Murder in the Ball Park

by Robert Goldsborough

  “Did your brother ever get any kind of psychiatric help?”

  “He wouldn’t hear of it,” she said, clenching a small fist and pounding her knee. “He insisted there was nothing at all wrong with him. I brought the subject up only once, and he threw a fit. He started screaming and telling me to mind my own business.”

  “Had anything else about him changed after he came home from the war?”

  She looked down at her lap and seemed to be composing herself. “I know this is hard,” I said.

  She nodded. “As I said before, Dick was totally different, and not at all for the better. He had always had a temper, but he lost it much more quickly after he came home. The fight that landed him in jail was an example, the worst one.”

  “Did he keep on living in your parents’ house?”

  “Not for long after that time when the police came and took him away. We sold the place and split the proceeds, not that there was all that much to divvy up. Dick then moved into one of those cheap hotels over on the Upper West Side of Manhattan until his money ran out. I always suspected he spent it on alcohol and drugs, especially drugs.”

  “How did he happen to move in with you?”

  Marguerite’s sad face became even sadder. “After Earl died, I was alone here, of course. Oh, I was by no means destitute, not at all. Earl had a pension from his company, and that has been more than sufficient for my needs. But Dick begged me to let him move in. ‘You’ve got plenty of space here, Sis,’ he had said, ‘and I won’t be any trouble, I promise.’

  “I gave in, which was a mistake, Mr. Nelson. Dick had his room upstairs all right, which in itself was fine, but his friends, if you can call them that, came to visit—and to drink in this very room. Now I am not a teetotaler, Mr. Nelson, but I did not want to see my house, the home my husband and I had lived in so happily for almost fifteen years, turned into some sort of cheap saloon full of rowdies. I told Dick how unhappy I was with the people he hung around with, and he became apologetic and—what is the word?—contrite, I think. He told me the visits to our house would stop. And they did, except for another kind of visit.”

  “Please go on, Mrs. Hackman.”

  “What I am going to tell you happened only quite recently, no more than a month or so ago. Would you like more coffee?”

  “No, thank you. These visits?”

  She chewed on her lower lip. “A man telephoned here, asking for Dick. He wasn’t home at the time and I asked if I could take a message, but he would not leave his name and said he would call again.”

  “Did he?”

  She nodded. “Dick became very secretive about this individual. He came to the house just once, and Dick insisted I go upstairs to my room and close the door.”

  “So you never saw this mystery man?”

  “Only from my bedroom window, which looks down on the street. It was after dark, and I watched as he came up to the front door. There was just enough light from a street lamp for me to see that he had a wide-brimmed hat on, pulled low over his face.”

  “And you have no idea at all about what this individual’s business was with your brother?”

  “No, but whatever it was got Dick very excited, or maybe agitated is a better word. He then told me that something big was going to happen. That’s what he said, ‘Something big, something that will let me move out of here, out of your hair for good, into my own place, a nice place.’ The man called again several times, and it was obvious to me that he was behind these plans. Whatever they were, I believe it had to do with . . . what happened to Dick later.” She looked down at her lap again and sniffed, but no tears came.

  “Would you be able to identify this man?”

  “Not by a face, I wouldn’t. But I’m sure that I would recognize his voice. I heard it at least three, maybe four times on the telephone. It was distinctive, although I don’t know exactly how to describe it.”

  “Could I take a look at your brother’s room?”

  “Why not? There’s really not much to see.” I followed Marguerite up a narrow stairway to a narrow, wallpapered hall. She pushed open a door and stepped aside to let me enter. There certainly wasn’t much to see: a window that looked out onto the backyard, a single bed in one corner, a maple dresser topped by an oval mirror, a marine poster tacked on the wall, and a closet.

  “Your brother won a lot of awards and medals,” I said. “I expected to seem them displayed.”

  “He got rid of all of them, sold the bunch, or so he told me. At that time of his life, it seemed he’d do anything to get a few dollars,” she said.

