The Eighth Circle

by Stanley Ellin

  A: No, sir.

  Q: Do you know that Ira Miller is a notorious bookie, an associate of George Wykoff, and that he uses the Songster Corporation only as a front?

  A: Well, I told you, Mr. LoScalzo. I know about Ira Miller now, but I didn’t know then.

  Q: When?

  A: When I arrested Schrade. I didn’t know about Miller then.

  Q: You didn’t? How do you know who he is now?

  A: I—do I have to answer that?

  Q: You do.

  A: Well, I asked around.

  Mr. Price (jury): Mr. LoScalzo, could you ask the witness to speak a little louder, please? Some of us back here cannot hear him.

  Q: Officer, let’s have that answer again, and make it a little louder this time.

  A: I said, I asked around.

  Q: You mean to sit there and tell me under oath that you had to ask around, as you put it, to find out who the biggest bookie in your district was? Who did you ask?

  A: Just some people.

  Q: What people? Please speak louder. I can hardly hear you myself.

  A: Just people. I don’t remember who.

  Q: People in the Police Department, by any chance?

  A: I don’t remember.

  Q: I see you don’t. And these mysterious people told you who Miller was?

  A: Yes.

  Q: But when you arrested Schrade you didn’t know anything about Miller?

  A: That is right.

  Q: There’s an old saying, officer, that a plainclothes man can’t be in a district for more than a day without knowing who operates all the rackets in it. Do you agree with that?

  A: It’s just a saying.

  Q: Then you don’t agree with that?

  A: I don’t know. I just know I never heard of Ira Miller until after I was in your office that day.

  Q: That was—wait, I want to check this. That was September 15?

  A: Yes.

  Q: And you say this under oath?

  A: Yes, sir. I do.

  4

  Murray had wondered if the girl would show up at the meeting. He was curiously pleased—after Harlingen had shaken hands with Bruno Manfredi and Lou Strauss—that she had not.

  The trouble was, he reflected, that Harlingen’s presence in the office somehow threw everything else in it into sharp and shabby relief. It was nothing you could blame the man for; he was obviously not working at being well bred. But there was no escaping the way that fine old Harvard Law School aura invited every kind of ass-backward comparison. The Old Massah talking over crops behind the plantation house. The Knight in Armor hobnobbing with the varlets, laying out tomorrow’s strategy. The White Knight himself. But with a lot of spirit now that Conmy-Kirk was around to guard him against the bites of sharks.

  Harlingen was in fine fettle. He held out a folded newspaper to Murray and tapped it with the back of his hand. “I suppose you saw that,” he said. “That item about Appeals reversing the verdict on one of the Wykoff convictions. Is that a slap at LoScalzo or isn’t it? I ask you.”

  “I saw it,” Murray said. “Matter of fact, Mr. Harlingen, I thought it was a pretty nice compliment to him.”

  “A compliment?”

  “Sure. Appeals was bawling out the judge and jury because LoScalzo got a conviction out of them without even making a case. I’d say that’s roses for him, not scallions.”

  “It is,” Lou Strauss said with admiration; “it is. You know, I saw him in court a couple of times, back when he was defending some of the biggest bums in the country, and he was a real hatchet. A loud talker maybe, but always on top of the case. It looks like whatever he learned on that side of the fence he knows how to use double now.”

  Harlingen seemed baffled by this. “But Appeals is clearly condemning his Star Chamber methods. If he—”

  “If he what?” cut in Bruno Manfredi. “Look, his methods are working fine. What I want to know is, what’s our methods? We’re all primed on this Lundeen—I mean, Lou and me. Now what are we supposed to do about him?”

  “Ah,” said Harlingen. He carefully placed his fingertips together. “That’s the question.”

  “Right,” said Lou Strauss.

  Harlingen looked suspiciously at Strauss, who smiled at him with a cherub’s smile. “Well,” Harlingen said, “Lundeen’s defense hinges on proving that Miller framed him. That an honest arrest was made, but now, for some reason, Miller and Schrade want it to look like a stand-in arrest.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Bruno. “I thought Lundeen claimed he never even knew this Miller.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then why would Miller want to frame him out of all the cops in New York? You want to knife a guy, you do it to somebody who crossed you up, maybe, somebody you got it in for. But you’d sure as hell know each other.”

