Nor Iron Bars a Cage.... Page 2

I'm right, then he hasoutsmarted himself. He has told us that we know him, and he's told usthat he's smart enough to figure out a dodge--that he's not one of thehelplessly stupid ones."

  "That should help to narrow the field down," he said in a hard voice.He felt in his pocket for a cigarette, found his pack, took one out,and then held it, unlit, between the fingers of his right hand."Inspector Royall, I've studied the new law of this state--the oneyou're working under here--and I think it'll be great if it works out.I wish you luck. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to call the office."

  As he went out to the desk phone, I gave him a silent thanks. Words ofencouragement were hard to come by at that time.

  I turned and went back towards the clean-up room.

  She didn't look as though she were asleep. They never do. She lookeddead. She'd been head down in the sewer, and the blood had pooled andcoagulated in her head and shoulders. Now that the filth had beenwashed off, the dark purple of the dead blood cells showed through thetranslucent skin. She would look better after she was embalmed.

  Doc Prouty was holding up a small syringe, eying the little bit offluid within it. "We've got him," he said in a flat voice. "I'll havethe lab run an analysis. We're well within the time limit. All we haveto do is separate the girl's blood type from that of the spermaticfluid. You boys find your man, and I can identify him for you." Heput the syringe in its special case. "I'll let you know the exactcause of death in a couple of hours."

  "O.K., Doc. Thanks," said Inspector Kleek, closing his notebook. Heturned to one of the other men. "Thompson, you notify the parents. Get'em down here to make a positive identification, and send it along tomy office with the print identification." Then he looked at me."Anything extra you want, Roy?"

  I shook my head. "Nope. Let's go check the files, huh?"

  "Sure. Can I ride with you? I rode in with Thompson; he'll have tostay."

  "Come along," I told him.

  * * * * *

  By ten fifteen that evening, we had narrowed the field downconsiderably. We fed all the data we had into the computer, includingthe general type number of the spermatic fluid, which Dr. Prouty hadgiven us, and watched while the machine sorted through thecharacteristics of all the known criminals in its memory.

  Kleek and I were sitting at a desk drinking hot, black coffee when thecomputer technician came over and handed Kleek the results at tenfifteen. "Quite a bunch of 'em, Inspector," he said, "but thegeographic compartmentalization will help."

  Kleek glanced over the neatly-printed sheaf of papers that thecomputer had turned out, then handed them to me. "There we are, Roy.One of those zanies is our boy."

  I looked at the list. Every person on it was either a confirmed orsuspected psychopath, and each one of them conformed to the set ofspecifications we had fed the computer. They were listed in fourdifferent groups, according to the distance they lived from the sceneof the crime--half a mile, two miles, five miles, and "remainder," therest of the city.

  "All we got to do," Kleek said complacently, "is start rounding 'emup."

  "You make it sound easy," I said tightly.

  He put down his coffee cup. "Hell, Roy, it _is_ easy! We've got allthese characters down on the books, don't we? We know what they are,don't we? Look at 'em! Once in a while a new one pops up, and we puthim on the list. Once in a while we catch one and send him up.Practically cut and dried, isn't it?"

  "Sure," I said.

  "Look, Roy," he went on, "we got it down to a fine art now--have foryears." He waved in the general direction of the computer. "We got theadvantage that it's easier to sort 'em out now, and faster--but theold tried-and-true technique is just the same. Cops have been catchingthese goons in every civilized country on Earth for a hundred years bythis technique."

  "Sam," I said wearily, "are you going to give me a lecture on policemethods?"

  He picked up his cup, held it for a moment, then set it down again,his eyes hardening. "Yes, Roy, I am! I'm older than you are, I've gotmore years on the Force, I've been working with Homicide longer, and Ioutrank you in grade by two and a half years! Yes, I figure it's abouttime I lectured you! You want to listen?"

  I looked at him. Kleek is a good cop, I was thinking, and he deservesto be listened to, even if I don't agree with him.

  "O.K., Sam," I said, "I'll listen."

