Ричард Деминг - The Copper Frame

Saxon said politely, “How are you, Mr. Bennock?”

Adam Bennock said in a thin, reedy voice, “Sorry to hear about your father, Saxon. Is the funeral date set yet?”

“The day after tomorrow,” Saxon said. “Friday at two. It’ll be in the paper tonight. Do you know Emily Vane?”

The mayor-elect gave Emily an austere nod and tugged briefly at his hat brim. “We’ve met. How are you, Miss Vane?”

“Fine, Mr. Bennock.”

Bennock said, “I see by last night’s paper that you’re our new acting police chief, Saxon. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“Usually it’s customary for a lame-duck executive to consult his successor before making new appointments, but Mayor Foley didn’t deign to render me that courtesy. He left me to read it in the newspaper. However, no harm’s done. I quite likely would have made the same choice.”

“Thanks again,” Saxon said dryly.

“We’ll have to get together right after the first of the year to discuss the general status of the force.”

“All right.”

“You’ll need one new man to replace the vacancy left by your father’s death. Have you given that any thought?”

“There are a couple on the waiting list,” Saxon said. “Mayor Foley’s taking them up with the council tomorrow.”

Adam Bennock frowned. “The mayor seems bent on leaving as little as possible for me to do. Does he also plan to fill the lieutenancy vacancy before his term expires?”

“There won’t be any until a permanent chief is appointed,” Saxon said.

“Hmm. It’s gratifying to know I may have some say in that matter at least.”

Touching his hat brim to Emily again, he abruptly walked on.

“He’s a cold fish,” Emily said. “See what comes of staying a bachelor? You’d be like that in another dozen years if I hadn’t come along.”

“What makes you think I wouldn’t have been snagged by some blonde if you hadn’t?”

She made a face at him. “I hear he doesn’t smoke or drink either. What’s he do for amusement?”

“He skates,” Saxon said. Adam Bennock’s business was the operation of a roller rink at one of the civic beaches, and he had once been a champion skater.

“Well, anyway, I don’t like him.”

“You’re in the minority,” Saxon told her. “He got seventy per cent of the popular vote. Let’s get over to Hardy’s Restaurant before they run out of food.”

Once the ordeal of the funeral was over, Saxon threw himself into his work. There were no drastic changes he cared to make in the procedures his father had set up, but he did make one minor change.

He found a safe yet more useful role for Sam Lennox than sitting around the squad room waiting for the rare occasions when he was needed as a driver. Since he was around headquarters all the time the chief was there — which was most of the time, inasmuch as a police chief’s work was chiefly administrative — Saxon put him on permanent daytime desk duty, thus releasing one more man for necessary outside duty. Lennox still remained under his watchful eye most of the time, and in addition was performing a useful function.

Meantime neither the sheriff’s office nor the state police had discovered any new leads in Andy Saxon’s murder. It was beginning to show all the dreary signs of an unsolved homicide.

It had for many years been Andy Saxon’s custom to allow members of the force assigned to duty over Christmas and New Year’s to shift duty with other members who were willing to trade. The new acting chief saw no reason to suspend this tradition. Accordingly, he called a general staff meeting for 4 P.M. on Saturday.

The Christmas Eve and Christmas Day schedules were settled first. A number of swaps were made, matters finally being settled to the satisfaction of everyone concerned. New Year’s Eve wasn’t as easy to resolve, however, for everyone liked that night off.

It was customary on New Year’s Eve to move each shift forward one hour so that the relief change-over wouldn’t come just at midnight. Instead of running from 4 P.M. until midnight, the second trick started at 5 P.M. and ran until 1 A.M. This allowed those assigned to the swing trick an extra hour to see in the new year instead of having their celebrations interrupted at the climax of the evening.

The second trick consisted of two radio-car teams, a single foot patrolman in the downtown area, and a desk man. One of the radio-car men got George Chaney to swap duty with him for the usual ten-dollar fee. The other three and the beat cop preferred to save their money. So everyone was satisfied but Art Marks, who was assigned to desk duty that night. Marks wanted off because he and his wife were invited to a house party New Year’s Eve. When no one volunteered to swap with him, he raised the bid to fifteen dollars.

There were still no takers.

The expression of disappointment on the middle-aged lieutenant’s face was too much for Saxon. He said, “I’ll sit in for you, Art.”

Everyone in the squad room looked at him in astonishment, for the chief of police wasn’t expected to pull desk duty at any time, let alone on New Year’s Eve.

“I don’t have a thing on,” Saxon said. “Emily has to go on duty at eleven P.M., so we’d have to leave anywhere we went by ten, and local parties don’t get started until that time. We hadn’t planned any celebration in any event, so soon after my dad’s funeral.”

Art Marks said uncertainly, “Well, if you don’t mind, Chief, I’d sure appreciate it.” He started to reach for his wallet.

“Skip the fee,” Saxon said. “I’ll get even by making you do me a favor sometime.”

When the meeting broke up, Vic Burns followed Saxon into the chief’s office. Closing the door behind him, he stood scratching his right biceps.

“Got an itch?” Saxon asked.

The stocky lieutenant dropped his hand to his side. “That damned bullet burn. It’s scabbed over and itches all the time. That was a pretty nice thing you did, Chief. Smart, too.”

“Why smart?”

“You must know Art expected the chief’s appointment. He hasn’t said anything, but you can tell it rankled. Now you’ve got him solidly on your side.”

“I think he was on my side anyway, Vic. I haven’t noticed any sign of resentment.”

“Oh, he’s being a good trouper. But if you’ll notice, he hasn’t smiled since the day you broke the news of your appointment.”

“You’re imagining things,” Saxon said. “He never did smile much.”

“Maybe,” Burns said doubtfully. “Still, I’ve had a feeling all week that Art was brooding over the injustice of being bypassed. I think what you’re doing for him may shake him out of it.” He turned toward the door. “Just thought I’d tip you off. Morale’s important.”

“Thanks for bringing it to my attention.”

When Burns had gone out, Saxon sat musing for a time. Had the lieutenant been trying to warn him that Art Marks’s attitude was something deserving serious attention — that perhaps there was danger of the veteran lieutenant’s attempting deliberately to undercut his authority in some way? Knowing the stolid Marks as well as he did, Saxon considered it hardly likely that he would be capable of anything that devious. Nevertheless, the incident left him vaguely disturbed.

During Christmas week Emily was still working the three-to-eleven trick at the hospital, her change-over to the swing trick not coming until Monday, December 29. On Christmas Eve Saxon picked her up when she got off at eleven o’clock, and they had their tree together at her apartment at midnight.

Since Julie Fox had received a few days off to spend Christmas with her parents in Rochester, they were all alone. Saxon brought up the question of their marriage.