Ellis felt sick fear spread through his muscles. So that’s how they got to McCoy, he thought.
The man from below lifted the gun.
Ellis faced it, saw too late that was what they wanted. He sensed the blur of motion from above, felt the blazing drum-crash of a blow on his head.
Blackjack, he thought. Then there was darkness and stairs and falling all mixed up with a sound of breaking and a pain in his leg—and in his side. He sensed distant blows, knew somehow he was at the foot of the rubbish-strewn stairs.
The emptiness enclosed him.
O O O
Someone was groaning. With a feeling of unfamiliar detachment, Ellis realized it was himself.
Somewhere in the darkness he felt a sharp prick in his arm. Something rustled around him. There was a smell of disinfectant—a glare of light.
Again, this stranger—this distant self—groaned, and the emptiness returned.
There was a whistling sound, unmusical and unpleasant. Ellis grew aware that it was his own breathing past some kind of obstruction. A tube of some kind. He could feel it against his cheek.
A gurney rattled through the emptiness. Ellis had heard the sound many times—you couldn’t come through the department’s ranks without growing overly familiar with hospitals—and death.
But I’m not dead, he thought. By God, I’m not dead!
Voices talked, but too far away to be understood.
From the bottom of a long, deep, dark hole, Ellis felt consciousness return. With it came the pain. He floated back to wakefulness, aware of a bone-deep ache in his right leg—and a sharp stab each time he breathed deeply.
Carefully, slowly, he opened his eyes to a white-and-chrome hospital room. Outlines were fuzzy, but they steadied rapidly. He heard his own voice ask, “What time is it?”
A cheerful female voice: “2:00 AM.”
“What day?” he asked.
“Sunday,” the cheerful voice told him.
Nine hours I’ve been out, he thought. Unless I missed a whole week! But he knew he hadn’t. The pain was too new.
“How do we feel?” asked the cheerful female.
“We feel like hell,” Ellis said. He moved his head gently; it felt all there. “When can I leave?”
“When your leg gets out of traction,” said the bright voice. She came around the foot of the bed, all white and fresh and starched.
Pretty little thing, thought Ellis, if you like them sterile. “Who’re you?”
“Miss Birch.”
“Why is my leg in traction?” asked Ellis, focusing on the contraption of metal and wire hung over the foot of the bed.
“I believe it’s broken,” Miss Birch said.
“Don’t you know?” Ellis tried to sit up, couldn’t. He turned his head to take stock of the room. Dresser. Armchair. Straight chair. Two closed doors—closet and bath? Extension-type table by the bed.
He glanced at the table, was relieved to see a telephone. But who was it he should call? His mind still fuzzed—whether from the blow or from drugs he wasn’t sure.
Jane! The name washed into his mind on a cold splash of awareness. Jane and the kids! That thug had threatened Jane and the kids. He reached for the phone, but it was just beyond his grasp.
“Give me the phone,” he said brusquely.
Miss Birch smiled brightly. “But it is two o’clock in the morning. You make your calls tomorrow.”
“Goddamit, give me that phone!”
The smile vanished. “Now, now. Don’t you want to see your poor wife? She’s been so worried.”
“Jane! Where is she?”
“Right out in the hall. And a very jumpy young man is waiting to see you too. Says he’s an assistant district attorney.”
Onstott, Ellis thought. “Tell him to wait. Tell him I’m delirious or something—and send in my wife.”
“Doctor Greenleaf will be here very soon,” said Miss Birch. “Mrs. Ellis can only stay a few minutes.”
Ellis set his jaw. “Then get her in here right away.”
Miss Birch frowned, swished away, then returned in a moment, followed by Jane.
Ellis tried to sit up, cursed the contraption on his leg that kept him in one position. “Jane! Where are the kids?”
“Home, of course. It’s two o’clock in the morning.”
Ellis waited till the nurse left. Jane showed signs of hasty dressing—a sports coat over slacks—but she looked terrific to him. “Are the kids alone?”
