Crime at Christmas

by Jack Adrian (ed)

  Holy Infant, so tender and mild. . .

  But that had been a long time ago, before Purvis had become a member of a teen gang, then a youthful mugger, then a dope peddler, and finally a killer.

  Now it was only important because it meant he knew the building thoroughly. Knew the shabby gymnasium below where a hundred parentless children were singing, joyously, as they waited for Santa Claus. Knew the fire escape that angled down the side of the building next to the 'El' tracks, past the long frosted glass windows.

  And especially because it meant he knew how to reach this roof from the roof of a building three numbers away—exactly how to reach it unseen and unsuspected, so that he could crouch in the shadows with a loaded gun in his pocket, and a tape-wrapped length of pipe in his gloved hand, waiting, like the kids below, for Santa Claus to come.

  Sleep in heavenly peace,

  Sleep in heavenly peace!

  That needs explaining, doesn't it? Yes, of course it does. Because it's a somewhat complex series of events that has brought you here to the roof to St Francis Foundling Home on Christmas Eve, Ed.

  So let us shift time and space about a bit. Let's turn the calendar back to early December. And now the scene is the State Penitentiary, a hundred miles to the north. It's Visitor's Day. And you, Ed, have a visitor. You 're a convict, you 're not free and you don 't expect to be. But you have a visitor. A girl. Her name is Red. Just Red. Your girl. It's foolish of her to love you as desperately as she does. But that's how girls are. . .

  They sat at one of those long tables with the little fence down the middle and stared at each other hungrily. Purvis' square, brutal face was set and tight. Red's face was white and pinched with too much rouge on her cheeks to cover the pallor and too much lipstick on her lips. But her eyes were dark and sunken, needing no eyeshadow, a look in them of fierce yearning.

  'Ed, honey,' she whispered. 'Ed, honest, I'm doing everything I can. You known Ed, I want you out of here just as much as you want to be out. You know how I miss you.'

  Her eyes, as she spoke, proclaimed her desperate sincerity. He was a killer, but she was his girl, and she wanted him back.

  'Money!' Purvis rasped. 'That's all it takes to get a wise guy out of this joint. Four or Five grand. Nothing else! If the boys—'

  Red shook her head, her lips tight. 'Ed,' she said huskily, 'the boys can't. McElroy got them. He killed Willie Rand and wounded Nick and Gander Johnson. They're waiting for sentence now. They'll get ten to twenty.'

  Purvis's face darkened. 'McElroy!' he whispered. 'Smiling Jim McElroy! That copper! Someday I'll—'

  'Ssh!' Red warned sharply. 'The guard will hear you. What I wanted to tell you was this. Lippy's left. Lippy and me. We managed to raise a thousand dollars. That's all.

  'I took it last night to you-know-who on the Parole Board. I told him it was all I could raise. He wanted four grand. But I promised him more after you're out. He said he'd do what he could.

  'I don't know if he means it or not, but it was the best I could do,' she added desperately. 'Oh, Ed, I want you back so much—'

  There were tears in her eyes, winking bright as she leaned as close as the little fence would let her. 'Ed, the Board meets tomorrow. You'll go up before them. You've been here three years now. Surely they'll let you go! I got to have you back, Ed. I'll die if you don't come back to me soon!'

  Purvis drummed softly with thick knuckles on the wooden table. His face was still dark with the congested blood of anger.

  'Okay, Red,' he said, 'if that's the best you can do, that's the best. Even if it works out, it'll mean I'm here another thirty days at least. But when I do get out, there'll be one cop less who wants to see me fry. McElroy!

  His voice lowered, but in a whisper it was still savage. 'I'm going to kill him, see, Red? I'm going to choke him with my own hands! I'll strangle him until his eyes bulge, and his tongue sticks out of his mouth and he wants to beg for mercy but can't! I'm going to kill that copper if it's the last thing I ever do!'

  Red shook her head frantically, so that the cheap permanent came loose and her hair straggled down her face.

