Reardon frowned at the telephone. Mistakes on fingerprint classification and identification were extremely rare, but they were possible, of course, and not unknown. An error in telex transmission, a mistake in transcribing the classification, in searching the files … Even the coincidence of the personal features being those of Sheriff Holden’s brother-in-law could be just that—coincidence. Still, something the sheriff had said didn’t check out.
“Sheriff, you didn’t sound surprised that your brother-in-law might be out this way. You said something about Arizona. Do you know exactly where he is at this moment?”
“Well, no. Old Cracker was supposed to be hunting in Arizona with some friends, but he gets itchy feet, so I wasn’t surprised when I thought he was in San Francisco. I wouldn’t be surprised at anything old George did.” The chuckle was back.
Reardon’s doubts disappeared. If nobody could lay immediate hands on a live George Mullin of Bartlesville, Florida, he’d take his chances he had a dead one downstairs. As for why a rich boy like old Cracker had decided to rob a bank when he had all the money he needed, that was a question that would have to wait its turn.
“Look, Sheriff, do you have the names of the friends he planned to go hunting with?”
“He didn’t say. Damn it, Lieutenant, are you still hanging onto the idea that my brother-in-law is down in your morgue? That he was killed robbing a bank?”
“I’m afraid so, Sheriff. About these friends of his—would anyone know? How about his wife?”
“George isn’t married, but—”
“Well,” Reardon said, cutting in, “we’d appreciate it a lot if you’d scout around and see if your brother-in-law spoke to anyone about his trip, or if he left any correspondence lying around that could give us an idea of who those friends of his were.”
“Damn it, it can’t be George!”
Reardon sighed. He was getting weary of the conversation. “Sheriff, we’ll put his photographs on the teletype right away. You can have them in half an hour. Which is the nearest police station equipped to receive?”
“Trooper barracks at Orlando, I guess.” Sheriff Holden still found it hard to believe, but that damned lieutenant sounded so goddamn positive! “Look, Lieutenant,” he said hesitantly. “If—and it’s a big if—I say, if George was involved in something crazy like that, then it had to be a prank of some sort; a gag of some kind—”
“Prank?” Reardon’s voice was hard and cold; he made no attempt to hide his anger. “Gag? You don’t hold up a bank for a gag, Sheriff. You don’t carry loaded weapons and shoot to kill as a prank! We have the gun and the bullets from the officer’s body. And we also have the body of the man who shot him and we have his fingerprints, and they point to a man named George Mullin from Bartlesville, Florida! And we have voice-graphs of the same man and they indicate he came from somewhere in north-central Florida!”
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.
“Now, Sheriff, I know George Mullin is your brother-in-law, but I’m still asking for your help. It’s your county. We need to know who those friends were he was supposed to go hunting with.”
Sheriff Holden sighed deeply. His voice was quiet. “All right, Lieutenant. I’ll see what I can do.”
“One more thing,” Reardon said. “Did he at least mention how many friends he was going hunting with?”
“Not to me, but maybe to other people. I’ll try to find out.”
“And the last question: had George Mullin ever been in San Francisco before? Did he know his way around here? Have any friends here?”
“I’m not admitting he was there this time,” Holden said a bit sharply, “and I don’t know about his friends, but I can tell you he was never there. That I know. When he went to Vietnam he shipped out of Florida, Pensacola, and he took his discharge here when he came back. And we—his sister and me—got letters from him while he was gone. I’ve known George Mullin since he was a little boy—” Sheriff Holden realized he was wasting time. “I’ll see what I can do, Lieutenant. It’ll take me a little over half an hour to get to Orlando from here. I want to see those pictures before I do anything else.”
“I expect you to,” Reardon said. “And I’ll expect a formal identification call from you when you’ve seen them, too.”
“You’ll get it, don’t worry. One way or another.”
“I wasn’t worried,” Reardon said. “And thanks, Sheriff.”
“Yeah,” Holden said, and hung up.
