by Tom Bradby
‘Do you wish to become a pathologist, Detective?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Would you welcome Dr Carter’s involvement in your work up here?’
Quinn shook his head.
Schneider’s eyes were fixed on him. ‘I’m told you found a plug of cotton wool soaked in chloroform in the man’s throat.’
‘Yes, sir, I did.’
‘And what was the explanation for this?’
Quinn glanced at his partner for support, but Caprisi’s eyes were focused on the wall. He breathed in. Hang it. ‘You see, sir, it’s like this. We saw two sets of footprints in the mud at the edge of the roof. It looks like Matsell went off backwards, which means he was pushed. Add in the chloroform plug …’
‘Perhaps it was to dull the pain of impact,’ Schneider suggested. ‘Had you considered that?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘The doc confirms the cotton wool was placed in Matsell’s mouth after he landed.’
‘Anything else?’ Schneider’s expression combined distaste and incomprehension.
Quinn glanced at his partner again. Well, he’d come this far. ‘There’s sure been a lot of interest in Mr Matsell’s file,’ he said. ‘They must have been controversial traffic violations.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s nothing, sir,’ Caprisi said. ‘Joe’s just been covering every base …’
‘I commend you on your enthusiasm,’ Schneider said, ‘but deplore your indiscipline, Quinn. You are a new boy here. You are on probation. And right this minute I would rate your chances of avoiding a return to the precincts at around zero.’ He tapped his silver pen against the desktop. ‘Now, I don’t know what was ailing Mr Matsell. I imagine that, had we the time and the resources to investigate, we’d discover he’d been jilted. But whatever idiosyncrasies you may feel you’ve uncovered, that’s all they are and all they will remain. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘This city leads the world, Detective. Millions look to us. We cannot – we must not – falter. To say the atmosphere down on Wall Street is febrile is an insult to the meaning of the word. The newspapers have their story and, though it serves us ill, it’s brief and straightforward. We will move on. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I hope so, Detective Quinn.’ Schneider crossed his legs beneath the desk. His shoes had been immaculately polished. ‘I have taken the liberty of pulling in some of your reports from the precincts, and I don’t like what I read. I confess myself surprised that Chief McCredie gave you a berth here, though perhaps I shouldn’t be since he has turned promoting his native kind into an art form. I shall be watching your progress with interest.’
‘With respect, sir, a suicide wouldn’t explain why a bunch of hoods tailed us uptown and broke into my father’s apartment.’
Schneider’s cheeks coloured. ‘That seems to me to be a matter for you and your family. I don’t see it has any bearing on this case.’
‘It sure seems like it does to me, sir.’
Schneider’s eyes glinted with fury. He took Caprisi’s report, slid it into a buff folder, marked it ‘Closed’ in bold letters and placed it in his out-tray. ‘You’d better go home,’ he said. ‘You’ll be reassigned tomorrow after line-up. Good day.’
Halfway back to their side of the office, Caprisi said, ‘Congratulations. You just screwed your career in two minutes flat. What in hell were you thinking?’
Quinn took his jacket from the back of the chair. ‘I’m heading back down there.’
‘You’re kidding?’
‘There’s something wrong about this. You know it as well as I do. It was me the guys in the Chevy came after. I need to find out why.’
‘Schneider just told us to close the case. Besides, it’s my wife’s birthday and she’ll kill me if I’m late home.’
‘Schneider’s not the chief of detectives.’
‘McCredie said something different?’
‘He’s more … flexible.’ It was a straight lie, but since he’d come this far, Quinn figured he might as well keep going.
‘He asked you to go back to Wall Street?’
Quinn perched on the edge of his partner’s desk. ‘He wants us to report in to him.’
Caprisi’s gaze was steady. ‘You want to tell me what he really said?’
‘He—’
‘This is about your father …’
Quinn frowned.
‘Don’t take me for a fool, Quinn. This is your old man’s precinct. It was his apartment the guy broke into. Your sister was the last person to see Matsell alive and, by the look on your face this morning, I’d say you’re pretty darned certain she knows more than she’s letting on.’ Caprisi watched him. ‘Tell me something else. Do you know why your father turned his back on life in here as the city’s number-one celebrity detective?’ He reached for his coat. ‘I thought not. I have a feeling I’m going to regret this.’
