Nor Iron Bars a Cage.... Page 4

action could be taken."

  Lieutenant Shultz looked up from the paper. "He's had all kinds ofjobs, but he can't hold 'em very long. Goes on a binge, doesn't showup for work, so they fire him. He's a pretty good short-order cook,and that's the kind of work he likes, if he can talk a lunch room intohiring him. He's also been a bus boy, a tavern porter, and a janitor.

  "One other thing: The superintendent at the place where he wasstaying reports that he had an unusual amount of money on him--four orfive hundred dollars he thinks. Doesn't know where Nestor got themoney, but he's been boozing it up for the past five days. Bought newclothes--hat, suit, shoes, and so on. Living high on the hog, Iguess."

  * * * * *

  I thought for a minute. If he had money, he could be anywhere in theworld by now. On the other hand--

  "Look, Lieutenant, you haven't said anything to the newsmen yet, haveyou?"

  He looked surprised. "No. I called you first. But I figured they couldhelp us. Plaster his picture and name all over the area, and somebodywill be bound to recognize him."

  "Somebody might kill him, too, and I don't want that. Look at it thisway: If he had sense enough to get out of the local area two days agoand really get himself lost, then it won't hurt to wait twenty-fourhours or so to release the story. On the other hand, if he's still inthe city or over in Jersey, he could still get out before the news wasso widespread that he'd be spotted by very many people.

  "But if he's still drinking and thinks he's safe, we may be able toget a lead on him. I have a hunch he's still in the city. So hold offon that release to the newsmen as long as you can. Don't let it leak.

  "Meanwhile, check all the transportation terminals. Find out if he'sever been issued a passport. If he has, check the foreign consulshere in the city to see if he got a visa. Notify the FBI; they're backin it now, since there's a chance that he may have crossed a stateline--unlawful flight to avoid prosecution.

  "And tell the boys that do the footwork that they're to say that theguy they're looking for is wanted by the Missing Persons Bureau--thathe left home and his wife is looking for him. Don't connect him upwith the Donahue case at all. Have every beat patrolman in the city onthe lookout for a drunk with a lisp, but tell them the same storyabout the wife; I don't want any leaks at all.

  "I'll call the Commissioner right away to get his O.K., because Idon't want either one of us to get in hot water over this. If he'swith us, we'll go ahead as planned; if he's not, we'll just have tocall in the newsmen. O.K.?"

  "Sure, Inspector. Whatever you say. I'll get right to work on it.You'll have the Commissioner call me?"

  "Right. So long. Call me if anything happens."

  I had added the bit about calling the Commissioner because I wasn'tsure but what Kleek would decide I was wrong in handling the case andlet the story out "accidentally." But I had to be careful not to makeShultz think I was trying to show my muscles. I called theCommissioner, got his O.K., and turned my attention back to my guest.

  He had been listening with obvious interest. "Another one of yourzanies, eh?"

  "One that went too far, Your Grace. We didn't get to him in time." Ispent five or six minutes giving him the details of the Donahue case.

  "The same old story," he said when I had finished. "If your pilotproject here works out, maybe that kind of slaughter can beeliminated." Then he smiled. "Do you know something? You're one of thefew Americans I've ever met, outside your diplomats, who can address aperson as 'Your Grace' and make it sound natural. Some people look atme as though they expected me to be all decked out in a ducal coronetand full ermines, ready for a Coronation. Your Commissioner, forinstance. He seems quite a nice chap, but he also seems a bit overawedat a title. You seem perfectly relaxed."

  I considered that for a moment. "I imagine it's because he tends tolook at you as a Duke who has taken up police work as a sort ofgentlemanly hobby."

  "And you?"

  "I guess I tend to think of you as a good cop who had the good fortuneto be born the eldest son of a Duke."

  His smile suddenly became very warm. "Thank you," he said sincerely."Thank you very much."

  There came the strained silence that sometimes follows when an honestcompliment is passed between two men who have scarcely met. I broke itby pointing at the plaque on the front of my desk and giving him abroad grin. "Or maybe it's just the kind of blood that flows in myveins."

