'That?' Clancy shook his head dispiritedly. 'That's nothing. It's just a routine identification on someone we're pretty sure we've already identified anyway. It was just another straw to grab at, is all.'
There was a tap at the door. Stanton put his head in without an invitation.
'Chalmers,' he said quickly. 'He's coming down the hall, Lieutenant.'
He was pushed aside even as he spoke; from the doorway the trim figure of the Assistant District Attorney stared at the occupants of the room with a cold smile of triumph on his thin lips. He turned, closed the door in Stanton's face, and then turned back.
'Well, gentlemen,' he said softly.
'Have a seat,' Clancy said wearily. He jerked a thumb toward the chair at his side.
'I'll stand, if you don't mind,' Chalmers said, purposely repeating Clancy's words of the previous day, and repeating them with obvious relish. He reached into his pocket, bringing out a legal-sized paper. His pale blue eyes were cold. 'How long did you really think you could avoid me, Lieutenant?'
Clancy didn't bother to answer the question. He looked at the paper in Chalmers' hand, is that for me?'
The thin smile remained fixed. 'Yes, Lieutenant. It's for you. It's a writ of -'
'I know what it is,' Clancy said shortly. 'Consider me served.'
He reached up, twitched the paper from Chalmers' fingers and shoved it into a pocket without looking at it. The cold smile on Chalmers' lips faded.
'Well, Lieutenant?'
'Well, what?'
Chalmers took a deep breath. 'Well, are you going to honor that writ, or not?'
'I'll honor it,' Clancy said. 'Right now I'm resting. I've had a long and hard day. I'm tired. Why don't you sit down, Mr. Chalmers?'
Chalmers glared at him. 'Now you listen here, Lieutenant; you're in enough trouble without any more stalling .. .'
'I'm not stalling,' Clancy said, ‘I'm simply tired. Believe me.' He yawned widely to prove his contention and then looked at his wrist-watch without actually seeing it. in any event I don't suppose it makes much difference now . ..'
There was another tap at the door. Kaproski stuck his head in.
'The picture, Lieutenant.' He shoved some papers toward Clancy with nervous fingers, aware that he was interrupting a meeting. 'There was a message with it, too.'
'Thanks,' Clancy said, and took the papers. Kaproski stared at the others a moment and then closed the door behind him. Chalmers leaned over importantly. 'What's that?' 'You'll find out soon enough,' Clancy said. He glanced down idly at the teletyped message that had accompanied the picture.
Nobody at home at the Renicks (it read). This is the only picture we could get, borrowed from the neighbors. It's a shot of the wedding breakfast. Will try to get a proper portrait tomorrow - will also check out all other details and inform soonest. Martin.
Clancy shrugged, shoved the flimsy piece of paper into his pocket, and turned to the picture. It showed a large room with a happy bunch of people seated in relaxed poses around a laden table; bowls of flowers decorated the tablecloth, spaced evenly, bright and gay. Someone in the immediate foreground was holding a glass of what appeared to be champagne up to the camera with a silly drunken grin on his face; the glass seemed to be in danger of spilling. Typical, Clancy thought sourly, and ran his eyes up to the head of the table.
For a moment he didn't even realize what he was seeing. Then it suddenly struck him and he stiffened; his fingers gripped the teletyped picture tighter. Even as he stared at the small faces laughing gaily up into the camera, his mind was whirling. Cute, he thought, oh, cute! His weariness seemed to drop from him like a physical thing as the picture burned into his brain. One by one the events of the day came back, beginning to fall into place like well-oiled tumblers clicking to unlock a complicated combination. One by one the facts that had come to him that day marched past, each now clothed in a different garb, fitting together, finally making sense.
'Clancy!' Captain Wise was staring at him. 'What is it?'
He didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on the radio-picture, but he was no longer seeing it. Instead he was seeing a shot-torn corpse lying abandoned in a musty hospital storeroom, a happy beautiful girl putting polish on her fingernails and offering him a drink, a hard-faced hood in an expensive suit and a fifteen-dollar tie putting pressure on a young and frightened doctor, a goony little bellhop and a sharp-eyed cashier - and finally, a nude, tortured body spread-eagled on a bloody bed and tied in place by adhesive tape. His eyes came up, bright.
