“I’ve been on worse details, inspector,” Falconer said.
“Yes, yes, I suppose I have, as well, detective,” Penwill said. “Well, then, gentlemen, I shall expect a message at the Occidental soon, and in the meantime, I will be, as they say, reconnoitering. Have a good evening, and detective—do take some time to heal up properly, won’t you?”
“I will, inspector,” Falconer replied. “And thanks for getting us out of that mess tonight.”
“Don’t mention it,” Penwill said. “By the by, do you have any idea who they were? Why they jumped you?”
“None,” Falconer answered. “We heard the girl screaming for help, and I went down the alley—got caught by surprise. My mistake—should’ve been ready.”
“Well, I got a good look at them, especially the leader,” Penwill said. “I’ll provide descriptions to your colleagues tomorrow, if you’d like.”
“Yes, that’d be fine, thanks,” Falconer answered.
“And I can give the detectives descriptions, as well,” said Levine, getting up out of his chair and moving over to the mantle. “I saw some of them, myself.”
“The girl was obviously used as bait,” Falconer observed. “But why?”
“Do you think this is somehow related to your investigations of the Mallory girl’s attack over in the alley there?” Penwill asked.
“I can’t see how it would be,” Falconer replied. “I feel like it was something else—just a simple robbery attempt maybe?”
“But they didn’t appear to be interested in our wallets, detective,” Levine said. Don’t you agree?”
“Right,” Penwill said. “When I came upon you, the leader was sounding more concerned about giving you just a good old do-down. He wanted you both beaten severely…almost something retributive.”
“I can’t think of anything that would explain that, inspector,” Falconer said, “unless…”
“Yes?” Penwill asked looking up at Falconer.
“When I was down on the ground and you had them at gunpoint,” Falconer said, “I looked up and saw the leader. I can’t place it exactly, but I feel like I’ve seen him before somewhere—feel like I’ve dealt with the guy in the past.”
“Maybe he’s a criminal whom you’ve arrested in the past and he wanted his revenge?” Levine suggested.
“Could be,” Falconer said. “I just wish I could remember him.”
“Well, we’ll do some looking around, detective,” Penwill stated as he threw his bowler on top of his head. “We all got a look at him, and he most probably operates around that area. Let’s give him a visit sometime, shall we?”
“Right,” Falconer replied. “We’ll do that. You have a good evening, inspector.”
“Yes, you as well,” Penwill said. “And good night to you, professor.”
“Good night, inspector,” Levine said. “Thank you for coming to our rescue.”
“Don’t mention it,” Penwill said. “All in a night’s work, right?”
Penwill then stepped outside of the door to the hallway, leaving Falconer at his chair with his ice and Levine standing near the mantle. Levine could hear Penwill’s footsteps descending the stairs as he turned to Falconer.
“He is quite an interesting individual, isn’t he?” Levine asked as he walked over to grab his jacket hanging on his chair.
“Yes, he is,” Falconer replied. “A good thing he was following us, too.”
“Yes, that was close,” Levine said. “I’ve never been in a situation like that before, I must say.”
“Professor,” Falconer said as Levine was putting his jacket on, “that wasn’t supposed to happen to you. I don’t want you being placed in situations like that, frankly—you’re a law professor, after all. I’m sorry for placing you in that bad spot.”
“It’s all right, detective,” Levine said. “No one could predict that that would happen, and I escaped pretty unscathed. But thank you for saying that, nevertheless. Sometimes I almost feel that I need to see how things happen down in the streets, you know. I’ve been living in the world of the criminal law for several years now, and I’ve been at a few crime scenes, but it’s always after the fact, when it’s daylight and the world has returned to normal. I’ve only known crime through books and interviews and papers—never up close and personal, never really as it happens, like you and your colleagues do. Perhaps I just feel that a man like myself cannot really say that he has the courage to stand up to the criminal elements until he actually does something that may possibly endanger himself—until he tests himself right in the cannon’s mouth, as it were.”
He paused for a moment and then looked up at Falconer, feeling slightly embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Don’t mind my strange ruminations.”
“No, I understand,” Falconer said. “I used to feel the same way when I was a kid and saw everything that my father had done in the army. I guess that’s maybe why I became a cop, in fact. You should just know that you did show that courage tonight, professor. You came down the alley when you heard something happening, and you didn’t have to do that. In fact, a lot of men wouldn’t have come down the alley because they would have known that it wasn’t something good going on down there. They would have run away, professor.”
Levine stood standing opposite Falconer and wasn’t quite sure how to respond to the detective’s sudden and unexpected compliment. Looking around the room uncomfortably for a few seconds, he then turned back to Falconer with a sheepish grin on his face. “Well, thank you, detective,” he said. “I appreciate you saying that.”
“Professor,” Falconer said, “I’m wondering—have you ever handled a gun?”
“No, no, I can’t say that I have,” Levine replied, surprised at the question. “Why do you ask?”
“I think it might be worth your while to have one on your person if you do end up joining me on the streets occasionally. Could you go into my bedroom and look into the closet? There’s a small box up on the shelf in there—could you bring it to me?”
