Max Collins - Bullet proff

"Only one weapon?"

"So far that's all I've identified. Wasn't one weapon enough?"

Ness pointed at the cartridge riding the pencil. "I want you to compare those to the casings from the Gordon's restaurant shooting."

"Fine," Cowley said, nodding. "Any connection besides machine guns used in both?"

"You tell me."

Cowley nodded. "I won't get to it till tomorrow. I'm going to be here awhile."

Ness nodded. He well knew that Cowley had hours ahead of him here. When the ballistics man was finished on the porch, he would have to move inside and begin dealing with the spent bullets in the walls and elsewhere. Each slug would have to be removed from its point of impact, the location of which would have to be logged; this procedure, too, was tedious, as care had to be taken so that the cutting instrument Cowley used did not ruin identifying characteristics on the soft metal of the spent bullets.

Ness went back inside, about to join Merlo and Wild in conversation, when a somber man about fifty, in shirtsleeves, pushing up his wire-framed glasses on his sweaty brow, came out from the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

"Is Mr. Ness here?" the man said.

"I'm Ness."

"Mrs. Whitehall would like to see you."

"And you are?"

"Dr. Spencer. I'm the family doctor."

Ness nodded and walked toward the hall, but the doctor touched him on the arm, halting him. With a tortured expression, the doctor said, "She's insisting, but don't stay long. She's really very upset."

"Understandably."

"I'd like to sedate her, but she won't allow it until she's talked to you."

Ness nodded again.

Mrs. Whitehall, her pretty face devoid of makeup, her complexion white, her eyes red, sat up in the bed, covers at her waist. She had an oddly blank look.

"Close the door, Mr. Ness."

Ness did.

He stood at her bedside. "I'm dreadfully sorry for-"

She raised a hand in a stop motion. She was staring straight ahead, into the darkness at the edges of the barely lit room.

"He was so gentle tonight," she said. "Tucking the girls in. Kissing them good night."

Ness said nothing.

She looked up at him. Her eyes were wide and hollow. "Jack was doing something for you, wasn't he?"

Ness hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

"Helping you."

"Yes."

"You were his friend."

"I liked Jack. I respected him. He was the best man in his world."

She smiled bitterly. "Did you get him killed?"

The words hit Ness like a blow.

Swallowing, he said, "I don't know."

"Don't you?"

"I may have," Ness admitted.

The bitter smile began to tremble. Tears began to slide down the white cheeks. 'Are you satisfied with… with the result?"

"Mrs. Whitehall, I… I don't know what to say. I can only assure you that the person who did this-actually, the persons, I think the man who fired the weapon was only a weapon of sorts himself-will be tracked down. I will give this my personal attention, I promise you."

"That is so big of you, Mr. Ness. So very big."

"I understand your bitterness, Mrs. Whitehall. I know that finding Jack's killers won't bring him back. But it's about all I can offer."

She reached out and up and slapped his face.

The sound was ringing. The pain was sharp.

"Get out," she said.

Ness nodded and went out.

Merlo was conferring with one of his detectives. Ness stopped and waited till the exchange was over, then spoke to the detective in charge.

"I want you to work with Albert Curry on this," Ness said. "You've worked together before, and well."

"Yes, we have," Merlo said, with a gentle smile, "on several occasions. But tell me… why is the safety director involving a member of his personal staff in a murder investigation? Frankly, I think the Detective Bureau is quite capable of-"

"Of course. Particularly with you on the job, Sergeant. But this is, obviously, a labor-related killing. And my office is involved in an ongoing wide-ranging inquiry into labor racketeering."

"Ah, yes. Of course. So I need to keep Captain Savage of the Vandal Squad informed as well."

"He and his men are assigned directly to me now."

"This labor inquiry is a major effort you're making, then."

There was a faint tone of disapproval in Merlo's voice, and Ness knew why: Merlo was still irritated that the full-scale investigation of the Kingsbury Run mass murderer, in which Ness and his staff had been closely involved, had been cut back to just Merlo himself.

"Martin," Ness said, putting a hand on the detective's shoulder, "I'm in your corner where Kingsbury Run is concerned. But the mayor pulled me and my staff off that case. We both know the Butcher will eventually resurface and we'll be back in business."

"But it will take another killing to do that. We should be trying to find the bastard, to stop him before he kills again."

"You're still on that case, Sergeant. But you're also on this one. And I expect your full attention."

"You'll get it." There was resignation, but no resentment, in Merlo's tone.

"I know I will."

"And," Merlo said, looking around the bullet-torn room, "this won't be a picnic. Whitehall had a lot of enemies. He's been the business agent for the Ice, Coal, and Water Wagon Drivers Union for seven years, and during that time he's been in conflict with all sorts and classes of people."

"True."

"A man like that, who used his fists so frequently, who used his size to bulldoze so many people… literally hundreds of industrials hated him. Some probably enough to kill him."

"One did, at least."

"He was suspected of bombing that coal-company office a couple of years ago. He did time in the workhouse for an assault charge and malicious property damage, in another matter, and had an assault charge coming up for a police officer he roughed up."

"I know all that."

"Do you. According to your reporter friend, you were a friend of Whitehall's."

"We were friendly acquaintances."

The eyes behind the horn rims were shrewd and narrow. "Is there anything else you'd care to tell me about this case, Mr. Ness? Such as what brought you to the scene?"

Ness smiled, even though his cheek still stung.

"You're a good detective, Sergeant. Great instincts. Let's step outside."

They did. They moved off the porch, away from Cowley, who was still kneeling at the altar of ejected shell casings. They stood on the sidewalk. Past the roped-off front yard, Wild was out having a smoke, his cigarette an amber eye in the night.

Ness said, "Whitehall was doing some poking around for me."

"What sort?"

"Into labor matters. Specifically involving Big Jim Caldwell and Little Jim McFate."

"I see."

Ness filled Merlo in, in more detail, alluding to the acquisition of the blacklist by Whitehall without quite spelling it out, without mentioning Wild's role at all.

"This is helpful background," Merlo said. "What was Whitehall working on lately, do you know?"

"He was organizing the food terminal, in the wake of our ouster of Harry Gibson, who was Big Jim and Little Jim's man. Hey! That's a thought…"

"What is?"

"There was a machine-gunning of a farmer's vehicle at the food market. Sort of a grand-gesture scare tactic, not unlike the Gordon's restaurant shooting. Gibson himself did it, apparently, though we never could quite get a witness to swear to that."

"Maybe Gibson did the Gordon's shooting."

Ness poked Merlo knowingly in the chest. "Maybe he did this one, too."

"Do we have shell casings or spent slugs or anything from the food-terminal shooting? If we could match 'em with what we have here…"

Ness sighed. "Unfortunately, no. Vandalism sites aren't generally treated as crime scenes. I checked on that already, after what happened at Gordon's."