  Harlingen said a little irritably: “And there’s where you come in, isn’t it? I mean, it’s my impression that an agency is supposed to dig up just this sort of information. Miller’s motive, for example.”

  “Jesus,” said Bruno, “this isn’t the movies, Mr. Harlingen. How can you figure Miller framed Lundeen, if Lundeen himself don’t know why he’d want to do it?”

  Murray took a grim pleasure in watching Harlingen stir uneasily in his chair. “I think it’s a perfectly logical assumption,” said Harlingen, “but if we bypass that question for the time being—”

  The phone clicked, and Murray lifted it. “It’s a call for Mr. Harlingen,” said Miss Whiteside’s voice. “Should I connect you, or tell her to call later, or what?”

  If it’s “her,” thought Murray, it’s Ruth Vincent looking for a communiqué. “No, he’ll take it now,” he said, and handed the phone to Harlingen.

  There was a shrill clatter in the earpiece, and Harlingen’s face darkened. “For God’s sake, Megan,” he said, “you know you’re not supposed to bother me when I’m busy. If this isn’t important—”

  The clatter in the receiver grew sharply insistent.

  “Yes,” said Harlingen. “I do remember. Of course, I remember. Yes, I’ll tell him.”

  He slammed the phone down, and Murray winced at the impact that must have had on Miss Whiteside’s eardrums.

  “Believe it or not,” Harlingen told him, “that was my daughter. She wanted to remind me to apologize for her. That is, for the way she acted that night. She instructed me to do it when I saw you, and I forgot all about it. Although God knows why I should bother you with it.”

  “No bother,” Murray said; “she’s a nice kid.” Then he glanced sidelong at Harlingen. “Funny that she knew where to find you, though. Or do you keep her in touch right along?”

  Harlingen laughed. “No, but, of course, we don’t try to shut her out. We’ve always felt that it’s better to take her into our confidence than build a whole world of mystery around her. She’s high-strung enough without that.”

  “I’ve got four kids,” Bruno suddenly remarked to the wall. “If any of them stuck a nose into my business I’d slap his high-strung ears off. They don’t even know what business I’m in.”

  “It’s a fact,” said Strauss. “All kids are blabbermouths. It comes natural to them, like making noise.”

  “Lou,” Murray said gently, “before we get started on child guidance can we finish talking about the case? All we know so far is that we have three leads: Miller, Schrade, and this buddy of Lundeen’s, Benny Floyd. How about concentrating on them?”

  “I’ve already talked to Floyd,” said Harlingen. “He backs up Lundeen’s story of the arrest all the way.”

  “Fine. Have you lined him up as a witness?”

  “Well, yes. But he’s very shaky about it. Very much upset.”

  “He’s high-strung,” said Bruno.

  “The fact is,” said Harlingen stiffly, “he’s afraid of reprisals. I’m not saying he has cause for it, but he may be a shaky witness when LoScalzo starts working on him. That’s what worries me.”

  “All right,” said Murra
y, “we’ll brace him up. Make a date with him for some afternoon this week when he’s off duty, and the three of us will walk right through the whole arrest. We’ll check every inch of his testimony that way, and if there are weak spots we’ll clear them up before he gets on the stand.”

  “Now look,” Harlingen protested, “I don’t want to prepare his testimony for him. It’s just—”

  “You won’t be preparing it, Mr. Harlingen. You’ll be looking for holes in it. You’ll be refreshing his memory. Or would you rather wait until LoScalzo does that for you?”

  “Well, viewing it in that light—”

  “Sure,” said Murray. “Now, the next thing is Schrade’s and Miller’s police records. All we know so far is that Schrade claims to be a first-time loser, but if we can show he’s lying about this it weakens his credibility when he testifies. And Miller must have some kind of record, if he’s as big a bookie as they say. When you get him on the stand it’s worth something to smear him with a bad record. You have to keep selling the jury the idea that Miller and Schrade are born thieves and liars. You’ve got to hammer at that.”

