Rafferty

by Bill S. Ballinger

  The second unusual factor in the case was the possession of $5,000 in one-hundred-dollar bills on the person of Judson. At this time, during the war, the Government had not yet requested the banks to keep a record of their larger denominations of bills. Consequently, they were not traceable.

  It was at this point that Rafferty and Goshen appeared on the scene. Rafferty, as senior officer and an experienced homicide man, immediately deployed his forces according to accepted police procedure. Mack was assigned to the second-floor mezzanine to keep away the curious until the arrival of the medical examiner; Rafferty sent Goshen out to find witnesses, if any, and to turn up all possible auxiliary evidence. Rafferty himself remained with the suspect for questioning and examination. It did not take Rafferty long to discover that Mack had done nothing on the case... not even searching the suspect. After Rafferty had secured Judson’s revolver, he wrapped it in a handkerchief and put it in his hip pocket.

  ‘All right,’ said Rafferty,’ stand up.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Judson, his hands twitching nervously.

  ‘Maybe you got another one,’ replied Rafferty. ‘Stand over there by the wall. Put your hands up by your head and lean against them.’ Judson followed the instructions, leaving himself vulnerable and helpless while Rafferty made a professionally quick and thorough search of his clothes and person. Inside the coat pocket of Judson’s double-breasted blue flannel suit, Rafferty found two packets. Each contained twenty-five one-hundred-dollar bills. Rafferty motioned Judson to return to his desk. ‘Well,’ said Rafferty, riffling the packets of bills in his hands, ‘maybe we found the motive, too.’

  Judson moistened his dry lips with his tongue, his eyes leaping around the empty office and returning to center on Rafferty. ‘Yes, Lieutenant,’ he said, ‘there’s a lot of motive there...’Again his eyes skipped away momentarily, as Rafferty regarded him steadily; then they returned to face the detective determinedly. ‘Nobody can trace those bills,’ he added softly.

  Rafferty riffled the bills again. More slowly this time. An excitement began to mount within him and climbed to his throat. He cleared his voice roughly, stuffing the packets of bills in his overcoat pocket. Deliberately he lit a cigarette and let the smoke stream through his nose. His face gave no indication of his excitement as he turned back to Judson, his mind repeating: ‘This is the bail-out... this is the bailout.’ Five more months... six more months with Rose! He sucked in his breath sharply and the smoke of his cigarette cut sharply in his mouth. From a distance, he heard himself asking Judson, ‘Evidence is evidence. Who else knows you had this dough?’

  ‘No one! Get it? Just me and him...’Judson nodded toward the lifeless Barker, his voice urgent. ‘Go ahead and take it. You spend it. I don’t give a damn... you’re doing me a favor.’ He paused, his voice dropping softly, ‘It ain’t like it... was... a bribe... or something.’

  Rafferty regarded him fixedly. ‘Call it whatever you like,’ he said finally. ‘If I do it... I’m doing me a favor... not you. I’m just wondering how far I can trust you... that’s all. As for Barker,’ he looked at the body on the floor, ‘I know all about him. I don’t give a damn whether he’s alive or dead. I think maybe I like him better dead.’ Rafferty crushed out the cigarette under his shoe. And brushed his hands lightly down his overcoat pocket. Under the heavy cloth he could barely feel the outline of the packets. ‘The bail-out,’ he told himself softly. ‘This is it if I can get away with it. This is it.’ He forced his thoughts back to the room again.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ said Judson. ‘So then you’re doing yourself a favor...’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rafferty calmly. ‘I’m doing myself a favor. But I don’t know how far I can trust you. So for that reason I’m giving you another break...’

  ‘I don’t get it,’ said Judson.

  Rafferty’s mind was cool and calculating. He was well informed, both through experience and training, in the laws of evidence. Quickly his plan fell into place. ‘Listen,’ he said concisely. ‘Because I’m not going to have a chance to tell you again. Even if I take the dough, they can still make a case stand up against you. A little digging and maybe they can find another motive... but still and all, it isn’t iron-bound. Don’t forget, though, as long as they got your gun... and it fits the shooting and has got your prints on it, they can make something stick. Understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Judson.