  I opened the closet door, hearing no objection. “I got rid of all of his clothes,” Marguerite explained, “gave them to the Salvation Army. I felt they should be put to use. Not much else in there, I’m afraid.”

  But there was something. Leaning against a wall at the back of the closet was a rifle, an M1 Garand. “This was your brother’s?”

  “Yes, he brought it back from the service. I don’t know if he was supposed to do that, but he came home with it and also with a pistol, the gun he . . . he killed himself with.”

  “Did he have a particular reason to keep firearms around?”

  “Do you mean, was he afraid of anyone? I really don’t think so. I believe he held on to the weapons as keepsakes, strange as that seems to me. After he got rid of his medals, they were all that was left to remind him of the war, although I don’t know why he would want to be reminded.”

  “Where did the shooting take place, Mrs. Hackman?”

  “Right here, right in this very room,” she said, pointing to the floor. “I was downstairs at the time and heard the shot. Just one shot . . . to the head. I found him on the floor, right there. He was gone. That awful sight will stay with me the rest of my days.”

  “Did he leave a note?”

  “No, nothing, not a single word. He had been unusually depressed those last few days, although I don’t know why. He would barely speak to me. I remember one call in particular from that man. After Dick hung up, he was almost hysterical, and that night . . . well, that was when it happened.”

  “Can you recall the exact date?”

  She frowned. “Yes, of course, I can. However could I possibly forget? It was June 14.”

  “Flag Day. What became of the pistol?”

  “The police took it. ‘A formality,’ they said. I should have told them to take the rifle away, too. I certainly do not need it as a memory of Dick.”

  “My advice is that you hold on to that rifle for now,” I said to her. “I have my reasons. Did you find anything unusual among his personal effects?”

  “No, not really. His dresser was full of clothes, as one would expect, nothing else. Oh, well, there was one thing that seemed a little strange. In the top drawer of the chest, I found his key ring, but with two large keys on it that I did not recognize.”

  “Really? Is it still here?”

  “Yes, in the drawer, right where I left it,” Marguerite said, motioning to the dresser.

  “May I see it?”

  She shrugged and nodded, opening the drawer and handing me the ring. “Those two are for the front and back doors of this house,” she said, pointing to the smaller keys, “but the large ones . . . I have no idea at all.”

  “Do you think that he was in the habit of taking keys from places where he had worked?”

  “Again, I don’t have any idea. Are you suggesting something criminal, like maybe Dick would go back to these workplaces and steal things?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything,” I said. “Mind if I take the mystery keys?” She shook her head and I took them off the ring. They were not identical, but both were thick and heavy, clearly designed for opening large doors . . . or perhaps gates.

  Marguerite shot a puzzled look my way as we went down the stairs to the first floor. “Is there anything el
se you need to know?” she asked.

  “No, I don’t think so, at least not for the time being,” I said as I pulled open the front door. “Thank you so much for your hospitality.”

  “You really are not a newspaperman, are you, Mr. Nelson? And is Nelson even your name?”

  “What makes to ask?”

  “Your questions, for one thing. They did not seem to focus nearly as much on my brother’s mental state as they did on his recent actions, and on that man he had dealings with just before he died. And also your wanting to take those keys.”

  I ignored her comments about the keys. “Aren’t you curious about that man yourself, Mrs. Hackman?”

  “Of course, I am, Mr. . . . whatever your name is. But I am also curious about you, very curious.”

  “I wish I could say more now, but I’m sorry that I cannot.”

  She looked at me, unblinking. “For some strange reason, I trust you.”

  “I’m glad to know that. I promise you will be hearing from me again.” With that, I turned and went down the front steps into the darkness.