He stared at the telephone a moment and then rubbed his large hand wearily across his face. Was it really so impossible for George to try and rob a bank? He’d done some pretty crazy things before, just for the kicks. But he sure didn’t need the money, so why—? And killing a policeman? Ah, hell, the whole thing just didn’t make sense. He climbed to his feet, twisting his gun back into position.
“I’m taking a ride over to Orlando,” he said in a flat tone, and walked out of the office without a backward glance, leaving an assistant with two hundred questions unasked.
Friday—3:10 P.M.
Reardon sat in Captain Tower’s office, his legs crossed, his notebook before him.
“We’re having Dun & Bradstreet do a rush job on Mullins,” he said. “He could have all the oranges in the world, and still be cash-poor. And a man doesn’t always tell his brother-in-law the true extent of his finances or how much he gambles or if he’s being blackmailed or a thousand other things. I called the bank at Bartlesville and the president wouldn’t give me the information on the phone. I gave him our number and told him to call me back, but he said any damn fool could pick up a phone and say ‘San Francisco Police Department.’ I told him that’s not how we answer the phone and suggested he get the number through Information if it made him feel better, but he said he wouldn’t give out any information without a warrant being served on him. So I thanked him kindly—”
“And told him you’d never use his bank, not even for a loan,” Captain Tower said dryly.
“More or less,” Reardon said, and smiled faintly. “The man sounded as if he’d just had his throat starched. So I called Orlando and asked to have the sheriff call me as soon as he gets there.”
Captain Tower swiveled his chair and then swung it back. He frowned at Reardon. “Just how important is it, knowing about this Mullin’s financial position?”
Reardon shrugged. He said, “Well, motive is still a big thing, and if Mullins was really well off, then his reasons for getting involved in a bank robbery could be very important. Why did he do it? As his brother-in-law, the sheriff, put it, it just doesn’t make sense.”
“True.” Captain Tower thought a moment. “How far are you in locating those friends he was supposedly hunting with?”
“No place,” Reardon said. “If the sheriff doesn’t come up with the answers, I don’t even know where to start. Arizona’s a big place, even assuming the others hustled back there to set up alibis. But I’ve got a different slant. You remember that replay tape from the bank?”
Tower nodded.
“I thought then,” Reardon said slowly, “and I still think the three men who came into the bank looked as if they were used to working together, and used to taking orders. And the one with the machine gun was used to giving them. I’ve put through an inquiry to the Personnel Division of the Pentagon through their Military Police Section, to try and find out the names of the crew of that gunship Mullin served on. He was a waist-gunner; the pilot is usually the boss of the crew. Then there’s a copilot, plus a second gunner.” He looked at Tower squarely. “That’s four men. Trained to work together and obey the orders of the leader. The pilot. The boss.”
Tower’s face remained expressionless. He said, “That’s true, but let’s look at it fairly. Suppose Mullin played a lot of bridge; that’s also four men. Or doubles in tennis. Or a foursome in golf.” He shook his head. “I’m just afraid that if we put all our eggs in this army basket, we might be overlooking something. You also want to remember tha
t Mullin could have changed crews and ships fifteen times during his tour of duty. Helicopters got damaged, and so did men; men were reassigned, a man’s time there ended and he went home and was replaced. A thousand things.”
“I know,” Reardon said stubbornly, “but those are things we can check on. That’s exactly the sort of information I’m hoping the Pentagon can dig up for us. It’ll probably take time; they’ll have to check back on field records, probably trace the line of command to find an officer who remembers the crew, but unless we can get somewhere with the military, we’ll just have to hope our sheriff comes up with something. Otherwise we’re back to square one, even with his identification.”
Captain Tower studied Reardon’s frowning face. “Would it help to take a trip to Florida?”
“I don’t think so. Actually,” Reardon said, “I have a hunch that when Sheriff Holden finds out this isn’t all a pipe dream on my part, he’s going to blame the other members of the gang for Mullin’s death. We’ll get his full cooperation then, believe me!” Reardon smiled. “Anyway, I moved up here from L.A. because the summer heat bothers me. I hear Florida’s even worse.”
