by William Ard
"How about you? You all right?"
"Yes. What happened?"
"He was waiting in the closet," Dane explained simply.
"What for?"
Dane laughed. "To pick up this hothead when he came gunning for me. Not him so much but that .32."
"You better get a towel or something for his wrist," said Weir. "He's making a mess of your rug."
Dane started for the kitchen just as Mike Stern was entering from the bedroom.
"Anybody get hurt?"
"Just Mayer," Dane told him. "You were right about Weir's shooting eye, but damn it . . ."
"How did I know he was going to start popping so soon?" Weir protested, taking the kitchen towel from Dane and wrapping it clumsily around the silent Mayer's wrist and hand. "You got a real temper, don't you?" the detective asked him, but the gunman still seemed too shocked, or furious, to speak.
"Is this what we wanted?" Stern raised the .32 that Bill Weir had laid on the table in a handkerchief.
"It better be," said Dane. He walked then to the far wall and immediately found the hole where the slug from Mayer's gun had burrowed. It was only slightly above the level of his eyes and as he dug it out with a pocketknife he wondered just how nearly it had missed him in flight. "Here," he said, handing the slug to Stern. "Ballistics might as well work with the real thing."
Stern dropped both revolver and slug into his pocket. "Well," he said, "let's go."
"You don't need me for anything?" Dane asked.
Stern shook his head. "Bill'll take him over to the hospital and then book him. I've got the lab boys standing by for the gun and the slug."
"Still nothing about the shoes?"
"No." Stern turned to Mayer. "We borrowed three pairs of shoes from your apartment, buddy."
"Shoes?" Mayer repeated stupidly.
"To test for blood. Dane has an idea you had to step in Stanzyck's blood to get out of that room the other night—"
"I wasn't in the goddamn room!"
"Of course, not. And you didn't have that band blasting away downstairs to cover the shots. And this .32 in my pocket isn't yours, and you didn't just try to kill a man with it, and it's all a mistake." He swung around to Dane. "Incidentally, let's have that note now."
"What note?"
Stern looked at the investigator and then his glance swung to Roxanne.
"I hope you're not making a mistake," he said to Dane.
"It's no mistake," Mike. If the rest of what you've got pans out you won't need anything else. By the way, what do you hear from Bannerman?"
"Nothing. He's just disappeared. I've got him covered so far as Captain Galetta is concerned. Told him the lieutenant decided to go undercover on the Stanzyck thing. But I'm glad now I lifted those slugs from his desk last night."
"What slugs?"
"The ones that were dug out of Stanzyck. Bannerman was keeping them in his desk for some crazy reason. I was afraid anybody would grab them."
“Meaning me?" asked Dane. "
“I didn't know where you stood, pal. Not till this afternoon."
“Let's go, Mike," Weir said. "This guy is starting to soak through the towel now."
The detectives left with their prisoner. Dane locked the door this time and returned to the living room. Roxanne sat in a corner of the couch, smoking a cigarette and watching him quietly.
“I’m sorry," he told her.
"Sorry?"
"About using you to get Mayer over here. He was in a doorway near Jack's when we went by . . ."
"Oh. That's why you spoke so loud?" He nodded and she inhaled deeply. "And the things I said," she went on. "I thought we were completely alone."
Dane smiled. "You had a very interested audience," he said "In the closet and in the bedroom. I heard Mayer slip in, and the way you were carrying on I was sure he'd let us both have it without a word." He came and sat down beside her. "How do you feel now?"
She extended her hand and he saw it trembling.
"The reaction is just starting."
He reached across her and turned off the light. Then his arm pulled her in close.
“But I think I'm going to be all right," she told him softly.
CHAPTER 17
The Bangor Rest, read the book of matches, Luncheon, Dinner, Cocktails. Serving Maine's Largest Lobsters. Bannerman tore a match loose, set it afire and relit his cigar. Then his hand began idly toying with the highball that he had been nursing at the bar for the past twenty-five minutes.