  “Well, as a pair of known bookmakers—”

  “That won’t mean a thing offhand, not unless you can put together a jury of twelve old maids out of the Ladies Aid. And nobody’s giving you the chance to do that. You’ll be working with a blue-ribbon jury, Mr. Harlingen; good, solid, substantial citizens who head for their bookies as soon as they get a tip on some horse. They won’t rate Miller and Schrade as criminals. Just as hard-luck cases.”

  “Fine,” said Harlingen wryly. “Put a policeman up against a bookie, and the bookie automatically draws the sympathy.”

  “Yes, but that’s where Lou here comes in.” Murray turned to Strauss. “You’ve got that line to the clerk in Records, Lou. Start working on him right now. Get everything they have down against Schrade and Miller. Some of the stuff might be under different names, but the fingerprints’ll show it up.”

  “And the pay-off?” asked Strauss.

  “Keep it reasonable. What the hell, we don’t want to tear up the records or erase anything on them. We just want to look at them. Maybe make a couple of photostats.”

  “Even so, it might come high right now, Murray. With this Wykoff thing so hot there’s maybe a boom going on with those records.”

  “Then use your head and let Lundeen worry. He’s contracted for all expenses, anyhow.”

  Harlingen had been following this with an increasingly worried expression. “I don’t know,” he said. “I mean, using sub rosa methods like this to get the information. After all—”

  Murray shrugged. “If you don’t want us to bother about it—”

  “I didn’t say that. It’s just that I—well, frankly, I did have hopes of going to court without getting involved in this kind of thing. Not that it matters too much if it’s in a good cause, I suppose. Or is that the devil’s argument?”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to answer that for yourself, Mr. Harlingen.”

  “Of course, of course. I realize that.” Harlingen sat meditatively chewing his lip. “Well, let’s bypass that for the time being. What else is there to work on?”

  “Lining up Miller and Schrade in person. We want to locate them, and we want to see what they’re up to right now.”

  Harlingen looked doubtful. “It’s my guess that they’ll be behaving themselves for a long time to come.”

  “It’s likely, but it’s not a sure bet. Anyhow, we’ll leave that to Bruno. He’ll look them up and tail them a little, and that might give us some ideas.”

  “And after that?”

  “After that we play it by ear.” Murray stood up and Harlingen followed suit. “Meanwhile, I’m counting on you to get in touch with that Benny Floyd so we can go over the arrest with him.”

  “I’ll do that,” said Harlingen. He put on his coat, picked up his hat, and shook hands all around. Murray watched him almost to the door, and then said, “Oh, one thing, Mr. Harlingen.”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s about those police records. You haven’t said whether you wanted us to get them or not.”

  Harlingen stood there weighted down by indecision, his hand restlessly twisting the doorknob back and forth. “Well,” he said at last. “I can’t see letting a man go hang for want of evidence when it’s there for the asking. Handle it any way you think is best, Kirk. I’ll leave it to you.”

  When the door had closed behind him, Bruno gave Murray a long and meaningful look. “Now you tell me,” he demanded.

  “Tell you what?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me, Murray. Since when do we con a lawyer into okaying how we operate? Or all that stuff about Records. What’s it his business how we pay off Records? And the way you were sitting there watching him with that cat-who-ate-the-canary smile, that was a picture. Come to think of it, there was a lot going on I didn’t get. How about letting me in on it before I stick my neck on the block?”

  “What block?”

  “You know what I mean. If I’m supposed to go around tailing a couple of state’s witnesses in a front-page mess like this, there’s a fifty-fifty chance there’ll be a dick from the D.A.’s office tailing me. I don’t mind being in the middle of the sandwich, but I sure as hell want to know what I’m doing there. I’d hate to look as stupid as that Harlingen if somebody catches up with me.”

  “I don’t know about the stupid,” Lou Strauss protested. “To me he’s an unusual type. A purist. You know—clean-cut. He reminds me of this polo player from Long Island we worked for on that divorce a couple of years back. Remember? I was on that case with Mernagh. So when the house dick kicks open the door, there’s me and Mernagh and him and this polo player all jumping into the room together, and there’s this dame stark naked—a beautiful piece—trying to untangle from the chauffeur.

