by Ed Lacy
Two hours later we were all back on the prowl again. Smith told us the kidnappers hadn't shown. Over the radio I heard poppa blasting the F.B.I. for tailing him. Via a direct phone call to his office, he had been warned to keep the F.B.I. away or never see Joanie again.
In the middle of the afternoon, poppa rushed to a busy downtown cigar store to take another call in a public booth. He again took the suitcases full of money and drove off in his Lincoln for a deserted road where it would be difficult to follow him without being seen. He returned within an hour and said he hadn't met anybody. I heard he was hysterical and on the verge of cracking.
I had a long talk with Betty over the phone, and a much shorter one with Elma. It seemed we were going around and around in the same circles. If I was on edge, the strain was starting to tell more on Doc. He wanted to have supper in some Jewish restaurant, but Smith had us hanging around the precinct house and Doc was kicking about the lousy stool-joint hamburgers. I had some stew that wasn't bad and Doc claimed I had to be nuts to eat stew in a greasy spoon. It was a silly argument, yet we damn near came to blows.
The evening papers carried an attack on and sharp reply from the F.B.I. I read the sports section, went up to the dormitory for a few hours of sack time. About the time I fell off, somebody ran in and shouted that payment had been made to the kidnappers! I shook Doc awake and we went down to the squad room, where Smith angrily told us, “Wyckoff has pulled a fast one on us. That supposedly dry run he made with the dough was the real thing. They must have told him over the phone to put the money in laundry bags inside the suitcases, dump it at some prearranged spot, then return with the suitcases and claim he hadn't made contact. The girl hasn't been returned yet. She's supposed to be sent home sometime tonight. I want you out looking for anybody carrying bags, suitcases, anybody spending money. Be as open about it as you want. Get rough if you have to.”
The young punk who looked like a junior G-man, Wintino, asked, “Won't we be endangering the child's life if we come out in the open, sir?”
Smith growled, “Just follow my orders!”
Doc and I cruised in and out of bars, restaurants, until 3 a.m., when they shut. Doc shook up his stoolies once more, but we didn't even get a sniff of anything. Doc said, “This is silly. If they have the loot, why the devil should they start spending it now?”
“They might try to make a getaway.”
“Maybe, but it would be the first dumb move they've made. Still, all punks are stupid or they wouldn't be punks. Damn, my back hurts. Hope I'm not coming down with a cold.”
“I'm going to sleep around the clock, now that this is over. I'm glad he got his little girl back.”
“Has he got her back?” Doc said, rubbing the sleep out of his veined eyes. “I'm too old to be on the go for three days. Let me call in.”
At a few minutes before 4 a.m. we were told to knock off and return to the dormitory. I was so bushed I felt dazed. It seemed I'd hardly hit the cot when somebody shook me awake. A voice snarled, “What do you think of those miserable bastards—they killed the baby!”
“When?” The word “bastards” making me wide awake.
“She was found strangled in the trunk of a wreck in an auto junk yard. Medical Examiner says Joanie was killed days ago, within a few hours after she was snatched.”
“Then she was dead from the go!” I said, a deep anger covering my tiredness.
“Seems that way. Wash up and be in the squad room in ten minutes,” this guy said, awakening Doc, and going down the line of cots.
11 —
ADDED TO EVERYTHING else, there wasn't any hot water. I had shaved with ice water and was holding a wet paper towel to my eyes, trying to come fully awake, when somebody threw a heavy arm on my shoulder, shouted, “Bucky Penn!”
The full impact of the child's death had finally hit me, leaving me very tired and in a kind of dumb rage. I kept thinking about Wyckoff, a guy who had gone all the way—adopted a baby, gave her everything, was willing to drop a million for her, and all the time she never had a chance: She'd been murdered immediately by these cold-blooded lice. I wasn't in the mood for greetings or arms on my shoulder. I swung around, muttering, “Take your damn hands off me!” Then I pulled the paper towel from my eyes and saw Ollie's smiling brown face.
We shook hands hard and he was still a muscle man. He told me he'd come in last night, with an uptown group on fly assignment. I said, “It's been a long time. How have you been?”
“It's your world, Bucky, I'm just in it,” Ollie said. “Isn't this a rough case? We kept a hands-off policy for too long. Wyckoff was crazy to believe the kidnappers would keep their word.”
“Everybody was playing it dumb, except the snatchers. I swear if I ever get my hands on 'em there won't be any need for a trial!”
Ollie stared at me, his wide face serious. He took off his shirt, his arm tremendous. As he started washing, he asked, “Have you been on the case long?”
“Since the start, night and day.”
“No wonder you're on edge.”
“That's got nothing to do with how I feel. Hell, poppa came through, didn't he? Why did they have to kill Joanie, never give her a break? I stumble on them, they'll come in D.O.A. and that's no line!”
“Still the same old Bucky,” Ollie said, reaching for a paper towel. I handed him a couple. “Still won't wait for the red light. When are you going to learn we can't be a cop and a judge, too?”