  He looked at the little plaque that said _Inspector Royal C. Royall_and laughed pleasantly. "I like to think that it's a little bit ofboth."

  * * * * *

  The intercom on my desk flashed, and the sergeant's voice said:"Inspector, a couple of the boys just brought in a man namedManewiscz. A stolen car was run into a fire plug over on Fifth Avenuenear 99th Street. A witness has positively identified Manewiscz as thedriver who ran away before the squad car arrived."

  "Sidney Manewiscz?" I asked. "Manny the Moog?"

  "That's the one. He's got a record of stealing cars for joyrides. Heinsists on talking to you."

  "Bring him in," I said. "I'll talk to him. And get hold of Dr.Brownlee."

  "Excuse me," I said to the Duke. "Business." He started to get up, butI said, "That's all right, Your Grace; you might as well sit in onit." He relaxed back into the chair.

  Two cops brought in Manewiscz, a short, nervous man with a big noseand frightened brown eyes.

  "What's the trouble, Manny?" I asked.

  "Nothing, Inspector; I'm telling you, I didn't do nothing. I'm walkingalong Fifth Avenoo when all of a sudden these cops pull up in asquad-car and some fat jerk in the back seat is hollering that I amthe guy he seen get out of a smashup on 99th Street, which is a goodthree blocks from where I am walking. Besides which, I have not drivena car for over a year now, and I have been in all ways a law-abidingcitizen and a credit to the family and the community."

  "Do you know the fat guy?" I asked. "The guy who fingered you for theboys?"

  "I never had the pleasure of seeing him before," said Manny the Moog,"but, on the other hand, I do not expect to forget his fat facebetween now and the next time we meet."

  At that point, Dr. Brownlee came through the door.

  "Hello, Inspector," he said with a quick smile. He saw Manewiscz then,and his eyebrows went up. "What are you doing here, Manny?"

  "I am here, Doc, because the two gentlemen in uniform whom you seestanding on both sides of me extend a polite invitation to accompanythem here, although I am not in the least guilty of the thing they sayI do which causes them to issue this invitation."

  I explained what had happened and Brownlee shook his head slowlywithout saying anything for a moment. Then he said, "Come on in myoffice, Manny; I want to talk to you for a few minutes. O.K.,Inspector?" He glanced at me.

  "Sure." I waved him and Manny away. "You boys stay here," I told thepatrolmen, "Manny will be all right." As soon as the door closedbehind Dr. Brownlee and Manewiscz I said: "You two brought the witnessin, too, didn't you?"

  "Yes, sir," said one. The other nodded.

  "You'd better do a little more careful checking on him. He may besimply mistaken, or he may have been the actual driver. See if he'sbeen in any trouble before."

  "The sergeant's already doing that, sir," said the one who had spokenbefore. "Meanwhile, maybe we better go out and have a little talk withthe guy."

  "Take it easy, he may be a perfectly respectable citizen."

  "Yes, sir," he said. "We'll just ask him a few questions."

  They left, and I noticed that the Duke was looking rather puzzled, buthe didn't ask any questions, so I couldn't answer any.

  The intercom lit up, and I flipped the switch. "Yes?"

  "I just checked up on the witness," said the sergeant. "No record. Hisidentification checks out O.K. Thomas H. Wilson, an executive at theCity-Chemical Bank; lives on Central Park West. The lab says that thedriver of the car wore gloves."

  "Thank Wilson for his information, let him go, and tell him
we'll callhim if we need him. Lay it on thick about what a good citizen he is.Make him happy."

  "Right."

  I switched off and started to say something to my guest, but theintercom lit up again. "Yeah?"

  "Got a call-in from Officer McCaffery, the beat man on Broadwaybetween 108th and 112th. He's got a lead on the guy you're lookingfor."

  "Tell him we'll be right over. Where is he?"

  The sergeant told me, and I cut off.

  I took out my gun and spun the cylinder, checking it from force ofhabit more than anything else, since I always check and clean it oncea day, anyhow. I slid it back into its holster and turned to the Duke,who was already on his feet.

