Ed McBain - Another Part of the City

Sarge said nothing.

“Robert Sargent Kidd.” Reardon said, staring at him. “How do I know that name?” He kept staring at him. “Are you a painter or something? Do you have something to do with painting?” Still staring, puzzled. “No, wait a minute, you sold some paintings. I saw you on television. You and your sister. Not Jessica, another one. What’s her name?”

“Olivia.”

“Right, Olivia. And I saw her on television again Sunday night. Your father just died, didn’t he? A stroke. You’ve been all over everything these past few days, haven’t you? Including me. Why’d you jump me, you son of a bitch? What are you afraid of? Did you hear what I said about Phelps? Is that what brought you here? The silver schedule?”

Sarge shook his head.

“Okay, pal. so long,” Reardon said, and looked down at the gun barrel. “One shot should do it,” he said. “Clean and...”

“Wait a minute,” Sarge said.

“I thought you were in a hurry,” Reardon said.

“I had nothing to do with any of it.”

“Any of what, Mr. Kidd?”

“Either one of them.”

“Are you talking about D’Annunzio?” A nod. “And Dodge?” Another nod. “You had nothing to do with ordering their murders, is that what you’re telling me?”

Yet another nod.

Followed by another, this one from Reardon.

“All right,” he said. “Who did?”

On the street outside, Reardon went into the first phone booth he found and dialed the squadroom. Hoffman picked up.

“Chick,” he said, “this is Bry. I’ve got a guy cuffed to the radiator in an apartment on First Avenue. Here’s the address,” he said, and read it off. “Have you got that? His name is Robert Sargent Kidd, pick him up, will you?”

“For what?” Hoffman asked.

“Try attempted murder. That may not stick, but he beat the shit out of me and it looked damn close, believe me.”

“I’ll run right over,” Hoffman said.

“Anything from Phelps yet?”

“Diarrhea,” Hoffman said. “All we had to do was start hinting at the three counts of homicide, he’s ready to trade us his mother. He’s been telling us some very interesting things, Bry.”

“Like what?” Reardon said. “Let me hear.”

He listened.

“Uh-huh,” he said.

He kept listening.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Very nice. Good work, Chick. Very nice. I’ve been hearing some interesting things myself, we should have a full house down there in a little while. I’m heading for the Park Lane, I’ll be in Olivia Kidd’s suite, if you need me. Have you got that? Olivia Kidd. I’m not expecting any trouble, but give me a half-hour, and then send the Marines. Listen, don’t forget that guy chained to the radiator, huh? And be careful when you take off the cuffs, he’s a fuckin’ grizzly bear. See you, Chick.”

He hung up, felt in the coin chute for his quarter, shrugged, and then began walking toward where he’d parked his car.

When the knock sounded on the door, Olivia said. “There he is.”

“Are you positive I should be here?” Rothstein asked.

“Why not?” Olivia said. “You’re a business associate.”

“But he’s here about Joe. Your sister said...”

“All the more reason for your presence. Your partner absconded with three and a half million dollars worth of...”

There was another knock at the door.

“Just a moment, please,” Olivia called, and then shot Rothstein a warning glance and went into the entrance alcove and opened the door. The man standing there was perhaps thirty-seven, thirty-eight years old, Olivia guessed, with red hair and blue eyes. His complexion looked ruddy from the cold outside. He smiled pleasantly.

“Miss Kidd?” he asked.

“Yes?” she said.

A shield pinned to a leather fob appeared in his right hand.

“Detective Reardon, Fifth P.D.U. All right if I...?”

“Ah. yes,” Olivia said. “My sister phoned earlier, said you’d been to see her. How can I help you?”

“May I come in?”

“Certainly. What’s the problem. Detective Reardon?”

“No problem. Just a few things I wanted to ask you. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Please,” Olivia said.

He followed her through the open arch that led to the living room. Lowell Rothstein was sitting on a sofa near the windows. The drapes were open and the sky over Central Park was littered with stars.

“Hey, hello, Mr. Rothstein,” Reardon said pleasantly.

“Hello, how are you?” Rothstein said. “What a surprise.”

“Do you know each other?” Olivia asked.

“Only casually,” Reardon said. He smiled at Rothstein and said, “I didn’t expect to find you here.”

“I... uh... was shopping at F.A.O.’s,” Rothstein said.

“Just around the corner,” Reardon said, and smiled.

“Lowell and I are old friends,” Oh via said.

“Too bad Phelps couldn’t join you, huh?” Reardon said, still smiling. “But he’s down at the Fifth Precinct. I guess your sister told you, huh?”

“You found him?” Rothstein said. “Good!”

Smooth as glass, Reardon thought. But there was apprehension in his eyes.

“We picked him up at Kennedy, buying a ticket to Rio,” he said, and smiled. “Why do they always go to Rio? His briefcase was full of U.S. Treasury bonds. Three million, four hundred and eighty thousand dollars. Lots of money,” he said, and whistled softly. “In bearer bonds. That’s the same as cash. I guess you know that, Mr. Rothstein, being in the brokerage business and all.”

“Yes. The bonds belong to a woman named Phyllis Katzman. I discovered them missing at a little after eleven this morning. I don’t know what possessed Joe. I really...”

“But you didn’t call the police, huh?” Reardon said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“When you discovered the theft. You didn’t call the police, did you? My partner checked with the First Precinct down there. No record of anyone reporting the theft.”

“Well, no. I...”

“You went shopping at F.A.O.’s instead.”

“Actually, I... uh... didn’t know what to do. I was hoping Joe might have had some reason to...”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Instructions from Mrs. Katzman to return the bonds to her? Some reasonable explanation for what he did.”

“He had a good reason for running, if that’s what you mean,” Reardon said.

“Well, I guess they all have reasons, don’t they?” Rothstein said, and smiled. “Thieves, I mean. In any case, thank you for coming here to inform us. And thank you, too, for what I’m sure was splendid police work.”

“Only thing our guys did was hang around outside his apartment and follow him to Kennedy,” Reardon said, and shrugged.

“Whatever they did, you’ve got him,” Olivia said “Forgive me, can I order a drink for you?”

“Well, thank you. but this isn’t a social call. I mean, I didn’t just stop by to tell you we got Phelps and the bonds.” He looked at Rothstein, turned to Olivia again, and then said, “I came here to talk about silver.”

“The Lone Ranger’s horse?” Olivia said, smiling.

“No, but that’s very good. Miss Kidd. I mean silver silver.”

“And what is that supposed to mean, Mr. Reardon?”

“Well... according to what Phelps told my partner, your family’s been buying silver contracts, Miss Kidd, lots of silver con...”

“There is nothing illegal about buying silver contracts. We’ve done nothing that wasn’t entirely legal and aboveboard.”

“How about murder?” Reardon asked. “Is that legal and aboveboard?”