  * * * * *

  "O.K., then." He took a breath. "Now, we got a system here that works.The nuts always show themselves up, one way or another. Most of 'emhave been arrested by the time they're fourteen, fifteen years old.Maybe we can't nail 'em down and pin anything on 'em, but we got 'emdown on the books. We know they have to be watched. We got ninety percent of the queers and hopheads and stew-bums and firebugs and therest of the zanies down on our books"--he waved toward the computeragain--"and down in the memory bank of the computer. We know we'regonna get 'em eventually, because we know they're gonna goof upeventually, and then we'll have 'em. We'll have 'em"--he made aclutching gesture with his right hand--"right where it hurts!

  "You take this Donahue killer. We know where he is. We can be prettysure we got him down on the books." He tapped the sheaf of papers fromthe computer with a firm forefinger. "We can be pretty sure that he'sone of those guys right down there!"

  He waved his hand again, but, this time, he took in the wholecity--the whole outside world. "Like clock-work. The minute theygoof, we nab 'em."

  "Sam," I said, "just listen to me a minute. We know that ninety percent of the men on that list right there are going to be convicted ofa crime of violence inside the next five years, right?"

  "That's what I've been tellin' you. The minute--"

  "Wait a minute; wait a minute. Just listen. Why don't we just go outand arrest them all right now? Look at all the trouble that would saveus."

  "Hell, Roy! You can't arrest a man unless he's done something! Whatwould you charge 'em with? Loitering with intent to commit anuisance?"

  "No. But we _can_--"

  I was cut off by a uniformed cop who stuck his head in the door andsaid: "Inspector Royall, Dr. Brownlee called. Says they picked upHammerlock Smith. He's at the 87th Precinct. Wants you to come downright away if you can."

  I stood up and grabbed my hat. "Sam, you can sit on this one for awhile, huh? I've been waiting for Hammerlock Smith to fall for twomonths."

  Sam Kleek looked disgusted. "And you'll see that he gets psychotreatment and a suspended sentence. A few days in the looney ward, andthen right back out on the street. Hammerlock Smith! _There's_ a casefor you! Built like a gorilla and has a passion for Irish whisky andsixteen-year-old boys--and you think you can cure him in three days!Nuts!"

  I didn't feel like arguing with him. "We might as well let him go nowas lock him up for three or four months and then let him go, Sam. Whyfool around with assault and battery charges when we can wait for himto murder somebody and then lock him up for good, eh, Sam? What'sanother victim more or less, as long as we get the killer?"

  "That's what we're here for," he said stolidly. "To get killers." Hescratched at his balding head. "I don't get you, Roy. I'd think you'd_want_ these maniacs put away, after your--"

  He stopped himself, wet his lips, and said: "O.K. You go ahead andtake care of Smith. Get some sleep. I'm going to. I'll leave orders tocall us both if anything breaks in the Donahue case."

  I just nodded and walked out. I didn't want to hear any more.

  But the door didn't close tightly, and I heard Kleek's voice as hespoke to the computer tech. "I just don't figure Roy. His wife died ina fire set by an arson bug, and he wants to--"

  I kept on walking as the door clicked shut.

  * * * * *

  I was in my office at nine the next morning, after seven and a halfhours of sleep on one of the bunks in the ready room. The businesswith Hammerlock Smith had taken more time than I had thought it would.The big, stupid ape had been in a vicious mood, reeking of whisky androaring insults a
t everyone. His cursing was neither inventive norcolorful, consisting of only four unlovely words used over and overagain in various combinations with ordinary ones, a total vocabularyof maybe a dozen words.

  It had taken four cops, using night-sticks, to get him into the paddywagon, and Dr. Brownlee had finally had to give him a blast ofsuper-tranquilizer with a hypogun.

  "Boy, Inspector," one of the officers had said, "don't let anyone evertell you some of these guys aren't tough!"

  I was looking over the written report. "What about this kid heaccosted in the bar? Hurt bad?"