'Kaproski! Stanton!'
The two burst into the room as if Chalmers might have been attempting to apply physical force to their Lieutenant. They stopped short at the tableau they encountered: Captain Wise hunched in his chair with his hand frozen on his empty pipe; Inspector Clayton sitting at ease behind his desk, his alert eyes watching the others mildly; Chalmers, with mouth open, towering beside the others with a puzzled frown on his face; and Clancy bending forward staring excitedly at the picture in his hand.
'Yeah? What is it, Lieutenant?'
Clancy looked up; the tableau was broken. He looked at his wrist-watch again, seeing it this time.
'Stanton - out to the airport! United Airlines flight 825 for Los Angeles from Idlewild! It leaves a few minutes after midnight - Pete Rossi has a reservation on it ...'
'Right!' Stanton said. He started toward the door and then paused.
'Yeah,' Clancy said dryly, it's better to know what you're going for. His luggage. I want you to let him check it in; once it's on the conveyor belt, you go downstairs to the loading area, get hold of his bags, and open them ...'
'What am I looking for, Lieutenant?'
'A shotgun,' Clancy said quietly, it will have been dismantled to fit into his suitcase; don't touch it. There may be prints, although I doubt it, wrapped that way in all those clothes .. .'
'Do I arrest Rossi?'
Clancy stared at him. 'That shotgun is a murder weapon. What do you think?'
'I think I arrest him.'
'I think so, too,' Clancy said abruptly. 'Get going.'
'He done it?' Kaproski asked, amazed. 'He blasted his own brother?'
'He was an accessory,' Clancy said grimly. 'They fry, too.' He looked around. 'Where's Doc Freeman?'
'He must have got tired waiting,' Kaproski said. 'He just got up and wandered away.'
Chalmers had been watching the scene with frozen face; now he interrupted. 'Murder weapon? A killing? What's this all about, Lieutenant?'
'Quiet,' Clancy said. He started to rise and then settled back again, his eyes bright with thought. 'Kap; let me have that list of sailings for tonight.'
Memory was clicking sharply now; he took the piece of newsprint from the large detective's hand and ran his finger quickly down the list. His finger stopped; he looked up.
'Kap; you didn't check on freighters, did you?'
'You didn't say nothing about freighters.'
'That's because I was stupid,' Clancy said. 'They take passengers, too.' He nodded as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place, if I hadn't been stupid I wouldn't even have needed that picture. It was all there.' He folded the list, tucking it into his pocket.
‘Inspector, I'll need a squad car.'
Inspector Clayton nodded, reached for his telephone without asking questions, and then paused.
'How may men, Lieutenant?'
Clancy calculated. 'Three should be enough, together with Kaproski and myself. Plain-clothes; and armed.'
'Together with me, too,' Captain Wise said. He waved aside any possible objections. 'I'm all right. This is maybe the medicine I need, and not chicken-soup.'
Chalmers woke up. Things were getting out of his hands and he didn't like it. 'Now see here, Lieutenant! You're not going anywhere until -'
'Keep quiet,' Clancy said brusquely, if you want to tag along, you can, but keep quiet.' He turned back to the Inspector. 'And I'll need a gun, Inspector.'
Inspector Clayton had been issuing i
nstructions calmly into the telephone. He hung up, reached into a drawer and brought out a holstered automatic. Clancy slipped the gun from the leather pouch, checked it over, and dropped it into his jacket pocket.
'Just don't forget where you got it,' the Inspector said, 'Well, I've arranged for two cars. They'll be outside in a minute.' He looked at the tense Lieutenant a moment. 'Where are you going?'
'Pier 16A, North River,' Clancy said.
Captain Wise pushed himself to his feet. Chalmers opened his mouth to speak, caught Clancy watching him, and closed it. Captain Wise smiled.
'Here we come,' he said, and winked. 'Ready or not.'
'Don't say it, Sam.' Clancy shuddered. 'Don't even think it!'
Saturday - 11:30 p.m.