  ‘All right. Now without your gun, they haven’t got a chance of convicting you.’ Judson’s eyes brightened. ‘Take it easy,’ said Rafferty. ‘I’m not hiding the gun just to be a nice guy. If I got to, I can always come back here, look around and say I found it.’

  ‘Why’d you do that?’

  ‘It’s like this... if I turn the gun in, but keep the dough, they got a pretty good chance of still getting you. Maybe when you’re down to headquarters, they start sweating you... and perhaps you can swing a deal on the sentence if you talk about the dough. But if there’s no dough and no gun, they can’t get you... so you got all the reason in the world to keep quiet. Understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But if... by any chance you ever try to talk,’ Rafferty’s voice was cold with menace, ‘I’ll come back here, find the gun... and fry you!’ He stood up and walked to the door, opening it. ‘Examiner’s men arrived yet?’ he called to Mack.

  ‘No, sir.’ Mack hurried from his post by the stairs and climbed to the mezzanine, ‘but they’re going to be here any minute...’

  ‘Okay,’ replied Rafferty. ‘Keep an eye on Judson here while I look the place over.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Mack.

  ‘And while you’re at it...’ said Rafferty, striding down the hall, ‘look around that office. See if you can find the gun.’

  Rose eventually found the apartment for which she was looking. It was unfurnished, and in a building with an eminently respectable address; the Park Avenue location appealed to her. The rental agent asked a year’s rent in advance and Rafferty paid it, dipping deeply into his newly found supply of cash.

  ‘It’s going to be beautiful when I get fixed up,’ Rose told Rafferty enthusiastically. ‘I’ve always wanted a place of my own to monkey around with.’

  ‘And now you’ve got it.’

  The rooms in the apartment were of a conservative elegance; not large, but delicately proportioned with slightly higher-than-average ceilings and parquet floors. The drawing room walls were of a deep, dusky blue which contrasted with the flat white woodwork and the finely grained marble fireplace, and from the center of the ceiling a diminutive crystal chandelier hung gracefully. The bedroom was finished in rose-and-white striped wallpaper; it, too, had a fireplace with a small black marble mantel and narrow French doors which reached from the floor nearly to the ceiling

  The character of the rooms meant little to Rose, however. With a joyous abandon she filled them with new furniture, selecting pieces at random from shops filled with modern and Chinese modern... silvered oak chairs, ebony tables, lacquered cabinets and desks. A lamp with an extremely long red conical shade appealed to her in particular, and she bought it. Nightly it washed the blue walls of the living room into a vivid purple, giving the room an unexpected appearance both garish and depressing to the beholder. Rafferty, who knew nothing about decorating, was vaguely uncomfortable, although Rose was completely satisfied.

  ‘It’s different,’ she explained to Rafferty. ‘It looks bright and all that, but it’s also kind of nice. The room seems like it’s part of the night, when it really isn’t. The real dark walls, but plenty of light at the same time...’

  Rafferty didn’t argue the point. The furniture had taken the last of Judson’s money.

  Chapter Eight

  Life on Park Avenue continued quietly for a while. The excitement of finding and furnishing the apartment wore away. Rose, who was not working, was content to sleep until mid-afternoon, and then arise for a late meal and go to a movie, meeting Emmet at the apartment in the early evening. This l
imited activity, however, would soon have bored her except for the fact that she met Viola Vane. Viola, an out-of-work night-club performer, kept hours similar to Rose’s, and they began the habit of meeting for meals, attending the movies, and strolling the busy sidewalks of Broadway together.

  Rafferty was lulled into a false sense of security. The rent on the apartment had been paid for a year, the furniture purchased, and there was little additional drain on his salary check. By careful juggling of his finances, he was able to keep Katherine unaware of the money he spent on Rose. Rafferty came to believe that if the delicate balance of his situation could be maintained, he would be able to keep up his pretense indefinitely. But he had forgotten Rose’s determination to gain respectability, and the subject of marriage was brought up again by her. Seated in the brilliant wash of the red lamp, Rafferty attempted to avoid the discussion. ‘When are you going to talk to Katherine?’ Rose asked.

