Mute Witness

by Robert L. Pike

  'Hello? Doc, are you there?'

  There was a prodigious yawn from the telephone. 'I'm here. Who did you think answered the telephone? So who are you and what do you want? And why? At this hour?'

  'Doc, this is Lieutenant Clancy. You know, from the 52nd . ..'

  'Yeah, I know. I wish I didn't.' There was a heartfelt sigh, followed by another gasping, shuddering yawn. 'Well, what's the matter? You called me to talk, didn't you? So talk.'

  'Doc, wake up, will you? Put on your pants. I'll pick you up at your place in fifteen minutes.'

  'Clancy, do you know what time it is? You're a nuisance. A pest. Pick me up? First tell me why.' There was another deep yawn ending in a wild fit of coughing. 'I got to stop smoking. Cigarettes are killing me. Well, who's dead and how was he killed?'

  'He's alive, Doc ...'

  'Alive?' There was a moment's shocked pause. 'Clancy, let me go to sleep, will you? I'm a pathologist.' There was a pause. 'Call me when he's dead.'

  'Doc! Wake up! I need a doctor. There's a - oh, hell! I'll tell you about it when I see you!'

  He slammed the phone down, jumped from bed, and hurriedly began dressing. As always, his clothes were tossed in a heap on a chair in the corner; the thought occurred to him as he slipped into them that his method made dressing rapid, even though it did the clothes themselves no good. He shrugged; neatness was for businessmen. Moments later he had locked his apartment and was dropping down the elevator to the street. He rubbed his neck to ease the tension there, conscious of the soft bed he had left behind, and conscious also of the weariness that seemed soaked into him. Someday, he promised himself, I'm going to ask for a transfer to Records and work from eight to five with an even hour for lunch…

  His car was parked in a lot a block down the street; he walked to it swiftly, got in, and shot down the empty streets of past-midnight uptown New York. Ten minutes later he was drawing up before Doc Freeman's apartment building. To his complete surprise, the short, stocky doctor was waiting. He climbed heavily into the car beside Clancy, placed his medical bag carefully between his feet, and reached into a pocket for a cigarette as the Lieutenant slammed the car into gear and raced away from the curb. He lit his cigarette, flicked the match out of the window and turned, his small sharp eyes surveying the other.

  'All right, Clancy. What's the story?'

  Clancy swerved around a corner, picking up speed. A water- truck ahead was sprinkling the streets; Clancy cut around it, his tires sucking thirstily at the wet pavement. He glanced up from the racing asphalt a second, turning to his companion.

  'Doc, there's a sick man I want you to take a look at.’

  ‘Who?'

  Clancy hesitated a moment. 'Can you keep it quiet?'

  'Me? God, no.' Doc Freeman sucked at his cigarette, and tossed it out the window. 'The next stiff I do an autopsy on will have the whole story. Who is it?'

  'Rossi. Johnny Rossi.'

  Doc Freeman whistled. 'Are we talking about the same Johnny Rossi? The west-coast hood? He's in New York?'

  'That's right.'

  'And we're keeping momsers like that alive, now?'

  Clancy turned into Broadway with squealing tires. At that hour of the early morning an occasional truck rumbling down the divided street was the only movement. Light puddled on the empty asphalt from the corner lampposts, throwing banded reflections in wavering lines across the hood of the car; the muffled clatter of the subway came to them softly from a corner grillwork, dying away immediately to leave them in silence. Clancy shifted gears and stepped on the gas.

  ‘It's a long story, Doc. He claims he's here to spill to the New York State Crime Commission next Tuesday, and our job is to keep him alive until then. Don't ask me why he's going to spill, or what he's going to spill, because I don't know. Anyway, he's hiding out at the Farnsworth Hotel up here under an assumed name. Kaproski was with him when he took sick, and he called me and I didn't know who else to call except you. We don't want some outside doctor looking at him; nobody is even supposed to know he's in town. So -'

  He turned from Broadway into 93rd Street, slowing down as he approached West End. The traffic-light was in his favor; he gunned the motor, so intent on making the light that it was not until he had passed the corner that he noticed the commotion. With a muffled curse he jammed on his brakes, swerving violently into the curb, and jumped from the car.

