'Sure,' Stanton said. 'I didn't have any other leads. The floor-maids on those floors don't remember any blondes walking around at that hour. One of them, on the fifth floor, said she had a couple of guests who were blond, but the descriptions she gave didn't sound like the Renick woman, or even close.' He shrugged. 'I guess they must see so many different faces they don't even notice them after a while.'
'Did you get a guest-list for those two floors?'
'Yeah, from the desk.' Stanton reached into an inner jacket pocket, pulling out some papers. He sorted through them and then placed two mimeographed sheets before Clancy and then leaned over the desk, pointing, explaining. 'The ones with circles around the room-numbers are checkouts. Before I got back there the second time.'
Clancy picked up the sheets, running his eye rapidly down the top one. It was for the fifth floor; his eye automatically stopped at the R's. The sheet listed four: Reed, H.B.; Reinhardt, P. & Wife; Roland, J. & Wife; and Rykind, J.M. & Wife. He slipped the sheet in back of the other and ran his eye down the page for the sixth floor. Only one R faced him: Rhamghay, N.D. No circles appeared before any of the names.
His eyes came up. 'Did you check on any of these names beginning with an R?' i didn't have time,' Stanton said. 'I was just finishing up at the desk when the house man comes along and says you want me to meet you right away. Over on West End.'
'Yeah.' Clancy laid the sheets down, studied them a moment, and then circled the last two names listed for the fifth floor under the initial R. He turned to Kaproski, sliding the papers across the desk.
'Kap, call the house detective at the New Yorker. I want to check on these two names. Anything he can get me, but quickly. Descriptions if possible, when they checked in - stuff like that. And do it from another phone. I want to keep this one clear.'
'Right.' Kaproski heaved himself to his feet, reaching for the lists.
'And tell him I don't need their life-histories,' Clancy added. 'Just the stuff he can get in a few minutes.' He thought a moment. 'Maybe you ought to hang on the phone until he gets it.'
'Right,' Kaproski said. He picked up the sheets and went out.
Doc Freeman cleared his throat. 'Do you have anything, Clancy?'
'I don't know,' Clancy said wearily. 'Probably not. I'm just picking at straws now.' He stuck a hand in his pocket, searching for a cigarette, remembered once again he had none. Doc Freeman slid a pack across the desk to him. Clancy pulled one out, held a match to it, and then flicked the match in the general direction of the wastebasket.
'Thanks, Doc.' He turned back to Stanton. 'All right, let's go on. How did you make out at the mail-desk?'
'A complete flop,' Stanton said. 'They don't remember her, or her letters, or anything.'
Clancy stared at him. 'That's all?'
'That's all.'
Clancy leaned over the desk. 'Did you find the right clerk?’
“I found the right clerk. It was the same one, and I seen her when I was there the first time. But it's a big hotel,' Stanton said a bit apologetically. 'They get a lot of mail in and out over that counter, Lieutenant. All day long.' He shrugged. 'Personally I don't think they even see faces; just hands.'
'Yeah,' Clancy said. He knocked the ash from his cigarette, frowned at it, and then crushed the almost-complete cigarette out in the ashtray viciously. Silence fell in the small room. Stanton finally broke it, clearing his throat.
'What do we do now, Lieutenant?'
Clancy stared at him broodingly. 'That's a good question. That's a very good question.' He swiveled his chair around to look at Doc Freeman. 'Doc; why don't you go home?'
Doc Freeman smiled at him.
'Because I'm going to stick with you for about another hour at the most, and then I'm going to take you by the scruff of the neck and put you to bed if I have to give you an injection first. You don't know it, but you're falling asleep on your feet.'
'I'm falling asleep in my head,' Clancy said sourly. He leaned forward, picking up his pencil, staring at his pad of notes. Other than the notation 'drinks,' the name Renick, and the name New Yorker, the paper was covered with a mass of meaningless doodles. He leaned back, twiddling the pencil. 'God knows I've got a lot of facts; too many, as a matter of fact. Only they don't fit; they don't make sense. Just about the time I think I'm seeing some light in the mess, something else comes along to screw up the detail.'
'Sleep,' Doc Freeman said. 'That's what you need.'
'And a good meal,' Stanton added earnestly. 'When's the last time you ate, Lieutenant?' He paused, trying not to sound personal. 'When's the last time any of us ate?'