  ‘I don’t know...’

  ‘You promised you were going to talk to her months ago.’

  Rafferty countered her statement. ‘What are you doing about your own?’ he demanded.

  ‘I saw a lawyer a month ago. He’s started action already.’

  He stared at her doubtfully, and she returned his look levelly. She had made no previous mention of a trip to see an attorney. Rafferty believed she was lying, and shifted uneasily. On the other hand, he thought, it was entirely possible she was telling the truth. Knowing, himself, that her husband was a convicted criminal serving a life sentence, he had no doubt that she could secure a divorce quickly and easily. ‘Who did you see?’ he asked finally.

  ‘A man named Garrison. He has an office near Forty-ninth and Broadway.’

  ‘I’ll talk to Katherine...’

  ‘If you don’t, I will.’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘don’t you ever call her. I’ll talk to her. It’s up to me to do that.’

  But he didn’t, and for days Rose kept turning all conversations back to the subject. She became increasingly bitter, and the discussions turned into heated arguments, until Rose finally forced Rafferty to talk with Katherine.

  It happened while he was eating breakfast in the kitchen in Brooklyn. Sun slanted into the small room and glanced brightly from the white enameled refrigerator. He was working the 4:00 P.M. to midnight shift; consequently, he slept late and had his breakfast at two. The two girls were still at school, and Rafferty and Katherine were alone when the phone rang. Katherine hurried into the living room to answer it; in a moment she called to her husband that the message was for him.

  Rafferty rose unsuspectingly from the table, wiping his lips on his napkin, leisurely leaving the kitchen to take the phone.

  ‘Mr. Rafferty?’ a strange woman’s voice asked.

  ‘Yes...’

  Instantly the voice changed and he recognized Rose. ‘I just thought I’d call to find out if you’ve talked to Katherine yet.’

  ‘No,’ he said, his voice suddenly taut with an unreasoning fear, ‘I haven’t.’

  ‘Are you going to?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Today?’

  ‘Possibly...’

  She hung up the phone. The implied threat was not lost, however, and Rafferty returned to the kitchen, although his food had lost its taste. The next time Rose called, she would call when Rafferty was not at home. Katherine poured a cup of coffee and seated herself at the table.

  ‘Anything important?’ she asked, stirring the coffee gently.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Just a... woman... about a case I’m on.’ He pushed the plate away from him. His wife arose and refilled his cup. ‘It’s interesting though,’ he continued, slowly, ‘this woman who called me... it’s her sister who did the shooting. This sister’s been married fourteen or fifteen years. Her husband decides he wants a divorce... so she shoots him.’ Rafferty sipped at the coffee and looked at Katherine. His face hidden by the cup, his voice carefully casual, he asked her a question. ‘What’d you do, Kathy, if I ever asked you for a divorce?’

  ‘Have you go see a doctor,’ she replied lightly.

  ‘No... seriously.’ He replaced the cup on the saucer. ‘Suppose I want a divorce... say, I fell in love with someone else. What’d you do?’

  Perhaps Katherine sensed a tenseness to the question. She regarded him seriously. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I don’t know... just wondering.’ Suddenly his mind scrambled back to safety. ‘Just wanted to know if I better hide my guns,’ he answered, forcing a smile.

  Katherine relaxed. ‘Anyway,’ she replied, ‘I’d never divorce you.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Of course not! It’s against the Church. I might leave you, but I’d never divorce you.’ She arose from the table and stood beside Rafferty, her hands smoothing down the front of her cotton housedress. Gently she put her hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s not good to talk about... not even when you’re teasing,’ she said.

  That was Friday afternoon. It was the same Friday night that Rafferty and Lewis broke up the Biever Fur robbery. A few minutes later Emmet Rafferty stood with a fur coat in his hands, and a dead man who could not talk, at his feet. Rafferty made a decision.