  "Did the Commissioner give you a Special Badge?" I asked him.

  "Yes, he did." He pulled it out of his inside pocket and showed it tome.

  "Good. I'll have the sergeant fill out a temporary pistol permit,and--"

  "I don't have a pistol, Inspector," he said. "I--"

  "That's all right; we'll issue you one. We can--"

  He shook his head. "Thanks, I'd rather not. I've never used a pistolexcept when I've gone out after a criminal who is known to be armedand dangerous. I don't think Lawrence Nestor is very dangerous toadult males, and I doubt that he's armed." He hefted the walking stickhe'd been carrying. "This will do nicely, thank you."

  The way he said it was totally inoffensive, but it made me feel asthough I were about to go out rabbit hunting with an elephant gun."Force of habit," I said. "In New York, a cop would feel naked withouta gun. But I assure you that I have no intention of shooting Mr.Nestor unless he takes a shot at me first."

  Just as we were leaving, Dr. Brownlee met us in the outer room.

  "All right if I let Manny the Moog go, Roy?"

  "Sure, Doc; if you say so." I didn't have any time for introductionsjust then; Chief Inspector the Duke of Acrington and I kept going.

  * * * * *

  Eight minutes later, I pulled up to the post where Officer McCafferywas waiting. Since I'd already talked to him over the radio, all hedid was stroll off as soon as we pulled up. I didn't want everyone inthe neighborhood to know that there was something afoot. His Grace andI climbed out of the car and walked up toward a place calledFlanagan's Bar.

  It was a small place, the neighborhood type, with an old-fashioned airabout it. Two or three of the men looked up as we came in, and thenwent back to the more important business of drinking. We went back tothe far end of the bar, and the bartender came over, a short, heavyman, with the build of a heavyweight boxer and hands half again as bigas mine. He had dark hair, a square face, a dimpled chin, andcalculating blue eyes.

  "What'll it be?" he said in a friendly voice.

  "Couple of beers," I told him.

  I waited until he came back before I identified myself. OfficerMcCaffery had told me that the bartender was trustworthy, but I wantedto make sure I had the right man.

  "You Lee Darcey?" I asked when he brought back the beers.

  "That's right."

  I flashed my badge. "Is there anywhere we can talk?"

  "Sure. The back room, right through there." He turned to the otherbartender. "Take over for a while, Frankie." Then he ducked under thebar and followed the Duke and me into the back room.

  We sat down, and I showed him the picture of Lawrence Nestor. "Iunderstand you've seen this guy."

  He picked up the picture and cocked an eyebrow at it. "Well, Iwouldn't swear to it in court, Inspector, but it sure looks like thefellow who was in here this afternoon--this evening, rather, from sixto about six-thirty. I don't come on duty until six, and he was herewhen I got here."

  It was just seven o'clock. If the man was Nestor, we hadn't missed himby more than half an hour.

  "Notice anything about his voice?"

  "I noticed the lisp, if that's what you mean."

  "Did he talk much?"

  Darcey shook his head. "Not a lot. Just sat there and drank, mostly.Had about three after I came on."

  "What was he drinking?"

  "Whisky. Beer chaser." He grinned. "He tips pretty well."

  "Has he ever been in here before?"

  "Not that I know of. He might've come in in the daytime. You'd have tocheck with Mickey, the day man."

  "Was he drunk?"

  "Not that I could tell. I wouldn't have served him if he was," he saidrighteously.

  I said, "Darcey, if he comes back in here ... let's see--Can you shutoff that big sign out front from behind the bar?"

  "Sure."

  "O.K. If he comes in, shut off the sign. We'll have men here in lessthan a minute. He isn't dangerous or anything, so just act natural andgive him whatever he orders. I don't want him scared off. Understand?"

  "I got you."

  His Grace and I went outside, and I used my pocket communicator toinstruct a patrol car to cover Flanagan's Bar from across the street,and I called for extra plainclothesmen to cover the area.

  "Now what?" asked His Grace.

