Killer Mine (19 page)

Ted Marker answered my ring and I knew that he had come up with it even before he said, “It checked, Regan. I found the gimmick where you said it would be and the chemical analysis nailed it. The detail assignments were in the files and he was there, all right. Do I pass this on?”

“Not yet, Ted.”

“Why, Regan? Damn it, we can’t let him go roaming…”

I stopped him. “Because that doesn’t get me out, that’s why.”

“Hell, they can’t try you again. They…”

Once again, I cut him off. “One more call to make. I have to find that stuff I collected on Leo Marcus. It’s the only thing to shake off the negligence angle they’ll slap me with at the trial. I want it all straight and in the record.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said. “Where are you?”

“Safe enough. In George Lucas’ office.” I hung up.

George Lucas came through the door and piled into his chair behind the desk. He saw my face and drew back at what was written there. “Regan…”

“It was Al Argenio who took that shot at me. He got the silencer from one of the exhibits of confiscated weapons at the Police Academy and tried to pot me.”

“Proof?” he asked simply.

“Availability. He was seen coming out when he returned it to the case.”

“But he probably wasn’t seen doing it. He’d make a point of that.”

I shook my head and looked out the window. “He was assigned to the detail that searched the warehouse where the FS-7 and the Sentol was uncovered. He got hold of some of the stuff and delivered it to the right people for a price.”

“Conjecture, Regan.”

Slowly, I turned my head and looked at him. “He had made a broad a gift of stocks worth twenty grand.”

George leaned back, not wanting to get too close to me for some reason. “He was on the force long enough to save that much if one of his investments did pay off. It’s not impossible and it’s damn near unprovable. He could claim that money came from anywhere.”

He was saying things that put a sour taste in my mouth. “It was a vice with him. Some have it for gambling… cards, the ponies… some have it for dames or liquor… he was one of the funny ones who got eaten alive by playing the stock market. It was a joke around headquarters. His paper was always turned back to the financial page.”

George shook his head. “If he wore gloves when he shot you a paraffin test would show nothing. Loose stock investments would show nothing. It won’t hang together, friend.” He cleared his throat and went on. “If he boobytrapped your place with that sleep gas you’d need witnesses. Argenio is as much a pro as you are. He knows all the angles. He wouldn’t let himself be seen. No, Pat, the only thing that will save your tail is finding that Marcus evidence in his possession.”

“I’m waiting for something on that,” I said. But that sinking feeling was there nevertheless. George was right. It wasn’t enough, after all. I got up and stared out the window peering through the rain at the little people going to their seats to see the circus, not knowing what show was about to play and not caring either. Any show was good enough. Tomorrow the papers would headline it and they’d have a vicarious thrill at having been in the same locale where it had happened.

The phone rang sharply and George picked it up. He said something then turned to me. “For you, Pat.”

I said, “Hello?”

“Walter Milcross, Mr. Regan. I’m down the street from his place. Easy job, but I didn’t find nothing. Couple of stock certificates I lifted, but none of them papers. The place was clean. I would of spotted any place he stashed them only nothing showed.”

All the life seeped out of me. “You’re sure now, Walter?”

“You know me, Mr. Regan. Nothing in that place that even was off color outside the finger in the ink bottle.”

“What?”

“Yeah, crazy, ain’t it? I poked in this here inkwell… people stash keys in them for safe-deposit boxes sometimes thinking nobody wants to get dirtied up with ink and I pulled out a finger. A real one. Damndest thing I ever saw.”

“Where is it, Walter?”

“In my pocket wrapped up in an envelope. Like maybe he’s queer for fingers? I knew a guy once…”

“Bring it over here, Walter. You give it to George Lucas.”

“Sure, Mr. Regan, but about them papers… you want me to…”

“You did enough, friend.”

I hung up. The hot feeling was back. I didn’t need the rest. George sat there patiently while I dialed Ted Marker. I told him what I had and told him to contact Jerry Nolan with the information. George heard it all and his face had a sickly white pallor around the nostrils. Then Ted said, “Pat… Argenio got back about an hour ago. He was in the file room and saw the papers with the detail assignments on them and wanted to know what it was about. Edson didn’t know what was going on and told him I had requested them. I already checked around for Argenio and he’s nowhere to be found. Edson said he looked like he was ready to kill somebody.”

