“You motherfuckers!” shouted Al-Kobar wildly. “You motherfuckers! You think that’s going to stop me?” He sprayed two more shots into the benches where the officers had been sitting. They were all on the floor again.
“Come on, you pigs, sit up, come on you pigs, sit up,” Al-Kobar goaded. “I said sit up,” he demanded impatiently.
“It’s time,” the Captain shouted from behind the door, to distract Al-Kobar.
Al-Kobar looked at the door, then out to the audience once again. He decided he was more interested in getting out. “Open the door, you pig bastard,” he shouted as he shoved the Judge sideways, staying behind him, the barrel of the shotgun ever in the Judge’s throat. He moved sideways down the steps.
“You lead the way, Captain, and no funny business, or I’ll blow your head off too,” said Al-Kobar.
“No, no funny business,” said the Captain.
Al-Kobar moved through the robing room to the other door which led to the interior corridor. The Captain was walking ahead, Al-Kobar following, keeping the Judge in front of him. He shifted the Judge a bit to his side so that he could twist him either front or back, depending on from where the attack might come. The three men moved slowly through the corridor. The door to the main corridor was about twenty feet ahead. The elevator was at the end of the corridor just before the door.
Suddenly, there was a noise ahead, as the door to the main corridor was banged or punched or slammed. Al-Kobar’s head twirled, and he shifted the Judge in front of him quickly. From behind him, at that very moment, the policeman who had been posted in the interior hallway stepped from the robing room. He had hidden in the judges’ washroom just before Al-Kobar walked through. On this prearranged noise from outside, the policeman emerged and fired a shot at the exposed back of Al-Kobar, to the side away from the Judge’s head. Al-Kobar howled. There was a shotgun blast now, and blood flew and splattered the wall. The Captain leaped on Al-Kobar. So did the cop from behind. There were more cops coming in the front way. More from behind. There was screaming and cursing, and people slipping in blood on the terrazzo floor.
30
Thursday, September 14, 2:15 P.M.
Marc sat next to Nick Stuart’s work bench as Stuart peered through the eyepiece of a microscope with two separate magnifying lenses. This was a comparison microscope which caused two images to appear side by side, thus permitting the study of two bullets, one under each lens, at the same time. By rotating each bullet 360 degrees, every line or mark on one bullet, could simultaneously be compared to every line or mark on the other.
Stuart was studying two bullets he had fired from two separate pistols into a recovery box stuffed with cotton.
“And you want to know if bullets can be studied and positively identified using a microscope like this?” asked Stuart, still peering into the microscope.
“That’s right,” replied Marc.
“Well, let me tell you this,” said Stuart, looking up now. He was thickly built with a bald head and a wide, smiling face. He was employed as a laboratory research technician at Winchester Firearms Company, and part of His duties involved microscopic examination of bullets and shell casings for the purposes of finding better manufacturing methods of eliminating manufacturing defects. “When I was on the police force, in Ballistics, I thought you could. But after working in the lab where I am now, I say there’s no way in the world to compare bullets precisely or accurately with a microscope like this.”
“Are you kidding?” asked Marc.
“Not at all,” said Stuart.
“How come?” asked Franco. “What about the lansing grooves and all?”
“There’s no such thing. That’s the trouble with all this stuff on TV. It’s really fiction.”
“Can you explain that a little?” asked Marc.
“Here’s a quick lesson,” said Stuart. “A bullet is smooth, made of soft metal. And it fits almost exactly into the barrel of the weapon it was made for. But inside the barrel of every weapon—except shotguns—sticks down what’s called rifling—grooves. Now when the bullet is fired, it’s forced over these grooves that are protruding down into the barrel. And the grooves cut into the soft metal of the bullet as it moves forward. It can’t go through otherwise. The bullet then gets caught on these grooves like a trolley on tracks. And since the grooves are spiraled inside the barrel, the bullet gets a spiral spin. It gets to be like a football being thrown with a spiral pass. That lets the bullet go straighter, faster. You got that so far?”
“If the metal wasn’t soft, the bullet wouldn’t get past the grooves, is that it?” asked Marc.
“Right,” said Stuart.
“How about the lansing grooves you always hear about?” said Franco.
“That’s land and grooves,” said Stuart. “After the bullet is fired, the flat part of the side of the bullet is called lands, and the lines or marks cut into the bullet by the rifling in the barrel are called grooves. So a fired bullet has lands and grooves. I guess that came to sound like lansing grooves. With me so far?”
