“Not if Murdock threatened to wash his hands of the rat.”
“Hmmm, I see. That’s excellent reasoning, young man. But why should these men go to the trouble of binding you and leaving you in the deserted house if they wanted to frame you for a murder?” The doctor shook a finger at Jackson. “That doesn’t make the slightest sense, my boy. I can give expert testimony that both the marks of the wires and the blows were inflicted not later than ten o’clock this morning, and this paper says that the trooper found your friend and the car at twenty minutes to ten and further, that evidence showed the accident to have taken place shortly prior to that time. The police are fools. You had neither time nor opportunity to commit this second murder.”
“You’re not so bad yourself,” said Jackson, grinning. “Too bad you’re not a lawyer.”
The girl said calmly. “You’re forgetting the police don’t know where Mr. Jackson was, Nunky. And there’s also the possibility that he did kill the first man and not the second.” She turned her head a little and spoke to Jackson over her shoulder. “Don’t mind me,” she said. “I’m not saying you did either one of them. Anyway, you might as well know that you’re in like a robber. My uncle has decided that you’re innocent, and he’ll defend you with his life from now on, even if they accuse you of murdering the entire population. I know him and I know the signs. He likes you, but that’s not the half of it. You’ve ceased being an individual and become a ‘cause’ by now.”
Dr. Stevenson said: “You know this boy’s telling the truth as well as I do, Blackie.”
“I couldn’t watch his honest face,” said the girl.
“Nonsense,” her uncle chuckled triumphantly, “I saw you squirming around to look at him in the rearview mirror. You haven’t had more than half an eye on the road since we left that filling station.”
Jackson looked up, and for an instant Maeve’s eyes met his in the mirror. The girl dropped hers immediately and became very attentive to the road ahead. The doctor’s chuckle continued.
Jackson grinned and changed the subject. “Don’t think I’m not grateful,” he said, “but I still think you’d better let me out. The police are going to make a lot of trouble when they find out I came into town in your car.”
“The police,” growled the old man. “I’ll see Commissioner Boone myself or the mayor, if necessary. They’ll not railroad an innocent man to jail if I can help it.”
“I told you so,” said Maeve vindictively. “He’s a bug about the Bill of Rights. And don’t worry; he’s a big shot. He really has pull.”
“Young lady,” said her uncle, “you be civil or keep quiet. And pay attention to your driving. I’ve no time to argue with traffic officers.”
Jackson thanked him again and gave up the argument. Conversation lagged as they approached the entrance to the tunnel. The toll officer on duty glanced curiously at Jackson’s bandaged head but said nothing. It was his job to keep the line of cars moving, and he was a busy man; besides, he had seen the emblem of the Medical Association on the car’s license plates.
As they sped through the tunnel in that unnatural humming hush that accompanies an automobile underground Jackson leaned forward and tapped Dr. Stevenson on the shoulder. “I’m not going to the hospital, sir,” he said.
“What’s that?” said the doctor. “Don’t be a fool, young man.”
“I’m sorry,” said Jackson quietly, “I’ve been thinking it over. I can’t go to the hospital.”
“Oho,” said Maeve, “mutiny in the camp. The worm turns.” Jackson laughed. “You’re a fresh dame,” he told the girl. “If it wasn’t for your uncle here I’d turn you up and spank you.”
“Don’t let me stop you, my boy,” the doctor chuckled. “She needs it.” He looked at his niece whose eyes were straight ahead and caught her self-satisfied grin. “What the devil are you smiling about?”
“Was I, Nunky?” asked Maeve.
The doctor gave her a sternly suspicious glance, but the corners of his mouth twitched. He turned back to an already deflated Jackson.
“Where do you want to go?”
“Headquarters,” mumbled Jackson. “I’ll take the subway.”
“All right,” said the doctor grudgingly, “but don’t hold me responsible for what happens to your head. Take the south lane,” he told Maeve, “we’re going to police headquarters.”
“What about your appointments?” asked the girl.
“Humph.” The old man was contemptuous. “A lot of bored dowagers. There’s not a sick woman in the lot. Dr. Maury’11 take care of them.”
Jackson started to protest, but Dr. Stevenson silenced him with a gesture. “Now don’t give me any more arguments, young man, I’ve had too much trouble with you already not to see this thing through.”