  “And what does the polo player do? A big strapping fellow—you wouldn’t even think a horse could hold him up—and he starts to bang his hands on the wall and cry great big tears like a baby. ‘I don’t believe it!’ he yells. ‘I loved you! I married you because I loved you! I don’t believe it!’ Right in front of everybody he’s carrying on like this for a floozie who’s been handing it out free to every guy in town. And you know why? Because he was a purist, too. There’s some people got such clean minds they just can’t see how it really is around them. That’s the way this guy Harlingen looks to me.”

  “Sure,” Murray said, “that’s the way they educated him. He went to Harvard Law just like his pappy and grandpappy did, and it’s quite a place. All they turn out there are corporation lawyers who can tell anybody big enough how to get away with an income-tax swindle. Only, Harlingen wasn’t any good at the job, so now he moved down among us riffraff where he’ll be appreciated. Look at the way Lou appreciates him already.”

  Strauss turned red. “I only said he was an unusual type. Green, maybe, but wholesome. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Who cares what’s wrong with it?” Bruno asked in exasperation. “I put a question to Murray, and I want an answer. What’s all this game with Harlingen? What’re we working on him? That’s all I want to hear about.”

  “We’re taking our turn educating him,” Murray said.

  “What’s that mean?”

  “We’re teaching baby to walk. If he doesn’t like this first step, he’ll like it even less when Lou gets those police records for him.”

  “Aha,” said Strauss. “You mean he bothers you. But why?”

  “Never mind that,” Bruno said impatiently. “What makes you so sure about those records, Murray? How do you know what’s in them?”

  “Because I’m not turning the case upside down the way Harlingen’s doing. I say Miller’s telling the truth, and Lundeen is lying. Look at it that way, and it’s easy to figure.”

  “How?”

  “Ah, use your head, Bruno. Why would a bookie pay a thousand dollars to duck a fifty-dollar fine for a misdemeanor? See if you can think up a
reason.”

  Bruno reflected on this. “Oho!” he said at last.

  “You can say it again, sweetheart. Because he’s got a police record he’s worried about, that’s why. And with Miller it isn’t a criminal record, because Johnny McCadden would have dug that up and known he had some sort of case. It’s just a plain record of misdemeanors. Four or five of them, I figure, because the sixth one would have tagged him a habitual criminal which is a different kettle of fish altogether.

  “Miller knew that. He knew that once he got that habitual criminal label hung on him he was in trouble every time he turned around. That’s what was worth a thousand dollars to him. And that’s all we’ll ever turn up here—Miller’s motive for paying the graft.”

  Strauss said: “Say, wouldn’t it be better then to do something about those records? Get rid of them, maybe?”

  “It’s too late for that, even if we wanted to. LoScalzo knows all about them already. And besides, we don’t want to. Everything we turn up goes to Harlingen and Lundeen just the way it is.”

  “All right, you sold me,” Bruno said. “So why do I have to tail Miller and Schrade? If the case is a stiff, why should anybody work up a sweat over it?”

  “Well, there’s a thin chance that one or the other of them is consorting with known criminals, or some stupid thing like that. If we can tag them with it, it’s a score for Harlingen, and we’re earning our pay. Anyhow, work on it for a couple of days, and we’ll see.”

  Bruno said: “All right, but don’t short-change me, Murray. After I find them it’ll be one man on two. I want somebody helping me out on it.”

  “You’ll have him.”

  “Who?”

  “Me,” said Murray. “You can count me in.”

  He knew, even as he said it, that it was unpremeditated, it was as much a surprise to him as to Bruno. And he couldn’t understand why he had said it, any more than he could understand why he knew he had to go through with it. The office was his place, and the St. Stephen was his place; the cold, wet winter streets were meant to be walked by the hired hands he paid to do it. For him to walk them on a case that turned around on itself like a dog with its tail between its teeth, a case that was just a cruel joke on itself, didn’t make sense. Where, as Frank Conmy would have said, is the profit? Where’s the pleasure? And if there’s no profit or pleasure, what’s the compulsion working on you?