“Hi, Clancy! Long time no see. I was outside the door, just coming in when the phone rang. Eva and the kids are staying with friends until we get settled; they’ll be home tomorrow. I had to go through about a jillion keys before I found the one for the front door. Why in hell they don’t make keys …”
Clancy cut in on him brusquely. “Where are you?”
“Home, of course. Hell, that’s a silly question—you just called me, didn’t you?”
Clancy kept his temper. “And where’s home?”
“Oh. Washington Heights. We just moved in a few—”
“The street address!” Clancy said savagely. “What’s the number of the building, and the apartment number?”
“2450 West 187th Street, Apartment 604. But—”
“Hold it.” Clancy clamped a hand over the mouthpiece, holding up at the waiting patrolman, Mathews. “2450 West 187th, Apartment 604. And better stop by his old place; there ought to be another man there covering the back, if he hasn’t got disgusted and gone home. Assuming he also found out Kirkwood’s moved.” Mathews nodded abruptly and left the room; Clancy turned back to the telephone.
“What do you do, Roy? Move and not leave any forwarding address?”
Kirkwood laughed. “You must have asked the superintendent at the old apartment. Hell, he knows where I moved to—he forwards my mail. But he just doesn’t like to give out information. He’s cagey.”
“Cagey?” Clancy snorted. “He’s asking for trouble if he clams up on the police department! One of these days—” He dismissed the subject. “And how come the telephone company doesn’t have a change on you?”
“Oh, that? I subleased the old place, phone and all. Hell, I had to. We wanted a bigger place, and we found this one, but I still had six months to go at the old place and the landlord is a bastard.” There was a pause. “By the way, how did you get hold of me?”
“I don’t even know. I can ask the sergeant if you really think it’s important.” Clancy forced the sarcasm from his voice. “Look, Roy; you’re going to be covered by a couple of men for the next few days. I just wanted you to know.”
“Covered?” The voice suddenly dropped. “Why?”
“Because the police department wants to cover you, that’s why. At least until Cervera is picked up.…”
“Clancy, you’re kidding.” The voice had risen; almost, Clancy thought, as if in relief. “I know all about the break, of course—hell, that’s all they’re talking about downtown. But do you mean because of those wild-eyed threats he made in court three years ago? That’s ridiculous, Clancy. Hell, he was—”
“Roy, don’t argue. Those are the orders I got, and they’re going to be carried out. So don’t get cute and try to shake them.”
“But, Clancy! I’m trying to run an election campaign! How can I look like the great defender of justice, fearless and all that, if I’ve got a couple of cops on me everywhere I go?”
“Roy, it’s pointless to argue. You’re going to be covered. If it’s any satisfaction to you, your opponent is in the same spot.…”
There was a pause. “That’s right; Kiele was on the bench, wasn’t he?”
“That’s right,” Clancy said; and added to himself, As if you didn’t know!
“When do these watchdogs start trailing me?” Kirkwood asked.
“They’re on their way now. So don’t try to shake them.”
“All right, Clancy. Hell, I’ll even let them help me push my car when it gets stuck, which is getting to be about every day, now.” Kirkwood’s voice became curious. “Is there anything new on this deal, Clancy? Anything I ought to know?”
“Not a thing. You know as much as I do. But Inspector Clayton doesn’t want to take any chances, and he’s the boss. That’s why you’re being covered. And the judge.”
“I see. How about you?”
“Don’t worry about me. Worry about yourself.” Clancy looked at his watch. “I’m going to hang up now, Roy. Just remember what I said. It may be stupid to take these precautions, but those are the orders. I’ll be seeing you.”
“All right, Clancy. Thanks for calling.”
Clancy hung up and turned back to Stanton. “Where were we?”
“We were all done. What’s next, Lieutenant?”
Clancy thought a moment. “The technical boys are putting a tap on Mrs. Cervera’s phone, and also on the Hernandez girl’s—Lenny’s girl friend. They’re going to be tape taps because they’re short of people and can’t afford the men to stay there. You’re free right now. I want you to listen in at Cervera’s mother’s. You can call downtown and find out where they put it. And I’ll have the sergeant—”
The phone rang; Clancy lifted it.