“Yes. Why not? They’re old enough to take care of themselves.” She smiled. “The important thing right now is you. How do you feel?” She crossed the room to the armchair by the window, started to sit down.
“Jane!”
She paused, arrested by the alarm in his voice. “What is it?”
“Close the door.”
She crossed quickly, shut it, came over to the bed. “What is it, Barnie?”
“Listen carefully,” Ellis said. “I don’t have time to go into detail.” Briefly, he outlined as much as he felt she should know of what his attacker had said. He wanted to scare her; to be sure she’d act without delay. When he mentioned the children, he knew he had succeeded.
She straightened, took a quick step back. Her voice was steady, but he could see the fear in her eyes. “Barnie, what should we do?”
“Exactly what I say. Call your brother. Have him pick you up right away at the hospital. Go get the kids and get out to your mother’s place in Fairfield as fast as you can. Don’t tell anyone but your parents and brother what’s happened.” He squeezed her hand, looked up at her. “Two things to remember: move fast and be careful. And for God’s sake, phone me when you’re safely there.”
“But—I hate to just leave you—”
“Jane, believe me, it’ll be much worse if I have you and the kids to worry about too. Promise me you’ll do as I say. I’ll have police guards out there as soon as I can. Your mother’s place is safer, more open—keep your brother with you. I’ll call Bill Torrance at the sheriff’s office in Fairfield. We were at school together. He’ll know what to do.”
Ellis puased. “Would you hand me my coat from that closet?”
“Of course. Why?” She opened the closet door, took out his suit coat, brought it to him. “It’s heavy.”
“I thought you might need some money,” he said, taking the coat and removing his wallet from the inside pocket. He touched the outer pocket. Good, the .38 was still there.
“Is there a briefcase in the closet?” he asked, inventing the briefcase to take her attention away from him long enough for him to slip the gun from the pocket, put it beneath his pillow.
“I don’t see one.” She took the coat, hung it up, turned back. “Barnie—”
The door interrupted her.
An older man in a dark suit came in, followed by Nurse Birch.
“Well, well,” said the man. “I see our patient feels well enough to have a charming guest. How do you do? I am Dr. Greenleaf.”
“The charming guest is just leaving,” Ellis said.
Jane hesitated, then said, “The children—”
“Of course,” the doctor said. “Why don’t you drop by this afternoon?”
Jane bent, kissed Ellis’s cheek. “I’ll call you,” she said. She hurried out.
Ellis faced the doctor. “How long am I stuck here?”
“Several weeks, I’d say,” said Dr. Greenleaf. “You do have a broken leg, you know.”
“What’s this pain in my side?” Ellis asked, then listened to a dissertation on broken and cracked ribs, thinking how well the pugs had done their job. Professionals. The anger mounted in him, and he suddenly remembered the one who had chuckled, the rasping voice, the way he said “Department.” Could they have a fix in the department? Ellis asked himself. Oh, Jesus!
“Miss Birch will give you something for the pain,” the doctor said. “Don’t worry about a thing. We’ll take the best care of you, won’t we, Miss Birch?” He beamed at her.
“We certainly will, Doctor,” she chirruped.
Dr. Greenleaf patted his stethoscope, nodded briskly, and turned to the door. “Tell that assistant district attorney he can only stay ten minutes.” He marched out, closing the door firmly behind him.
Miss Birch stood at crisp attention till the doctor was gone, turned back to the bed. As she bent over him, the door opened suddenly and Onstott stepped in.
“I have to talk to this man, nurse,” he said briskly. “Police business.”
Miss Birch smoothed the bedspread, moved the water glass and its crooked straw within Ellis’ reach. “Very well,” she said, “But please limit your visit to ten minutes.”
A white-toothed grin lit Onstott’s face. “Okay, honey,” he said. He held the door open while she swished out. He clicked the door shut. “Nice,” he said.
“If you like them crisp,” said Ellis. He nodded toward the straight chair. “Park it.”
Onstott jerked the chair close to the bed, pulled a small notebook from his side pocket. “I’ve kept the dogs off you so far,” he said. “But now we need a statement. Did you lose much?”