“And besides,” Tower added, “Jan’s here.”
“Yes, sir, she is,” Reardon said, smiling, and came to his feet. “By the way, Captain, am I having dinner with her tonight?”
Tower grinned. He said, “One bout as Cupid was enough for me. Work out your own problems. But it would save a lot of time and effort for us all if you’d simply marry the girl.”
Reardon’s face straightened, the smile gone. “You’re talking to the wrong person,” he said, and left the office.
Friday—8:30 P.M.
Captain Tower, on his way home, passed Reardon’s office, put his head in, and saw the lieutenant still wading through stacks of papers on his desk. He brought in the rest of his large body.
“More reports?”
“We can’t stand still just because of Mullin,” Reardon said. “We’ve got to still keep winnowing the others.” He tossed one of the reports down and leaned back, stretching his tired muscles.
“How late do you plan on staying?”
Reardon looked at his wristwatch and frowned his irritation. “I’m still waiting for some word from that damned sheriff! I left word at Orlando for him to call, and he told me he was on his way there to see the pictures. He should have called four, five hours ago!”
“Have Communications route the call to your home,” Tower suggested.
“Except Jan’s stopping by to pick me up any minute. We’re going out to eat.”
“So leave the name of the restaurant.”
“Except I don’t know where Jan wants to eat.”
“I take it all back,” Tower said. “You don’t need to get married; you already are.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Well, don’t spend all night here. The chief may call another meeting in the morning.”
“I—” Reardon stopped abruptly, his head turning to the ringing phone. Captain Tower waited as the lieutenant picked up the receiver.
“Call from Florida for you, Lieutenant,” Communications said, and flipped switches. Reardon looked up at Tower and nodded. He mentally crossed his fingers as he put his attention back to the phone; the sheriff’s delay in calling was not a good sign. Suppose the pictures meant nothing to him? Suppose the real George Mullin was actually hunting somewhere in Arizona? Don’t even think it, Reardon! he instructed himself sternly, and then heard the sheriff on the line. There was no chuckle in the deep voice now.
“Lieutenant? It’s George, all right.” The voice was tough, hard. “Anything you need that I can get you down here, in the way of information, help, you name it—you just let me know and you’ve got it.”
“Thanks, Sheriff—”
“Reason I didn’t call you back from Orlando was I wanted to see if I couldn’t maybe have something useful for you when I did call. Like, for example, I heard you was trying to lever some information out of old Tom Hoxford down at the bank—”
Reardon stared up at Captain Tower in surprise and then back down to the phone. “How’d you hear that?”
“He told me.” The sheriff’s deep voice was almost brittle. “Like I said, there’s nobody in this area’s going to keep anything from me relating to George Mullin until this thing’s cleared up, and cleared up to my satisfaction. Anyway, I’ve got all the information you wanted here in front of me. Ready?”
Reardon dragged a pad closer. “Ready.”
“Good. Cracker had an account of eleven thousand four hundred in checking and a mite over fifteen thousand in savings at the Bartlesville National. Then he had another twenty-two thousand cash in the Orlando Savings & Loan. George liked to keep enough ready cash handy. Then we opened up his safety deposit box—”
Reardon could not help but interrupt, surprised. “How the devil did you get a court order so fast?”
“Like I said, nobody around here is going to hold me up on this! Anyways, the judge is my cousin; I’ll get it all nice and legal tomorrow. But like I was saying, Cracker had records of stocks which old Hoxford figures at today’s market is worth about a million three hundred thousand, give or take a little. Add to that the groves: they’re the best around, sells to the local co-op at top dollar. Four thousand acres; figure roughly sixty thousand an acre planted like his groves are—”
Reardon whistled silently. Sheriff Holden went on.
