Ellery Queen - Cop Out

“Aha,” Furia said with a grin. “They sure freaked out. Hear that, Hinch?”

“So what,” Hinch grumbled. “We ain’t got the bread.”

“And now for today’s Lighter-Side-of-the-News item,” the saxophone continued with a chuckle in it. “There’s another mystery of sorts in New Bradford that for a while today had Police Chief John Secco and his department thinking they were in the middle of a crime wave.

“A twelve-year-old boy named Willie, who runs a paper route in the Lovers Hill section of New Bradford delivering the New Bradford Times-Press , came into police headquarters this morning to report a crime. Willie claimed that on Thursday afternoon, while he was delivering his papers on his bicycle at the upper end of Old Bradford Road, he witnessed-in Willie’s own words-’a short skinny guy with like a stocking over his head’ sneaking into one of the houses. According to Willie, he promptly hid behind a rhododendron bush across the road and watched. ‘The man came scooting out after a while,’ Willie said, ‘and he was carrying a little black bag that he didn’t have when he went in-’ “

“What the hell.” Hinch sat up. “Shut up, let’s hear this!” Furia hissed. “ ‘-and he took off the stocking and beat it down the road.’ Willie alleges that he followed the mysterious man and saw him turn into Lovers Hill with the black bag and head for the center of town still on foot.”

Hinch was looking at Furia with his mouth open. Furia was on his feet glaring at the radio.

“Willie, who wears thick glasses, could give no description of the man beyond his short height and skinniness. Chief Secco was doubtful about the story on the face of it, since no housebreaking was reported Thursday and Willie, it seems, has a reputation for an overactive imagination. Nevertheless, the chief sent Officer Harry Rawlson to Old Bradford Road with the boy, who pointed out the house he claimed the man had burgled. It turned out that Chief Secco’s doubts were all too justified. It was the home of a member of the New Bradford force, Officer Wesley Malone. Officer Malone, who has been off duty for a few days, said that he and Mrs. Malone had had no visitors at all on Thursday, illegal or otherwise, and that in any event nothing was missing. Mrs. Malone confirmed this, stating that they had never owned a little black bag. ‘Willie either made a mistake about the house,’ Officer Malone told his fellow-officer, ‘or he’s been reading too many mystery stories.’ A check of the other houses on Old Bradford Road produced no confirmation of Willie’s story, and he was sent home after a fatherly lecture by Chief Secco.

“Thus endeth New Bradford’s latest excitement.

“Funeral services will be held tomorrow at two p.m. at Christ Church, Stonytown, for-”

Furia jabbed the radio off. When he turned around he saw Goldie standing in the doorway from the kitchen.

“What was that all about?” Goldie said.

“Nothing!” Furia said.

“Thursday afternoon,” Hinch said slowly. “Small skinny guy. That fuzz and his old lady were telling the truth. I’ll be goddam.”

“Don’t look at me!” Furia yelled. “It wasn’t me! I was in the shack, damn it. I didn’t even have the car, so how would I get into town?”

“Neither did the skinny guy,” Hinch said. “He walked, this Willie said.”

“So it was some local,” Goldie said, “the way Malone said. There are lots of small skinny guys in this world. Looks to me, Fure, like this really ties it. Why don’t we give it up as a bad job?”

“No,” Furia said. ‘Wo.”

“How do you expect Malone to get the money back when he doesn’t even know who took it?”

“That’s his problem!”

“You could ‘a’ walked,” Hinch said, “it ain’t that far. I hoofed it easy the night we pulled the heist.”

“Maybe it was you!”

“Small, skinny,” Hinch said. “Do I look small and skinny? Anyways, Fure, I wouldn’t do that.”

“And I would?”

Hinch did not reply. He was looking into his empty glass and frowning.

“Well, at least Malone and his wife didn’t blow the whistle, you scared ‘em good,” Goldie said brightly. She was scratching one hand with the other. After a while she said, “The roast won’t be long now. No potatoes or I’d make you some French fries, Fure. What vedge do you want?”

Furia told her what she could do with her vedge.

“I still think it’s taking useless chances to hang around here,” Goldie said. “Specially now that we know somebody did hijack the payroll. What do you say we write it off, Fure? We could be somewhere opening a bank and like grabbing us a real pile, not some snotty twenty-four grand.”

“What do you think, Hinch?” Furia asked suddenly.

Hinch looked up.

“You think we ought to cut out, like Goldie says?”

Hinch got to his feet. He seemed to go up and up indefinitely. Goldie took one look at the expression on his face and stepped back into the kitchen.

“I think,” Hinch said deliberately, “I’m going to make myself another drinkee.”

Fure was uptight all Saturday evening, brooding over at Hinch getting smashed in his corner.

Furia had his right hand stuck under his coat like Napoleon. But he wasn’t dreaming of new worlds to conquer, he wanted the Colt in his shoulder holster handy just in case, at least that was Goldie’s analysis. This whole thing is a bust why did I ever tie in with these cockamamies? Better watch your step, girl, this could wind up with fireworks.

There was almost a fight over the TV. Furia wanted the TV on, Hinch wanted the radio on. The nine o’clock movie was a remake of The Maltese Falcon, I like that old fat guy, Furia said, he’s real cool. Goldie said he’s also been real dead for years it’s somebody else in this version, why doesn’t Hinch take the radio into the den then everybody’s happy. Hinch said to hell with you bitch I like it right here. Furia said I want to see Humphrey Bogart and that’s it and Goldie said he’s dead too, Fure. Fure said according to you everybody’s dead and Hinch said in a peculiar way so let that be a lesson to you. And he wasn’t looking at Goldie when he said it. Goldie decided to go to the bathroom in case the argument heated up.

In the end Hinch took the radio into the den and Furia watched his movie. He kept complaining all through that it stank I liked the fat guy and Bogey better.

But Goldie noticed that he turned his chair so he could keep one eye on the den.

Come eleven o’clock there was Furia standing in the doorway of the den.

“What you listening to?” he asked Hinch.

“What do you think?” Hinch said. There were about three fingers left in the bottle of Smirnoff’s.

“At the signal it will be exactly eleven o’clock,” the announcer said. “This is Station WRUD, the Voice of Taugus Valley. Now for the news.”

“What do you got to listen to the news for?” Furia said. “We heard it on the six o’clock.”

“You don’t want to hear it don’t,” Hinch said. “Me, I want to hear it.”

“They didn’t find us, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Furia said. Hinch said nothing. “That’s a joke, son.”