“Why go through the motions of a trial?” I asked, buttoning my shirt. “It was all so needless, so damn... brutal. They welshed with the child's life after they shook poppa down for a good score.”
“Dying is too good for them, but our job is simply to collar them. And that's going to be far from simple. Know what puzzled me? When the father made his first pay-off run, how could the kidnappers possibly know we had pulled out but the F.B.I. was still watching?”
“Who knows? Who cares?” I slipped on my tie, my coat, felt of my pockets, pulled out my wallet and gave it a fast check. I had a couple of hundred bucks. Doc had warned me it wasn't safe leaving stuff around the dormitory. “That's all old hat. Since they seem so damn clever, they might have put a tail on the F.B.I. All I know is I'd give a week's pay to work the bastards over!”
I smacked my fist against my wallet, my insides in a knot with the hatred I felt. I'd even said “bastards” without realizing it. Ollie was staring at the thick wad of money in my wallet. I put it away, slapped him on the back. “Guess I am jumpy—lost too much sleep. I meant to phone you when I read about you making detective. Nice work, bagging three stick-up punks in the act.”
Ollie started buttoning his white shirt. He must have worn a size twenty collar. “Luck. They were so jittery they nearly passed out. Anyway, I was happy I didn't have to shoot. You like being a dick, Bucky?”
“Sure.”
Ollie turned to watch himself in the mirror as he tied his bow tie. “Sometimes I think I was better off in uniform. Your post was your own little world; you knew everybody. My wife worries more. Say, how's... Elma?”
“Elma's great.” I lowered my voice. “Don't be a sap, Ollie. When you're in plain clothes you're on your own more, work a lot of angles.”
“I've been hearing about you, Bucky. And your partner—this Doc.”
“That was a break for me, teaming up with an old hand like Doc. He's...”
A voice behind us said, “You two elephants are blocking the washbowls. How about giving me a chance to clean up?”
I turned to see this kid, this Wintino, standing there with his shirt off. I said, “Go ahead. You look like you're still wet behind the ears anyway,” and moved off to one side with Ollie. For a second I thought the runt was going to tell me off.
I told Ollie, “Doc's really wised me up. Lot of stuff they never teach in detective school, like—well, like dressing modestly when you have to testify in court. You ought to meet him. He can put you straight.”
“Straight? That's a twist.”
>
“What you trying to say, Ollie?” I asked, starting to boil. I'd heard these cracks about Doc before, but never from a guy I liked. “Doc has been like a father to me.”
“Bucky, we've been pals since the academy days; that's why I'm saying this. Sure, I know you have a fast temper, but that's not the same as—”
“As what?” I cut in, staring at the coat Ollie was slipping into—probably fifty bucks with two pairs of pants. My custom suit cost three times that.
Ollie whispered, “I've been wanting to talk to you, and this is as good a chance as any. Everybody knows Doc has both hands on the take. He would have been kicked off the force years ago if he didn't have an 'in' downtown. But he's nothing to me. You... I don't like hearing a friend of mine is following in his footsteps.”
“Have you become a jackleg preacher in your spare time, Ollie? Mind your own business and let me handle mine! I'm doing okay.”
“Sorry I spoke up. I thought it was my business when a buddy winds up a chiseler with a badge. There, I hate to have said—”
I stepped in and banged him on the chin. He was too big for me; I only staggered him. Ollie stopped buttoning his coat. Those great arms came around me, crushing me like big snakes. Ollie said, almost sadly, “Your hands may be dirty, but they're still fast. Now relax, Bucky. Try that again and I'll break your arms off and beat your alleged brains out with 'em!”
I started to say I was sorry when this little jerk stepped in, said, “Come on, break it up.”
Ollie said, “We're only horsing around,” and let go of me. I turned on this Wintino, asked, “What's the matter, kid, you looking for a bruise?”
“From a great big mans like you?” he asked, mocking me.
I reached out to slap his fresh face and the ceiling fell on me. I knew I was sitting on the wet floor, that this little punk—I must have had at least forty pounds on him—had flattened me! The side of my jaw felt like it was sticking a mile out. Some guys were helping me to my feet. I said, “Let me alone,” and almost toppled over.
Doc's voice said, “Easy, son.” And I got his face into focus. He was holding one arm, Ollie the other. Wintino was washing up, and most of the other men were grinning at me. I tried to lunge at the runt, and Doc said tightly, “Goddamn it, cut it out! You want to get suspended!”
I was full of anger, disgust, and suddenly so tense I thought I'd explode. I shrugged, muttered, “Let's get out of here.” As Doc and I headed for the door, Ollie said, “Sorry I... I'm sorry, Bucky.”
“It's okay, Ollie,” I told him, my jaw hurting. “Forget it. Soon as this is over, we have to get together.”
“Right.”
“Tell your wife hello for me.”
“Same for Elma.”
Doc pulled me toward the steps, and as we walked down toward the squad room I said, “That runt can sure wallop.”
