Ed McBain - The Last Brief

A cop gets it, and you say, ‘Well, gee, that’s tough. But that was his trade.’ Sure. Except that being a cop doesn’t mean you don’t have a wife, and maybe a few kids. It doesn’t hurt any less, being a cop. You’re just as dead.

I went over the accident report with Andy.

My eyes skipped down the length of the card, noting the date, time, place of occurrence.

I kept reading, down to the circled items on the card that told me the body had been taken to the morgue and claimed already. The rest would have been routine in any other case, but it was slightly ironic here.

I read the rest of the technical information about the direction of the traffic moving on the lights, the police action taken, the city involved, and then flipped the card over. Under NAMES AND ADDRESSES OF WITNESSES (IF NONE, SO STATE) the single word None was scribbled. The officer who’d reported the hit and run was Patrolman P. Margolis. He’d been making the rounds, stopped for his usual afternoon chat with Benson, and found the traffic cop dead in the gutter. There were skid marks on the asphalt street, but there hadn’t been a soul in sight.

‘How do you figure it, Andy?’ I asked.

‘A few ideas.’

‘Let’s hear them.’

‘The guy may have done something wrong. Benson may have hailed him for something entirely different. The guy panicked and cut him down.’

‘Something wrong like what?’

‘Who knows? Hot furs in the trunk. Dead man in the back seat. You know.’

‘And you figure Benson hailed him because he was speeding, or his windshield wiper was crooked? Something like that?’

‘Yeah, you know.’

‘I don’t buy it, Andy.’

‘Well, I got another idea.’

‘What’s that? Drunk?’

Andy nodded.

‘That’s what I was thinking. Where do we start?’

‘I’ve already had a check put in on stolen cars, and the lab boys are going over the skid marks. Why don’t we go back and see if we can scare up any witnesses?’

I picked my jacket off the back of the chair, buttoned it on, and then adjusted my shoulder holster. ‘Come on.’

The scene of the accident was at the intersection of two narrow streets. There was a two-family stucco house on one corner, and empty lots on the other three corners. It was a quiet intersection, and the only reason it warranted a light was the high school two blocks away. A traffic cop was used to supplement the light in the morning and afternoon when the kids were going to and coming from school. Benson had been hit about ten minutes before classes broke. It was a shame, because a bunch of homebound kids might have saved his life — or at least provided some witnesses.

‘There’s not much choice,’ Andy said.

I looked at the stucco house. ‘No, I guess not. Let’s go.’

We climbed the flat, brick steps at the front of the house, and Andy pushed the bell button. We waited for a few moments, and then the door opened a crack, and a voice asked, ‘Yes?’

I flashed my buzzer. ‘Police officers,’ I said. ‘We’d like to ask a few questions.’

The door stayed closed, with the voice coming from behind the small crack. ‘What about?’

‘Accident here yesterday. Won’t you open the door?’

The door swung wide, and a thin young kid in his undershirt peered out at us. His brows pulled together in a hostile frown. ‘You got a search warrant?’ he asked.

‘What have you got to hide, sonny?’ Andy asked.

‘Nothing. I just don’t like cops barging in like storm troopers.’

‘Nobody’s barging in on you,’ Andy said. ‘We want to ask a few questions, that’s all.’

‘All right, what do you want?’

‘Were you home this afternoon?’ I said.

‘Yeah.’

‘All afternoon?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You hear any noise out here in the street?’

‘What kind of noise?’

‘You tell me.’

‘I didn’t hear any noise.’

‘A car skidding, maybe? Something like that?’

‘No.’

‘Did you see anything unusual?’

‘I didn’t see anything. You’re here about the cop who was run over, ain’t you?’

‘That’s right, son.’

‘Well, I didn’t see anything.’

‘You live here alone?’

‘No. With my mother.’

‘Where is she?’

‘She ain’t feeling too good. That’s why I’ve been staying home from school. She’s been sick in bed. She didn’t hear anything, either. She’s in a fog.’

‘Have you had the doctor?’

‘Yeah, she’ll be all right.’

‘Where’s your mother’s room?’

‘In the back of the house. She couldn’t have seen anything out here even if she was able to. You’re barking up the wrong tree.’

‘How long you been out of school, son?’

‘Why?’

‘How long?’

‘A month.’

‘Your mother been sick that long?’

‘Yeah.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Fifteen.’

‘You better get back to school,’ Andy said. ‘Tell the city about your mother, and they’ll do something for her. You hear that?’

‘I hear it.’

‘We’ll send someone around to check tomorrow. Remember that, sonny.’

‘I’ll remember it,’ the kid said, a surly look on his face.

‘Anybody else live here with you?’

‘Yeah. My dog. You want to ask him some questions, maybe?’

‘That’ll be all, son,’ I said. ‘Thanks.’

‘For what?’ the kid asked, and slammed the door.

‘Lousy little snot-nose,’ Andy said.

There were thirty-nine cars stolen in New York City that day. Of the bigger cars, two were Buicks, four were Chryslers, and one was a Cadillac. One of the Chryslers was stolen from a neighbourhood about two miles from the scene of the accident.

‘How about that?’ Andy asked.

‘How about it?’

‘The guy stole the buggy and when Benson hailed him, he knew he was in hot water. He cut him down.’

‘ If Benson hailed him.’

‘Maybe Benson only stuck up his hand to stop traffic. The guy misunderstood and crashed through.’

‘We’ll see,’ I said.

We checked with the owner of the Chrysler. She was a fluttery woman who was obviously impressed with the fact that two policemen were calling on her personally about her missing car.

‘Well, I never expected such quick action,’ she said. ‘I mean, really.’

‘The car was a Chrysler, ma’m?’ I asked.

‘Oh, yes,’ she said, nodding her head emphatically. ‘We’ve never owned anything but a Chrysler.’

‘What year, ma’m?’

‘I gave all this information on the phone,’ she said.

‘I know, ma’m. We’re just checking it again.’

‘It’s brand new.’

‘The colour?’

‘Blue. A sort of robin’s egg blue, do you know? I told that to the man who answered the phone.’

‘Licence number?’

‘Oh, again? Well, just a moment.’ She stood up and walked to the kitchen, returning with her purse. She fished into the purse, came up with a wallet, and then rummaged through that for her registration. ‘Here it is,’ she said.

‘What, ma’m?’

‘77T8458.’

Andy looked up. ‘That’s a Nassau County plate, ma’m.’

‘Yes. Yes, I know.’