  'No, Ed, no,' she begged, brushing it back. 'Don't say that. Don't even think it! They'll get you if you do it, Ed, and they'll send you to the chair. They'll take you away from me, not for just a few years, but forever! Forever, Ed! And that'd kill me. That'd—'

  'Aaaaahhh!' Purvish said, and it was like a long strangled curse deep in his throat. 'Not me, they won't. If I could only get loose from here. Red, only get loose from here before Christmas, I'd show them.'

  From his pocket he extracted a folded newspaper clipping, raggedly cut from a newspaper with a thumb nail.

  'Look at this,' he said.

  He raised a hand, and the attendant guard ambled over. Suddenly Purvis' voice was mild.

  'Can I show this to the lady just for a minute?' he asked. 'It’s only a newspaper clipping about a friend of ours.'

  The Guard scanned the clipping and grunted. 'Okay,' he said. 'Against the rules, but there ain't anything harmful in it, I guess.'

  He passed the clipping to Red, and the girl spread it flat and read it. It was just a headline and a few inches of text.

  SANTA TO VISIT ORPHANS

  Santa Claus will visit without fail this year the St Francis Foundling Home, on Melton Street. Not always has he stopped there on his annual visits, but from now on his yuletide presence will be assured thanks to Sergeant James McElroy, of the local police department, who took an interest in the institution when he and his wife adopted a child from it recently.

  Smiling Jim McElroy, as he is called, is the most popular man in the department, and among the most courageous, as was evidenced by his recent exploit of apprehending two fur loft thieves and killing a third. So the response of the department when he took up a collection to buy toys for kiddies who might otherwise go unremembered was generous.

  Thanks to Smiling Jim, no kiddie in the St Francis Home will be neglected on Christmas Eve. Santa will be there on schedule, and will even come in through a real fireplace, and leave by the same route. Under Sergeant McElroy's expert direction, a large imitation fireplace has been erected in the gymnasium, in front of a window that leads to a fire escape.

  Dressed as Saint Nick, Sergeant McElroy, some time before midnight on Christmas Eve, will descend the fire escape from the roof, emerge through the fireplace, and delight the hearts of a hundred parentless tots with presents from the pack on his back. Needless to say, the pack will be of ample dimensions.

  There was more to it, and a picture of a large man with a square chin, level gray eyes, and a wide generous mouth that seemed made to grin good-naturedly. The girl read it quickly. Then the guard handed the clipping back to Purvis and moved away again to his post.

  I don't understand,' she said. 'What—'

  'Don't be dumb,' Purvis exclaimed impatiently. 'Don't you remember—I'm a St Francis orphan myself. I didn't have any Santa Claus bringing me presents down a fake chimney, like those dirty-nosed brats will. I got thrown out on my ear when I was twelve, and thrown right in again—into the reformatory. But that isn't what I mean.

  'What I mean is, I known the St Francis home like I know the back of my hand. And if I was on the outside, I'd be there waiting for McElroy when he came out on the roof dressed as Santa Claus and started down the fire escape. I'd be waiting, and I'd wipe the smile from his face and escape, and nobody would ever know who did it. If you custom-tailored a bump-off, you couldn't arrange one that would be any easier.

  Catch on?'

  Red nodded. 'Yes, Ed,' she said pleadingly. 'But please, Ed, please don't think about it. I know McElroy sent you up, I know he broke up the gang. But think how lucky you were he only got you for concealed weapons. If he'd ever found that witness he was looking for, the one who saw you kill the watchman, you'd have gone to the chair. Think how lucky you were, Ed, and forget about hating McElroy. Forget him, please!

  'Tell me what you'd like for Christmas inste
ad. Tell me what you'd like, and I'll send it to you. We'll just think about each other this Christmas and pretend we're together like we will be when you get out.'

  'He's still looking for that witness,' Purvis said implacably. 'Some day he'll find him. And so he has to die. If you want to know what I want for Christmas, I want McElroy's life. That's what I want.'

  'Oh, Ed, Ed,' the girl cried, the tears wetting her thin cheeks, 'you'll get out and kill him and they'll catch you and take you away from me forever—'

  'Time!' the guard said curtly. 'Time's up. You gotta go, lady.'

