Arthur Hailey - Overload

Nim resolved mentally that in future, when dealing with someone of Paul Sherman Yale's stature, he would confine himself to solid facts.

The big break, for Harry London, came swiftly and unexpectedly.

The Property Protection chief was in his small, glass cubicle office the department had still not been given permanent quarters and continued to operate in makeshift space-when he heard his secretary's telephone ring outside. A moment later his own extension buzzed. He picked up the phone lazily because that was how he felt. The past two months had been a desultory period in which nothing major had occurred concerning theft of service. Routine prevailed. In late summer a computer study had revealed a staggering thirty thousand possible cases of power theft and, since then, London, his deputy Art Romeo, and their staff-now increased to five investigators-had been checking out the suspect cases one by one. As Harry London knew from his experience as a Los Angeles detective, it was like most police work-plodding, repetitious, wearying.

And results were mixed.

About ten percent of the investigations so far had produced sufficient evidence for GSP & L to charge customers with cheating and to claim payment for estimated arrears. Another ten percent showed changes in consumption levels to be for valid reasons, such as genuine conservation, the consumers innocent. The remainder of cases were inconclusive. Of the provable cases, only a handful had been sufficiently serious to merit prosecution. To all concerned the task seemed slow and endless. Which was why Harry London, his chair tilted back, feet up on his desk, had reached a state of ennui on this particular mid-December afternoon.

"Yeah?" he said into the phone.

A whispering, barely audible voice inquired, "This Mr. London?"

"Yes, it is."

"This here's Ernie, janitor at the Zaco Building. Mr. Romeo said to call him or you if them guys come back. They're here now."

Harry London's feet bit the floor like slingshots. He snapped upright in his chair. “The same ones who bypassed the meters?"

"It's them all right. They come in a truck, same's before. They're workin' now. Listen, cain't stay on this phone more'n a minute."

"You don't have to," London said, "so listen carefully. Get the license number of that truck."

"Already got it."

"Great! Now, some of us will be down there as fast as we can make it. While we're on the way, don't do anything to make those men suspicious, but if they start to leave, try to keep them talking." While speaking, London pressed a button summoning his secretary.

The caller, still whispering, sounded doubtful. "Do it if I can. Listen, Mr. Romeo said I'd get paid if . . ."

"You'll get yours, my friend. That's a promise. Now just do what I said. I'm leaving now." London slammed down the phone.

His secretary, a young, bright Chinese-American named Suzy, was standing in the doorway. He told her, "I need help from the city police. Phone Lieutenant Wineski; you know where to get him. If Wineski isn't available, ask someone else in the Detective Division to meet me at the Zaco Building. Say the case I told Wineski about is breaking. Then try to get Art Romeo. Tell him the same thing, and to bust his ass and get to Zaco. Got it?"

"I have it Mr. London," Suzy said.

"Good kid!" London hurried out and ran for the elevator which would take him to the basement parking garage.

Going down, be calculated that with fast driving and reasonable traffic he could be at the Zaco Building in ten minutes or less.

* * *

Harry London's estimate overlooked two factors-early commuter traffic out of the city and Christmas shoppers, clogging downtown streets and slowing movement to a crawl. It took him a frustrating twenty minutes to reach the Zaco Building, which was on the opposite side of the city's business district. As he pulled up, he recognized an unmarked police car which had preceded him by seconds only. Two men in plain clothes were getting out. One was Lieutenant Wineski. London blessed his good luck. Wineski was a friend, a police officer whom London had cultivated and whose presence would save time-wasting explanations.

Lieutenant Wineski had seen London and was waiting, the other officer beside him. The second man was a detective named Brown whom London knew slightly.

"What gives, Harry?" Wineski was young, smart, ambitious; he kept his body trim and, unlike most of his detective colleagues, dressed well. He also liked unusual cases because, more often than not, they brought publicity.

Around police headquarters the guessing was that Boris Wineski would go high in the force, possibly to the top.

London answered, "A hot tip, Boris. Let's go." Together the trio hurried across the forecourt of the building.

Two decades earlier the twenty-three story, reinforced-concrete Zaco Building had been modem and fashionable, the kind of place where a topflight brokerage house or advertising agency might have rented several floors. Now, like other office structures of its genre, it was showing signs of seediness, and some of the first-class tenants had moved to newer buildings where glass and aluminum predominated. Most of the Zaco Building's space was still rented, but to less prestigious tenants with a high attrition rate. It was a safe assumption that the building was less profitable than in its heyday.

All of this Harry London knew from earlier investigation.

The building's lobby, of imitation marble, with a bank of elevators facing the main entrance, was beginning to fill with departing office workers.

Dodging the outgoing flow, London led the way to an inconspicuous metal door which he knew, from a surreptitious previous visit, opened onto a stairway providing access to three lower floors.

On the way in he had given the two detectives a quick summary of the phone call twenty-five minutes earlier. Now, hurrying down cement stairs shielded by fire doors, he found himself praying that the men they were seeking had not already left.

Something else the Property Protection chief knew was that the extensive electric and gas metering and controls were on the lowest floor. From there the building's general power supplies were monitored-for heating, elevator operation, air conditioning and lighting.

Near the foot of the last stairway a thin, gaunt man in coveralls, with unkempt sandy hair and a stubble of beard, appeared to be inspecting garbage cans. He looked up, then abandoned what he was doing and came forward as Harry London and the detectives clattered down.

"Mr. London?" Unmistakably it was the same weak voice as on the telephone.

"Right. You Ernie, the janitor?"

The man in coveralls nodded. "Sure took your time."

“Never mind that. Those men still here?"

'Inside." the janitor motioned to a metal door, similar to others on the floors above.

'How many?"

'Three. Listen, how 'bout my money?"

"For Chrissake!" London said impatiently. "You'll get it."

Lieutenant Wineski cut in. "Is anybody else in there?"

The janitor, looking surly, shook his head. "Ain't nobody else down here but me."

"All right." Wineski moved forward, taking command. He told the other detective and London, "We'll do this fast. Harry, you come in last. When we're inside, stay back by the door until I tell you." To the janitor: "You wait out here." Wineski put a hand on the metal door then ordered, "Now!”

As the door flew open, the trio rushed in.

Inside, against an interior wall some twenty-five feet away, three men were working. Afterward Harry London would report with relish: "If we'd mailed 'em a list, with specifications of how we'd like the evidence laid out they couldn't have done better."

An electric current transformer cabinet-installed, then locked by GSP & L-was open. Several transformer switches, it was discovered later, had been opened, bound with insulating tape, then closed. The effect was to reduce electric meter recordings by a third. A few feet away a gas meter had an illegal bypass partially exposed. Supplies and tools for the work being done were spread around-insulated pliers, socket wrenches, lead disc seals and a mechanic's seal press (both stolen from GSP & L), and the transformer cabinet casing with a key-also stolen-in its lock.