'Hello, Sergeant? This is Lieutenant Clancy ...'
'Lieutenant? Where you been? All hell's been breaking loose here. Assistant District Attorney Chalmers has been calling every five minutes. And also Captain -'
'Sergeant!' Clancy's voice was a snarl. 'Shut up and listen! Is Stanton there?'
'He just come in. But Lieutenant, I'm telling you -'
'Will you listen! Put Stanton on.'
There was resignation in the Sergeant's voice. 'O.K., Lieutenant. Just a second.'
Clancy waited impatiently, his eyes fixed on the rococo entrance to No. 1210. The stick-ball game had moved further along the street, accompanied by its noise; the fringe of the striped canopy waved gently in the warm breeze. Stanton's deep voice suddenly boomed in his ear.
'Hi, Lieutenant. Well, I went over that room and -' 'Stanton! Later! Right now I want you to break all speed records getting over to the corner of Columbus and 86th Street. I'm in a phone-booth in the drugstore at the corner. Southeast corner. I'll be watching for you. Make it fast!'
He hung up before Stanton could waste time asking questions, pushed himself out of the small confining booth, and moved over to the stand holding tattered telephone books. He twisted one free, opening it, but his hands were doing the job; his eyes were fixed on the entrance to No. 1210. Could she go out the back? She could if she wanted to crawl over a fence; there were no alleys or driveways there. Anyway, that was the chance he'd have to take - he couldn't be in two places at once.
There was a sharp jar on his shoulder; he turned to find a heavy-set woman in slacks and a fur stole eying him with disgust. He stepped aside, wondering at the outlandish outfit; she began leafing through the volume he had been toying with, muttering angrily under her breath. Clancy moved to the magazine rack, staring over it toward the entrance of No. 1210. Where the hell was Stanton? He didn't know how long it took a woman to dress, but it certainly didn't take all day!
A cab pulled up; Stanton climbed out. Clancy leaned over the rack precariously, tapping at the glass of the drugstore window. Stanton looked up, nodded, and slipped some change to the driver. Clancy edged his way back past the crowded stands, meeting Stanton at the door. He drew him away from the entrance toward the corner; they paused in the lee of a green newspaper-stand. Clancy spoke rapidly, his alert eyes never leaving the striped canopy.
‘It's a tail-job, Stan. I'll point her out. She'll be leaving that apartment down the street with the striped canopy. Her name is Ann Renick, age twenty-nine, height five-six, blonde, violet eyes. A real looker. Don't lose her under any circumstances. As soon as you can get a chance, give me a ring at the precinct; I'll be waiting for it. And I'll arrange a plain-clothes policewoman to meet you and give you a hand in case she tries to duck through a hat-store or a john or something ...'
'She know she's being tailed?'
'Right now she doesn't know anything. She's foggy, dazed. I gave her a hell of a shock, although I'm damned if I know how. Anyway, she may wake up and get wise. This woman is no fool, Stan.' He gripped the other's arm. 'This thing is hot. This Renick woman knows who - just a second! There she is, the one that just came out, standing waiting for a cab .. .' Clancy plunged a hand into a pocket. 'Here's the key to my car. It's just past her; you know it. Walk down to it, get in, and follow any cab she catches. And don't lose her.'
His last words were lost. Stanton had already struck out, crossing the street with his deceptively easy stride, passing the girl without a glance, and continuing on. The girl leaned over, waving impatiently from the curb, her bright blond hair glistening in the sun. As Clancy watched from his haven, a cab swooped in to the canopy; the girl bent over the driver, saying something, and then jumped into the rear seat. The cab took off; Stanton pulled away from the curb, swinging smoothly behind. The two cars disappeared around the corner.
Clancy rubbed his hands together with satisfaction. Action! Things were finally beginning to move; at least the beginnings of a case were shaping up into form from the fog surrounding him. Now back to the precinct to start checking on some of the other leads that were sure to follow. And then his face fell. Also back to the precinct to start facing the music - which was apt to be pretty much off-key. Chalmers! He grimaced humorlessly, shrugged, straightened his hat squarely on his head, and went to the curb to flag down a cab.
Saturday - 11:30 a.m.
