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
“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