  Lights blazed from the lobby of the small hotel; despite the hour and the neighborhood a group of people stood about the sidewalk talking excitedly. An ambulance was angled in sharply before the hotel, its motor still running, its headlights illuminating the scene; two attendants in white were hastily sliding a stretcher into the rear. A white-faced Kaproski stood at their sides, clenching and unclenching his fists.

  Even as Clancy came trotting up, one of the attendants jumped inside with the stretcher and reached out, grasping the door and pulling it shut behind him; his partner sprinted forward, climbing into the driver's seat. Clancy passed Kaproski without speaking, running to the front of the ambulance. He thrust his face toward the driver.

  'What ...?'

  The driver was already shifting gears anxiously. 'Look, mister; no time for talk now if we want to save this guy's life ...'

  His voice trailed off; the ambulance was already in motion. Clancy was forced to jump aside. He watched it careen away and then turned to find Kaproski at his side.

  'All right, Kaproski.' Lieutenant Clancy's eyes were black with suppressed fury; his voice was edged. 'I thought I told you to wait until I found a doctor and got over here. Since when don't you pay any attention to what I tell you?'

  Kaproski's voice was high. 'You don't understand, Lieutenant . . .'

  'You're damned right I don't understand! All I understand is that you didn't obey your orders. And why aren't you in that ambulance with him? You weren't supposed to let him get out of your sight. You were supposed to be guarding him!'

  Kaproski swallowed nervously. 'Jeez, Lieutenant, let me talk, will you? I had to wait for you. I had to tell you what happened.’

  ‘All right,' Clancy said harshly, his eyes boring mercilessly into Kaproski's. 'Tell me. But make it quick.'

  Kaproski looked unhappy. 'Well, about five-six minutes after I got through talking to you, this Rossi character really starts moaning and grabbing his belly, so I figured I'd better get hold of a bellhop with some ice cubes. You know, to put on his gut just in case. So I calls downstairs. Well, when somebody comes knocking on the door a couple of minutes later, naturally I thought it was the bellhop . ..' He stared down at his shoes, his voice trailing off.

  'And?'

  Kaproski scuffed his large shoe against the curb. His face was red. 'Well, I didn't check. I guess I wasn't thinking. I just unlatched the chain ...'

  Clancy exploded. 'Damn it, talk! Do I have to drag it out of you? What happened?'

  Kaproski took a deep breath. 'And some hood with a kind of scarf over his face shoved a shotgun through the door and blasted. He slammed the door and by the time I got it open and got out the hall was empty. I figured it was better to go back and see how Rossi was doing instead of taking off after this character with the gun, so I did, and - well, Rossi caught himself a big dose of the blast. I knew you were already on your way; no sense in calling you ...'

  'So?'

  'So I called the Uptown Private Hospital - they're only over here at West End and 98th. They're the closest. And the smallest. I figured you wouldn't want him in a big hospital where he could maybe be spotted by somebody.' His voice stiffened a bit in self-defense. 'Jeez, Lieutenant, you didn't see him. I couldn't wait. He was a mess. He was bleeding like a stuck pig.'

  'So you left him without a guard just to wait for me. And right after somebody just got through taking a crack at him!' Clancy's face was black with anger. He swung around, brusquely pushing his way through the glass doors of the hotel lobby with Kaproski at his heels.

  'Well, Jeez, Lieutenant; nobody was supposed to know he w
as here ...'

  'Only somebody did know!'

  He stamped up to the small desk in the lobby; the night clerk, a young boy with pimpled face and a uniform much too big for him, hurried over from the windows where he had been watching the excitement in the street. Clancy picked up the desk phone with a jerk, waving the youth toward the PX board in the corner.

  'Let's have a line.'

  The clerk sat down hurriedly, fumbling with cords. Clancy dialed and then waited, his jaw clenched.

  'Hello? Fifty-second Precinct ...'

  'Sergeant? This is Lieutenant Clancy. Are any of the boys around? What? None of them? Well, pick a patrolman, then; one who's wide-awake. Who? Barnett? Well, all right. Get him over to the Uptown Private Hospital on the double. No; I'll meet him in the lobby. I'll tell him when I see him. We'll fill in the blotter in the morning. That's right. And tell him not to drag his feet. I'll be waiting.'

