Sally Spencer: Blackstone and the New World

A look of concern and uncertainty was spreading across Alexander Meade’s face.

He was embarrassed by the way his guest was being treated by the desk sergeant, Blackstone thought, but he was still unsure whether saying anything further would make the situation better, or if it would simply make it worse.

The phone rang on the sergeant’s desk, and the sergeant picked up the earpiece.

‘The Limey cop, sir?’ he asked, once he’d listened to the man on the other end of the line for a moment. ‘Yes, sir, he’s. .’

The sergeant’s expression suddenly grew more alert — and perhaps a little troubled.

‘Yes, sir, Inspector Blackstone, that’s who I meant. .’ he continued. ‘No, I. . I’ll get right on to it, sir.’

He hung the earpiece up, and turned to Blackstone.

‘Would you mind waiting here for a few minutes, while we make the necessary arrangements, sir?’ he asked, in a voice which was now unashamedly ingratiating.

‘What arrangements?’ Meade enquired.

‘The arrangements that need to be arranged,’ said the desk sergeant, whose instructions to be pleasant clearly had not extended to being pleasant to Sergeant Meade.

It was the desk sergeant himself who, ten minutes later, escorted Blackstone down the steps to the basement cells.

Though there were several such cells there, only one of them was occupied, and the inspector immediately recognized the man staring at him through the bars as James Duffy.

Blackstone turned on his heel, and began to walk back towards the stairs.

‘Hold on,’ the desk sergeant said, taking him by the arm.

‘Yes?’ Blackstone replied.

‘Is that it ? You ain’t even talked to the guy.’

‘There’s no need to talk to him,’ Blackstone said. ‘That’s James Duffy. There’s no doubt about it.’

‘Yeah, but I think you should still talk to him,’ the sergeant, said, beginning to sound a little desperate.

‘Why?’

‘Well, ’cos. .’cos. .’

‘Yes?’

‘’Cos the commissioner don’t want no mistakes.’

‘There is no mistake.’

‘Talk to the prisoner, can’t you?’ the desk sergeant asked, wheedling.

‘Why should I?’

‘Do it as a favour to me.’

‘As a favour to you?’ Blackstone said. ‘Why should I do you a favour? Ah, now I see. Since we’re already such good pals. .’

‘OK, I admit that I was bit rough on you when you came in,’ the desk sergeant conceded. ‘But I was busy!’

‘Yes, it must have been hard work staring at all those forms,’ Blackstone agreed.

‘An’ if you want anything at all while you’re in New York,’ the sergeant said, ‘booze, a girl. . a boy even. .’

‘I’ll talk to the prisoner,’ Blackstone said quickly, before the offers could get any worse.

‘Thanks,’ the desk sergeant said, turning on his own heel and almost rushing for the stairs.

‘Wait a minute,’ Blackstone called after him. ‘Don’t you want to be here when I question the suspect?’

‘Hell, no,’ the sergeant said over his shoulder. as he mounted the first step.

Blackstone walked towards the cell. He remembered James Duffy as a vicious brute, and it was clear from the way he looked now that his time in America had not changed him.

Yet Duffy himself seemed quite pleased to see his visitor, and even gave him a crooked smile as he said, ‘Hello, Mr Blackstone.’

‘What’s been happening to you in the last ten minutes?’ the inspector demanded.

‘Happening to me?’ Duffy asked, mystified.

‘The sergeant said I could see you straight away, then he got a phone call, and suddenly I couldn’t see you at all until arrangements had been made. So what were those arrangements?’

‘Oh, that,’ Duffy said. ‘They moved me, didn’t they?’

‘From where to where?’

‘From the cell on the end of the row to the one that I’m in now.’

Blackstone walked to the end of the row and inspected the other cell. It seemed identical, in every way, to the one Duffy was currently occupying.

Which was strange.

‘So, how are you, Jimmy?’ he asked the prisoner.

‘On top of the world, Mr Blackstone,’ Duffy replied. ‘Best fing I ever did, coming to America.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘It’s a land of opportunity, ain’t it? If yer’ve got a bit of go about yer, yer can make a fortune.’

‘And have you made a fortune?’

Duffy smirked. ‘I’ve done all right. Even in prison, yer looked after if yer’ve got the dosh to pay for special treatment — which I have.’

‘Then it should be some consolation to you to know that when you hang, you’ll hang as a rich man,’ Blackstone said.

‘Fing is, Inspector, I don’t ’ave to ’ang at all, when you fink about it,’ Duffy said.

‘No?’

‘No! The Yanks won’t send me back unless you say I’m the man yer looking for.’

‘True,’ Blackstone agreed.

‘And for five ’undred dollars, most men I know would be willin’ to say almost anyfing.’

Blackstone smiled. ‘But there are some men who wouldn’t settle for less than a thousand,’ he pointed out.

Duffy grinned back at him. ‘Yer drive an ’ard bargain, don’t yer, Mr Blackstone?’ he said. ‘But since you seem to be ’olding all the cards, let’s call it a fousand.’

‘And just what makes you think that you can bribe me, Jimmy?’ Blackstone asked.

The other man shrugged. ‘Every man ’as ’is price, Mr Blackstone. That’s somefink they understand over ’ere. Why do you fink the desk sergeant left when he did?’

‘I don’t know. You tell me.’

‘So we could get on wiv our negotiation in peace an’ quiet. Course, ’e’ll demand ’is cut, which is fair enough — but if I was you, I wouldn’t give him more than ten per cent.’

‘I intend to give him fifty per cent,’ Blackstone said.

‘That’s up to you, but I wouldn’t. .’

‘Or even a hundred per cent! Because a hundred per cent of nothing is still nothing.’

‘Yer what?’ Duffy asked.

‘I’ve seen what you did to one of your victims,’ Blackstone told him. ‘Her name was Maggie Blair, and you cut her head off with a saw. At what stage in that grisly process did she die?’

Duffy shrugged. ‘’Ard to say. But it wasn’t my fault that it ’appened, Mr Blackstone.’

‘Then whose fault was it?’

‘Maggie’s. She was asking for it. The little slut simply wouldn’t do as she was told.’

‘And having seen her,’ Blackstone continued, ‘there’s no amount of money in the world that would compensate me for missing the sight of you dangling at the end of a rope.’

‘All right, all right, two fousand, then,’ Duffy said.

‘Not if you were to offer me a million,’ Blackstone told him.

‘Four fousand,’ Duffy said desperately. ‘That’s all the money I’ve got. I swear it.’

‘If they calculate the drop right, then when the trapdoor opens, the fall breaks your neck, you know,’ Blackstone said, conversationally. ‘They say it’s an instant death, but it isn’t.’

‘I just ain’t got more than four fousand, Mr Blackstone,’ Duffy whined.

‘There are still what the doctors call “vital signs of life” for at least half an hour after that,’ Blackstone continued. ‘It’s widely believed that since you’re unconscious for that time, you don’t feel a thing, but who knows whether that’s true or not?’

‘I. . I. .’ Duffy gasped.

‘ You’ll know, Jimmy,’ Blackstone said. ‘Hanging there, soaked in your own shit — because your bowels will open, like they always do — you’ll know. But the pity of it is, you’ll never be able to tell me.’