"Want some more ice in that?" asked the bartender pointedly.
The homicide man shook his head. "I wonder if you'd mind turning on the radio?" he said.
"Not a bit. Any particular program?"
"You people got a six o'clock news program?"
"Sure have." The barman checked his watch. "Ought to be coming on right now."
Moments later a voice from the radio began speaking to them.
. . . and Bangor Fire Commissioner Frank Dever, it said, estimates the damage of the blaze to exceed twenty-five thousand dollars. Now for a look at the national news. New York. Russia's delegate to the United Nations arrived in the United States today and delivered a statement to the press in which he accused President Eisenhower of war-mongering. And also from New York comes the announcement by the Commissioner of Police that the sensational murder of union leader Al Stanzyck has been solved . . .
Bannerman's hand tightened on his glass and his body edged forward over the bar attentively.
. . . with the arrest of another executive of the dock union, Nick
Mayer . . .
Glass, ice and whisky hurtled over the bar to the floor and Bannerman's outstretched arm waved the barman to silence.
. . . Mayer was arrested late last night while in possession of the .32-caliber revolver that ballistics experts claim was the same used to kill Stanzyck. The New York Police Commissioner's statement praised the work of the Homicide Squad not only for the speedy solution to this case but for the arrest of a California hoodlum, Augie La Starza, for the murder of a pier worker yesterday as well as for suspicion of murdering the two eyewitnesses against Stanzyck in the death of a newspaper reporter. There was, however, a somber note amidst the jubilation of the police. Detective Lieutenant Joe Bannerman, who gained prominence for his work in the original case involving Stanzyck, was declared to be officially missing from his post tonight. Although no definite word was received, the New York Star in a copyrighted story stated the veteran policeman had assumed a disguise and a fictitious name to seek Stanzyck's killer. The newspaper also stated that someone had evidently tried to confuse the ballistics department presenting them with five spent bullets from a revolver and claiming that these were taken from Stanzyck's body. The slugs, however, all bore different markings and evidently came from five different revolvers. It was a crude attempt, said the New York paper, to frame one of the nation's outstanding policemen. It is feared tonight that lieutenant Bannerman has met with foul play and police boats have already begun dredging the Hudson River for his body?"
“Shut that fool thing off!"
The bartender jumped to obey and there was a heavy silence in the room.
“Get me a drink," growled Bannerman. "A good one."
It was quickly put before him and he drained it.
"Another," he ordered. "And get me a timetable."
“Yessir. Timetable to where?"
"Where? To New York, where the hell do you think?"
At nine o'clock the following morning, a shame-faced Joe Bannerman trudged up the ramp to the upper level in Grand Central. Waiting for him were his two assistants, Stern and Weir, and Ann Bogan.
"Morning, Lieutenant," said Stern.
"Yeah. You got my telegram?"
"Well we're here."
"Yeah. What's Galetta doing?"
"The captain's put in for the transfer to the Bunko Squad."
"Transfer? Why?"
"It's just a rumor," said Stern, "but I hear we're getting a
new captain."
"Oh, yeah? What blockhead they sending us now?"
"Well, they were making plans to give you an Inspector's funeral as soon as they found your body. But when I reported last night that I had word from you I understand the plans were changed."
"Congratulations, Captain," said Bill Weir, extending his hand.
"Mike got jumped to sergeant," Weir added, "and I'm first grade."
"Everybody's happy but Dane," said Stern. "All he gets for breaking the thing wide open is money."
"That's not all he gets," said Weir.
"I really wish you'd stop thinking about that redhead," Ann said. "You're practically married you know . . ."
"Dane nailed Mayer?" asked Bannerman.
"Next time, sir," said Weir, “if you think I've done something wrong would you just ask me about it and not go trying to pin it on yourself?"
Bannerman nodded absently. "Where is Dane? I guess I owe him a dinner."
"I don't know where he is," said Stern. "He hasn't been at his office, and when I called him at home they said his phone was disconnected."
Bill Weir laughed.
THE END