Ellis tipped his head quizzically. “Lose much what?”
“Money. Cash. Green stuff. You were mugged in that lousy hotel, weren’t you?”
Ellis stared at him. “No. This was a message from the syndicate, Curt. A warning to stop poking my nose into your damn bookie case.” Ellis thought of the gun under his head. The professional pair had missed that—too confident. Let them try me now—in here, he thought.
“Brief me,” Onstott said, his voice suddenly cold.
Ellis sketched in the details of the fight on the stairs and described the matched pair of thugs.
“Would you know them again?” Onstott asked.
“You’re damn right I would!” Ellis said.
At the mention of the threat to Jane and the kids, Onstott paused in his notetaking, started to break in.
“I got them out of town,” Ellis said. “That part’s covered.” He explained about the friend in the sheriff’s office in Fairfield.
“That’s Schaffer County,” Onstott said. “I’ll get on the horn as soon as I leave here. Don’t worry about her. I have friends there too.”
“Okay, let’s get to work,” Ellis said.
Onstott nodded, glanced over his notes. “Who knew you were in the hotel?”
“The desk clerk and some little guy in the lobby. And I talked to a drunk named Mulligan—the one who reported the fire.”
“He’s the one who found you and called an ambulance,” Onstott said.
Ellis chewed his lower lip. “That probably clears Mulligan.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. You could read it either way.”
Again, Onstott glanced over his notes. “You’d almost think two different people were thinking up things to do.”
Ellis reached over the table, got a cigarette, and lit it. “I’ve had the same feeling. Somebody very clever thought up the homicide-by-arson scheme. Someone a lot dumber is sending hoods around with threatening messages.”
“I’ve a hunch the smart one may have a message for the dumb one before long,” Onstott said. “And some messages are more effective than others.” He looked at the traction arrangement over the bed.
Ellis grimaced as he tried to move his leg and failed. Onstott didn’t look too good to him either. There were fatigue lines on the lean face.
“Is your case against Tonelli dead?” Ellis asked.
“As dead as the witnesses,” Onstott glanced at the door, lowered his voice. “I had a reason for coming here myself. You’d better know what’s on the grapevine.”
Ellis shifted a little in a vain attempt to find a comfortable position. He stubbed out his cigarette, watched Onstott. “Yes?”
Onstott slipped his notebook into his side pocket, kept his voice down. “The word is clear and simple: there’s a fireman mixed up in this. Tonelli is supposed to have made some crack about it. According to our tipster, he said, ‘Why buy a cop when you can have your own pet fireman?’”
Ellis felt suddenly cold. Again he remembered the pug, the way the man had said, “Department.”
The door opened, and Miss Birch put her head in. “Time to leave, Mr. Onstott,” she caroled.
He swiveled toward her. “Almost finished,” he said.
“Give us fifteen minutes—”
“Oh, I couldn’t—” she began.
Onstott held up one forefinger, shook it in schoolteacherly fashion. “You know, I bet you could …” He let the sentence trail off.
She laughed suddenly, withdrew her head from the door.
Ellis hardly noticed the exchange. He was thinking. An abrupt idea had struck him—McCoy! Maybe the bruise and the fright were a blind …
Onstott narrowed his eyes, watching Ellis. “You have someone in mind?”
“Maybe yes, maybe no. But I do have an idea how those convenient fires were set.” He held up his hand as Onstott started to speak. “Hold it. I’ve some more checking first. If it checks, I’ll brief you.”
Again Onstott glanced at the traction apparatus over the bed, stared pointedly at the tape showing at the neck of Ellis’ hospital gown. “You’re in a swell spot to be doing some checking.”
Ellis frowned. “Okay, so I’m a turkey ready to be roasted,” he said. “How many people know which room I’m in?”
“It’s no secret,” said Onstott, “But I’ve got a cop posted in the hall.”
Ellis nodded. “Good enough.”
“I’ll have a little talk with him,” Onstott said. There was a hint of anger in his eyes, but he looked thoughtful, too. “Be right back.” He turned to go, almost ran into Captain Coddington in the doorway.
