“Okay, okay,” interrupted Jumbo. “Give me something I can use.”
“Er ...” Willie blushed again. “Er . ..” He looked up brightly. “Your feet are size fourteen and a half,” he said.
“My what?”
“Er ... the limestone plinth weighs nineteen tons.”
“Fine,” said Jumbo Hooligan, patiently. “That’ll be useful to know if they ever come back and steal that, too.”
“A live brontosaurus, the same size as the one stolen, would have weighed just over thirty tons and would have eaten nine hundredweight of food every day.”
“Marvelous,” groaned Jumbo. “Now I won’t have one as a pet.”
“Oh! The weight of the skeleton was three and three quarter tons. I got some good stuff about the bones, though.”
“You know how much soup they’d make?”‘
“Sorry, Chief. You want I should work it out?”
“Forget it.”
“The bones range in weight, from the little ones of two pounds each, to the biggest, the pelvis, which I calculate at five hundred and twenty-eight pounds and seven ounces. It would take three strong men to lift it. They couldn’t carry it far. Skid marks on the floor show it was dragged on some sort of thick cloth. Huw’s got a photo record. The scratches go straight to the service lift and end inside. I couldn’t trace them any further.
“The marks show it was dragged in very short bursts. I’d say that several people pulled it, not always heaving in the same direction. That’s what bugs me. I’d guess . .”
Jumbo Hooligan stopped him. “You know the rules, Willie. No guessing at this stage. Only facts.”
“I went on the planetarium roof. Marks show the bones were left there for a while. The heavier ones sank into the bitumen a little.
“I also checked the front of the planetarium and the car park. One of the leg bones left an imprint in the soil by the planetarium flagstaff. They only made one journey to take them away. They used a truck. I got a cast of the tire tread. The truck would have to be at least a five-tonner. I got a lot of other measurements if you wa . . .”
“Okay, okay,” barked Jumbo Hooligan. “We know you got them if we need them.”
He stepped back and looked at the now long list of items on the blackboard. “Anyone missed anything?”
“I got your collar size ...” started Willie.
“Clam up,” snarled Jumbo. “Okay, Adam. Take over.”
Adam had been sitting, quietly. His black face was contemplative. His computer mind had absorbed, analysed and interpreted the facts presented by his friends. He didn’t look up. His voice was soft. The men leaned forward in order to hear his words.
“Five women, Jumbo.” Adam lifted an eyelid so he could glimpse Hooligan’s face while he made this observation. His chief didn’t react. “Five women,” Adam repeated. “First, Ulysses got only woman smell on the plinth. Unlikely that one woman would change her talcum or perfume so often. So there had to be more than one woman. How many? Five. Five it is, because it would take that many to move the pelvis. It had to be women--not small men. They had no mechanical expertize--they tightened some nuts while trying to loosen them. The tools were badly chosen. A man would have made certain he’d got good quality wrenches on a big job like this.” Adam paused, consulted his mental notes and continued. “They used the canvas over the dinosaur as a tent. A good touch, that. They slept and lived there part of the time. The rubber smells are air mattresses--two of them, doubles. And they ate while they were there. They came and went in the daytime, when the museum was open, and worked only at night. Had to, because of the painters. They dismantled everything, then moved it out in one go.”
Adam looked up. “Is it okay if I start guessing now?”
Jumbo Hooligan smiled. “I like your guesses, boy,” he said. “Go ahead.”
Adam guessed. “Five women. I can’t be certain of their ages. Remember that flake from a teenager’s shoe? And one of them knits ... she’s more likely to be elderly than a youngster. Certain things, like the tea, and at least two types of perfume, suggest European women. I’d make a serious guess that they were Limeys. Very few other Europeans like scented tea, and the Earl Grey tea is typical of elderly upperclass British. At first, I thought it was maybe a gang of those dames the English call debs--you know, society dolls with nothing much to do but annoy everybody. But things didn’t fit--society dolls don’t wear coarse stockings, or cheap nylon tights. Then it all clicked ... the baby powder. D’you remember noticing how the nuts and bolts taken off the frame had been neatly piled out of the way? Unlikely a man would do that. So, what sort of women do we have in New York who are mostly elderly, have European society tastes, are possibly British and who spend a lot of time with babies and who are used to putting things out of harm’s way?