Franco nodded.
“You say, even with these lands and grooves, you can’t compare bullets from the same pistol with this microscope?” asked Marc.
“Right,” replied Stuart. “For example. Every Smith and Wesson Chief Special revolver made—that’s the pistol detectives use—is made on the same dies or machine and has the same size barrel and the same size and number of grooves as every other similar-model Smith and Wesson Chief Special. The same goes for every other weapon manufactured. Every weapon of a certain model made on the same machines will be practically the same as every other model of the same weapon. That figures, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” Marc replied.
“Okay. Now the only way to tell if a bullet you know was fired from one revolver compared with some other bullet found some place else, is to study each bullet fired to see if the particular pistol has left any identifying characteristics in the lands or the grooves on the bullets. Right?”
“So far, so good,” said Marc.
“The problem is, you can’t look through a microscope like this and make the precise findings or readings necessary to compare bullets. It’s just not powerful enough,” said Stuart. “I mean maybe it was okay fifty years ago, when there wasn’t anything more powerful. But what we do now is actually measure the width and the depth of the grooves, the width and the height of the lands. And we do this with electronic microscopes that enlarge to the millionth of an inch. We have them at the lab.” Stuart lit a stubby cigar.
“Go on,” Marc said. He was listening carefully.
“The only way to tell if one bullet matches another, is to measure them exactly—and I mean exactly—to match them. No one can tell if the grooves on this bullet,” he said, holding up one bullet, “are the same as the grooves on this other bullet, except by measuring them to the millionth or at least ten thousandth of an inch. Of course they look alike. They were fired from the same kind of revolvers, manufactured on the same machines. They were designed to come off the machine exactly the same. Let me ask another thing before I go on. Do you know what the humidity factor is in the laboratory where the police test these bullets?”
“Humidity factor? I don’t know,” said Marc.
“I do. I worked there fifteen years. It’s the same as outdoors. Maybe they got air conditioning now. But that won’t help. You see, these bullets are lead. If I just breathe hard from my mouth on them, and you’re looking at them with the big microscopes at the lab, you’ll see the needle measuring them fluctuate. These bullets react very much to atmosphere. If you don’t control a constant humidity at their lab, which the cops don’t, you can’t compare a damn thing. From second to second, a wind could change a measurement reading.”
“Are you telling me,” said Marc, “that the police can’t accurately compare bullets because they don’t precisely measure the lands and the grooves, and therefore, can’t really tell anything except a general description of the model o
f the weapon the bullet was fired from?”
“That’s right. They can tell if the bullet has right or left twist, five or six grooves. In other words, they can tell if the bullet was fired from the same type of weapon. But to say this bullet came from this particular Chief Special as opposed to that Chief Special, that’s not possible unless they measure the markings on the bullets precisely. After all, we’re dealing with something that to the gross eye, or even with the naked eye aided by a seven-power microscope is very small; the variations are only, say, a thousandth of an inch. And a thousandth of an inch is a significant factor in bullet tolerance.”
“Then all this stuff about ballistics in court isn’t in the least bit scientific or accurate.”
“Do they measure the width, or depth, or height of the marks and grooves?” Stuart asked.
“No. They just say I studied the bullet and the bullets compare positively—without giving any basis except it’s their opinion.”
“How can they give a precise answer when they’re not dealing with precise information? I told you these weapons are manufactured by precision machine—not by hand. If they’re off—one slightly different from another—they’re off a hair. I mean that literally, a hair. You put two similar hairs together under one of these seven-power microscopes and tell me if you can see which is thicker. If they’re as close together in size as two manufactured revolvers, you’re going to have one hell of a time telling me precisely, scientifically, which is thicker just by looking through one of these old-fashioned microscopes.”
“Go on, I’m fascinated,” said Marc.
“Another thing,” said Stuart. “The police don’t measure the angle or pitch of the grooves when they compare.”
“What does that mean?” asked Franco.
“Well, you see, this is the kind of work we do at the lab. The tool dies used to manufacture the weapons sometimes create—despite expensive precautions—slight variation in the angle of the grooves. It’s very slight, but it’s there. Anyway, that variation can be to the right or the left. Now suppose one revolver has a variation or deflection of a half of one degree or more to the right, and another has a variation of a half of one degree or more to the left. That means that the angle of the grooves on the bullets will be one or two degrees different. You get what I mean?”
“Not really.”