Coddington was in uniform, and walked as erect as his chubby shape would permit. He nodded to Onstott, came over to the bed. “Hello. Hello. How do you feel, Barnie?”
“I could use a day’s rest, Captain,” Ellis said. “Do you suppose I could have tomorrow off?” In his mind, Ellis rejected the idea of telling Coddington that the syndicate had bought themselves a fireman. No sense in having the captain stir things up, muddying the water.
Coddington laughed and wheezed as he sat down in the armchair by the window. “Hell, Barnie—you never lose the old sense of humor, do you?”
“Ha!” said Ellis grimly. “You hear me laughing?”
Coddington’s face sobered. “They said you were mugged,” Coddington said. “First time that’s ever happened to one of my boys, and I want you to know that whoever did it is going to pay.”
“Yeah,” said Ellis. “But this was no mugging.” He sketched in the encounter on the stairs.
Coddington frowned. “Son of a bitch,” he said.
Ellis noted the jaw muscle working on the captain’s face, the angry pallor.
“I lived through it, Captain,” Ellis said. “I’ve been hurt worse than this. Not by intention, sure, but—”
“This is—police business!” Coddington blurted. “No place for a fireman around this kind of violence.”
Onstott came back in the room, nodded to Coddington in the armchair. “Attended any good fires lately, Captain?”
Coddington emitted his wheezing laugh. “We’re trying to put out the fires for your office,” he said. “Look what you let happen to one of my best men.” He waved a pudgy hand toward Ellis. “I hope you’re going to take better care of him now.”
“We are,” said Onstott shortly.
Coddington clutched the arms of his chair, kneading them with his fingers. “Do you really think someone tried to kill you?” he asked Ellis.
“No,” said Ellis. “They were trying not to. This one was to tell me to keep my nose out. The next time may not be as gentle.”
“What do you mean, ‘next time’?” Coddington demanded. “You aren’t poking any more fingers in this pie. It’s police business.”
Ellis sank back into the pillow, stared up at the ceiling. “As a matter of fact,
it’s my business,” he said. “They made it that when they sent those thugs after me.” He raised his head, looked at Onstott. “Give me a little time, and I’ll tell you exactly how your witnesses died.”
“Tell me now,” Onstott said.
“I said, give me time. I haven’t got it quite clear, but it’s coming.”
“For Christ sakes—” Onstott began.
“Get off my back!” Ellis snapped. He felt queasy. The pain in his leg and chest took second place to a sick worry.
Onstott took a step toward the bed. “It’s my business to ask questions,” he said in an overcontrolled voice.
Coddington interrupted. “Time enough for questions when Barnie feels stronger.” He turned to Ellis. “Right now, the important thing is to get you back on your feet.”
“Okay, okay,” said Onstott. “But tomorrow, we talk.” He glanced at his watch. “I mean, later today.”
Ellis nodded. “Fair enough.”
Coddington lifted his bulk back to his feet. “Look, Barnie, this is a rotten business. Anything you need, you say the word. I’m going to ask for a meeting with the commissioner this afternoon. We’re going to get to the bottom of this.”
Onstott nodded soberly, turned toward the door. “Right now,” Coddington said, “I want you to see about a guard being put on Barnie’s room. If he’s in danger—”
“It’s all taken care of,” Onstott said. He closed thumb and forefinger for Ellis to see. “Come on, Captain. He looks tired.”
They left side by side, an incongruous Mutt and Jeff pair—the tall assistant DA and the short, fat fire captain.
Ellis smiled, feeling better after their visit despite his moment of anger. The wheels were turning.
Miss Birch came in as soon as they were gone. From somewhere—Midair? wondered Ellis—she produced a tiny, white paper cup.
“And now for your sleeping pill,” she said.
“Not yet,” Ellis said. “I have some thinking to do.”
“Oh, you’ll have weeks and weeks to think,” said Miss Birch. She handed him the cup with the capsule. “Down the hatch!”
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