Stuart Woods - Worst Fears Realized

“Good idea; I’ll get Andy on it.”

Andy returned with a brown envelope and handed it to Dino.

Dino tore open the envelope and dumped the contents onto his desk, and the three men gathered around.

“A little over a hundred bucks in U.S. currency and a bunch of German marks,” Dino said. “No wallet; a key ring with two keys.”

“Outside and inside doors,” Stone said. He opened a folded piece of paper. “And a rent receipt made out to Erwin Hausman.” He read out the address.

“That’s around the corner from the dry cleaner’s,” Andy said.

“That’s a break,” Stone said.

“Yeah,” Dino said, “let’s get over there. He turned to Andy. “Make sure that this doesn’t get into the press yet; I don’t want Mitteldorfer to read about it and run.”

“Uh, Lieutenant,” Andy said, “I’m afraid we got unlucky there.”

“Tell me.”

“There was a camera crew from Channel Four in the neighborhood when the patrolmen arrested the guy. They got the whole thing on tape.”

“Do they know who he is?” Stone asked.

“I don’t know.”

Dino looked at his watch. “We’ve got until the five o’clock news”, he said.

“If they don’t do a bulletin at the top of the hour.”

“Andy, you get on the phone to Channel Four; see if you can get them to hold the story for twenty-four hours. Offer them an exclusive, if you have to.”

“Lieutenant,” Andy replied, “they’ve already got an exclusive.”

“Tell them I’ll do an interview if they’ll hold it for twenty-four hours.”

“I’ll be lucky if I can get them to hold it until eleven o’clock,” Andy said.

“Do the best you can. Come on, Stone.”

The building was a run-down pile of bricks with a fire escape hung on the front. There was no Hausman on any of the mailboxes, but one of the keys opened the front door. Dino banged on the super’s door. A small, Hispanic man emerged.

“Yes?” he asked.

Dino showed him a badge. “You have a tenant named Hausman,” he said. “What’s his apartment number?”

“I don’t know nothing,” the man said.

Dino showed him the rent receipt. “What’s his goddamned apartment number?”

“They are in 3D,” the man admitted.

“They? Who’s they?”

“Mr. Hausman and his friend.”

“Male or female friend?”

“Male.”

“What does he look like?”

The super shrugged. “Kind of like Mr. Hausman, but with real short hair.”

“Is the friend in the apartment now?”

“I don’t know. They come and go a lot.”

“Fine; you go back inside your apartment and stay there until I call you.”

The man went inside and closed the door.

Dino turned to Stone. “Are you armed?”

Stone produced his 7.65mm automatic.

Dino whipped out his cell phone and called for backup. “Let’s go,” he said.

They walked quietly up the stairs and found apartment 3D. Dino put his ear to the door. “TV is on,” he whispered.

They took up positions on either side of the door.

Dino knocked firmly. “Hello?” he said, imitating the super’s accent. “It’s the super here.”

Nothing.

Stone listened to the door but heard nothing but the TV.

Dino knocked again, this time louder. No reply. He inserted the key in the lock and turned it as quietly as he could. As the door opened, the TV got louder. “Hello?” he called. “It’s the super here; I’ve got the plumber with me to check the plumbing.”

No reply.

Dino nodded at Stone and, as they had done a hundred times before, they went in, guns out ahead of them. They went from room to room, which didn’t take long, since there were only three of them.

“We’ve got two different shoe sizes here,” Stone called from the bedroom, “and a lot of empty hangers in the closet.”

Dino came into the bedroom. “What else?”

“Top drawer of the dresser is empty and open.”

“You think the other guy ran?”

They walked back into the living room, just as the TV station cut to the news desk.

“We’ve got more on that arrest on Third Avenue this afternoon,” the newscaster said. “Let’s go back to the scene and Maria Jones.”

The station cut to a young woman with a microphone, standing outside a dry cleaner’s. “Thanks, Bob. I’ve been able to confirm with the shop owner that the man who was arrested outside this dry cleaner’s shop earlier today is a dead ringer for a drawing that the police ran in Sunday’s New York Times. He is apparently connected with a Herbert Mitteldorfer, an ex-convict being sought by police for questioning in at least five murders and the bombing of an art gallery last week. I’m going over to the precinct now and talk with the police. Back to you, Bob.”

“Well, if that was the second report, I guess our guy saw the first one and lit out.”

“And the first thing he would have done is call Mitteldorfer,” Dino said.

Stone looked around. “There’s no phone here.”

“Shit,” Dino said.

They could hear cops pounding up the stairs. Andy Anderson was the first through the door.

“Andy, tape this place off, then get a team in here and turn it over very carefully. There was a second occupant besides Erwin Hausman; look for anything that could tell us who the other guy is, and anything that might tell us where to find Mitteldorfer.”

“Yes, sit,” Andy replied.

“Anything from Hamburg, yet?”

“No, sir, and nothing from Interpol, either.”

“Keep on them,” Dino said.

“Dino,” Stone said, “we need to talk. In the car.”

JEFF BANION, THE PARK AVENUE DOORMAN, was on duty when a taxi pulled up to his awning. He hurried to get the door, but as it opened, he saw that the cab’s occupant, who was paying the fare, was not likely destined for Jeff’s building. He stepped back to the front door and let the man deal alone with closing the cab’s door.

Then, to Jeff’s surprise, the young man came toward him. He was short, his hair was cut so closely as to make him nearly bald, and he was roughly dressed in baggy clothes and heavy boots. He was carrying a nylon duffel. “Can I help you, sir?” Jeff asked, not moving away from the door.

“I am seeing somebody in this building,” the man said with a thick accent.

“And who would that be, sir?”

“Mr. Howard Menzies.”

This did not add up at all to Jeff. “And what business would you have with Mr. Menzies?”

“I am having private business,” the young man said.

“Your name?”

“Peter Hausman.”

Jeff looked him up and down. “Wait right here, please,” he said. Jeff went inside and spoke to Ralph, the new desk man. “I’ve got a suspicious character out here who wants to see Mr. Menzies. Is he in?”

Ralph consulted a list of the building’s occupants. “Yes, unless he went out through the garage.”

“Get him on the house phone; I want to speak to him.”

Ralph dialed the number and listened. “Mr. Menzies? Jeff, the doorman, would like to speak with you.” He handed the phone to Jeff.

“Hello, Mr. Menzies?” Jeff said.

“Yes, Jeff, what is it?”

“There’s someone down here wanting to see you, but I wanted to speak to you before I let him in.”

“Who is it?”

“He says his name is Hausman, Peter Hausman.”

There was a long moment’s silence on the line, then Menzies spoke. “Oh, yes, that’s my nephew. He was in town for my wife’s funeral last week. Please send him up.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Menzies, but could you describe your nephew, please? I want to be sure it’s the right person.”

“He is about my height, has very short hair, and dresses rather oddly,” Menzies replied.