“Okay, I’ll try it again. The grooves in one revolver are off a little, one degree to the left. Another revolver of the same manufacturer, is off one degree to the right. That variation is actually tolerable. They’ll both fire accurately. There’s no problem with that. But there is a two-degree difference in the line the grooves will cut into a bullet. Now, unless the police measure the angle or pitch of the grooves, how can they tell that a bullet came from a particular weapon? It may look the same; one degree doesn’t look like much, but it’s sure as hell different.”
“I can hardly believe what you’re telling me,” said Marc.
“You give a set of bullets to people who have access to the equipment I use, and you’ll probably end up with as many opinions about the bullets as there are people who examine them. Even when you measure the way I’m saying is necessary, it’s very difficult to say with any certainty that a bullet came out of a particular weapon.”
“Will you come to court to testify for me if I need you?”
“Why not? I just won’t be able to bring any testing equipment. These microscopes are gigantic,” Stuart replied.
Marc rose. “I’ll be in touch with you shortly if I need you. And I really appreciate your help.”
“Glad to be able to help you.” Stuart shook hands with Marc. “I’ve been really re-educated about ballistics since I work in the lab. It’d be a pleasure to set the record straight.”
Franco stopped the car at a red light. Marc, in the passenger seat, was idly whistling the music being broadcast over the car radio. Suddenly, the sound of a clacking teletype machine loudly cut out the music, signifying a special news announcement was to be made.
WE INTERRUPT THE REGULAR PROGRAMING AT THIS TIME TO BRING YOU A SPECIAL NEWS BULLETIN [the radio announcer said gravely]. A DARING, ARMED COURTROOM ESCAPE BY TWO MEN ON TRIAL FOR INCITING THE TOMBS RIOTS LAST AUGUST HAS JUST BEEN FOILED BY HEROIC POLICE WORK AT THE CRIMINAL COURTS BUILDING, 100 CENTRE STREET, MANHATTAN. IN THE MELEE, WHERE SEVERAL GUNSHOTS WERE EXCHANGED—INCLUDING A SHOTGUN BLAST—JUDGE JAMES J. CRAWFORD, PRESIDING AT THE TRIAL, RECEIVED FACIAL WOUNDS WHEN ONE OF THE DEFENDANTS FIRED A SHOTGUN AT HIM FROM POINT-BLANK RANGE. THE JUDGE IS IN SATISFACTORY CONDITION AT BEEK-MAN DOWNTOWN HOSPITAL.
“Holy Christ,” exclaimed Franco, turning the radio louder.
ALSO IN BEEKMAN DOWNTOWN HOSPITAL IN CRITICAL CONDITION IS OSCAR JOHNSON, ONE OF THE DEFENDANTS WHO WAS ATTEMPTING TO ESCAPE. JOHNSON, ALSO KNOWN AS ALI AL-KOBAR, IS CONSIDERED BY AUTHORITIES TO BE THE RINGLEADER OF THE ESCAPE GROUP. IT WAS JOHNSON WHO ALLEGEDLY SHOT JUDGE CRAWFORD.
ALSO IN BEEKMAN DOWNTOWN HOSPITAL WITH SERIOUS WOUNDS RECEIVED AS HE TRIED TO ESCAPE IS DEFENDANT JAMES PHELAN. RALPH SANTIAGO, A THIRD DEFENDANT ON TRIAL, DID NOT TAKE PART IN THE ATTEMPTED ESCAPE.
IT IS NOT KNOWN AT THIS TIME HOW THE DEFENDANTS OBTAINED THE WEAPONS WITH WHICH THEY ATTEMPTED TO ESCAPE, ALTHOUGH IT IS SUSPECTED THAT AN ATTORNEY FOR ONE OF THE PRISONERS MAY HAVE SLIPPED THE WEAPONS TO THE PRISONERS DURING A LUNCHEON RECESS. TWO OF THE ATTORNEYS ARE BEING HELD FOR INVESTIGATION AT THIS TIME.
IT HAS BEEN ASCERTAINED THAT THE SAWED-OFF SHOTGUN USED BY JOHNSON OR AL-KOBAR TO WOUND JUDGE CRAWFORD WAS FABRICATED FROM A SHOTGUN OWNED AND REGISTERED TO SPENCER ROBERTS OF OLD LYME, CONNECTICUT. AFTER INVESTIGATION, THE POLICE HAVE ASCERTAINED THAT THE SHOTGUN HAD LAST BEEN IN THE POSSESSION OF MISTER ROBERTS’ DAUGHTER, ANDREA ROBERTS, A RESIDENT OF THE EAST VILLAGE IN MANHATTAN, MISS ROBERTS IS AN ALLEGED MEMBER OF THE PEOPLE’S REVOLUTIONARY ARMY AND A DEMONSTRATION LEADER WHO IS A FAMILIAR SIGHT ON MANY LEFT-WING PICKET LINES …
Marc and Franco were transfixed by the broadcast. Franco had brought the car to a stop, the motor still running as they listened.