2. Accusations
Captain Nicholson and Stern stood up as Sergeant Tripp ushered the girl and the two men into the room. Dr. Stevenson, his goatee bristling, strode forward to the desk and glared at Nicholson.
“I’m Winthrop Stevenson,” he stated abruptly. “This is my niece, Miss O’Callighan. We found this young man”—he indicated Jackson—“trussed up in a cellar across the river and brought him into town. He’s been badly hurt and should be in a hospital this minute but he himself insisted on coming directly here. I’ve heard his story, and it’s palpably preposterous for anyone in his right mind to think that he had anything to do with these murders you’re investigating. As his physician I must insist that any questions you have be as brief as possible.”
Nicholson had been caught sufficiently off stride by the old man’s vehemence to allow him to finish, but now his brows drew together in a black scowl and he was in grave danger of breaking one of his own cardinal rules of police procedure by losing his temper.
Stern, watching, stepped deftly into the breach. “Of all people,” he said brightly. “Dr. Stevenson and Blackie.” He beamed as he held out his hand, “How are you, Doctor?”
The doctor, intent on Captain Nicholson, said, “Hello, Stern, I’m glad to see you.”
Maeve said, “Hello, Joey, Nunky’s on the warpath again,” and closed one eye in a broad wink. She shook hands cordially.
Stern turned to Nicholson. “This is Dr. Stevenson of the Astor Foundation, Captain Nicholson,” he said, giving Nicholson a warning eye and placing just the slightest emphasis on the doctor’s title and connection. “He saved that Dowling case for us with his expert testimony.”
“More bright boys like you, Joey,” said Stevenson, “and the D. A.’s office wouldn’t have to depend so much on expert rigmarole.”
Nicholson growled, “Glad to know you,” and shook hands with the doctor and Maeve.
He barked at Tripp to bring chairs and waited until they were seated. Then he swung on Jackson: “I’ve had a dragnet out for you since last night. I ought to slap you in the clink this minute but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Start talking.”
“I tell you——“ began Dr. Stevenson and stopped when Maeve put a hand on his knee. “Wouldn’t it be better to let Mr. Jackson tell the whole story just as he told it to us, Nunky?” she cooed sweetly. “Then Captain Nicholson and Mr. Stern will see for themselves just how ridiculous the charge is.”
“Humph,” the old doctor growled, “perhaps you’re right. However, I must insist that the boy’s in no condition to be browbeaten.” Jackson’s level voice averted open hostilities. He told his story simply and directly but he was acutely aware of its vague and unconvincing spots. Nicholson listened quietly, but Jackson recognized that the interview would have been far different had the doctor not been present. There was a complacent look on Nicholson’s square-jawed face that said more plainly than words what he thought.
After Jackson stopped speaking Nicholson sat for a moment tapping a pencil and saying nothing. When he did speak it was to Dr. Stevenson.
“I know your reputation, Doctor,” he said, “and I assure you that this department is deeply grateful to you for your inte
rest in this case, but I can’t see one alternative to holding this man for murder.”
The old man spluttered. “If you do that, sir, I’ll make a jackass out of you. I’ll hire the best legal talent in the country. That boy’s no more a murderer than I am.”
“That is your belief and your privilege, Doctor,” said Nicholson calmly. “I still have my job to do. No,” he said when both Stern and Dr. Stevenson started to speak, “wait a minute and let me explain my position. First of all, I am not primarily interested in finding out who killed John Murdock. That murder was committed in another state, and it is for the authorities there to determine the guilt or innocence of this man Jackson. I can see the point which is undoubtedly in your mind, Doctor, regarding Jackson’s lack of opportunity to commit that crime. However, we have no proof that these two killings are connected, and I’m sticking to the one that happened in my territory. The evidence against this man in connection with the Riorden killing——”
Dr. Stevenson interrupted: “Stop all this nonsense, man.” He leaned forward and pounded his fist on Nicholson’s desk. “Look at this fellow. Listen to him speak. Did you ever hear a guilty man tell a story the way he tells his? Did you ever have a guilty man walk into your office as calmly and honestly as this boy did?” He waggled a long finger in Nicholson’s face. “I warn you,” he barked, “that if any employer interest or political influence is involved——”
Nicholson’s poise deserted him, and he started from his chair. “I don’t care a damn who you are,” he bellowed, “you can’t call me a crook.”