“Certainly,” Levine answered. He moved over through the doorway to the bedroom and reached up into the closet, grabbing a small box on the shelf. Then he walked back into the living room. “Here you are,” he said, handing the box to Falconer.
Falconer placed his ice pack on the table next to him and unhooked a small metal latch on the box and opened it, revealing a small, black revolver wrapped in cloth. He took out the revolver and showed it to Levine. “This is a Colt thirty-eight caliber revolver. They call it the ‘Lightning.’ It holds six rounds, and it’s double-action, meaning that whenever you pull the trigger, it automatically cocks the gun again for you, so you can fire off rounds quicker in tight situations. And as you can tell, it’s fairly small, so you can hide it in a pocket.”
Levine listened attentively as Falconer spoke but felt as though he were being told to handle an exotic, killer snake with the calm assurances of a zookeeper. “I see, detective,” he said as Falconer held the handgun in his lap, “but I really don’t think this is necessary. I’m not much one for guns and such—I’d probably misaim and hurt a bystander.”
“It’s okay,” Falconer said. “There’s not much to it, actually. You just hold it up and squeeze the trigger, but you have to be prepared for the recoil—it’ll jerk back so you have to keep your arm tense to a certain degree so that the gun doesn’t fly out of your hand. Here, just try holding it—it’s unloaded.”
Falconer handed the weapon to Levine, and Levine took it in his hand and slowly turned it over, carefully examining every angle and surface of the object. “It’s a little heavier than I expected,” he said. “But it’s quite a weapon—very impressive looking. And you say it’s called a ‘Lightning?’”
“Yes,” Falconer replied. “Colt started making these back in the ‘70s, but this one is only a couple of years old—I haven’t really shot it much, to be honest, so it’s in excellent shape.”
“I can’t say that I’ll be very good with it, detective,”
Levine admitted. “As I said, I’ve not had much experience with guns. Actually, I’ve had no experience, I’m sorry to say.”
“Don’t worry,” Falconer said, “it’s just a precaution, and I’ll take you shooting in the near future just so that you can get comfortable with it. I’m not trying to get you to be a cowboy, professor—I just want you to be able to defend yourself if you’re ever out there with me again and something comes up. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I do,” Levine answered. “And I appreciate this, detective. I shall guard it with my life, as they say.”
“Here,” Falconer said, handing a small cardboard box to Levine. “These are the bullets. Let me show you how it gets loaded.”
Levine handed the revolver back to Falconer, who opened the cylinder and showed Levine how to load the cartridges into each chamber. Then, removing the cartridges again and placing them back into the small box, Falconer held the gun up as if to fire a round into the wall opposite him. “When it’s loaded, it’s very simple,” he said, aiming at the wall. “You just squeeze the trigger, as I said, and—”
The revolver made a slight clicking sound, and Falconer then turned back to Levine. “Not that hard,” he said, handing the gun back to Levine.
“Well,” Levine said, “I look forward to our shooting excursions, detective. Thank you. Thank you very much, indeed. But I do hope that I shall never have to actually use it.”
“I understand,” Falconer said. “Like I said, just a precaution.”
“Well, I should be going, I think,” Levine said, placing the revolver in one jacket pocket and the box of bullets in another. “This has been quite an evening, detective. I do hope that you take some time to heal up.”
“I will,” Falconer replied. “I’ll take a few days off—my colleagues will understand.”
“Well, then,” Levine said as he moved to the door, “good night, and I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”
“Yes, certainly, professor,” Falconer answered. “Good night to you, and thanks again for coming to my aid.”
“My pleasure,” Levine said, and then he stepped outside into the hallway and closed the door to Falconer’s apartment. He walked slowly down the stairs and stepped out into the night air, and he could hear the people still out on the street at this late hour, shouting or whistling in merriment as they went about their way, through alleys or down mighty thoroughfares still packed with cable cars or the occasionally hansom cab with trotting horses breathing heavily through their hardened leather reins. And he could hear the bars and gambling joints still buzzing with alcohol-soaked activity and high emotion, somewhere down the street, too.
And as he started walking east towards his own apartment, he felt the heaviness of the revolver in his jacket, and he thought of the terrifying incident with the gang of men earlier in the evening, and he somehow felt more alive on the streets this evening. He walked down the block, feeling what it must felt like to be an armed detective or inspector searching for a killer in the night.
41
Eli Levine did not hear from Falconer for several days after their incident in the alley, and he figured that the detective was simply taking some time to recover. But then, on the fifth day, he received an urgent telegram asking him to meet Falconer and Penwill at a local bar not far from Falconer’s apartment. The message did not provide details, but Falconer did note that he had to discuss “possible new evidence.”
The next day, Levine jumped off a cab and walked into Dylan Maguire’s midtown saloon, a comfortable and respectable old place that catered to the upwardly mobile men who worked in this part of town. Spotting Falconer and Penwill sitting at a round table over in a corner, he walked over and took his hat off, greeting the two men.
“Hope you weren’t waiting very long,” he said.
“Not at all, professor,” Falconer replied, shaking Levine’s hand. “Glad you could make it. Please, have a seat.”