I dropped the receiver back slowly, my teeth grinding against each other. “He got wise,” I said. “He’s on the run.”

“Where can he go?”

“Not where I can’t find him.”

“The trial’s in an hour.”

“Screw the trial. Get it postponed.”

“Maybe you’d better spell it out slowly for me, Pat.”

“Marcus took the Syndicate for a bundle. He proved his worth by getting Al Argenio to search my place for my documents and plant that money there.”

“Argenio was being paid off by him?”

“For a long time, apparently. Who knows what favors he did. He was in a position to do plenty here and there. One of them was spotting the potential of the Sentol and the FS-7 when he was on the warehouse detail. He delivered some of it to the Syndicate through Marcus. Trouble was, he blew his wad on bad investments and always needed more. Once he was hooked by those guys he was in all the way.”

“Go on.”

“While I was under house arrest, Marcus used the Syndicate money to refinance the operation along the east coast. Or at least part of it. A big chunk went to his own use. He thought he could cover it later, I guess, but they don’t take chances when that much is involved and double checked his accounts. When he came up short he was put on their dead list and a contract to eliminate was given to a couple of out-of-state hoods.

“Marcus got wind of it someplace… he probably had his own informers inside the organization, and had to cut out so both the law and the Syndicate would be off his back. He lined himself up a pigeon that looked just like himself physically. Remember… he had no outstanding physical characteristics. He was big and fat, bald and toothless, but no scars, tattoos or bone breaks.”

“That would take time, Regan.”

“Money would buy out enough time. Anyway, he found his pigeon. He promised him something, got him in his house, waited for his plan for me to go into operation because I was big mouthing about getting back at him for putting me on the hook, knowing I’d make the perfect patsy… and there I was.

“Hell, I wasn’t hard to follow. I made no bones about what I was doing while I was on suspension. Maybe it was Argenio who tailed me, maybe somebody else. I’d like to think it was Argenio, the bastard. Marcus had been cozy with Mildred Swiss and primed her for the job. He had her standing by to feed me that Sentol. Most likely he promised her the moon and she fell for it…a trip to Europe with him and all the trimmings. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, but goes along with it, anyway.

“At that party Popeye Lewis and Edna Rells threw I was ready, the timing was perfect and I was suckered. I had one thing on my mind… to get Leo Marcus before the department trial came up. Once I had gotten dosed the idea really took hold and I ran off at the mouth but good. The only lucky break I had was taking six aspirins earlier. It offset one of the effects of the Sentol. Maybe I would have killed the guy who was made up to look like Marcus, I don’t know. I do know I was supposed to have been found there still conscious but appearing drunk with a gun in my hand.

“Anyway, I got up those steps and was admitted inside. This part I don’t remember. All I know is what did happen. I could have been carried in. When I couldn’t do the job somebody… either Marcus or Argenio… took my gun and pumped six bullets into the decoy’s face destroying everything he had. My gun was put back in my hand reloaded, then fired so a paraffin test would show a positive. A burned log and a dumped slug would never be found. They threw the body face down in the fireplace so the flames would burn the prints off his hands, smashed up an extra set of Marcus’ dental plates and scattered the bits around and let it lie.”

“What about the finger?” George asked me.

I got up and paced between the desk and the window. “That was Marcus’ unfortunate accident. When the guy saw what was happening he put his hand up to protect himself and a slug took the pinky off his hand. That part was going to show when they examined the remains. A finger was missing, because Argenio found it and kept it They had to leave a finger there for the police to find.”

George looked sick again.

I said, “There are doctors around who have lost their licenses who would do the job for a price. Marcus would know them. One came up, amputated his finger, a shot was fired at the end to make it look like a bullet had done the job and the finger was wedged under the mantle. In fact, it even made the case for Marcus’ death better. One of his own fingers was there for the nearly irrefutable proof of his death.”

“But the finger was in Argenio’s place.”