  Chapter 19

  As I walked away from the house, I silently berated myself for not doing a better job at playing a reporter and also for not having that taxi wait for me at the corner where I got dropped off. I retraced my steps toward the intersection in hopes of hailing another cab and had gone almost a block when I realized there were footfalls several paces behind me. A neighborhood resident walking a dog? I stopped and the footsteps stopped. I started, and they started.

  Wishing I had taken one of the guns from the safe in the office, I wheeled around and faced my tail. That’s not all I faced. A stocky man in a snap-brim hat and black sport coat was holding an automatic pointed at me.

  “You lost us there for a time, Mr. Private Eye, but we got the number of your hack and found him. With a little bit of persuasion, we got the cabbie to tell us where he dropped you off, and we’ve been waiting for you.”

  “What did you do to the guy?” I snapped.

  The answer was a hoarse laugh. “We didn’t do nothin’ to him, pal, except cross his palm with a finif. That got him talkin’. What did ya think, that maybe we knocked him around? Hell, we didn’t need to. Our money did the talking.” Another laugh with no humor behind it.

  “And we ain’t gonna knock you around, neither, pal, as long as you tell us where you just been. That right, Lenny?”

  “Right,” came a voice from behind me. So much for my keen sense of knowing when I was being shadowed. I turned and saw a taller man, also wearing a snap-brim hat and topcoat and holding a snub-nosed revolver. Definitely not a good sign.

  “So, how about letting us in on where you’ve just been at,” the one called Lenny said.

  “I don’t have any idea what the hell you’re talking about,” I said, trying to sound tough.

  “Aw, don’t be that way,” Lenny said, walking up to me and driving a fist into my gut. I doubled over and groaned as the stocky one gave me a kick in the kidneys. I was on the pavement now, in a fetal position.

  At that moment, I heard a familiar voice. “Hardly a fair fight, is it, boys? Now put down those silly toys of yours. I have one of my own, and it’s got a silencer, as you can see. I could finish both of you off right here on this quiet Flushing street, and nobody would ever be the wiser. You boys probably know that stuff like that happens all the time. Now let me hear those guns hit the concrete.”

  The men dropped their weapons as I got to my feet with a groan. “Wise choice, fellas,” Saul Panzer said. “Nice to see you’ve got some sense. Now turn your backs to me, both of you, hands up nice and high.”

  “Damn, you can’t shoot us like this,” Lenny pleaded. Interesting how the tone of his voice had changed in the last minute.

  “Oh, I don’t think I’ll plug you,” Saul said, “although I must say it’s damned tempting. Archie, I brought another piece for you.” He smiled and handed me my Marley .38. “Now let’s wrap these boys up, shall we?” He pulled two sets of handcuffs from his topcoat pocket. “Okay, you,” he said to Lenny, “give me your right paw.” When he resisted, Saul jammed the barrel of his revolver into the gunman’s ear. “I really don’t want to splatter your brains on this nice peaceful street, but I will if you don’t give me a choice.”

  Lenny held out his hand, which was shaking. Saul snapped a cuff on him. “Now you, what’s your name?” Saul barked at the other man.

  “Tony,” the short one answered in a surly tone.

  “Okay, Mr. Tony, let’s have your left hand—now!” Saul took the other half of the cuffs, and now the hoods were linked. He then opened the second set of cuffs, put one bracelet on Tony’s right hand and the other he snapped around the iron pole that held up a NO PARKING sign.

  “There, now you are all set to welcome the men from the local precinct,” Saul said, picking up their guns and emptying the bullets out of each, then dumping them through a grating into the sewer and putting the weapons on the pavement near their feet. “See you boys around.”

  “You sons of bitches,” Lenny howled. “You’ll pay for this.”

  “I don’t think so,” Saul said. “And that’s not a very smart thing to say to someone who has a weapon pointed at you. Archie, I didn’t see a police call-box along here, but there is a phone booth at the corner. Let’s go.”

  As we walked away from the tethered hoods, I grabbed Saul’s arm. “You don’t look much like a guardian angel. How in heaven’s name did you happen to be here?”