Pier 16 A, North River, jutted from the cobbled darkness of West Street into the black oily waters of the Hudson a little above 25th Street. The two cars came down from the overhead expressway at the 34th Street exit, slowing down, driving carefully between huge trailer-trucks parked for the night in the pillared shadows. The cars wound tandem-like through the line of dark hulks, pulling up at last alongside the low barrier that fronted the water beyond Pier 17. There was silence as the lights were extinguished; the men slowly emerged.
The S.V. Aalborg was in the process of finishing its final preparations for departure. Deck winches on the 12,000 ton motor-vessel were hooked onto the hatch-covers, slowly lowering them into place. Spotlights mounted on the corners of the long pier warehouse aided in lighting the work; deckhands trotted about, obeying the orders of the deck-officer calling to them by megaphone from the heights of the bridge above. Friendly lights winked from portholes, indicative of a separate life within. Clancy led his group to one side, into the shadows of the still adjoining warehouse that bulked in darkness from Pier 17.
'We're after a double killer,' he said quietly. There was a gasp from Chalmers, but he continued without paying attention to it. 'He's undoubtedly armed, so let's not take any chances. The main thing is that we can't let him get away - ten miles from shore on that ship and he's out of our hands. Sam, you and two of your men cover the entrance to the pier. Kaproski, you and I and . ..' He tilted his head questioningly toward the third plain-clothes man.
'Wilken, sir.'
'…and Wilken will go inside. If the passengers have already cleared Customs and boarded the ship, we'll have to try and take him in his cabin. I hope that's not the case, because I don't want to start an international incident, but if they haven't, and they're still on the pier, we'll take him there. Just remember; he's armed.'
'This guy we're after,' Captain Wise said. 'What's he look like?'
'He's a medium-sized guy, stocky, set up to look like one of those beatniks,' Clancy said. 'He'll probably still be sticking to his disguise; a beard - false - and dark glasses.'
'Who is this man?' Chalmers demanded.
Clancy paid him no attention. 'He may be accompanied by a short blond woman,' He looked around. 'We're wasting time. Come on.'
Chalmers jutted out his jaw, the perfect picture of a crusading Assistant District Attorney. 'I don't know what this is all about, Lieutenant, but you're not getting out of my sight. I'm going with you.'
Clancy looked at him disinterestedly. 'Good. If there's any shooting, stick around.' He turned back to the others. 'Kap, Wilken and I will go first; you follow. Let's not bunch up too much. If anything happens inside, don't leave that exit unguarded. The thing is to bottle him up on the pier, even if we louse things up inside.'
Captain Wise nodded. Clancy turned and started to walk evenly along the waterfront, accompanied by Kaproski and
Wilken. Chalmers hurried forward, catching up. The prow of the motor-vessel loomed over them now, the numbered depth-markings sharp and clear in the white glare of the spotlights. Voices from the deck drifted down to them, intermingled with the muffled roar of automobiles speeding past on the expressway over their heads. They came to the corner of the warehouse on Pier 16A; the lights from the ship disappeared behind them. The darkness of the night seemed even more complete for the sudden contrast. Clancy paused, looking about, and then approached the pier entrance. The huge doors fronting the silent warehouse had been folded back sufficiently to allow automobile entrance onto the dock; he passed quietly through followed by the others.
Within, the warehouse was lit only by small bulbs that were economically spaced high in the curved steel arches above. The front offices of the pier were dark; wide spaces appeared between the few palleted stacks of goods awaiting shipment that lined the walls of the long, low building. There was no one in sight; the silence was complete. Clancy's eyebrows raised. The Customs benches were stacked along one wall; the warehouse appeared deserted. He came forward swiftly, followed by the others; their footsteps echoed in the vast space. His advance brought him past a high stack of bags that had blocked his view, and he could see a large cluster of lights where the angled gangplanks entered the building. A ship's officer stood there, leaning comfortably against a stand-up desk, checking some lists of papers that were piled before him. He looked up as the four men approached, his finger automatically marking his place in the lists.
'Can I help you?'
His accent betrayed his foreign origin. Clancy nodded.
'Have the Customs men all left?'
The officer nodded. 'Yes, sir. All luggage has been checked aboard, and our manifest has been approved.' He pronounced it 'approve-ed.' 'Did you wish to see them about anything in particular?'