“Insurance, George. Al played it smart. He kept the decoy’s finger and Marcus would have to keep him alive. They were both eyewitnesses to a murder they had planned and executed. Marcus had plenty on Al, now Al had the key to keeping Marcus in line and feeding him with the money he needed from the new enterprise Marcus had arranged for.”

George nodded. “Then we find the doctor who did the job and…”

“The hell with the doctor,” I said. “I want the other two, Argenio first.”

“He can’t get far.”

It was done. Tied up. I grinned, picked up the phone and dialed Madaline’s office number. She was going to be glad to hear the news. While I waited for the call to go through I told George, “Get on the other phone and start calling. There isn’t time for that damn trial.”

He nodded and left for the outside office as the voice on the other end said, “Sturvesent Agency, Miss Stumper’s office.”

“Pat Regan calling. Madaline there?”

The voice hesitated, then said, “Why… no. Isn’t she with you?”

I had to force out the words. “Is she supposed to be?”

“But… an hour ago… there was a call from downstairs. They said it was a policeman friend of hers who wanted to see her. She said it was you and she probably wouldn’t be back.”

Damn it all to hell! The scene had come bright and clear in his mind and now he was pushing the destruct button.
“Check that call back and get a description of the person who met her. Don’t let anybody leave there until I get there. Got that?”

The urgency in my voice froze her, then she said, “Yes, sir.”

At my belt the weight of the .45 was like a living thing talking to me and I ran out of the room. George was talking on the phone and I stopped him. “He has Madaline.”

“Who?” George looked startled.

“Argenio. Call my office and have Jerry Nolan get an APB out and a squad working. Give him the details I gave you and hold onto that finger when Walter gets here.”

“Pat… where are you going? Damn it, Pat, you can’t…”

But I was out the door by then.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE call had been made in the lobby of the building, relayed through the receptionist. There was no doubt about it. The description the woman at the desk gave me fitted Al Argenio, except for his pleasant manner, but he’d have to put that on to make the act effective.

He had come up behind her when she came out of the elevator and neither the woman nor the starter heard what he said, but the uniformed starter saw him take her by the arm and go outside to where a cab was waiting at the curb with the occupied flag down.

I had the receptionist put me through to headquarters and got Jerry on the line. For the sake of listening ears I turned away and kept my voice down, but it took a lot of effort. All Jerry could say was, “What the hell’s going on, Regan?”

“Just listen, Jerry. I’m at the Sturvesent Agency building on Madison Avenue. Argenio got wise and beat me here. He grabbed Madaline, hustled her into a cab and took off. Alert all the cab companies and have their drivers check their trip sheets.”

“How can they pull them in? They haven’t got radios. Most don’t break for the garages until four.”

“Then put out a call to all prowl cars to look out for them. Get word to the subway guards and the tunnel and bridge attendants, but tell them to be damn careful. He’ll do anything now. He’s killed before and he won’t stop at anything. She’s his shield and a warning to me.”

Jerry tried to make it sound easy, but there was an edge in his voice. “He wants back at you, Regan. He’s not planning to keep her alive.”

“I know,” I said. “Get with it.”

“We’ll do all we can.”

I looked at my watch. He had an hour’s start. And an hour can get you pretty far from the city. One way or another, I had to locate the cab that waited for him. On the street pedestrian traffic was going by in a thin stream, hugging the walls of the buildings, leaning into the rain. The braver ones stood at the curb waving fruitlessly at cabs already filled. None were cruising. When any stopped to discharge passengers others were right there to fill it up again.

Madison Avenue. The center of the advertising world. The middle of everything, I thought, and I was trapped in the center of it like a helpless old lady trying to get across an intersection during the rush hour. Thousands of people were in the buildings all around me, preparing to talk commerce to the world via the medium of TV and radio and I couldn’t locate a single cab for another hour yet. At four they’d break and start a new shift and I’ve had to wait until then.

Think, Regan. Think or she’d be dead.

I waited for the light, crossed over and half ran two blocks down to the modern concrete structure that housed a major network studio. The head guard was a retired sergeant from the 4th Precinct I knew and when I briefed him, he led me upstairs to the right man.