“Lieutenant? This is Kaproski.…”
“Where the hell have you been?”
“Right here, Lieutenant. She ain’t even come home yet.…”
‘Where are you calling from?”
“A bar across the street from her place.” There was an embarrassed pause. “Hell, Lieutenant, it ain’t what you’re thinking. It’s just it’s the only place around here with a phone.…”
“Yeah,” Clancy said. He stared at the phone, thinking. “Kap—they’re putting a tap on her telephone.…”
“I know, or I guessed. I seen the boys go in; they’re still in there. That’s another reason I was calling.”
“All right.” Clancy made up his mind. “Forget about talking to the girl; it probably wouldn’t be of any use anyway. I want you to sit on that recorder with earphones. If nothing exciting cooks by midnight, put it back on automatic and go home and get some sleep. And stop over there and pick up the tape in the morning and bring it here. Early, about eight. We’ll go over it together, then.”
“Right, Lieutenant. I better hurry if I want to catch the boys before they leave. Anything else?”
“No; that’s it.” Clancy put down the telephone and looked at Stanton. “Well, you heard what I said to Kap. The same goes for you. Cervera ought to call in by midnight if he’s going to call at all. Which I doubt. Personally, I think he’s heading in the opposite direction from New York, as fast and as far as he can go. The last thing he’s going to waste time on, are telephone calls.”
Stanton cleared his throat self-consciously. “Lieutenant …”
“What?”
“Well,” Stanton said reasonably, “you got the judge covered, and Kirkwood, but … Well, this tap they’re setting up is automatic. It could tape alone for a couple of hours, until you’re through for the day and safe at home. I could stick with you.…”
Clancy stared at him coldly. “Stanton, let me tell you something. The chief inspector gives orders to the inspector. The inspector gives orders to Captain Wise. Captain Wise gives orders to me. And I give orders to you. That’s the routine. Let’s just follow it, shall we?”
“O.K., Lieutenant,” Stanton said, but he didn’t sound too happy about it. A sudden thought struck him. “Where’ll I get hold of you if something hot breaks?”
“I’m going out to eat now,” Clancy said. “And then I’m going over to Judge Kiele’s. Then I’m going home to bed. And you are going to sit and listen to telephones.”
Stanton pushed himself to his feet, reaching for his raincoat. He shrugged himself into it.
“You’re the boss, Lieutenant.”
“Now you’re getting the idea,” Clancy said approvingly, and also got to his feet.
Tuesday—8:40 P.M.
Judge Elmo Kiele lived in one of those monolithic concrete pillboxes that rise in phalanx fashion along the borders of Central Park West, immune alike to structural strain and the deserving sneers of architectural connoisseurs. When the judge had first had the good fortune to invest his life’s savings in a wildly growing economy—or at least, stock market—he had immediately taken his daughter, his library, and a few comfortable pieces of furniture from his old quarters in Morningside Heights and moved them to this eminently superior address, impressed equally by
the exorbitant rental and the broad view of the park that seems to satisfactorily serve the Thoreau that dwells in most New Yorkers. The library remained, albeit rebound in golden-etched morocco and stored on mahogany shelves; the daughter and the comfortable furniture had long since gone, one to marriage and the other (at an excellent price) to a secondhand store. The best possible description of Judge Elmo Kiele would be to repeat his own words: he had once told a friend that he felt that—with more effort—he could well have gotten as good a deal on his daughter as he had on his furniture. His friend had never been sure whether the judge had been fooling or not.
The rain had stopped by the time Clancy climbed down from his taxi and entered the ornate lobby, but the heavy carpeting still retained the musty odor of numberless wet feet and dripping umbrellas. He crossed to the bank of elevators under the solemn, accusing eyes of a uniformed personage who sat back of a small desk and apparently did little else. The elevator doors snapped quietly at his heels, and then almost instantly reopened. Clancy was about to push the fifth-floor button again when he saw that he had, indeed, arrived. The wonders of modern science, he marveled with a shake of his head: rapid elevators and plastic raincoats. What else could the world possibly need? He crossed the wide hallway and pressed upon a synthetic mother-of-pearl button.
