four months before.
I phoned Dot, asked, “Where can I find this girl Lawrence was running around with?”
“She works in the office of a lawyer named Lampkin, near Chambers Street. Why do you want to see her?” There was more life in Dot's voice.
“Routine stuff, can't overlook anything—the trouble is there should be six of me to handle all the details. You been to the hospital this morning?”
“I called. Lawrence is sleeping comfortably, went to sleep as soon as he talked to you, the doctor said. Marty, I was a little hysterical last night, but I really appreciate this.”
“All right. As usual I have my own reasons for looking into this. Dot, was the kid mixed up in anything? I know he isn't the type, but with kids these days... He wasn't in any gangs, stuff like that?” It was a wasted question to ask a mother.
“Of course not. And Lawrence isn't a kid—he's a man.”
“You bet. Look, what's the name of his babe?”
“Helen Samuels.”
“Can't you talk him out of marrying a Jew-girl, Dot?”
I heard her sigh over the phone. “Marty, will you ever grow up?”
“Honey, I'm way past the growing stage. Maybe I'll see you at the hospital.”
I took the subway down to Chambers Street, looked up this Lampkin in the phone book. He shared a suite of offices with a football team of other lawyers. A pretty, big-eyed girl, with a solid bosom, was at the reception desk. When she asked what I wanted, I said, “Are you Helen Samuels?”
“Yes.” Her eyes got that wary look most citizens get when anybody “official looking” asks for them.
“I'm Marty Bond, Lawrence's stepfather.”
“He's talked about you often.”
“Can we chatter for a couple of minutes? Here? Or will it get you in a jam?”
“We can talk here. I just called the hospital. Larry is much better.”
“Look, Helen, you know about me—I'm an ex-cop. I'm on my own and trying to find who beat up Lawrence. I have to narrow down any and all leads, so I'm going to ask you a couple of questions that may sound silly, but give me the truth.”
“I understand. What do you wish to know, Mr. Bond?”
“How long have you known Lawrence?”
“Oh—about three years. We met in college.”
“I take it you know him sleeping well. Was he mixed up in anything shady? And before you shout no at me, think. A lot of kids try dope for a kick these days, find themselves in a swindle.”
“Larry was not in anything like that, I'm utterly positive.”
“All right, utterly. Did he do any gambling?”
“Of course not. Sometimes we played bridge for a half a cent a hundred, or penny poker, that's all.”
“Where'd he get all his money from?”
“What money? Why, we were using my salary.... Oh, that's a trick question, isn't it?”
“A clumsy one. You have any other boy friends... jealous ones?”
“No. I haven't dated anyone but Larry since we met.”
“Lawrence wanted—wants—to be a lawyer. Was he mixed up in politics, hanging around any of the clubs?”
“Never. You see he didn't plan on practicing law; he expects to be a policeman.”
“You like that idea?”
She shook her head, a big shake that made her breastworks dance. I wondered if Lawrence was man enough to handle all that. “No, I didn't, not at first. But then when I understood how much law and law enforcement mean to him, I wanted him to become a police officer.”
“Believe me, he'll be better off as a lawyer. There's a difference of religion—your parents object to Lawrence?”
“Not after they met him. And I haven't any brothers who hated Larry either!”
“All right, don't get ahead of me. I have to ask these questions. Is there anybody, for any reason you know of, who might have hated Lawrence? Maybe another CD cop, maybe a guy in college—anybody who even disliked him?”
“No, nobody.”
“Thanks, you've been a help. Good- by.”
“Well, I've told you the truth, answered...”
“I know, and I mean it—about your being a big help. Thanks.”
Outside I stopped for a glass of iced coffee, tried to remember the name of the CD cop Lawrence had been teamed with when Lande said he was robbed. My memory was still good and it came to me—John Breet. I looked in all the phone books—no Breets.
Long as I was downtown I dropped in to see the joker at the license bureau. He had the list of owners, but far as I knew none of them were racket people.