  "Cracked rib, sprained wrist, and a bloody nose, sir. The doc saidhe'd be O.K."

  "According to the report here, the kid was twenty-two years old. Smithusually picks 'em younger."

  The cop grinned. "Smith had to get his eventually, sir. This guy lookspretty young, but he was a boxer in college. He probably couldn't'vewhipped Smith, but he had guts enough to try."

  "Think he'll testify?"

  "Said he would, sir. We already got his signature on the complaintwhile he was at the hospital. He's pretty mad."

  Smith's record was long and ugly. Of the eight complaints made byyoung boys who had managed to brush off or evade Hammerlock'sadvances, six hadn't come to trial because there were no corroboratingwitnesses, and the charges had been dismissed. Two of the cases hadcome before a jury--and had resulted in acquittals. Cold sober, Smithpresented a fairly decent picture. It was hard to convince a jury ofordinary citizens that so masculine-looking a specimen was homosexual.

  The odd thing was that the psychopathic twist which got HammerlockSmith into trouble had been able to get him out of it again. Bothtimes, Smith's avowal that he had done no such disgusting thing hadbeen corroborated by a lie detector test. Smith--when he wassober--had no recollection of his acts when drunk, and apparentlyhonestly believed that he was incapable of doing what we knew he _had_done.

  This time, though, we had him dead to rights. He had never made his playin a bar before, and we had three witnesses, plus an assault and batterycharge. As Inspector Kleek had said, we get 'em eventually....

  ... _But at what cost? How many teenage boys had been frightened orwhipped into doing as he told them and then been too ashamed and sickwith themselves to say anything? How many young lives had beenbefouled by Smith's abnormal lust?_

  And if Smith spent a year or two in Sing Sing, how many more wouldthere be between the time he was released and the time he was caughtagain? And how long would it be before he obligingly hammered the lifeout of his young victim so that we could put him away permanently?

  That was the "system" that Kleek--and a lot of other men on the Forceswore by. That was the "system" that the boys in Homicide and in theVice Squad thought I was trying to foul up by "babying" the zanies.

  It's a hell of a great system, isn't it?

  * * * * *

  I called the hospital and talked to the doctor who had taken care ofSmith's victim. Then I called Kleek to see if there had been any breakin the Donahue case. There hadn't.

  Finally, I called my son, Steve, at the apartment we shared, told himI wouldn't be home that night, and sacked out in the ready room.

  By nine o'clock, I was ready to go back to work.

  At nine thirty, Kleek called. His saggy face looked sleepier and morebored than ever. "No rest for the weary, Roy. I got a call on akilling on the Upper East Side. Some rich gal with too much time onher hands was having an all-night party, and she got herself shot todeath. It looks like her husband did it, but there's plenty of moneyinvolved, and the Deputy Commissioner wants me to handle itpersonally, all the way through. I'm putting Lieutenant Shultz incharge of the Homicide end of the Donahue case, but I told him youwere the man to listen to. He'll report directly to you if there's anynew leads. O.K.?"

  "O.K. with me, Sam." As I said, Kleek is a good cop in spite of his"system."

  "The boys are out making the rounds," he went on, "bringing in all themen with conviction records and questioning the others. And we'recombing the neighborhood for the kid's clothes. They might still bearound somewhere. Shultz'll keep you posted."

  "Fine, Sam. Happy hunting in High Society."

  "Thanks, Roy. Take it easy."

  At fifteen of eleven, the Police Commissioner called. He spent tenminutes telling me that I was going to be visited by a VIP and givingme exact instructions on how to handle the man. "I'm depending on youto take care of him, Roy," he said finally. "If we can get thisprogram operating in other places, it will help us a lot. And if youneed help from my office, grab the nearest phone."

  "I'll do my best," I promised him. "And thanks, sir."

  The Commissioner was a lawyer, not a cop, so he wasn't as tied to thesystem as Kleek and the others were. He was backing me all the way.