  He hung up, turned from the desk, and then turned back. His eyes were cold on the young desk clerk listening from his corner with open mouth. 'You. This is police business. Anything you heard here tonight, keep to yourself. Don't talk to anybody. Do you understand?'

  The desk clerk nodded wordlessly, his eyes big.

  'Good.' Clancy turned and walked out of the hotel, Kaproski tagging along. Doc Freeman was still waiting at the curb, his bag in hand. His eyebrows raised as Clancy came down the two steps to the street level and started toward his car.

  ‘Where are you heading for, Clancy?'

  'The hospital, of course.'

  'Do you want me to come along?'

  Clancy paused, considering. 'I don't think so, Doc. They'll take care of him over there.' His eyes came up. 'You go back to sleep. I'm sorry I woke you up for nothing.'

  Kaproski edged forward, clearing his throat nervously. 'How about me, Lieutenant?'

  Clancy stared at the big detective, biting back the first bitter retort that rose to his lips. What was done, was done; he forced his mind to the problem that existed. 'How good a look did you get at this character with the gun?'

  'Almost nothing.' Kaproski shook his head. 'A blur - an impression, like. I'd say a dark suit with a white scarf thing around his face. I don't even know if he was tall or short; he could have been bent over. It all happened too fast.'

  'Yeah. Well, you seal that room and then do a general check on the place. I don't think you'll find anything, but maybe the punk ducked the gun someplace in the hotel.' His voice was bitter. 'The chances are he's probably tucked in bed by now, or down at the corner having a beer.' His eyes came up, hard. 'I'll see you at the precinct tomorrow morning. This morning. Early. At seven.'

  'I'll be there.' Kaproski hesitated. 'Jeez, Lieutenant, I'm sorry about this.'

  'You should be.' He climbed into his car, slid the key into the ignition. 'Come on, Doc. I'll drop you at a cab-stand.'

  They pulled away from the curb. Doc Freeman glanced over at the frozen profile of Clancy, hunched over the wheel. 'You were pretty rough on Kaproski, Clancy.'

  Clancy's lip curled savagely. 'Not as rough as Chalmers is going to be on me when he finds out about this.'

  'After all,' Doc said reasonably, 'Kap only did what most anyone else would have done. It was just one of those tough He paused. 'Did you say Chalmers?'

  'That's what I said.'

  'Did he give you this watchdog job?'

  'Oh, I got it officially enough,' Clancy said. 'Sam Wise called me - he's home sick in bed - but Chalmers is the one who arranged it.'

  'Oh.' Like everyone else on the police force, Doc Freeman was familiar with the history of Clancy's transfer to the 52nd. 'That's too bad. Chalmers isn't the most reasonable person in the world. He'll do everything in his power to make you look bad over this.'

  Clancy stared at the road before him. 'I look bad enough without his help.' He glanced up, a faint smile crossing his lips. 'Don't let it worry you, Doc. The worst they can do is bust me, and right now a Desk Sergeant's job looks pretty good. At least I'd get to sleep nights.'

  Doc Freeman reached into a pocket and came up with a cigarette; he leaned over to press the cigarette-lighter on the instrument panel. Clancy dug out a pad of matches and handed them over.

  'That doesn't work.' He shook his head, his smile disappearing, his jaw tightening. 'Christ! Some days nothing works!'

  Doc Freeman lit his cigarette and looked at the hard face of the man driving the car.

  'Take it easy, Clancy. Relax. It was just one of those tough breaks. And Chalmers won't be able to do anything - Kaproski will tell him what happened.'

  Clancy's jaw tightened. 'I'm still the Lieutenant in this precinct,' he said evenly, 'and not Kaproski. I take my own responsibilities.'

  'Well, don't worry about it until you have to.' Doc Freeman took a deep drag on his cigarette and leaned back. 'The way Kaproski talked, this Rossi isn't dead yet. And from what I hear, the Rossi brothers are pretty tough monkeys.'

  Clancy's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.

  'Yeah,' he said without expression, staring through the windshield. 'They're all tough monkeys. Until they lose those precious ten pints…’

  Saturday - 3:45 a.m.

  Uptown Private Hospital was a narrow converted apartment building standing twelve stories high on West End Avenue. Clancy parked as close to the hospital entrance as he could and walked back. The ambulance was not in sight, probably either parked in the rear area or out on another call. He shrugged and walked through the swinging glass doors into the small lobby.