'Clancy,' Doc Freeman said imploringly, 'why don't you give it up? Call Captain Wise and tell him the whole story.
Everything.
Then let Homicide take over. And then come out with me and have a couple of good strong drinks, and I'll see to it you're tucked in bed for the night. You're too good a man to kill yourself this way.'
'Yeah,' Clancy said, staring at his pad of notes. 'I'm a good man, all right. I'm a holy wonder.' He twiddled the pencil, frowning at it. 'Maybe if I'd have called in Homicide right off the bat, when Rossi was found in the hospital, we would have been farther ahead ...'
His fingers suddenly tightened on the pencil; he flung it from him in anger. 'No! Not with Chalmers involved in the deal. He would have managed to see that the thing was screwed up even worse than it is .. .'
'Clancy, listen to me…'
'You're all right, Doc, but the answer is no.' Clancy forced a smile. 'Give me another cigarette.' Kaproski came into the room as he was lighting up; he shook out the match and glanced up at the large detective.
'Well?'
'The house dick knows this Rykind character,' Kaproski reported. 'Everybody at the hotel does; he's been living there for the past six months or more. An old guy with a tall, skinny wife bigger than him. He does something at the UN, the house dick thinks.' He frowned. 'This Roland character is a new one, though. He just checked out, by the way.'
'When?'
'Just now. Inside of the last fifteen minutes. Him and his wife, both.' Kaproski glanced down at the paper in his hand. 'The cashier still remembered him; she said he was a musical-type guy. Beatnik, you know. Beard, dark glasses, all that stuff. The wife was blonde; short but stacked, if you want to take the cashier's word for it.' He looked at the paper again. 'They had six pieces of luggage between them.'
A memory was itching at the back of Clancy's mind. Where had he seen a man with a beard and dark glasses? Somewhere…and in connection with the case. At the hospital? No…his eyes suddenly narrowed; that was the description of the man who had pushed past him into the reconverted brownstone when he had first visited Ann Renick; the rude bastard. He sighed deeply. It was probably also the description of half the inhabitants of reconverted brownstone-fronts all over New York City. He turned back to Kaproski.
'Did the doorman hear where they were going?'
'No; he was too busy loading the trunk. And he didn't recognize the driver, either. It was a Yellow, but that's all he noticed.' Kaproski leaned over the desk. 'We can find the cab easy enough, Lieutenant. From his route-sheets when he checks into the garage tonight after work. It's simple.'
'Yeah,' Clancy said bitterly. 'Or tomorrow.' He banged his fist on the desk. 'Time! That's the problem, don't you understand? We don't have time to wait for cab-drivers to check into garages; or for anything else, either! Time . ..' He sighed, fighting off his feeling of depression and frustration. 'You're right, of course, Kap. Well; if we don't get anything else tonight, we'll check on the garage.'
Doc Freeman frowned. 'Who's this Roland?'
Clancy looked at him. 'Probably the first violinist of the Philharmonic catching a train from Penn Station for Philadelphia. Or a sign-painter from Weehawken. With his short but stacked wife. I told you I was catching at straws.' He pulled himself to his feet, reaching over to the filing cabinet for his hat. 'Well, let's get on our way.'
'Where?
' Doc Freeman asked.
'To eat?' Stanton asked.
'Down to Centre Street,' Clancy said. 'That picture ought to be coming in on the teletype by now.' He looked at the others evenly. 'Unless somebody has a better idea?' There was utter silence.
'That's what I thought,' Clancy said flatly, and led the way from the room.
CHAPTER NINE
Saturday - 10:25 p.m.
The four men trudged up the broad steps of the Centre Street Headquarters, separating every now and then to let strangers trot down. They pushed through the heavy doors at the top and regrouped, looking about the familiar lobby. People wandered about aimlessly; a reporter Clancy recognized was standing at the bulletin board copying something into his notebook. The policeman seated at the Information Desk spotted Clancy and called to him.
'Hi, Lieutenant. You want to see Captain Wise?'
Clancy walked to the desk, surprised. 'Captain Wise? What's he doing here? He's supposed to be home in bed - sick.'
The policeman shrugged. 'We'll, he come in a little while ago. He's in Inspector Clayton's office.'
'I guess I'll have to see him then,' Clancy said unenthusiastically. He turned to the other three. 'Kap, you go down to the teletype room and wait for that picture. Bring it to me in Inspector Clayton's office.'