“Forget any roughhouse in here. We're all on edge. Bill Smith might boot you out of his squad.”
“Good; then I'll get some sleep.”
“I thought you were all fired up about catching the killers.”
“I am. That was dizzy talk. I was never kayoed before.”
“Get a hold of yourself. Forget that little wop back there. He got you with a lucky punch.”
“Stop talking about it.” I never heard Doc say “wop” before.
We had to wait around the squad room for a few minutes. When Lieutenant Smith came in he looked worse than I felt, his face lined and ashen. He passed around a rough snap of little Joanie, her mouth open, her eyes vacant, her thin neck nearly cut in half by a cruel piece of wire. For a few seconds the squad room was heavy with silence, then the low cursing, and it sounded like at least one man was sobbing.
That picture did it for me. I forgot the hurt in my jaw, my pride, became all anger.
Bill Smith's voice cut the silence with a rasping sound. “I don't have to tell you a thing. All the stops are out. Try to bring in the scum responsible for this, alive. Try real hard. They don't deserve a quick death. They're smart. They've pulled it off and we don't have any more identification than when we started. But they're two or three; we're over ten thousand. Every precinct is combing their area, every man is working on the case, as of now. We have this town sewed up tight, meaning the rats have to be holed up someplace. You men are free to go anyplace you think might furnish a lead. Go where you want; bust down doors, even if you're only working on a hunch. Forget warrants or any...” He rubbed a long hand over his tired face, which looked more like a death mask. “You're all experienced men. I don't have to warn you not to go hog-wild. But go out there. They have to be someplace within this damn city!” He took out his pipe, started to pack it. His voice was normal as he added, “And if you come up on anything—no matter how small the lead—notify me first. That's all.”
Outside, as I started our squad car, I noticed Ollie and Wintino, along with most of the others, were on leather. I thought to myself: Ollie and all his big talk—I'm riding. Hell with that, where's the kidnappers? Where haven't we looked?
Doc said, “Come on, kid. Let's go.”
“Where do you want to start?”
“With digestible food. The zoo cafeteria won't open for hours. Drive down to Kelly Street. There's a place there that may not have shut yet—real Turkish coffee and some—”
“Doc, forget coffee! Didn't you see that picture of the dead kid?”
Doc punched my thigh. “Yeah, I saw it. Easy, Bucky. I'd like to get the killers, too, but... You know where they are? We've been covering the same places for days now. Who knows?—the killers might like a decent cup of coffee, too.”
“I suppose one place is as good as another,” I said, cutting across town. “But if I find them I won't take it easy. The lousy punks!”
“A punk is a punk. Some kill for a dime, others for a million.”
“But why kill the child at all? They got what they wanted, down the line.”
“It follows the usual pattern. They had to kill little Joanie. A four-year-old is big enough to identify a man, or a woman.”
“Woman? No woman would kill a child.”
Doc gave me a tired grin. “You're a sentimentalist, Bucky. All toughs are. A woman can want a bundle of folding money as badly as any man.”
“Even so, a kid, practically a baby—how could her identification stand up in court?”
“Why not? Joanie would have been with somebody, say this tall man, for over three days—why wouldn't she be able to pick his picture out of the rogues' gallery? So she's a kid, can't be sure; she picks a dozen or two mug shots. We start investigating every one she picks out, and sooner or later we're going to come across something that doesn't check, then everything falls like a house of cards. Smith was right about this gang being clever—they're safe as long as we haven't any idea who they might be.”
“But to kill a child in cold blood... I couldn't do it.”
“And if the killing had been done in hot blood, say an over-hard slap to stop the kid's crying, done by a mother—is that any different, any better? Don't forget the penalty for a snatch—death. They had nothing to lose.”
“The devil with the penalty; I still couldn't do it,” I said, thinking: An adopted child, too.
We had coffee in a dump. The place Doc wanted was closed. In fact, by the middle of the afternoon I was soggy from the coffee and beers we were having on the cuff—Doc always insisted we lay off any hard stuff while we were working. The papers carried screaming headlines and the picture of the dead kid. Poppa had suffered a heart attack and was on the critical list. The whole town was raging mad. We asked and asked, looked and looked. Doc put the screws on his stoolies, but we didn't come up with a thing.
The effects of the kayo had disappeared, but I was keyed up, in a bad mood. Even Doc's chattering got on my nerves. Around noon he insisted on visiting the zoo and gave me a lecture in front of the gorilla cage. Then while we were eating he went off on what a cruel animal man is—that in many slaughterho
uses hogs are hung on hooks while conscious, cut, and left to bleed slowly to death. How it would be more humane and cheaper to kill the animals with drugs or by mechanical means, since thousands of the beasts were so badly bruised they had to be thrown away and...
I finally cut him off with, “Doc, some other time. I'm too restless for the education pitch! Let's get back to work.”
“Let's. There's one guy in all this they haven't looked into—poppa.”
“You mean he strangled his own kid? That's loony talk!”