They strode onto the landing and banged the elevator button.
‘Joe?’
Quinn swung around. A tall, stooped figure stood in the doorway. The man wore an overcoat and fedora over a neatly pressed tan suit and highly polished shoes, but his face was white, his eyes puffy and his handsome features drawn. Quinn grasped his arm. ‘Are you all right, Ade?’ They stood together awkwardly. ‘Hey, this is my partner, Caprisi. Caprisi, this is my brother, Aidan.’
The two men shook.
‘I’ll see you down in the hall,’ Caprisi said.
Quinn guided Aidan to a recess at the top of the stairs. ‘What is it?’
Aidan’s wide blue eyes glistened. He slipped his hands into his pockets, then took them out again. His brow was furrowed and his lips tight, as they always were when a situation had moved outside his control.
‘What’s happened? Is this about Martha’s—’
‘She called me at the dealership and I came home. She says she’s fine.’
Quinn waited. ‘You want coffee?’
‘I have to go back to work.’ He stared at his feet. ‘I’m sorry, Joe … I don’t know where else to turn.’
‘What’s going on?’
‘It was stupid. Jesus, I’m on a good salary, there’s a bonus coming at Christmas. I should have been content with that …’
‘But?’
‘I wanted more for her, Joe. She deserves it. We’ve talked about getting away, starting over … somewhere new – Kansas maybe, or out west. Somewhere we could leave the past behind. You know how it is for all of us.’
‘What did you do?’
‘There’s a guy at work who’s made a mint. He’s got a system, swears by it. He’s a salesman, but he’s no fool. He said it was easy. Just watch for the stocks being tipped by the Wall Street columnists and make sure you head in big on the first day. That was the secret. Borrow hard and go in big on margin. I didn’t listen to him at first but, heck, he’s gotten a new Pierce-Arrow Roadster, a weekend place on Long Island. I watched him for a few weeks and saw him rake in the dough. It seemed like a real good bet.’ Aidan forced a smile. ‘You know me, Joe, I never cross a road without checking both ways … One day, he tipped me and I went for it.’
‘But it didn’t go up?’
‘At first it did. So I held on. Jimmy Pike and I talked about opening our own showroom next spring. I figured I could make my stake on one bet. Then, before I’d even noticed, it fell again. “Don’t sweat,” my friend said, “it’ll come back.” But it didn’t, Joe. And it hasn’t. I’m down. Real down. Far down. And they’re calling me in.’
‘So, tell them you don’t have the dough.’
‘I can’t do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘The bank wouldn’t lend me the cash and my broker wouldn’t let me take that much margin.’
‘Jesus, Ade, you didn’t—’
‘Ben Siegel’s boys just shook me down on Fulton. They’ve given me twenty-four hours,’ Aidan told him mournfully. ‘I didn’
t know it was him. This guy from the showroom said he knew a fellow on Delancey who worked with Wall Street types and was used to taking the risk. No one told me he was one of Luciano’s boys.’
‘Did they come looking for you earlier on Wall Street?’
‘No. Why?’
‘Did they talk to Dad?’
Aidan’s eyes widened with alarm. ‘No – why would they?’
‘It’s nothing. We had a tail from Wall Street to the apartment.’ He squeezed his brother’s shoulder. ‘Relax. It must have been about something else.’ Aidan’s features crumpled and Quinn felt the sting of his brother’s humiliation. Aidan was the sensible one. He paid the bills, negotiated the rent. Just lately, he was the only thing that had held the family together. ‘What are you going to do?’ Quinn asked softly.
‘You could warn them off, maybe, buy me some time. I didn’t want to talk to Dad. He has enough on his plate right now.’
‘Ade …’
‘I’m so sorry, Joe. I shouldn’t have come.’
‘How much do you owe?’
‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll go.’