The butler who opened the door relieved Clancy of his hat and raincoat, handling them with the contempt they deserved. He was about to usher the visitor into the living room when Judge Kiele, himself, appeared at the hall arch, hand extended.
“Hello, Lieutenant. How are you?”
“Fine, thank you, sir.” Clancy took the small firm hand, aware as he did so of the clamminess of his own. He was also sharply aware of the contrast between his worn blue suit and frayed necktie, and the judge’s neat tuxedo with shot-silk lapels and cummerbund bulging politely over the obviously indulged waistline. Clancy took a breath.
“How are you, sir?”
Judge Kiele chose to take this to be rhetoric. “We were just about to have an after-dinner brandy,” the judge said a bit importantly, leading the way further into the huge apartment. “Would you care to join us?”
“Thank you.”
The explanation for the “us” became immediately apparent as Clancy followed the stocky, white-haired jurist into the wide living room; for seated on a pouf beside a kidney-shaped coffee table was a young, serious-faced girl in a simple frock, and a handsome mustached man in his mid-thirties who rose as Clancy entered. Judge Kiele did the introductions.
“Lieutenant—this is my daughter, Mrs. Wells, and her husband, John. Carol, my dear; John—this is Lieutenant Clancy. Of the 52nd Precinct, I believe.”
Clancy nodded politely to the girl and shook hands with the man. He was pleased to see that he was not the only one wearing a business suit, although he was forced to recognize the difference between his own wrinkled clothing and the neat press in the other’s outfit. Judge Kiele hesitated, looking over his shoulder. It was apparent that he was wondering if it were worthwhile summoning the butler for the simple task of serving brandy, particularly in view of the relative unimportance of his guest. A better solution occurred to him; he turned to his son-in-law, relieved by the simplicity of the answer.
“John. If you don’t mind? The brandy?”
Wells nodded agreeably, smiled at his wife, and went to the bar set in an alcove between a pair of leather-covered sofas, making it an intimate though apparently seldom-occupied oasis in the rich but somehow sterile beauty of the room. Clancy glanced about. The oil paintings on the walls, he was sure, were originals; the entire décor was one of wealth, if not necessarily of comfort. Beyond the still-open drapes that framed the wide windows, lights were sparkling in tiny clusters on the curved drives of the park below. Yet there will probably be muggings and possibly murder in that beautiful park tonight, Clancy reminded himself, and turned back to the others, forcing the unpleasant thought away. Wells was moving back from the bar, a bottle and glasses balanced on a tray. Well, Clancy thought, we may not be able to live like the rich, or to dress like them, but at least we can drink like them. He changed his mind about this, also, when he saw the brand name of the bottle John Wells was bearing.
Judge Kiele waved him to a seat and lowered himself into a chair opposite in the same motion. His tiny eyes suddenly narrowed; he could not have been more obvious if he had put his thoughts into words. His duties as host had been accomplished; now it was time for business.
“All right, Lieutenant,” he said, his voice instantly losing its friendliness in a manner Clancy suddenly recalled from the past. “What’s this all about?”
Clancy accepted a drink from John Wells, nodded his thanks, and waited until the handsome man had reseated himself on his pouf beside his wife. He leaned forward.
“You’ve heard about the prison break, sir, I’m sure.”
“Of course I’ve heard about it. And I also assume from your attention that this visit is due to the fact that the Cervera boy is still free. Well, what of it?”
Clancy looked at the other two people in the room with doubt. Judge Kiele waved a manicured hand. “Go ahead, Lieutenant. They know all about the threats. John is thoroughly informed about the case; as a matter of fact I didn’t invite him here tonight just to feed him. John is a member of the Bar, and he also happens to be a member of the State Parole Board. I thought he might be of some use to you.”
Clancy turned to the handsome man. “Oh?”