My answer, Jumbo, is ... children’s nurses. So that’s my bet: five dames--nannies, and British.”
Jumbo Hooligan leaned back against the edge of his desk, and smiled delightedly. “Great sleuthing, Adam,” he said. “That’s a lead I can really use.” He tossed the stub of chalk into the box beneath the blackboard, and looked at McGraw. “Boots, you get me the names of all British aliens registered as children’s nurses who are working in New York.”
He pointed at Ulysses and Willie. “I want you two guys back at the museum. Find out if they’ve spotted any nannies around there recently. Then check out with Two-O precinct. It’s their beat. Maybe they’ll have something we can use. Now, the rest of you . .”
Willie Halfinch interrupted him. “Boss, that single nipple print’s been bugging me. I got an idea. Maybe one of the dames was dressed in a wrestler’s leotard.”
Boots McGraw turned in his report at Jumbo’s office after lunch the next day.
“Help yourself to the squawkbox,” smiled Sheba. “I’ll get some coffee.”
“Hi, Jumbo,” Boots said into the intercom. “You want me in there?”
“Sure,” replied Jumbo’s voice. “And tell Sheba to send in the others as soon as they arrive.”
“Okay, Chief,” called Sheba, from the coffee machine in the comer.
“Here, let me take it,” said Boots. He took the two plastic cups, and backed himself through the door into Jumbo’s office. He put a cup in front of Jumbo. Then he produced the list given to him by the British Embassy.
“Eighty-six British broads registered as children’s nurses, Jumbo. I got all the details. Looks like a lot of hoof work, but I guess ...”
Jumbo’s intercom buzzed. He flicked it. “Ulysses and Polyphemus,” said Sheba.
“Thanks for the culture, doll. Wheel ‘em in.” He looked expectantly at the door. “Hold on,” he said to Boots. “Want to hear from the others first.” He swung his feet down off his desk and twisted his swivel chair to face Ulysses and Willie as they came through the door. “What d’you get?” he asked.
“A homer, Jumbo,” replied Ulysses, as they settled themselves in the yellow armchairs. “Listen to this. Willie and I covered the museum, like you said. They said no, they hadn’t particularly noticed any children’s nurses behaving suspiciously, but sure, they’d seen quite a lot about. They were always in there with their kids. Zero, okay? Then we slid over to Two-O Precinct and ran the rule over them. We came up with this. A few days ago, an Englishman died on the museum steps. He collapsed. The British Embassy claimed his body. Don’t know the autopsy report yet, or any more details about him. But what we do know is that there were two children’s nurses--British--with him when he died. Coincidence, huh?”
Ulysses produced a slim pad from his pocket, and glanced at it.
“Their names--Hettie MacPhish and Melissa St. Clair. We checked them out of their apartments and followed them for two hours this morning. I think they’re our lead. The young one--she’s some dish-- called for the one named MacPhish. She didn’t have any kids with her, and there aren’t any at the address she uses. But the old dame works in a family with children, and she brought one with her whe
n they came out.”
Willie’s excited voice broke in. “We followed them down to Central Park. Eight hundred and forty-two paces, from the old dame’s apartment to the park.”
“Sure,” Jumbo said, wearily.
“They met some other nurses, on a seat, by the Alice statues,” continued Ulysses. “They made five, altogether. And that’s where we got stumped ... at least, a little “
Jumbo raised his eyebrows.
“Not too much,” said Willie, hastily. “It was just that there was only two of us--and two into five ain’t much good when it’s people you’re following. So when they split up, at lunchtime, Ulysses and me were only able to follow two of the others, to find out where they lived. There’s one more yet to go.”
“So who’ve we got, so far?” asked Jumbo.
Ulysses replied. “We’ve got the two original dames, and the two new ones. Their names are Emily Biddle--she’s kind of old and odd--and a middle-aged one called Una Nesbitt ... about forty, maybe. The one we couldn’t tail was about eighteen.”
“Not much we can be sure of yet,” grunted Jumbo. “We’re not even a hundred per cent certain about the number of people involved in the robbery. Could be quite a different group.”