‘I’m your brother,’ Quinn remonstrated. ‘If it wasn’t for you, we’d have gone under. You know that. Tell me.’
Aidan shuffled uncomfortably. ‘Three thousand … four, all in.’
‘Where are you going to get that kind of dough?’
‘When the market turns I can sell out. This stock’s bound to come back. If you could buy me a little breathing space, that’s all I need.’
‘Times have changed for Ben Siegel and his boys.’
‘I know that.’
Aidan had spent most of their childhood rescuing his fiery younger brother from the consequences of his determination to take on the world. The only other time he had ever needed Joe’s assistance was when he’d taken a punt on a neighbourhood craps game. He’d gone in too deep, lost out and got into a fight. Joe had settled the score by knocking the gang’s leader out cold. That boy’s name had been Ben Siegel.
‘I’ll be okay, Joe. I shouldn’t have troubled you.’
‘You’re my brother, Ade,’ Quinn reminded him again.
‘Will you tell Martha?’
‘Are you kidding?’
Aidan looked relieved. ‘Thanks, Joe. I’m sorry.’
Quinn hurried on down the stairs. The marble hallway below was deserted, save for a sad-looking woman, who watched him pass.
He smiled at her, but she didn’t smile back.
CHAPTER EIGHT
QUINN AND CAPRISI RODE TOWARDS WALL STREET IN SILENCE. THE rain had ceased and slivers of late-afternoon sunshine glinted off waterlogged sidewalks. When a trolley-bus accident on Park Row forced them to cool their heels in a jam, Quinn watched people flood in and out of the offices of the Sun and the Tribune. On his first day in the job, Frank Dillon of the Sun and Bob Burke of the Mirror had called him up with more or less the same pitch: we like to catch detectives on the way up, they’d said, so let’s share a beer some time. He’d been flattered. None of the big crime reporters had ever called him in the Bronx.
‘Thanks,’ Quinn said to his partner. ‘I appreciate this.’
Caprisi’s eyes were locked on the road ahead.
The Gardner edged forward and Quinn examined the walnut dash and leather upholstery. That was another thing about the Headquarters squad: you could demand – and get – the best. As a detective in the Bronx, you’d wait a thousand years to drive a car like this, but the Gardner had been requisitioned from the traffic division simply because Headquarters was short.
‘Is he older or younger?’ Caprisi asked.
‘Who?’
‘Your brother.’
‘Oh, two years older.’
‘He’s the sensible one, right?’
‘How did you guess?’
‘Because it sure as hell can’t be you.’
Quinn thought of all the days – so many more of them – when Aidan had been chosen to run down and meet their father at the El station. Good brother, bad brother, Moe Diamond had once told him. Moe had never bothered to take Aidan out to the pool halls. ‘What about you, Detective Caprisi? I heard … I mean I was sorry to hear about your brothers.’
‘It was a long time ago.’
‘You were close to them?’
‘Like I said, it’s in the past.’
‘Sure. I understand.’
They turned off Park Row and wound their way down to Wall Street via the East River. As Caprisi pulled up the Gardner, Quinn gazed up at the great stone monoliths: temples to power, wealth and certainty. Flags snapped urgently against their poles along the street as men and women in grey raincoats flocked, like anxious worker ants, to join the crowd outside the giant pillars of the Exchange. A movie camera was perched on the steps of the Subtreasury Building and the banner headline on the newsstand screamed: ‘6,000,000 SHARE PANIC; LATE RALLY STEMS LOSSES’.
A paper boy in an eight-panel cap shoved a midday edition of the News at them. ‘There’s support on the way, organized support.’ The kid’s voice was breathless. ‘They say Morgan’s buying. He’s taken ten thousand US Steel.’ Caprisi handed him a nickel.
Quinn was accosted by a pair of street kids. ‘We’ll look after your car, mister.’
‘Sure you will.’
‘It’ll cost you a dollar.’
‘No, it won’t.’
The taller of the two boys took a step closer. His expression was filled with theatrical menace. They were such dead ringers for himself and Aidan a few years ago that he struggled not to grin. ‘It’s real dangerous round here, mister. Man’s gotta watch out for his tyres.’