  He acted swiftly. Returning to the store, he switched on the lights in the back room. From beneath a workbench he removed a large plain carton and placed the coat in it. Quickly he sealed the top and bottom with heavy shipping tape. Snapping out the lights, he walked through the darkened store carrying the box and emerged on the street. Turning, he strode briskly to the end of the block and crossed the street at the intersection, then crossed once more to the far corner. He entered a small exclusive restaurant and was met instantly by a hat check girl. ‘Check this for me, please,’ Rafferty said, handing her the box. In a few moments she returned with a claim check and Rafferty tipped her casually, pocketing the check. ‘Keep it overnight for me,’ he said. ‘I’ll pick it up tomorrow.’

  Immediately he left the restaurant and returned to the shop. Less than five minutes had elapsed since the shooting. He called Homicide and reported in on the case.

  On Saturday Rafferty picked up the box from the checkroom and caught a subway to Times Square; there he took a cab to Rose’s apartment on lower Park Avenue. With his key, he opened the outer door, rode the elevator to the sixth floor, and let himself into the apartment. Rose was curled on the divan.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, without particular interest, when he entered. Then, noticing the large box he was carrying, she asked, ‘What’ve you got there?’

  ‘Something I saw,’ he said. ‘I thought maybe you’d like it.’

  The heavy tape held the sealed box tightly, and Rose ran the blade of her manicure scissors around the flap of the box. ‘I can’t imagine what it is,’ she said, ‘it’s so heavy.’ Laying the scissors to one side, she opened the ends of the heavy carton and lifted the furs from the box. She spread them in a robe over her knees and her hands caressed the silky, unforgettable softness of the pelts. No words came to her lips.

  ‘How do you like it?’ asked Rafferty.

  She nodded blindly. ‘It’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen,’ she answered. Rafferty sat on the divan beside her, putting his arms around her, pulling her to him. She turned her face aside, the makeup around her eyes wet and smeared. ‘I’m... a mes...’ she said, awkwardly.

  He laughed and kissed her forehead where the gilt and silver hair waved away from her face.’ There’s just one thing,’ he said. ‘Don’t try to insure it.’

  Quickly she dried her eyes. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked anxiously.’ Is it a hot coat, Emmet?’

  He shook his head and leaned back, easily, lighting a cigarette. ‘No... not exactly,’ he said, his voice casual. ‘But I got a good buy on it. Black market... sort of. No state or Federal taxes... on a coat like that they’re murder.’

  ‘Where’d you get it?’

  Rafferty shrugged. ‘Through a guy I know. I’ve got a lot of contacts... jewelers, furriers. Once in a while I do
somebody a favor, so they do me a favor too.’ He arose from the divan, holding her hand, drawing her to her feet. ‘Come on,’ he urged her, ‘try it on. You haven’t even tried it on yet.’

  She hurriedly slipped the coat over her shoulders and paraded before him, turning and pivoting as a model. ‘It’s gorgeous... absolutely gorgeous,’ she said. Then removing the coat, she held it carefully against her face and turned to him. ‘This isn’t... just something to shut me up about Katherine, is it?’

  The spell of the moment was broken. ‘For Christ sake! Can’t you forget about Katherine for a minute!’ He was angry, irritated. ‘It’s what you wanted. So you got it. I gave it to you.’ He made an effort to smooth out his voice, hoping to regain the suddenly lost happiness. ‘Now smile for me,’ he said, ‘that’s what I want.’

  She ignored his overture and walked to the mantel; abstractedly she began rearranging the miniature glass figures on it. ‘I called you yesterday,’ she said finally, ‘and I didn’t see you last night...’

  ‘I was on a job last night until pretty late,’ he replied.

  ‘Well... did you talk to Katherine?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said deliberately. ‘She won’t divorce me.’

  Suddenly, quiet closed in on the room. Rose stood motionless before the mantel, a small, chocolate terra-cotta figure held tightly in her hand. ‘You’re not lying?’ she asked finally.

  ‘Hell no!’

  Mechanically she replaced the figure and then walked toward him, seating herself in a chair across from the divan. He watched her carefully for signs of anger, but her face was smoothly expressionless as she looked through and past him, into thoughts that he couldn’t follow. Finally, she twisted her gaze back to his face. ‘If you told her you wanted a divorce and didn’t love her, what was her reason for not giving you a divorce?’