  “Mr. Wolfe was concerned that you might get tailed, so I ended up shadowing the shadowers.”

  “How did you get my Marley?”

  “I was in the front room with the door closed when you left. I went to the office, pulled your trusty .38 from the safe, and was out on the street just in time to see that Chevy tailing you. After you jumped into a cab with them behind, I grabbed my own yellow.”

  “Gee, a regular parade. What fun.”

  “It sure was. Whoa, speaking of their car,” Saul said as we came upon the gray Chevy parked at the curb. “Let’s give them something more to remember about this evening. He drew out the pistol with the silencer and fired one shot into the sedan’s right front tire, smiling as the car settled down on its rim.

  “You play pretty rough,” I said, grinning.

  “Damn right, especially when somebody tries to mess with my friend Archie Goodwin. But if I had been really angry, I would have popped all four tires just for the fun of it. Here’s the phone booth,” Saul said, stepping in. “I just happen to have the phone number of the 109th Precinct handy, along with the coin of the realm.”

  He dropped a nickel in the phone, dialed, and spoke into the mouthpiece. “Yes Sergeant, this is a concerned citizen. My name is not important. If you’re interested, you will find two ruffians chained together on 115th Street—just north of Fourteenth Avenue—and anchored to a pole holding up a NO PARKING sign. They were playing with guns, but it seems that a couple of pensioners passing by didn’t like that and disarmed them. Where in the world these old men could have got the handcuffs, I really don’t know.” Saul hung up and stepped out of the booth.

  “Okay, let’s find us a cab,” he said. “You feeling okay?”

  “I’ve been better,” I said, running as hand over my stomach and my sore back. “It’s a good thing that I haven’t eaten dinner, because if I had, it would be all over the street where those apes slugged me. So, did you have trouble keeping pace during that chase into Queens?”

  “My cabbie kept the Chevy in sight all the way. They lost you but must have got your cabbie’s number, because they pulled him over later and one of the goons handed him some dough.”

  “A fiver,” I said. “But they didn’t know exactly where I was because I got off more than a block from my destination. I’ll fill you in more on that later. You figure these were Bacelli’s boys?
”

  “Yeah, almost surely,” Saul said. “Hey, here’s a cab. Let’s head back to peaceful old Manhattan.” He gave Wolfe’s address and we hopped in. Our taxi hadn’t gone more than a block when a black-and-white screamed past us in the opposite direction with lights flashing and siren blaring. “I’d love to be an onlooker when a couple of New York’s Best find those two knuckleheads chained together,” I said as we sped through Queens on our way back to Manhattan. “It will be the talk of the station house for months to come.”

  “Yeah, and imagine how one Franco Bacelli is going to react when he finds out about how his boys managed to mess up,” Saul said. “You know, I played with the idea of taking their wallets and their guns, but I figured, why rile up the Mafia’s top dog any more than necessary? These two plug-uglies will already be in enough trouble with the Mob higher-ups.”

  “True. As it is, I’ll lay odds that Nero Wolfe will soon be hearing from Bacelli. You may not be aware of this, but the Syndicate’s big man visited the brownstone just yesterday, offering to join forces to find out who killed Milbank.”

  “An offer that Mr. Wolfe, of course, refused,” Saul said.

  “Of course. Bacelli, who claimed to have all kinds of sources, stormed off saying he would find the killer and screw Wolfe out of his fee.”

  Saul laughed. “And it turns out Bacelli’s so-called ‘source’ was none other than you. He figured if he put a tail on you that would lead him—or in this case his thick-skulled flunkies—to the answer.”

  “I did some dumb things tonight, but my one smart move was getting the cabbie to drop me off more than a block from where I was headed.”

  “Sometimes, one smart move is all it takes, Archie.”

  “I guess so. Say, another question: How did you happen to be toting two sets of handcuffs? I didn’t know they were part of your usual baggage.”