I went into a bar and used their bathroom, had a hamburger. Maybe I was rusty, being away from the job all these years, but I felt like an amateur. Bill was right, I was spouting off about Hilly Smith like a comic-book dick. If Bob was in this, there had to be a tie-up between the kid and the syndicate, or Lande and the crime mob. The kid seemed clean, and what the hell would the syndicate care about a two-bit butcher? Lande could be a numbers drop, but the driver would have hinted at that— unless he was in on the deal too. But that didn't add up, the store was too isolated; the longshoremen played their numbers right on the docks. Still there had to be some connection, or Smith was out— and so was the little favor I planned on his doing for me.
I found F. Frank Flatts in the phone book, in the ritzy part of the East Side. I took a gamble and sweated out a subway ride up there. The colonel lived in an apartment house with a doorman and a guy with a death mask for a puss who operated a switchboard. Flatts was in, and when I explained I was Lawrence's father, he had me up.
He looked like a real character, brushed gray hair, wearing a heavy smoking robe and slippers, nose and lips like knives, and he walked and stood like he'd swallowed a broomstick— the erect military posture, or something. He was a guy with dough; he even had a butler.
Of course he had to speak with a clipped, society accent, biting off and freezing each word. He said, “My dear man, I can't tell you how upset I am about what happened and I assure you I'm doing everything possible to find the culprits.” His eyes took in my sweaty shirt, my baggy clothes.
“Look, Colonel, save the oil. I'm a former army officer myself....”
“Regular army, sir?”
“Nope, just a clown who lumbered through OCS. Also, I'm an ex-cop, retired.”
“Then you certainly understand how disturbed I was at...”
“Colonel, let me tell you why I'm here. When I was on the force I was a hot-shot detective. Well, today I've found out it's rugged working on your own. In the old days, while I was hunting down a lead, the department would have a dozen other men running down minor clues. That's what I'm up against now; I can't do this alone.”
“You have my complete co-operation, and I think your civic pride is to be commended.”
“That's what I want—your co-operation, your influence. The cops are busy now, won't work with me. I figure you can put a little pressure on them, get them to find out a few facts for me. I want some records checked; for example, I want to know more about one of your men, a John Breet, who was with Lawrence the night...”
“My dear sir, there is no need to question any of my men —they have all been screened before joining the force. As for the police, I am sorry to say they have not co-operated with us, nor appreciated our efforts in the least. I am not talking about any particular police officer, but the department as a whole. They seem to think we are a kind of joke, a stumbling block, underestimating our effectiveness.”
“Colonel, there's a big murder hunt on at the moment— the heat is on the force. In fact the heat is on pretty much all the time—they haven't the time to work with your men.
But that's not what I'm here for. I take it you're wealthy, have influence, not to mention your position in CD. What I want you to do is pull strings, insist somebody in the department work with you—then you can get me the dope I need.”
He shook his head. “Mr. Bond, I assure you that we, as an auxiliary police force, are doing everything we can to solve this beating. Also, I am sure that the regular police force isn't...”
“Colonel, you just said you'd give me full co-operation. Well, that's what I'm asking for.”
“I will in any official capacity. As for pulling... strings, using special influence, favoritism, I have always been against that. I will do everything I can—through channels.”
“Through channels? Are you for real? This has to be taken care of now, today, tomorrow, or it never will be solved.”
“As a former officer you must see my position. I can't...”
“I don't see no position—I ain't playing checkers. All I'm asking you to do is make a few calls for me. Won't take you more than a couple of hours, and with the information I'll be able to hook up, or throw out, a lot of loose ends in the case. Will you do that?”
“If you tell me what you want, I will suggest it to the police department, and to my own...”
“Flatts, do you know the police commissioner, or know anybody who knows him?”
“As it happens, I know the commissioner quite well. I also know the mayor, but I fail to see ...”
“Will you call the commissioner right now, tell him to put you in touch with a detective who will work with you?”
“I see no reason for...”
I headed for the door. “Colonel, those eagles on your shoulders must have dropped something—your head.”
He was starting to draw himself up as I left.
There was one check that would take a lot of phoning, so I went back down to the Grover. Dewey was on, said, “King left a message for you—unless you call him right away, you're through.”
“I haven't time to worry about that underfed mouse. Any trouble last night?”
“One of