Clancy pushed his way quickly through the precinct doors, his tiredness fading at the thought of work. The Sergeant looked up, his broad vein-ribbed face creased in a smile that neatly combined pleasure and relief.
'Boy, am I glad to see you in the flesh, Lieutenant! Everybody and his brother has been calling you every two minutes all morning! You want me to get Mr. Chalmers' office first? He's the one's been calling the most.'
Clancy waved the Sergeant to silence abruptly. 'No calls. Did Kaproski get back yet?'
'Yeah, he's here. But, Lieutenant, about those calls ...'
'I said, no calls! Send Kaproski into my office.' He paused, thinking, recalling the schedule his mind had mapped out during his return to the precinct. 'And have somebody go out and get me a copy of this morning's New York Times. I forgot.'
'Sure, Lieutenant. But Captain Wise has been calling, also. From his home ...'
Clancy stared at the wall. Where was that schedule he'd calculated so carefully? He rubbed his face wearily; five hours sleep in over two days just wasn't enough. 'All right, I'll talk to Captain Wise. Call him back at home. But nobody else.' He suddenly remembered another item on his mental list. 'Except Stanton. If he calls I want it and I want it fast. And line up a plain-clothes policewoman; Stanton may need her in a hurry.'
'Yes, sir.'
Clancy walked into his office, threw his hat on top of a filing cabinet and sat down, swinging his chair to stare blankly out of the window. A battery of overalls faced him, strung out on the sagging clothesline like children's cut-outs; he suddenly wondered if they were the same overalls he had seen the previous day, or different ones. He tried to remember if or when he had ever seen the clothesline there completely free from clothing; he couldn't. Possibly it was clear on Columbus Day, he thought; now where was I on Columbus Day?
There was a cough at the door; he swung around, nodding, and Kaproski came in carrying a bulky bundle under his arm. The telephone rang before they could speak; Clancy waved the large detective to a chair as he reached over to pick up the instrument.
'Hello. Who?' His face wiped away expression. 'Hello, Captain.'
The heavy voice at the other end, thickened by a bad cold, boomed at him in pure Brooklynese that Clancy normally enjoyed listening to. At the moment it grated on his ears. He closed his eyes. Let's get it over with, he prayed. Quickly. There's work to be done.
'Clancy, you black-Irish maniac! What are you, crazy or something? Here I am sick in bed, gripped up to my ears I can't even breathe good, yet, and I got to keep getting my ear bent by every big-shot in the department! What are you trying to do? Give me ulcers on top of everything else?'
'What do you mean, Captain?'
There was a sharp, suspicious intake of breath. 'And what's all this "Captain" crap? Since when did you suddenly start calling me "Captain"? Since when wasn't I "Sam" to you? Why all this sudden formality all of a sudden, if I may ask?'
'All right, Sam. What's on your mind?'
'What's on my mind, he asks! What's on my mind! He snatches the hottest bum since that bum Hitler, hides him God alone couldn't find him, and then he asks me just like this, what's on my mind!' The gravelly voice suddenly dropped, becoming persuasive. 'Look, Clancy, we're old friends. If you don't feel so good, your head hurts or something, you should tell your old friends. Who else is going to help you, huh? Who else is going to be an old friend if it isn't an old friend, huh? Answer me that.'
Clancy glanced wearily across the battered desk at Kaproski. The big detective was waiting patiently, nursing the bulky bundle as if it were a child sleeping in his arms. Clancy returned his mart
yred gaze to the telephone receiver.
'I feel fine, Sam.'
'You feel fine,' The deep rasping voice was outraged at Clancy's fitness. 'That's great. I'm glad you feel fine. I don't suppose that you know that Mr. High-Nose Chalmers of the District Attorney's Office has checked on every hospital, first-aid station, nursing home, and sanitarium within one-hundred miles without locating Mr. Johnny Rossi? I don't suppose you know that Mr. Big-Mouth Chalmers has been screaming to the Mayor, the Commissioner, and the Chief, do you ? I don't suppose you know, you stupid you, that your job is on the line, do you? You feel fine!' There was a groan from the telephone. 'What's the matter, Clancy; you've gone nuts all at one time?'
Clancy could picture the stocky figure gripping the telephone, a mountain looming from the crumpled covers of his big bed, flanked in his incarceration by chicken-soup and cough medicines and a fluttering wife. He took a deep breath.
