Уильям Макгиверн - Rogue Cop

Myers came out of the card room, a solemn expression about his small cautious mouth. “I’m sorry about it, Mike,” he said simply. “I staked out at his home last night like you asked me to. But he never showed.”

Carmody saw that the detectives were taking in every word. Well, so what? he thought. Should I be ashamed because I tried to save Eddie’s life?

“Thanks, Myers,” he said, “you did all you could.” Then he turned into Lieutenant Wilson’s office. Wilson was sitting at his desk with two empty containers of coffee at his elbow. His square pugnacious face was irritable from lack of sleep. He stood and patted Carmody on the shoulder. For a moment the two men looked at each other in silence, and then Wilson turned away and sat on the edge of his desk. The bright overhead light slanted through the smoky air and drew shadows along the lines of fatigue in his face. “Well, they killed a good boy, Mike,” he said at last. “Just like they’d step on a bug.”

“You made a proposition to me yesterday,” Carmody said. “I’m taking it.”

“Turning over a new leaf, eh?”

“I don’t know. I can’t make any pious speech. I’m a grown man, and I know the world isn’t run the way some nun told me it was. But I’m going to get the guys that killed Eddie. That’s what counts, isn’t it?”

Wilson was silent, studying Carmody with a little frown. “You didn’t hear the news, I guess?”

“What news?”

“We’ve got a new Superintendent of Police. They moved Captain Myerdahl up. Every paper in town is raising hell about your brother’s murder. So the Mayor couldn’t put a hack for the top job. Myerdahl’s first order came in an hour ago. It was one sentence to every captain and lieutenant in the department: get rid of your rotten apples.”

That was pure Myerdahl, Carmody thought. The old German was notorious for his shrewdness, his toughness and his defiant, uncompromising honesty. He knew the city as he knew the lines in leathery old hands, and he hated the men who were squeezing the heart out of it for their own profit. Until he retired, or was eased out, Ackerman’s gambling operations would be shot to hell. Carmody saw a sharp significance in this; Ackerman must have known what would happen after Eddie’s murder. And that meant he was more concerned about taking the heat off Delaney, than he was for the health of his rackets. What Delaney had on him was big!

“You see what that means?” Wilson asked him.

Carmody brought his thoughts back to the point. “I’m your rotten apple, eh?”

“It’s a tough time for it to happen,” Wilson said, rubbing his tired face. “I know you want to work on your brother’s murder. But you’re not going to, Mike.” He picked up a sheaf of papers from his desk and held them limply in one hand. “This is an unfitness report on you.”

“Now wait a minute,” Carmody said sharply. “You can’t boot me out now.”

“If you are going straight for good I might put in a word for you,” Wilson said. “But I don’t want men who pick and choose their spots to be honest.”

“Damn it, are you worried about my soul, or do you want Eddie’s killer?” Carmody said.

“I’ve got an interest in both those deals,” Wilson said quietly.

Carmody was silent for a moment or so, staring down at his big hands. “Okay,” he said at last. “You aren’t stopping me, Jim, you’re just making it tougher. I want to work with you, but not at the expense of putting on sackcloth and ashes for Myerdahl’s benefit. I’m a crooked cop. Those are dirty words but they fit. They’re stuck to me with glue. I can’t get rid of them by crossing myself and saying three Hail Marys.”

“So you’re going to free lance on this case?”

“He was my brother,” Carmody said.

“That doesn’t give you any exclusive rights. Eddie had five thousand brothers in this city.”

“Brother cops, eh?”

“Don’t sneer about it, Goddamnit. That’s your trouble, Mike. Too much sneering.”

“I wasn’t sneering,” Carmody said impatiently. He got to his feet. “Five thousand or fifty thousand cops won’t break this case,” he said, staring evenly at Wilson. “If you think so, I’ll give you the killer’s names as a head start. Ackerman, Beaumonte, Fanzo in Central, Shiller in Meadowstrip. There your murderers are, Jim. Along with assorted goons, bagmen, killers, judges and politicians. They killed Eddie, but you and your five thousand brother cops try to prove it. You won’t in a million years. But I will. I know that crowd from the inside and I know the spots to hit.” He gave Wilson a short, sardonic salute. “Take it easy, chief,” he said, and started for the door.

“Hold on,” Wilson said sharply. He got to his feet, his blunt face troubled and undecided. “Working together we can do it, Mike. With the department outside and you inside we could smash them for good.”

“Make up your mind,” Carmody said. “Am I on the team or off?”

Wilson tossed the unfitness report back on his desk. “I’ll hold Myerdahl off somehow,” he muttered. Then he looked at Carmody, his eyes sharp and unfriendly. “You get your way always, don’t you? Do just what you want and to hell with everybody else.”

“Why the analysis?” Carmody asked him. “Let’s forget my personality and go to work. What’s been going on?”

“We’ve got a detail of twenty men working out where your brother was shot,” Wilson told him. “And when the shops and bars open we’re putting out fifty more. Every section is throwing us men. The Vice Squad, Accident Investigation, even the Park guards. They’ll fan out from the spot he was killed, making a street by street check of everybody who might have seen the killer. That girl’s description will go on the air every fifteen minutes, night and day, to every squad in the city; an eight-state alarm has been out for hours.” Wilson rubbed his face. “We’ll get him if he’s in the city. But that’s what I’m worried about. That he may already be gone.”

“He’s still here,” Carmody said. “Don’t worry about that.”

“How do you know?”

“Listen,” Carmody said. The police speaker in the outer room had broken the silence. “To all cars,” the announcer said in a flat, unemotional voice. “Be on the alert for murder suspect. Description following. Male, white, age twenty-five to thirty, tall muscular build, blond hair, wide face. Last seen in vicinity of Bering Street and Wilmer Avenue. Last seen wearing sports jacket, gray or tan, and sports shirt open at collar. This man is armed. Approach with caution.”

The speaker clicked twice and was silent.

“That’s going out every fifteen minutes,” Carmody said. “The killer knows it. Would you move around if you were in his spot?”

“He might have caught a plane twenty minutes after the shooting.”

“That might have been the original plan, but I doubt like hell that he followed it,” Carmody said. “He flubbed the job. He shot Eddie in front of a witness.”

“All the more reason for him to clear out fast.”

“Reason for him perhaps, but not for Ackerman. The killer put Ackerman on the spot. And Ackerman won’t let him go until it’s safe. And it won’t be safe until the witness is dead. Or the killer is dead. One or the other. That’s why he’s still in town. I’ll bet on that.”

“Then we’ll find him,” Wilson said sharply.

“Sure you will,” Carmody said. “I’m going to work now.”

“You’ve got another lead?”

“I don’t know. When I find out I’ll check in.” Carmody hesitated at the door and looked back at Wilson with a small frown. “Thanks for the break, Jim,” he said.

“Never mind that. I wouldn’t use you if I didn’t have to.”