“—it’ll give you some idea of the boy’s worth. He doesn’t—I mean didn’t—have a dime’s mortgage on the property, and he didn’t owe a nickel to a soul.” He paused a moment. “And I can tell you another thing about George, even though he’s dead; he didn’t throw his money around. He’d buy you lunch, maybe, once in a while, down at the Elks, but that was about as far as he went. And he didn’t make a habit of that. So he had money.”
Sheriff Holden took a deep breath. Reardon waited.
“You probably figured he was land-poor. We got plenty around here who are, and I guess maybe you do out there, too. And you probably also figured maybe his brother-in-law, that dumb sheriff, would be the last to know if the boy gambled, or was broke, or in trouble moneywise. Well, it isn’t like that around here. I’ll admit I didn’t know every last detail like I do now, but I told you George Mullin was a rich man, and he was. He didn’t rob that bank for money because he didn’t need money.”
Reardon’s opinion of Sheriff Holden was rising by the minute.
“So what’s your opinion as to why he might have robbed it? Certainly not a prank, as you said before.”
“No,” Holden said. “I’ve been thinking about that ever since I saw those pictures in Orlando. Cracker was foolish sometimes, and sometimes wild, but he wasn’t insane. And he wasn’t suicidal. The way I figure it, the other ones who were on the job with him, must’ve forced him into it.”
“Forced him? How?”
“That I don’t know, but I aim to find out.”
Captain Tower had long since picked up an extension and was listening. Reardon nodded to him, speaking into the phone.
“I’m on your side, Sheriff. Let’s go back to those people he was supposed to go hunting with. Have you been able to get anything on that angle, yet?”
“I’ve got two of my boys out checking all of Cracker’s friends, and also checking down the Elks if maybe he said something down there, and as soon as I get off the line, I’ll go out to his house and look around. It’s about fifteen minutes from here on the Orlando road; he lives alone, got a woman comes in to clean every day, but not when he’s away. But I’ll get in, don’t worry.”
Reardon was sure he would, if he had to tear out a wall. He said, “Call me when you get through, if you find anything or not. Any hour.”
“Right. What’s your number? Better give me your house, too.”
“Just call here,” Reardon said. “They’ll get me.”
“Fine. One thing I should’ve thought of,” Sheriff Holden added slowly. “When he said he was go
ing hunting with friends, I should have wondered. Old George never was a big nut for hunting. When he was a kid he’d go out with a twenty-two for hedgehog once in awhile just to be one of the gang, but since he come out of the war he said he figured hunting didn’t take any more guts than dropping bombs from fifty thousand feet. Wasn’t nobody on the ground could throw them back, he said.”
“Speaking of the war, Sheriff,” Reardon said, “did he ever talk very much about the gang he was with during the war? He was a waist-gunner on a helicopter, you said. What about the crew he flew with? Were they close?”
“Man!” Holden said. “Did he ever talk about them! That’s about all he ever did talk about when he first come back. Old Cracker was never a boy to get too close to people; maybe it’s one of the reasons he never married. But what happened in Vietnam, was he always liked this gang on this one ship, but they were full-up. Then one day one of their waist-gunners got hit with ground fire and George, he asked to be transferred. He was with them the last five months.”
Reardon felt that familiar tingle of getting close to something.
He said, “Do you know their names?”
“Hell!” Holden said. “You can’t think those guys would be involved! They were all great guys, according to George. They wouldn’t drag him into something like this and get him shot. They weren’t crooks; they were his friends.”
Reardon looked over at Tower. The captain’s face was expressionless as he listened. Reardon brought his attention back to the sheriff.
“Doesn’t it strike you, Sheriff, that a man might do something for a friend he wouldn’t do for anyone else?”
“Yeah, but that’s crazy! George must have been forced—”
“Before, you thought it was crazy to think he could have been involved at all, Sheriff.”
There was a pause. Then Holden said slowly, “Yeah, I did, didn’t I …?”
“In any event, your brother-in-law might have written one of these friends something that could give us a lead,” Reardon said, temporizing. “Do you know their names?”
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