  I punched Sergeant Vanney's number on the intercom. "Inspector Royallhere, Sergeant. Do me a favor."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Go down to the library and get me a copy of Burke's 'Peerage.'"

  "Burke's which, sir?"

  I repeated it and spelled it for him. He didn't waste any time; he hadit on my desk in less than twenty minutes. When the VIP arrived, I hadalready read up on Chief Inspector, The Duke of Acrington.

  Here's how he was listed:

  _ACRINGTON, Seventh Duke of (Robert St. James Acrington) BaronBennevis of Scotland, K. C. B.: Born 7 November 1950, B.S., M.S.,Oxon.,_ cum laude. _Married (1977) Lady Susan Burley, 2nd dau.Viscount Burley. 2 sons, Richard St. James, Philip William._

  _Joined Metropolitan Police (1975); C. I. D. (1976); dep. Insp.(1980); Insp. (1984); Ch. Insp. (1990). Awarded George Medal forextraordinary heroism during the False War (1981)._

  _Author_ Criminal Law and the United Nations, The Use of ForensicPsychology (_police textbook_), _and_ The Night People (_fiction;under nom de plume R. A. James_).

  _Clubs: Royal Astronomical, Oxonian, Baker Street Irregulars._

  _Motto: Amicus Curiae._

  I had to admit that I was impressed, but I decided to withhold anyjudgment until I had met the man.

  * * * * *

  He was right on time for his appointment. The car pulled up to theparking lot with a sergeant at the wheel, and I got a bird's eye viewof him from my window as he got out of the car and headed for thedoor. I had to grin a little; the Commissioner had obviously wanted totake the visitor around personally--roll out the rug for royalty, soto speak--but he had had a conference scheduled with the Mayor andsome Federal officials, and, after all, the duke was only here onpolice business, not as Ambassador from the Court of St. James. So heended up being treated just as any visitor from Scotland Yard would betreated.

  He was shown directly to my office, and I gave him a quick once-overas he came in the door. Tall, about six feet even; weight about 175,none of it surplus fat; light brown hair smoothed neatly back, almostno gray; eyes, blue-gray, with finely-etched lines around them thatindicated they'd been formed by both smiles and frowns: face, ratherlong and bony, with thin, firm lips and a longish, thin, slightlycurved nose. He wore good clothes, and he wore them well. His age, Iknew; it was the same as mine. It was the first time I had ever seena man who looked like a real aristocrat and a good cop rolled intoone.

  He had an easy smile on his face, and his eyes were taking me in, too.I stand an inch under six feet, but I'm a little broader across theshoulders than he, so the ten more pounds I carry doesn't make me lookfat. My face is definitely not aristocratic--wide and square, with anose that shows a slight bend where it was broken when I was a rookie,heavy, dark eyebrows, and hair that is receding a little on top andgraying perceptibly at the sides. The eyes are a dark gray, and I'mwell aware that the men under me call me "Old Flint-eye" when I putthe pressure on them.

  "I'm Chief Inspector Acrington," he said pleasantly, giving me a firmhandshake.

  "It's a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace," I said. "I'm InspectorRoyall. Sit down, won't you?" I gestured toward one of the upho
lsteredguest chairs, and sat down in the other one myself, so we wouldn'thave the desk between us. "Have a good trip across?" I asked.

  "Fine. Except, of course, for the noise."

  "Noise?" I knew he'd come over in one of the Transatlantic Airways'new inertia-drive ships, and they're supposed to be fairly quiet.

  His smile broadened a trifle. "Exactly. There wasn't any. I'm ratherused to the vibration of jets, and these new jobs float along at ahundred thousand feet in the deadest silence you ever heard--ifyou'll pardon the oxymoron. Everybody chattered like a flight ofstarlings, just to keep the air full of sound."

  I chuckled. "Maybe they'll put vibrators on them, just to make thepeople feel comfortable. I read that the men in the moon shipscomplain about the same thing."

  "So I've heard. But, actually, the silence is a minor thing when onerealizes the time one saves. When one is looking forward to somethinginteresting, traveling can be deadly