“We’ve got that print,” said Willie, brightly. “All we’ve got to do is to check them against it.”
“Say, Willie, that’s great! I’d forgotten that.” Jumbo winked at Boots McGraw. “Okay, Willie, you go and get the nipple dabs of all five dames, then we’ll match them against the one we’ve got on file. Right?”
Willie Halfinch flushed with pride.
“Okay, boy, what you waiting for? Beat it!”
Willie left the room.
“Jumbo!” chided Boots. “You gone crazy?”
Willie walked down the corridor away from Jumbo’s office. He was grinning to himself. It was his first solo assignment as an agent. He squared his shoulders and pressed his left elbow into his side. He could feel his gun in its holster. He felt good.
He stopped in the corridor opposite the lift and looked at the indicator panel. The elevator was on the ground floor. Willie eyed the call-button. Glancing left, then right, along the corridor, he stood himself a yard away from the button. A look of concentration was on his face, his legs were slightly apart, his hands dangled at his sides. Suddenly, he moved. His right hand flashed under his jacket. He crouched. The hand came out again, filled with pistol. Willie hit the call-button with the nose of the barrel--first time. He grinned in satisfaction as the lights showed the lift was on its way up. A sleek young secretary wiggled her way round the comer and down the corridor. He winked at her. She ignored him. Willie grinned even wider. He didn’t mind the snub. After all, the girl didn’t know about him-- yet; Willie Halfinch, the Special Agent. He flexed his muscles and pulled in his chin. The lift arrived. The doors opened. Willie ducked his head inside.
“Down, bud,” he said abruptly to the liftman.
“Sure, Willie, down. You got the hump, or something?”
“Nope,” snapped Willie. “Busy.”
“Big job?” asked the liftman. Willie squared his shoulders again and stared straight ahead.
The lift stopped. Willie strode out through the entrance hall, barged aside the green glass doors, Hooligan-fashion, and stood, straddle-legged, at the top of the steps. The grim expression on his face slowly faded into blankness.
Gee, thought Willie. Nipple prints. How the hell am I going to get their nipple prints? He wondered if it would be possible to rummage through their linen baskets, in search of discarded underwear. No good, he decided, you wouldn’t get prints on fabric. His brow furrowed. If the broads were young, and they were sunbathing face-down on a tiled swimming pool surround, maybe he could sneak up and pull off their bikini tops. That’d get him a print on the tiling, which he could dust down afterwards. Useless--it’d be washed away by the time they let him out of jail.
Willie sagged.
Suppose he disguised himself as a girl, and waited until they got undressed in a dress shop? He shook his head. No guarantee that would work, either. Steel discs sewn into the cups of their bras? He shook his head again. They’d notice the cold metal. Ahhhh--metal, that was it! Maybe if he hired a suit of armour . . . ? Nope. How the heck could he get a strange nude dame to embrace him in a battle-can? A survey, maybe? Suppose he went along with some printed forms and said he was from a medical firm. He shuddered. He could picture himself saying--”Morning, ma’am. I’m a representative from United Aspirin. Doing a survey, ma’am. Want to ask you something personal.” She’d nod, and say, “Go ahead.” Willie gulped at the thought of putting his next question--”Ma’am, d’you mind if I check your chubbies?”
Willie turned slowly around and walked hesitantly back into the building. The lift was still waiting.
“Up,” said Willie.
“You got sick?” asked the liftman, looking at the worried Willie.
Willie shook his head.
He put his hands in his pockets and strolled out of the lift and back down the corridor towards Jumbo Hooligan’s office. The sleek young secretary wiggled towards him again. This time she smiled up at him.
“Hi!”
“Yeah,” grunted Willie. The secretary pouted and walked on.
Willie passed through Sheba’s office and knocked quietly on Jumbo’s door.
“Come in, Willie,” roared Jumbo’s voice. Willie gulped and stuck his head round the door. “Yeah?” asked Jumbo, hiding another wink at Boots.
“Er, Boss,” stammered Willie. “I’ve been thinking . . “
“And about goddammed time,” roared Jumbo. “Come back in here, sit down, and shut up.”