‘It’s okay, son. We’ve got a big guard dog in the back.’
‘Does he put out fires?’
Quinn laughed and palmed the kid a pocketful of dimes. ‘Now scram before I box your ears.’
They belted away down Pearl Street.
Quinn saw that Caprisi’s face had paled. ‘What are you in on?’ he asked.
‘I’ve got a guy who says the market needs a shakeout. The tip is, buy Wright Aeronautics and Du Pont.’
‘Which guy?’
‘He’s been right before, that’s all I’ll say. He shouldn’t tip me off, but he’s doing me a favour.’
‘You invest your paycheck?’
‘Wise up. I’m in on margin, like everyone else. I’ve taken as much credit as my broker will give me. You?’
‘No.’
‘You should be. You want to be a goddamned cop all your life?’ Caprisi gave him a thin smile and strode off in the direction of the Exchange. After a few minutes it was clear why: the shoeshine boy who’d been set up outside number eighty had drifted down the street in search of new customers. Quinn helped his partner talk the kid into a street-level café and bought him a cup of hot soup with a soda. Caprisi slipped him a dollar for his time. ‘We need to ask you a few questions.’
‘Mister, I already told you—’
‘There’s no trouble, son,’ Quinn said easily. ‘Finish your soda and we’re out of your hair.’
‘Do you know Johnny the Bull?’ the kid asked.
‘Sure we do.’
‘He’s one hell of a tough cop, right?’
‘He certainly is.’
‘You work with him?’
‘We do, son.’ Quinn propped an elbow on the table. ‘But how about the guy who fell off that roof – you know him?’
The boy eyed them. ‘He never gave me any business. Ethel – she works in the café behind my pitch – she said he was as Irish as Paddy’s pig, but I told her, “That’s wrong, it’s the other guys, the big fat one and—” ’
‘Moe Diamond and Dick Kelly?’
‘I don’t know their names. The fat guy gives me some tips, and on Paddy’s Day he palms me a dollar.’
‘The dead man’s name was Charlie Matsell.’
‘I only knew his face.’
‘Did you see him arrive at the office this morning?’
‘Sure, in a big black Buick. I don’t get to pitch because he comes right to the door.’ He gestured despairingly. ‘A lot of the rich fellas don’t stop.’
‘What time?’
‘In the rush.’
‘Did you see him again before he landed on the street?’
The boy pushed away his soup. ‘No.’
‘Did you see anything before he fell?’
‘No … It was like he dropped right out of the sky. One minute, nothing, the next …’
‘Must have been quite a shock,’ Quinn said gently. ‘It’s okay, son. We’re not trying to trick you. Just relax and think back. You’re talking to a regular and polishing his shoes. Suddenly you hear a thud and a guy’s landed in the middle of the street. Everything stops. Nobody knows what to do. What happens next?’
There was a long silence. ‘I guess the cops came.’
‘The guys from the precinct weren’t called for twenty minutes,’ Caprisi said.
The kid stared out of the window.
‘Who went to him first?’ Quinn asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘A cop?’
‘Yes!’
‘What did he look like?’
‘He wore a uniform. I didn’t see his face.’
‘Where did he come from? Did he walk out the same building?’ For a moment the boy didn’t answer. Then, ‘He wasn’t the first,’ he said. ‘There was another man. He barged right past me to get a look at the body.’
‘Can you describe him?’
‘He had on a trenchcoat … and a Homburg pulled over his eyes. I saw his face, but …’ The boy shrugged. ‘He was kind of thin.’
‘Did you see him put anything in the dead man’s mouth?’
The boy frowned.
‘Think back. The guy barges past you, he crouches down next to the body. Then what?’
‘I saw him put his fingers to the man’s neck. Then he stood up and pushed past me again.’
‘He say anything?’
‘He might have said he was going to call an ambulance. Or maybe that was some other guy.’
‘When did the cop turn up?’
‘A few seconds later.’
‘What did he do? Exactly.’
‘The same thing.’
‘He put his fingers to the dead man’s neck?’