AN ALL-POINTS BULLETIN HAS BEEN ISSUED FOR THE ARREST OF ANDREA ROBERTS IN CONNECTION WITH CONSPIRACY TO ATTEMPT MURDER, ESCAPE, ASSAULT, POSSESSION OF UNREGISTERED WEAPONS, AND OTHER CRIMES. WE NOW RETURN YOU TO THE REGULAR BROADCAST.
“Did you hear that?” asked Marc.
“I sure did.”
“I’ve seen that girl around, even spoken to her a couple of times,” said Marc.
“I know,” said Franco. “I’ve seen you. She seemed like just a nice little kid from the country. It’s hard to understand why she’d get involved in this.”
“It’s hard to understand why anyone gets involved in crime,” said Marc. “Let’s go back to my office. Maybe she’ll call. She took my card once and told me she’d call me if she needed a lawyer.”
Marc was silent as Franco pulled away from the traffic light. He wondered if Andrea Roberts would call. He wondered whether, if she did, he could help her.
31
Friday, September 15, 12:25 A.M.
On the twenty-ninth floor of the Hotel Louis Quinze, Johnny Manno eased silently through the darkness, expertly dodging the shadowed furniture, eluding pools of light which drifted through the windows from the world outside. He stopped behind Zack Lord’s large desk. He slid open the top center drawer of the desk and, mostly by deft touch, studied the contents. There were the usual papers, pencils, paper clips, small books. Nothing unusual. Johnny bent to his left, and pulled open a side drawer. There were some books, a tissue box, a shoe-shine brush. There was another drawer on the left side of the desk, lower than the first. Johnny opened it. There was some sort of machine in the lower drawer. Johnny felt the machine. It was a tape recorder. Suddenly, Zack Lord’s desk phone rang, tearing the silence of the room, resounding from the dark walls. As the phone rang, a light on one of the phone buttons lit up intermittently, casting a feeble glow through the room. Johnny stood back and watched the flashing light silently. Abruptly, the rin
ging stopped, but the phone light remained on steadily, as if someone, perhaps an answering service, had answered the phone. At the moment that the phone was answered, the recorder in Lord’s desk started to turn, a small indicator light went on. Johnny watched the machine recording. When the light on the phone went out, so did the indicator light, and the machine stopped recording.
Johnny slid the drawer with the recorder shut and went through the rest of Lord’s desk. There were the usual office items, but no sign of the automatic pistol Franco had mentioned.
Johnny turned to a long, low cabinet against the wall behind Lord’s desk. The cabinet had four separate doors. Johnny knelt and opened the first door. There were many corporate seals, checkbooks, papers, and other documents. He moved to another of the compartments. There were more papers and books and documents. The third door contained the same. The fourth door was locked. There was no key in the key hole. Johnny looked about for a key. There were none in any of the other compartment doors. He rose and turned back to Lord’s desk. He felt inside the top center drawer; it was too risky to put on a light. He felt for a key but found none. Johnny let his hand feel the underside of the center drawer. Still no key. He felt the bottom of the top drawer on the left side. His fingers touched a key attached with Scotch tape to the underside of the drawer. Johnny removed the key and tried it in the lock on the fourth compartment in the cabinet. It fit.
Inside, Johnny found another tape recorder similar to the one in Lord’s desk. Also inside the cabinet, above the recorder, were several stacks of recording tape reels. Johnny took several reels to one of the pools of light entering the office through the windows. He made sure his body remained in the shadows as he studied the reels. They were each dated with several days of recordings on each reel. There seemed to be two separate divisions of the tapes. One set of tapes was for Lord’s office phone number. The phone number was written and Scotch-taped to the reels along with the dates. The other tapes were marked with a phone number Johnny didn’t recognize. Johnny made a mental note of the second phone number, then returned the tapes to the cabinet in which he found them. He locked the cabinet again and returned the key to its hiding place. Still he found no pistol. Perhaps Lord had a safe nearby. Johnny began to search for the safe.
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