'When will it get here, Lieutenant?'
Clancy glared at him. All of the weariness and disappointment and frustration of that long day suddenly seemed to boil up in him; he exploded, it'll get here when it gets here! Why in the name of God don't you learn to do things when you're told, without a million questions!'
Kaproski's eyes widened, showing hurt. 'I was only just asking, Lieutenant.'
Clancy rubbed his hand over his face.
'I'm sorry, Kap. I haven't any right to talk to you that way, or to anyone else. God knows you've done as much work on this case as I have, and a lot better work, too. You'll just have to accept my apology. I'm a little on edge. I'm sorry, Kap.'
Kaproski's heavy features softened. 'That's all right, Lieutenant. You're just tired, is all.'
Clancy looked up at the big solicitous face. 'How about you? You've been up as long as me. Probably longer.'
'Me? I'm a tough Polack.' Kaproski grinned. 'I'll wait for the picture in the teletype room, Lieutenant.'
He strode off down the hall, side-stepping passersby alertly, his wide shoulders a bit straighter for Clancy's words. Doc Freeman glanced at the Lieutenant curiously.
'You're a funny guy, Clancy.'
'Hilarious,' Clancy agreed.
'I don't mean about Kaproski. I mean, what do you want to see Sam Wise for?' Doc Freeman shook his head in non- understanding. 'Haven't you had enough cops-and-robbers for one day? If Sam's in with the Inspector, all you're going to be asking for is grief, going in there. Why don't we tell Kaproski to bring that picture down to that little Italian restaurant in the next block? At least that way we can be having something to eat while we're waiting.'
'Sure,' Stanton said in complete accord. 'That's an idea, Lieutenant.'
'You two go ahead,' Clancy said. 'I don't feel hungry. I really ought to see the Captain anyway.'
'Why?' Doc Freeman persisted. 'Give me one good reason.'
Clancy stared at the pudgy figure evenly. 'Look, Doc, I appreciate what you think you're doing for me, but if you really want to do me a favor, go home. Don't be a mother to me; just go home. Get off my back. Go home.'
'Meshuga,' Doc Freeman muttered. He turned to Stanton. 'All right, Stanton. Let's go out and eat. You heard the Lieutenant.'
Stanton hesitated and then shook his head sadly. 'You go ahead, Doc. I'm sticking with the Lieutenant.'
'Jesus Christ!' Doc Freeman sounded disgusted. 'This is touching enough to make a man vomit!' He looked up with a sigh. 'All right, Clancy. Go down and see Captain Wise. Get your head handed to you. We'll wait for you here.'
The faintest of smiles broke the drawn lines on Clancy's face. 'There's a bench outside of the Inspector's office,' he said. 'You can sit down there.'
'That's a very good idea,' Doc Freeman said with satisfaction. 'When you get through inside I think I'll go in and tell Sam Wise the story. That ought to get you home.'
There was a muttered growl from Stanton. Doc Freeman looked at him.
'Relax,' he said. 'I'm not going to say anything to anyone. If I had brains I would, but if I had brains I wouldn't be here in the first place.' He turned back to Clancy. 'Well? What are you waiting for? I'm starving to death and I know damn well we won't eat until you see the Captain.'
'So I'm going,' Clancy said with a grin, and started down the hallway, followed by the other two. He turned a corner, came to the door marking the Inspector's office; he hesitated a moment, shrugged fatalistically, and twisted the knob. The door swung open; he entered and closed it slowly behind him.
Both Captain Wise and Inspector Clayton looked up in surprise. They were sitting across from each other, leaning over the Inspector's desk; they both leaned back at the sight of the tired Lieutenant as if caught in an overt act. Captain
Wise swung his heavy body about in his chair. When he spoke his tone revealed the affection he felt for the smaller man, but his voice also contained a certain unusual nervousness.
'Clancy! What are you doing here at this hour of the night? Did you come to confess?'
'I came to sit down,' Clancy said, and proved it by dropping into an upholstered chair along the wall. He nodded greetings to the Inspector who returned the gesture silently, his bright eyes taking in the scene. Inspector Clayton had long since found that the best way to handle good and trusted subordinates was to let them alone.