'Sam, how long have you known me?'
'What's that got to do with it?' There was a pause; when the deep throaty voice continued it was softer. 'You know how long, Clancy. A long time. Since kids in the old neighborhood ...'
Yes, Clancy thought; since kids in the old neighborhood, when the fat boy moved over from Brooklyn ... Sammy Wise, who had liked Clancy on sight, admiring his quick intelligence, and who had often interposed his bulk between Clancy and the other youths of the neighborhood when they ganged up on him .. . The old neighborhood, brought back by the sight of a brownstone-front and the gravel voice of Captain Sam Wise, reminding him ... The old neighborhood; a strong humorous mother and a father who was the only Irish pants-presser in the garment district…
Clancy suddenly yawned. Christ, he thought, I'll fall asleep on myself. The rasping voice on the telephone continued.
'... And you know as well as I do that if it wasn't for that momser Chalmers I'd be calling you "Captain" instead of the other way around. That's how long I know you,' it added in complete non sequitur, and then asked suspiciously, 'So?'
'So I want twenty-four hours, Sam. Without Chalmers breathing down my neck. Can you get me twenty-four hours?'
'Do you want to tell me about it, Clancy?'
'I'd rather not, Sam. Not just yet.' Clancy sighed. 'Can you get me twenty-four hours?'
'I can try.'
'I'd appreciate it.'
Captain Wise took a deep breath. 'All right, Clancy. You never did anything meshuga before, and I know you, so you must have a good reason for doing it now. I'll hold the wolves off as long as I can, but I'm in a sickbed here, you understand, and I can't guarantee anything. And even if I do hold them off, you know it won't be for long.'
'Thanks, Captain.'
'You're welcome, Lieutenant. I just hope you know what you're doing.'
Clancy stared at the telephone.
'Yeah,' he said. 'I'll keep in touch.'
'You do that, Clancy. And I'll do the best I can.' There was a pause and then quiet affection crept into the heavy voice. 'Good luck, Clancy. Mazel.' There was a click from the telephone.
Clancy hung up and swung around to Kaproski. The big detective placed his bundle on the desk and began stripping paper from it. Clancy looked up at him.
'What's that?'
'Doctor's outfit. Complete.' Kaproski's voice revealed his satisfaction. He folded back the brown paper, disclosing a pile of white clothing. A cotton skullcap and face-mask lay on top, together with a pair of white tennis-shoes.
Clancy fingered them. 'Where did you find them?'
'They got a boiler-room in this hospital, on the first floor in the back, with one of them automatic boilers. This stuff was jammed underneath it, not even out of sight. The thing - this boiler thing - stands a couple of feet clear of the floor.' He paused, remembering. 'And there's a door there, too; leads from the boiler-room to the back alley outside. It wasn't closed.'
'You mean it was open?'
'Not open open,' Kaproski explained. 'Unlocked. Anybody could have come in or out.'
'Was it usually like that?'
'Just about always, I guess.'
Clancy frowned. 'Don't they have a maintenance man that always stays around the boiler?'
'They got a maintenance man, but he was up on one of the floors fixing a faucet or something around the time Rossi caught it, near as I could figure. He's the night man. But he ain't down there much, anyways. Like I said this boiler's one of them automatic deals. Practically runs itself.'
Clancy thought awhile. He fingered the pile of clothing. 'Anybody recognize this stuff?'
'Yeah.' Kaproski leaned over, dug into the pile and came up with a white jacket. Two letters were hemstitched in red thread over a pocket. 'There's a locker-room next to this boiler-room, where the doctors change their clothes. I checked on the lockers and this stuff come out of the locker belongs to a Doctor P. Mills. P for Paul. He's on vacation; been gone about ten days. He's due back in a couple of days.'
'Were the lockers locked?'
Kaproski shook his head in disgust. 'Naw. I'm telling you, nothing's locked in that joint.'
Clancy frowned in thought, it seems simple enough on the surface, but even so ... Even knowing from the ambulance at the hotel where Rossi was taken, it seems like a pretty chancy way to knock a guy off. It's quite a gamble, finding a doctor's outfit where you want it and when you want it. I don't know .. .'