Dr. Stevenson was unabashed. He waved a deprecating hand. “I’m sorry, Captain, I’m sorry. I had no intention of questioning your honesty. I have eyes and I know a little about cops.” The eyes twinkled. “Now suppose we talk this thing over sensibly. What kind of a case do you think you have against this boy?” Maeve caught Stern’s eye and formed the word “Blarney” with her lips. Stern kept his dead pan but almost lost it when Nicholson looked at Maeve suddenly and her impish grimace changed into a bored little yawn which she patted down demurely with a smartly gloved hand.
Nicholson turned back to Dr. Stevenson, looking uncomfortable. “Case?” he said. “Take a look at the facts. You heard his story. Jackson admits being the last man to see Riorden alive.”
“Except the man who killed him,” said Jackson, but Nicholson ignored him.
“He admits having quarreled with Riorden. He admits ownership of the murder weapon. He has evaded arrest for an entire day, wittingly and because of his admitted fear of being charged with this crime, and during that time he has stolen a car in which he drove out of the state. He has given us no satisfactory explanation for that trip except that he believed that Murdock was in some way back of a plot to frame him. For all I know he may not have been going to Murdock’s at all, but running away.”
“But he came back,” objected the doctor.
Nicholson pounced. “Under your protection, sir, and with your assurance of legal aid. He knew we’d catch him in the long run. He was just being smart.” A gleam of satisfaction came into his eyes as he saw the shot go home. “Now,” he continued, “take the points I have enumerated and look at them in conjunction with the other facts of the case. The most likely suspects for the murder of Riorden are the seven men who were with him when he produced this spy report, for, at least so far as we know, only those seven men knew that he had found it, or had access to it after the meeting—and remember that unless Riorden stole that report back himself, which is sheer nonsense, it was placed on his body by the murderer. And now, this fellow turns up with a carbon copy and says he had it all the time. That doesn’t make sense.”
“It makes more sense than his planting it on the corpse,” interposed the doctor tersely.
Nicholson raised his hand. “Hear me out, Doctor, I’m meeting you more than halfway. I don’t have to explain my reasons for holding this man.” He drew a notebook from his pocket and rifled the pages. “I questioned five of the seven men at that meeting last night. All five”—he tapped the book with his forefinger—“have what amount to complete alibis. That leaves two of the suspects—Jackson himself and a man named Burke. For all I know, Burke was involved in both killings or even committed them himself, but, aside from the negative fact of possible opportunity, I have no evidence against him. Jackson, on the other hand”—he turned and pointed an accusing finger—“Jackson had both motive and opportunity. Remember, the man Riorden had practically accused him of being a spy. Jackson gave evidence of guilt by hiding and trying to run away and Jackson was attacked, possibly—I say only possibly—by Riorden’s friends or associates with revenge as their motive. Jackson admits ownership of the murder weapon—he couldn’t very well deny it—and the only explanation he can offer for its use and for all the other evidence against him is that he thinks he was framed. Hell, if I paid attention every time a crook hollered ‘frame’ I’d never arrest anybody.” Nicholson paused for breath and surveyed his audience. “Now look at it another way: I’m a policeman. I can’t take into account how a suspect looks or acts when I’ve got concrete evidence implicating him in a crime. And as a policeman I don’t have to try and convict a man before I arrest him. All I need is a case, and by thunder, I’ve seen plenty of murderers sent to the chair with half the evidence I’ve got on Jackson. And mark my word”—he pointed to Jackson but this time he did not look at him—“once I get this man arrested and booked he’ll break. I’ve seen his type before.
“I’ve listened to his story, sir, because I respect your reputation, but, by God, you’re a doctor, not a cop. You’ve accused me of trying to railroad a man to satisfy the newspapers. You’ve meddled in things that don’t concern you, and that’s going too far. Sergeant,” he snapped at Tripp, “take Jackson down and book him.”
As Tripp stepped forward and put his hand on Jackson’s shoulder Stern asked gently, “What’s the charge?”