Clancy stifled a yawn. 'I'm waiting for a picture from the teletype room, and I heard you were here ...' His half-shut eyes inspected the solemn Inspector and then slid back to the gray-haired Captain before him. 'A better question would be, what are you doing here? You're supposed to be sick in bed.'
'Sick in bed? With a maniac black-Irishman loose at the 52nd?' Captain Wise tried to make it sound humorous, but his worried eyes showed his concern. The Inspector said nothing. Captain Wise took a pipe from his pocket and sucked on it noisily without lighting it.
'You look like the wrath of God, Clancy. I'm the one that's supposed to be sick. How's it going?'
Clancy closed his eyes, abandoning the mystery of the Captain's presence. 'Horrible.'
Captain Wise seemed to tense a bit. Inspector Clayton entered the act. 'What's on your mind, Clancy?'
'Retirement,' Clancy said softly, opening his eyes and staring over Captain Wise's grizzled head, over Inspector Clayton's carved features, at the blank wall beyond. 'Retirement, and a small fishing stream somewhere in the hills, and a little thatched cottage with roses twining around the Goddamned door .. .'
'Balls!' Sam Wise's brusqueness turned into a shamefaced sigh. 'All right, Clancy; yell at me. Go ahead and yell at me. But believe me, I did everything I could ...'
'Yell at you?' Clancy's eyes returned from the vision he had actually - to his own surprise - been able to conjure up on the blank wall. He sat a bit straighter in his chair, waking up. 'Why should I yell at you?'
'I did everything I could,' the Captain repeated quietly. His eyes sought affirmation from the stiff figure of his superior 'Believe me. Ask the Inspector. But I'm only a Captain, you understand. I'm not the Commissioner.'
'For which we praise the Lord,' Clancy murmured, and then grinned, avoiding the eye of Inspector Clayton. 'No, that's not true. I wish you were the Commissioner, Sam. Come on; what's on your mind?'
Captain Sam Wise took a deep breath. His eyes avoided the Lieutenant's. 'Chalmers didn't get hold of you?'
This was interesting. Clancy's eyes went from one to the other. 'Chalmers? No.'
'What time did you leave the precinct?'
'About twenty minutes ago. Maybe a few minutes more. Traffic was a bitch. Why?'
'You must have just missed him, then,' Captain Wise said. He looked at the
tired figure beside him with a touch of compassion. 'He ... he has a warrant...'
Clancy sat up. Storm clouds began to gather in his angry dark eyes. 'A warrant? For what?'
'A habeas corpus. For Johnny Rossi.' Captain Wise returned the glare of the other evenly. 'Where did you hide him, Clancy?'
'I asked you for twenty-four hours,' Clancy said bitterly, accusingly. 'I thought you were my friend!'
'I am your friend,' Captain Wise said quietly. 'You're tired; you're not thinking. I said I'd do the best I could and I did. But I'm still only a Captain.' He shrugged. 'And you didn't give me a hint, even, of what was going on. You haven't been in touch once all day. You could have called me at home, you know . .. You didn't give me any ammunition ...'
'Ammunition?' Clancy smiled coldly. 'I didn't have any ammunition.' His eyes studied the stocky figure across the desk from him; Sam Wise returned the look a moment and then his eyes fell. A suspicion suddenly formed in Clancy's mind. 'What else, Sam? Give me all of it.'
The Captain swallowed. 'He says he's going to bring charges, Clancy. Dereliction of duty, obstruction of justice ... He was talking pretty wild over the phone after he got that writ.'
'That's a laugh,' Clancy said disgustedly, if it hadn't been for Chalmers this thing would have been handled altogether differently from the start.' He shook his head hopelessly. 'Well, I suppose it's too late to worry about that now.'
'Clancy, Clancy!' Captain Sam Wise was leaning over, speaking intently. 'Why not beat him to the punch? Tell us where you've got this hood stashed, and why. Tell us everything you've dug up. We'll get every man on it we can.' His eyes sought confirmation from the Inspector, who nodded quietly.
Clancy stared at the two men. 'I've dug up so much it would take all night to tell it. And none of it makes any sense.'
'Try!' Captain Wise said imploringly, it has to make sense. Why not trust us, Clancy? It's the only way to save your neck.'
'I suppose I'll have to tell you,' Clancy said, and smiled faintly. 'But it won't save my neck.'
'We'll see about that. Why not start - well, at that picture you're waiting for from teletype. Who is it?'
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