“That’s true.” Wells smiled. “Although I don’t know what help I might be. But the judge thought that since you were coming here, I might as well stop around and see if I—”
Kiele interrupted impatiently. “Yes. Well, you can discuss that later. Right now I want to make one thing clear to the lieutenant. I imagine you came up here, Lieutenant, to tell me that since Cervera is loose, that I ought to be careful. And I also imagine that you intend putting several men on my heels, or some such nonsense. Well, I permitted you to come here primarily because I wanted to tell you in person that I don’t like it. And that I don’t need it. And that I don’t want it.”
Clancy smiled faintly. He took a sip of his brandy, and twisted the glass slowly in his fingers. “Citizens usually don’t complain to the police about too much protection. Normally it’s the other way around.”
“That may be, but I’m not a normal citizen. Or rather, not a usual citizen.” This didn’t come out any better, but his meaning was quite clear. Judge Kiele laid aside his drink—it was by now his second—and tented his pudgy fingers. His tiny eyes were hard. “You know what I mean, Lieutenant. If I were to hide every time I’ve heard a threat in my twenty years on the bench, I’d have been indoors more than out.”
“Yes, sir,” Clancy said. “But—”
“And not only that,” the judge continued. “I happen to be running for re-election, and it could be a bit embarrassing to have people in uniform all around me during a speech.…”
Clancy smiled. “Your opponent, sir, made the same complaint.”
Judge Kiele snorted. “My opponent! Well, sir, if you want to hear about my opponent, listen to the radio Thursday night. I shouldn’t wonder if he won’t want policemen around after I get through!”
Carol Wells bent forward, speaking almost apologetically, addressing herself to Clancy. Her drink, untouched, had been placed on the coffee table beside her.
“Lieutenant Clancy, you were also threatened by this Cervera person as I remember, weren’t you?”
Clancy nodded. “Your father, myself, and a Mr. Roy Kirkwood of the district attorney’s office. He was the prosecutor.” He looked at her evenly. “Your father’s opponent in next month’s election.”
She disregarded this information. “And how do you feel, Lieutenant?” Her brown eyes held his. “About the threat, I mean?”
Clancy paused awhile before answering. He took another sip of his drink, placed his glass on the end table beside him, and looked down at his shoes. When he looked up aga
in there was a faint smile on his face.
“Mrs. Wells, I’ll admit that when I first heard about this, my reaction was pretty much the same as your father’s. But I happen to work for an inspector I greatly respect, and his reaction was different.” His smile faded. “His instructions were different, too. And my job is to follow his instructions.”
“Well, mine isn’t,” Judge Kiele said.
Clancy chose to pay no attention to this. He turned to John Wells.
“Mr. Wells, you say you’re on the State Parole Board. I wonder if you could give me any information on these four men who took part in the prison break. Information that isn’t … well, a part of their standard file. Information, I mean, that could possibly help me in this case.”
“I’d be glad to, Lieutenant. The only thing is, I doubt if we on the Parole Board have much more information than you do. However … Let’s see … They were Williams, Marcus, Blount, and Cervera, weren’t they?”
“That’s right.”
Wells shook his head. “Well, actually the only one of the four who ever came up before us personally was Williams, about a month ago. He was in for stabbing a man in a fight in a bar. Marcus and Blount were also twenty-to-life prisoners, but they had years to go before they would have been eligible for review. Cervera, of course, was five-to-ten, but he wasn’t due to be reviewed for some six months, yet.”
Clancy looked at him in surprise. “Do you keep track of every convict up there this way?”
Wells laughed. “No, I’m afraid not. I wish we could, but we can’t. Besides which, we handle the paroles for men in many other prisons besides Sing Sing. But when this particular breakout occurred, of course, I naturally wanted to see who the men were who were involved. And if any of the people we were reviewing were involved. And then, when the judge asked me to come over and meet you …” He lifted his hands. “I went through my files before we came over for dinner.”
“I see.” Clancy nodded. He thought a moment. “You say Williams was the only one actually up before the Board, and this was a short time ago. What was your opinion of him?”
The Quarry Page 3