“Charge?” Nicholson swung on him. “Murder! What did you think it was?”
Stern drew Nicholson aside. “Look,” he whispered, “I don’t blame you for flying off the handle when the old boy went to town on you that way. He was certainly out of line a mile, but that doesn’t warrant our making monkeys of ourselves. Now I know Jackson didn’t kill either one of these guys——”
“You know?” Nicholson looked incredulous.
“Yes, take it from me; I know. Don’t ask me how. Call it a hunch—call it anything you like, but I know. If you slap a murder rap on Jackson now I don’t say you won’t get an indictment—I don’t even say you won’t get a conviction. But as sure as God made little green apples you’ll have the wrong man. And if you try to hold him on any other charge—material witness or anything like that—Doc Stevenson’ll have him out on bail in twenty-four hours, and he’ll have the commissioner on your neck like a ton of brick. Don’t think he won’t. Oh, I know the commissioner’ll back you up. He’ll have to but he won’t like it and he’ll feel that you acted tactlessly and put him and the administration on the spot—and if Jackson should happen to beat the rap, oh boy, will your name be ‘mud.’ Use your head, Captain; you know I’m right about that.”
Nicholson’s anger had cooled sufficiently for him to recognize the logic of Stern’s argument, and although he did not agree with the assistant D. A.’s hunch he respected it. He spread his hands helplessly.
“What the hell am I going to do? Sit here and let that old goat shout crook at me?”
“Let me handle it,” suggested Stern. “I’ll take the responsibility.” Nicholson gave him a long, hard look. “Okay,” he said at last. “I don’t like it but what else can I do? But if that guy hops a ship for China God help both of us.”
“Amen,” said Stern solemnly.
They resumed their seats, and Stern gave Dr. Stevenson a severe look, the effect of which was slightly marred by the slow drooping of his off eyelid. “Doctor, as the representative of the district attorney’s office and as your friend, I want to say th
at I feel you are being very unfair to Captain Nicholson. That’s putting it mildly. The blunt truth is that you’re using your prestige and political influence to harass and hamper an officer in the performance of his duties.”
At the words “political influence” the old man rumbled warningly but subsided when he felt the pressure of his niece’s hand on his sleeve. Stern took no notice and continued relentlessly: “Also, I want to assure you that I am in complete accord with Captain Nicholson’s evaluation of the evidence against Mr. Jackson and I am convinced that the captain would be fully justified in placing Mr. Jackson under arrest immediately. As a matter of fact, that is exactly what I would advise, were it not for certain aspects of the case which I am not now at liberty to discuss. In view of these factors, I have prevailed on Captain Nicholson to offer you an alternative: since you are convinced of Mr. Jackson’s innocence we will agree to release him in your custody if you will accept full responsibility for his delivery to the police upon request. You understand, of course, that this procedure is extralegal and entirely off the record.”
“Wait.” Jackson shook off Tripp’s hand and stood up. “You can’t do that. I won’t——”
“Shut up,” said Dr. Stevenson sharply. He turned to Stern. “You think you’re clever, don’t you, young man? All right, I accept. I’ll be responsible for Mr. Jackson any time the police want him.”
Nicholson began, “But——”
“Don’t worry, Captain,” interrupted the doctor. “He won’t run away. I know enough about men to know that I’m not taking the slightest risk.”
Nicholson tried again: “But, good lord, Doctor, do you realize what you’re undertaking? I tell you frankly I’m more than half convinced the man’s guilty, and as I understand it you never saw or heard of him before today. How can you be sure he won’t run out on you?”
The old man coughed and spoke with what was, for him, rare humility. “Captain Nicholson, I beg your pardon for what may seem to you to be my presumptuous disregard for your opinion. Believe me when I say that such disregard carries no implication of doubt for your sincerity or distrust in your ability. I am a stanch supporter of the present city administration and I have faith in the servants it chooses. But you must understand that when I say I am taking no risk in vouching for this boy I am following a course that I have followed all my life. It has been my habit to make snap judgments of human beings and to act on those judgments, and the occasions on which I have been disappointed have been very rare. My evidence is as conclusive to me as yours is to you, and I honestly believe that the time will come when you will thank me for having saved you from making a serious mistake.”
Death on the Waterfront Page 14