  The conversion from apartment-house standards included soft-tinted walls holding colorful modern prints, a desk, and several couches along one wall upholstered in brightly-printed cottons. A stack of recent magazines were geometrically piled on a low table set before the couches. The desk, covered with papers and charts, stood unattended behind a low polished wooden railing, flanked by a battery of shining file cabinets. Clancy glanced about the empty lobby, wondering how to attract some attention, when the doors of a small self-operated elevator set in the rear wall slid silently open and a nurse stepped out. The doors closed quietly behind her.

  'Miss ...'

  She paused, a pretty young woman with steady gray eyes that studied her visitor calmly. 'Yes?'

  Clancy walked forward, his crumpled hat in his hand. 'You have a gunshot wound case here from the Farnsworth Hotel. I wonder if you could tell me how his condition is?'

  She walked over, seated herself neatly at the desk, and shuffled through some of the forms. 'Do you mean Mr Randall?'

  'That's right.'

  Her eyes came up. 'Are you a relative?'

  Clancy hesitated. Then his hand delved into a pocket, bringing out his billfold. He flipped it open, pushing it in her direction. 'I'm Lieutenant Clancy, from the 52nd Precinct.'

  'Oh.' She nodded in understanding. 'He's in surgery right now, Lieutenant. We won't know until Dr Willard is finished.'

  'I see. Do you know how long -'

  The sound of the doors behind him being pushed open caused Clancy to turn; a large patrolman was tramping across the patterned tile floor. Clancy nodded in satisfaction.

  'Hello, Frank. I've got a job for you here.'

  'Hello, Lieutenant. I know; the Sergeant told me. What do you want me to do?'

  'There's a man upstairs in surgery right now. I want you to go up there and wait outside the operating room until they bring him out; then I want you to plonk yourself in front of his room and see to it that he stays in good health.'

  The tall patrolman nodded. He placed a hand against his service revolver almost unconsciously. 'I get you, Lieutenant. You want me to plug him if he tries to escape?'

  Clancy shook his head wearily, 'No. He's been plugged once too often already. And he isn't going to try to escape. You're there to see that nobody else plugs him.'

  'Right, Lieutenant.' The hand dropped away from the service revolver; the patrolman turned to the nurse with a question in his eyes.

  'Surgery's on the sev
enth floor,' she said quietly.

  'Right.' He walked over to the elevator with a hint of a swagger, got in and pressed a button. The doors closed soundlessly behind him. Clancy turned back to the girl.

  ‘Now, Miss…’

  The swinging glass doors to the lobby were shoved open once again; this time with a loud bang. Footsteps clattered across the tile floor; a hand grasped Clancy roughly by the arm. Assistant District Attorney Chalmers' eyes were wild; he was seething.

  'Lieutenant, if anything happens to my witness…’

  Clancy tore his arm loose. And then he frowned; his eyes narrowed. 'What are you doing here, Chalmers?'

  'What do you mean, what am I doing here? A witness of mine shot, and you ask -'

  'I mean, how did you hear about this? So soon?'

  'How did I - that's something! That's really something! Did you hope to keep it a secret, Lieutenant?'

  Clancy clenched his jaw; the pretty nurse was watching this interchange with curiosity. 'Chalmers, either you answer my question or I'm going to create a scandal by hitting an Assistant District Attorney! How did you hear about this shooting?'

  The Assistant District Attorney's mouth fell open in disbelief.

  'You'll do what? Hit me?'

  Clancy stepped forward; his taut fingers dug fiercely into the other's arm. 'Chalmers, I'm asking you for the last time - how did you hear about this shooting?'

  Chalmers tugged backward, glancing down at his sleeve almost as if he were more concerned about possible damage to his suit than to his dignity. 'The hotel manager telephoned me, of course. Now you see here, Lieutenant…’

  'The hotel manager, eh? That's fine. Did you tell him who Randall really was? Well, did you?'

  Chalmers paused in his tug-of-war to stare at Clancy incredulously. 'Of course I didn't!'

  Clancy continued to grip the other's arm for a moment, and then flung it down. 'Somebody knew who he was and where he was. Well then, outside of your flashy secretary, who else could have known?'