Jumbo’s entire team sat in the seats in front of his desk. It was their late evening conference. He surveyed them. Willie felt himself blushing again, and was glad when Jumbo’s eyes moved on along the row.
“You start, Adam,” said Jumbo.
“The hooks are in,” replied Adam. “I’ve checked the Central Park patrolmen. You know, the cop-on-the-beat stuff. Often works. They’ve seen these dames hundreds of times. Seems they’re always there together. Always in the same seat at the same time of day. Known to the horse patrolmen and the scooter boys. Got something useful from one guy. Says he noticed a couple of times recently that the dames weren’t on their usual bench. Seems they’re so regular in the fine weather he can check his circulating time by their arrival.”
“It’s still pretty thin,” said Jumbo.
“Not quite so thin. I got wool fibers from the seat they use. Same type, brand and color, as the stuff Boots got in the museum.”
“Ahhhh,” breathed Jumbo. “That’s more like it.”
“As I say, Jumbo. The hooks are in.”
Jumbo Hooligan whistled through his teeth. “Right,” he said. “I want these broads tailed and checked every minute of the day.” He looked at his watch. “You may not score tonight. But tomorrow make like you’re their shadows.”
EIGHT
Simone was sitting up in her carriage--and hating it. She preferred lurching about in the grass of the park, and sitting, examining bits of dirt, some of which she found edible. She reached over the side of the carriage and grasped her neighbour’s feed bottle. The neighbour objected. Simone belted him between the eyes with his own lunch. Then, with sudden cunning, screamed agonizingly, even before her pained and surprised enemy had time to react to the violence. Almost immediately, she regretted her outburst She was heaved into the air, swung around and dropped, breathless, on to her tummy. A heavy adult hand whopped her rear. “Old soldiers never die,” croaked the Scots voice. Simone kept quiet. She’d learned that the sooner she relaxed the quicker she’d be back in the safety of her carriage.
Una folded her airmail edition of the Daily Telegraph and stuffed it under the pillow of her baby-carriage. She turned to the other nannies sitting alongside her on the park bench.
“Whoever it was who borrowed that dino ... Sassenach thing has caus
ed quaite a dreadful commotion,” she said. “All that simply frightful newspaper publicity.”
“Randy says the thieves’ll get thirty years’ jail when they catch them,” added Melissa.
Emily’s knitting needles clicked to a lower gear. She held up the latest of Tarzan’s waistcoats and examined it. “Nobody will arrest them,” she announced. “All they’ve got to do is to keep calm, and act normally. Remember, no one’s going to suspect THEM.” She shook the knitting, then tucked her elbows into her waist as the needles gathered speed again.
Una sat primly, her hands clasped on her lap, her ankles neatly crossed. She watched the passers-by. “There are a lot of people around in the park today.”
Fifty yards away, sitting on one of the smooth heaps of rock, was Ivor. He was watching Melissa, and was playing Scrabble with the Russian agent delegated to shadow him. The Russian agent was cheating.
“Hey, are you sure there’s such a word as . . .” Ivor scowled and tried to pronounce CKZWG.
“Certains, mine ver goot fren,” replied the Russian. “Mine aunt caughted it.”
Willie Halfinch was wearing a park-keeper’s uniform. He was carrying a pointed cane and had been spiking bits of paper. He was embarrassed. He’d accidentally impaled a French letter and was trying to remove it without any of the nannies noticing. A yard and a half behind Willie trundled the stout figure of Pi Wun Tun, disguised as a Haitian immigrant, wearing dark glasses and a flowered shirt, and studying a copy of the Quotations of Mao Tse-tung. He was so engrossed with his reading that Willie twice had to ask him to stop bumping into him.
Susanne was watching Ulysses Pilgrim. He lounged at the foot of an elm tree, wearing a poncho and a pair of tatty jeans frayed around his ankles. His feet were bare. He was softly playing a guitar and humming to himself. Through half-shut eyes he was watching Susanne. She was a pretty little girl, the sort of girl, he thought, he’d be happy to shack-up with. He’d read about English roses--and this was a real English bloom.
One Of Our Dinosaurs Is Missing Page 13