'I'm not so sure, Lieutenant,' Kaproski said. 'Anyplace but this, maybe I'd agree with you, but this place ain't like Mount Sinai or Bellevue. There ain't hardly nobody around the place - no regular floor nurses, no nothing. And they don't lock nothing up. A guy could case the joint in perfect safety. Hell, you could probably walk out with a couple of rooms full of furniture and nobody would know.'
'Yeah,' Clancy said slowly. 'How about the knife?'
'Well, we didn't pull it out of him, of course,' Kaproski said. 'We put him down in that storeroom just as he was, but it looked like a regular bread-knife. They got a kitchen there, but the cook is out half the time, and everybody wanders in and out getting coffee or making a sandwich for themselves - and nobody knows what knives they got or don't have. I'm telling you, this place is Liberty Hall. It ain't like Bellevue or Mount Sinai.' A touch of apology for the place crept into his voice. 'Well, hell; it ain't a regular hospital, it's more a nursing ...'
'Yeah,' Clancy said. A policeman came in, laying a copy of the New York Times on the table. Clancy sat thinking for several minutes; Kaproski waited. Finally Clancy sighed, shoved the pile of white clothing to one side, and reached for the folded newspaper. 'I have another job for you, Kap. An important one.'
'Sure. What is it?'
'Just a second.' Clancy opened the paper, flipped through the pages to the one he wanted, and doubled the page over. He laid it back on the desk and ran his finger down the list he wanted; a list of daily sailing schedules covering several days. Kaproski hoisted himself to his feet, bending over the desk, watching the Lieutenant's finger. Clancy gave a snort of pure disgust.
'Hell! There must be thirty ships sailing out of here in the next few days!' He studied the list a few moments longer, his forehead puckered in a frown. 'Every line in the world going every place in the world!'
'Well, sure,' Kaproski said, it's a big port. It's the biggest port in the world.' He almost sounded proud.
Clancy stared at the newspaper bitterly. 'That's great. For once I wish it was a little smaller.' He ran his finger down the list again and then gave up, swiveling his chair to Kaproski.
'O.K., Kap - here's your job. I want you to check out all the travel agencies in the neighborhood of West 86th Street and Columbus Avenue. Make a list from the yellow pages of the phone book; check the closest ones first. Of course she may have gotten them from a downtown agency, but the chances are she picked a small one, right in the neighborhood.'
'Sure, Lieutenant,' Kaproski said. 'But who's she? And what am I checking for?'
'Somebody bought two tickets for Europe by steamer, and probably a first-class cabin
for two. The name could be Renick, or it might not be.' He hesitated, remembering the happy carefree face of the girl when they first met. 'I have a feeling it is, but I could be wrong. Anyway, the woman who bought them is twenty-nine years old, blonde violet eyes, five-six in height; a real beauty. I want to know in what name the tickets were bought; and if they were bought in the name Renick, I want to know who the other ticket is for. If you locate the agency that sold them, they may still have the passports. Or they may remember.' He drummed the table a moment staring down at the newspaper. 'And where they are for and when they sail, of course.'
'Right.' Kaproski was scribbling rapidly in his notebook, his big fist dwarfing the slender pencil. He looked up. 'How about checking with the steamship lines directly?'
‘If you want to start there, you can. If the tickets were in the name Renick, they'll be able to help. But if the tickets were bought in any other name, of course, the only way to get anywhere is with the description. And only the agency can help you there.'
'Right. I'll see what I can dig out.' Kaproski hesitated. 'Do you have any idea at all when they were going to sail?'
'No. One of these days soon, I'd guess. The girl mentioned last-minute shopping, and last-minute packing, but I don't know ...' Not for the first time Clancy regretted his lack of knowledge concerning women. 'I don't know if a woman does her last-minute shopping a day before or a month before she goes somewhere.'
'But it was to Europe?'
'I'm pretty sure of that. I don't think she was giving me the magoo at that point. I'd forget any steamship line going anywhere else, at least for the time being.' He leaned over, tearing the list of sailings from the paper and handing it to Kaproski. 'Hop to it.'
Kaproski straightened up. 'Right.' He tucked his notebook into his pocket together with the list and went out. Clancy swung around, picking up the telephone.
'Sergeant; I want to talk to the I.D. man in the Los Angeles Police Department.'
Mute Witness Page 7