  Red went, still weeping, and Purvis put the clipping back in his pocket and opened and shut his hands softly, thinking of what he'd do if only he were free to do it.

  Well, now you 're free, Purvis. Free to hide on a snow-covered roof on Christmas Eve, and stare at the crimson reflection of neon signs in the uptown sky or at the glassless window of the tenement across the street where, from time to time, a cigarette tip glows in one of the empty upper windows. Free to crouch there waiting for Santa Claus, a St Nick who will be Jim McElroy dressed up in crimson pants and false whiskers.

  And when he comes you'll be able to give McElroy the present you've brought him—the present of death. . .

  It had been completely unexpected when the guard had come for him only that morning and said the warden wanted to see him. Purvis had stood scowling in the warden's office, wanting to be insolent, but not quite daring to speak his mind, while the little man behind the big desk stared at him with level, frosty eyes.

  'Purvis,' the warden said, tapping the desk with a pencil, 'You're surprised to be here. And I'm just as surprised to see you before me.'

  He smiled bleakly. Purvis waited, wondering.

  'We're both surprised. And frankly, for me the surprise is unpleasant. But the Parole Board has granted your request, and ordered me to turn you loose. You may regard it, if you wish, as a Christmas present from the state.'

  Purvis' heart leaped. The thought of parole had dominated him night and day. But he had hardly expected to get it, for the Parole Board had been none too friendly. But Red had known; she'd been tipped off. That was what she had meant, then, by the letter she'd sent, the letter in his cell now.

  Dear Ed:

  Just to wish you a merry Xmas and to say that we're preparing a swell present for you, something you want very much. Can't tell you now, but you'll know soon and you'll be tickled. I know you will.

  Love,

  Red

  She'd meant the parole, of course. The thousand bucks to the crooked Board member had turned the trick, and he must have told her so. Naturally, she couldn't pass the news along to Ed in a letter. No one was supposed to know the decisions of the Parole Board until they were announced, and it wouldn't look good for a prisoner to hear in a letter something he wasn't supposed to Find out for a month.

  But she'd wanted him to know he'd be free soon, though she could hardly have guessed it would be this soon.

  'You see, Purvis,' the warden said, 'it was the thought of the Parole Board that since you were going to go free, it would be a nice gesture to free you in time for the Christmas festivities. Well, you know and I know how much you deserve freedom. But I have my orders, and I have to obey them. Remember, though—'

  There was a lot more—guff about parole regulations, working, reporting monthly, and being subject to re-imprisonment for association with former companions.

  It went in one ear and out the other. In an hour formalities having been expedited by the unexpected order, Purvis and half a dozen others were on their way to the city.

  Once there, he had wasted no time in issuing stern injunctions to himself. A room, rented in a good neighbourhood, first. Then hole up there until after dark. Don't even try to get in touch with Red. Don't risk being seen by newspaper reporters who might follow for a story, or dicks who might think it a good idea to tail a parolee on general principles.

  No, he'd hole up in a respectable room until dark. Then he'd make a cautious sally to a certain number where a guy could rent a gun for the ten bucks, which the state had given him as a goodbye present.

  After that a catlike approach to Melton Street, through back alleys and backyards. An unseen entrance into an empty loft building. From the roof of that across the roof of the Saint Francis Foundling Home. Then nothing to do but wait.

  Peace on earth, and mercy mild,

  God and sinners reconciled!

  Purvis cursed under his breath as the cold bit at his nose and ears. But he could wait. He'd waited a long time, and as his revenge came closer and closer, it tasted better and better. McElroy would be along any minute now, all tangled up in red pants and loaded down with a sack of toys. He'd come right past this chimney, never dreaming of what was waiting behind it for him. He'd come by, and Purvis would raise the taped pipe, bring it down—’

  He straightened. Was that a footstep? As he strained his ears the 'El' thundered by in the street and drowned out any noise he might have heard. When it had gone, leaving his ears ringing, he listened again.

  This time it was clear. Footsteps, muffled by the snow, where unmistakably coming toward him.

  Hark the herald angels sing. . .