'No.' Clancy reached for his wallet, opened it to reveal his badge and I.D. card, and presented it to the officer. 'I'm afraid I'll have to ask you for permission to go aboard.'
The officer frowned. 'I would have to check this with the Captain, you understand. Could you please state me your business?'
'Certainly,' Clancy said, stuffing his wallet back into his pocket. 'You have a passenger aboard, a Mr. Roland . ..'
'Roland?' The officer was puzzled, but also somewhat relieved. 'I'm afraid there has been some mistake, no? We are only carrying six passengers, and not one of them . ..'
Clancy could have kicked himself. It was so very simple when one thought about it.
'How about Renick?' he asked.
The officer shrugged, nodded, and reached for his lists. 'Yes, we have a Mr. and Mrs. Renick. But only Mrs. Renick is aboard yet. She is the one who checked their luggage through. Mr. Renick still has to make his appearance . ..' He glanced at his watch a bit worriedly. 'He should be here quickly; we sail within the hour.'
Clancy swung around. 'Wilken, you stay here at the gangplank. Kap, you come with me.'
He started back through the dim warehouse, disregarding the open mouth of the ship's officer. Chalmers caught up with the hurrying man and tugged at his sleeve.
'What is this, Lieutenant? Who is this Renick?'
'Quiet -' Clancy began, and then stopped in his tracks. A taxi had drawn partially into the warehouse entrance and a figure was emerging. Despite the warm evening he appeared to be wearing a raincoat with the collar drawn high over the neck, and a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over the brow. He leaned over, paying the driver, and then started down the center of the deserted warehouse, his footsteps ringing sharply on the bare concrete. The headlights of the taxi swung about, illuminating the huge interior as the cab backed around and left. Clancy pulled back into the cover of a pile of palleted sacks, dragging the others with him. He peered about them in the direction of the doorway; beyond the figure hurrying down the empty aisle he could see Captain Wise and the others drifting across the entrance, blocking it.
‘It's him! Get ready, Kap!'
He waited, one eye locked to a space between the corners of the bulging sacks, holding his breath, his pulse quickening. Behind him he could hear the muffled breathing of his two companions. Luck? No, I don't think so, he thought to himself; and then shoved the thought forcibly away, maintaining his view of the approaching man.
His quarry passed beneath one of the over
head lights; for an instant the face beneath the broad-brimmed hat was partially revealed. The spade beard could be seen, and the reflection from the dark glasses; then he passed the cone of light and the taut face disappeared into shadow once again.
He came toward the stack of palleted bags without actually seeing them, his spectacled eyes fixed on the gangplank and the two men standing there. Clancy waited, tense; and then, as the hurrying figure was about to pass his hiding place, he stepped sharply from his cover, interposing himself between the man and his object. The stocky figure pulled up short; the dark glasses swung about at this unexpected obstruction. There was the barest pause and then, with a hoarse cry, he stepped back and reached for his pocket. Kaproski's thick fingers clamped on the other's arm; the man tugged back fiercely, panting. Footsteps clattered across the concrete as Captain Wise and another ran up, converging on the struggling group in the center of the warehouse. Wilken and the ship's officer were also running up. The man suddenly ceased fighting; the white face buried itself in the collar of the raincoat.
'What is this?' The voice was muffled by the cloth. 'What do you want?'
‘It's all up,' Clancy said evenly. 'You're under arrest, Mr. "Renick." For two murders.'
The man clamped in Kaproski's rigid grasp seemed to collapse. Chalmers had had all he could stand. He shoved his way to the front.
'What's this all about, Clancy?' he demanded. 'Who is this man?'
Clancy stared at him. All of the fatigue and weariness of the past two days welled up in him. Now that the case was over, the drive that had carried him through the past few hours seemed to disappear. He looked at Chalmers blankly.
'Him?' he said at last, dully. 'You wanted him badly enough to issue a writ for him. This is Johnny Rossi…’
CHAPTER TEN
Monday - 11:30 a.m.
Lieutenant Clancy, clean-shaven and with a rested look on his face, swung through the doors of the 52nd Precinct with a thick envelope tucked under one arm. He smiled brightly at the Desk Sergeant but received a rather worried look in return.
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