door's open.
Edward walked in to a neat and fully carpeted office. The carpet was a plush lavender with the walls painted to match. The P. I. faced an empty desk with no one sitting behind it. To his left, there were filing cabinets and another desk in the far corner with deposition piled on top of it. Facing out into the street was a private office. Mr. Sebastian Sims came out of that office to meet his visitor. He was dressed in a well tailored two piece suit with a red carnation in the buttonhole. Mr. Sims was tall and too thin and his hair was too long.
-May I help you?
He extended a limp hand to Edward, but his handshake was firm enough.
-Edward Mendez. Mr. Sims?
-Yes. Oh, pardon my bad manners. Please, have a seat.
-No. Thank you. This won't take but a couple of minutes.
-As you wish.
The P. I. got straight to the point.
-Mr. Sims, you took over this office some twenty years ago from a Mr. Sam Eisenstein.
-Oh...him. A rather nasty little person. Didn't like him at all.
-Neither did Molly Logan.
-Oh, she's rather a dear.
-Nice lady. You won't be too broken up when I tell you that Eisenstein's been murdered.
Mr. Sims leaned against one of his filing cabinets.
-Oh, dear! That is rather a shock. When did this dreadful thing happen?
-Early this morning. Haven't heard about it on the radio?
-No. I haven't turned it on yet. Murdered, you say?
-Uh-huh. Mr. Sims, did you ever have any conversations with Mr. Eisenstein? Did he give you any pointers on the building's staff; anything like that?
-Oh, no. He wouldn't. Mind you, I only spoke with him on one or two occasions...maybe more, but not much. He wanted to know if he could keep some of his tools in my office for a few days until he got settled uptown.
-And, did you?
-I did. And, he never came back for them. Old and rusty things. I ended up throwing them out. He had no listed phone number and he never got back to me. Did I do wrong, Mr. Mendez?
-I don't think
so. I wouldn't have kept his stuff in the first place myself.
Stay on his good side, Mendez.
-Did any of his clients ever come around asking for him?
A shadow passed over Sims's face.
-Yes.
The affectation in his voice was gone.
-Who was it? It could be important, Mr. Sims.
-He was a tall man with dark features. The type that looks through you and leaves a cold chill behind. He told me...no...ordered me to let Mr. Eisenstein know that he'd been here. He had on cashmere gloves. I remember that.
-Did he leave his name? He must have.
-He did. And, I know that I wrote it down in my log book...someplace. I don't remember his name off hand...didn't want to.
Mr. Sims shuddered from head to foot.
-Mr. Sims? You wouldn't still have that log book, would you?
Mr. Sims' good humor returned.
-I'm sure I do. I simply keep everything. I'm a bit of a hoarder.
He turned to face his filing cabinets and walked over to the furthest one tucked into the far corner of the office. He slid out the top drawer and took out a marble bound notebook.
-Now, let me have a look. Here it is! I knew it was a Roman sounding name.
Edward walked over to him.
-May I see it?
-Of course. Third entry down. I just opened up the office so it was one of the first entries.
The P. I. read aloud the name.
-Louis Octavio.
-He didn't give an address or phone number. Does this help you in your inquiry, Mr. Mendez?
-It's a lead, Mr. Sims. And, one that I intend to follow-up on. Were there any other clients?
-No. Just that Mr. Octavio. Strange that he didn't know about Mr. Eisenstein shifting offices.
Edward was about to light up.
-Do you mind?
-Not at all. I used to smoke, but stopped. Bad for the lungs, I hear.
The snow stopped coming down. Edward made his way back to his office to find his sister there.
-Nella, when did you arrive?
-Just a few minutes ago. I'm sorting through some of the bills.
Edward's sister was sitting at the make-shift desk that he had set up for her. He went over to his own desk and got out the company check book. He handed it to Nella.