  Purvis tensed. Then the figure he had been waiting for appeared beyond the obscuring bulk of the chimney. Santa himself, with his bulbous stomach, baggy pants, fluttering beard, and tassled cap. Santa, with a lumpy pack on his back, stepping jauntily across the roof, shaking a little string of sleigh bells in his hands to make the kids below think he was stabling his reindeer.

  Glory to the new-born King!

  Purvis' lips twisted. The pipe descended. A sound like a customer thumping a ripe watermelon was lost in the night, and with a little surprised jangle of sleigh bells Santa stopped, his knees buckled, and he slid silently faced downward on the flat stone roof.

  Purvis loosened the pack of toys and set it to one side. Then he rolled the unconscious Figure over and ripped loose the false whiskers. From his coat pocket he took the flashlight he'd brought, and, muffling the beam with his hand, shined it on the unconscious man's face.

  'Now, McElroy—' he began and stopped.

  The man on the roof was not Smiling Jim McElroy.

  Hideous disappointment rose in Purvis, so acute he could taste it. Disappointment and rage. He clicked the flashlight on again for a moment. But the beam of light still showed a face he did not know. It was a round face, a red, jolly face, but it was not the face of McElroy.

  Purvis thrust pipe and flashlight back into his pocket.

  Kneeling, he savagely slapped snow into the face until the eyes fluttered and opened. Then his features hidden by an upturned collar, his voice muffled, he snarled a question.

  The open eyes fluttered vaguely.

  'McElroy?' the man in Santa Claus costume said in a gasping voice. 'He's downstairs. Asked me to come along—play Santa—fool the kids. Thought they'd know him. Wanted it to seem real."

  The eyes closed. The voice stopped. The man he had hit was unconscious again, breathing with thick, stertorous gasps.

  God rest ye merry gentlemen. . .

  Purvis knelt there beside him and cursed. McElroy had made a last minute change in plans. So the kids would believe Santa was real! He'd be down there now, safe and in the brightly lighted gymnasium, surrounded by half a dozen women and a hundred brats—there were no men connected with St Francis, except the janitor—helping 'em sing the carols Purvis had been hearing for the last half hour.

  Let nothing you dismay. . .

  And then Purvis was suddenly calm again.

  McElroy was clown there, surrounded by dames and kids. Unsuspecting, unarmed. Suppose Purvis slipped down the Fire escape Santa had been about to descend. Suppose he came out from that fireplace into a room full of startled kids and before McElroy could even—’

  No, wait! Suppose Santa himself came out from the fireplace, as everyone expected him to? Suppose that Santa, pack on his back and everything, came o
ut and walked over to McElroy and said: 'Here's a present for you, copper, that I've been waiting a long time to give you!'

  Then the thing in Santa's hand would smoke and flame, and McElroy would go down with a bullet in his heart and death eating at all his stalwart strength. And Santa Claus would scram—right back to the North Pole itself, as far as anybody would ever know.

  For Jesus Christ our Saviour. . .

  Back through the fireplace, out the window, down the fire escape. At the bottom a weighted length of ladder swung about a dark alley. Down that length, down into the alley. Rip off the Santa Claus suit, stuff it into an ash can, and be gone into the darkness before the dames and the kids stopped screaming. Be back in his room all the way across town, perhaps, before they even had the sense to call the cops.

  What would be easier? He could kill McElroy that way in view of a hundred witnesses, and the Santa Claus outfit would be a perfect disguise.

  Was born on Christmas Day!

  Quickly he set to work to strip the costume off the unconscious man at his feet. The guy had a suit on underneath. He wouldn't freeze. Not that Purvis cared. He got the coat, the pants, the beard, and the cap, letting the boots go, and in the darkness hurriedly slipped into them.

  His heavy build fitted the garments well enough. Attired, he took the unconscious man's handkerchief, necktie, a torn-off shirt tail, and with these bound his wrists, his ankles, and gagged him. They'd find him soon enough. Purvis could have killed him but it wasn't worth his time. He hadn't seen his attacker. And bigger game was below, down that fire escape and the dames and kids couldn't stop him.