“Good afternoon, inspector,” Levine said to Penwill, who sat nursing a pint of stout.
“Good afternoon to you, professor,” Penwill said. “Care for a drink?”
“I’ll have just a coffee, thanks,” Levine answered. As Penwill quickly got up and walked over to the bar to order the cup of coffee, Levine glanced down at Falconer. “Well, I can see that you’ve still got some bruising there,” he said to him, “but it looks to be getting better.”
“Yes, still have the black eye and a sore mouth, but I can function,” Falconer replied.
“Well, I’m glad to hear that, detective,” Levine said. “You didn’t look so great last week.”
Penwill rejoined the men, taking his seat as Levine placed his jacket over a spare chair and sat down, as well.
“So,” Levine said, “you said you may have new evidence? I’m very curious.”
“Yes,” Falconer said. “I’ve been having a pal take any messages or mail for me down at the station, and there wasn’t much of interest over the past week, until I got this yesterday, professor.” Falconer handed Levine a white business envelope addressed to Falconer that appeared to contain a letter inside it. Levine took the envelope in his hand and looked back at the two men.
“May I?” he asked.
“Please, go ahead,” Falconer replied. “I think you’ll find it pretty interesting.”
Levine very gingerly took out the letter and unfolded it in front of him, revealing a short, typewritten note that was addressed to Falconer at the Oak Street station. As he read the words on the page, his brow furrowed, and his breath almost left him.
Detective Robert Falconer
Oak Street Station
Fourth Ward
NY, NY
Dear Detective:
Do you still think that the French Algerian is innocent? Your superiors clearly do not. But just give me more time, and I will change their minds.
Good day, sir.
Personal Adverts.
NY Daily Tribune
Levine slowly looked up after he finished reading. “Well?” Falconer said. “What do you think of it?”
“I’m not sure what to say,” Levine replied. “It’s quite extraordinary, actually. If it’s legitimate, it means that your suspicions are correct, detective. You’ve got an innocent man locked up and a killer still on the loose.”
“So, let’s just say for a moment that it is legitimate,” Falconer said. “Why me? Why would the killer even reach out?”
“I’d say that he chose you,” Levine answered, “because he must know somehow that you haven’t given up on the investigation, unlike the rest of your police department. He must know that you have been continuing the chase, detective, and he wants to send a little message.”
“And what do you think that message might be, professor?” Penwill interjected.
“Why, I can’t be sure, of course,” Levine replied, glancing down at the letter again. “But if I took my best guess, I’d say it’s both a message to the heads of the police department and to Detective Falconer. He is telling your bosses, detective, that they have been completely fooled right at the moment when they are feeling the most confident in their work on the case—after they’ve secured a conviction. It is a deliberate gibe meant to taunt them down at Mulberry Street, to let them know that they got the investigation wrong in the end—if, in fact, you were to actually let them see this letter, as I imagine you must.”
“And what about the message to Detective Falconer here?” Penwill inquired.
“I’d say that that message is one of admiration, gentlemen,” Levine answered. “Do you notice that his tone is very polite and ingratiating, almost to the point of being friendly? In insulting the Central Office, he appears to be, in fact, complimenting Detective Falconer, if only by inference. He seems to be saying that you, detective, are to be commended for at least not giving up.”
“And what about the way he signs off, professor?” Falconer asked. “The bit about ‘Personal Adverts’ at the Tribune?”
“Yes, I
found that extremely odd and perplexing myself,” Levine said. “But then I realized that it’s probably a return address, if you will.”
“Return address?” Falconer asked. “How so?”
“Well,” Levine observed, “the letter writer appears to want you to communicate back to him, detective. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have left any sort of identifying information after his valediction. But he does leave some information there: a reference to the personals section of the Tribune, where people can leave their cryptic little personal messages for the right price. And this makes sense because he can’t very well leave a post office box or a street address for a return address—if he did, you could just lay in wait and grab him when he, or an accomplice, picked up the mail. This way, however, he can avail himself to you, but you’ll never know where he is when he reads your return ‘messages.’ He could pick up a paper in Harlem, or out in Brooklyn, or just down the street from us here—we would have no way to catch him in the act of picking up the paper and seeing your message. Very ingenious.”
“And what does he expect us to say in these so-called return messages?” Falconer asked. “I still don’t get why he wants to reach out and have us communicate back with him.”
“I understand your confusion, detective,” Levine replied. “I, too, am puzzled by the apparent wish for a response. I can only surmise that he wants to play a little game with you, detective.”
“A game?” Penwill asked. “What sort of a game?”
“I’d say one of the ‘cat-and-mouse’ variety, if you know what I mean,” Levine answered. “I believe that he wants you to come try and find him, detective, if you dare. He is challenging you to stop him before he does worse.”
“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think, professor?” Falconer asked.
“Is it?” Levine asked. “Do killers sometime enjoy the chase, detective? I think so. I wouldn’t put it past this person to try and encourage a test of wills, so to speak, so that he can experience some sense of excitement, some heightened thrill brought on by the danger of a hunt, a hunt in which he is both the hunter of his victims, and the prey of another hunter—you.”
Here Page 16