  "Now we go barhopping," I said. "He's probably still drinking, but itisn't likely that he'll find many little girls at this time of night.He's probably got a room nearby."

  At that point, a blue ElectroFord pulled up in front of us. Steviestuck his head out and said: "Your office said you'd be around heresomewhere. Remember me, Dad?"

  I covered my eyes with one hand in mock horror. "My God, the fifty!"Then I dropped the hand toward my billfold. "I'm sorry, son; I gotwrapped up in this thing and completely forgot." That made twoapologies in two minutes, and I began to have the uneasy feeling thatI had suddenly become a vaguely repellant mass of thumbs and leftfeet.

  I handed him the fifty, and, at the same time, said: "Son, I want youto meet His Grace, Chief Inspector the Duke of Acrington. Your Grace,this is my son, Steven Royall."

  As they shook hands, Steve said: "It's a pleasure to meet Your Grace.I read about the job you did in the Camberwell poisoning case. Thatbusiness of winding the watch was wonderful."

  "I'm flattered, Mr. Royall," said the Duke, "but I must admit that Igot a great deal more credit in that case than was actually due me.Establishing the time element by winding the watch was suggested to meby another man, who wouldn't allow his name to be mentioned in thepress."

  I reminded myself to read up on the Duke's cases. Evidently he wasbetter known than I had realized. Sometimes a man gets too wrapped upin his own work.

  "I'm sorry," Stevie said, "but I've got to get going. I hope to seeyou again, Your Grace. So long, Dad--and thanks."

  "So long, son," I said. "Take it easy."

  His car moved off down the street, gathering speed.

  "Fine boy you have there," the Duke said.

  "Thanks. Shall we go on with our pub crawling?"

  "Let's."

  * * * * *

  By two o'clock in the morning, we had heard nothing, found nothing.The Duke looked tired, and I knew that I was.

  "A few hours sleep wouldn't hurt either one of us," I told His Grace."It's a cinch that Nestor won't be able to find any little girls atthis hour of the morning, and I have a feeling that he probably boughthimself a bottle and took it up to his room with him."

  "You're probably right," the Duke said wearily.

  "Look," I said, "there's no point in your going all the way down toyour hotel. My place is just across town, I have plenty of room, itwill be no trouble to put you up, and we'll be ready to go in themorning. O.K.?"

  He grinned. "Worded that way, the invitation is far too forceful toresist. I'm sold. I accept."

  By that time, we had left several dollars worth of untasted beerssitting around in various bars on the West Side, so when I arrived atmy apartment on the East Side, I decided that it was time for twotired cops to have a decent drink. The Duke relaxed on the couch whileI mixed a couple of Scotch-and-waters. He lit a cigarette and blew outa cloud of smoke with a sigh.

  "Here, this will put sparks in your blood. Just a se
cond, and I'll getyou an ash tray." I went into the kitchen and got one of the ash traysfrom the top shelf and brought it back into the living room. Just as Iput it down on the arm of the couch next to His Grace, the buzzerannounced that there was someone at the front door downstairs.

  I went over to the peeper screen and turned it on. The face wasbig-jawed and hard-mouthed, and there was scar tissue in the eyebrowsand on the cheeks. He looked tough, but he also looked worried andfrightened.

  I could see him, but he couldn't see me, so I said: "What's thetrouble, Joey?"

  A look of relief came over his face. "Can I see ya, Inspector? I sawyour light was on. It's important." He glanced to his right, towardthe doorway. "Real important."

  "What's it all about, Joey?"

  "Take a look out your window, Inspector. Across the street. They'refriends of Freddy Velasquez. They been following me ever since I gotoff work."

  "Just a second," I said. I went over to the window that overlooks thestreet and looked down. There were two men there, all right, lookinginnocently into a delicatessen window. But I knew that Joey Partridgewasn't kidding, and that he knew who the men were. I went back to thepeeper screen just as Joey buzzed my signal again. "I buzzed again sothey won't know you're home," he said before I could ask anyquestions. "Freddy must've found out about my hands, Inspector.According to the word I got, they ain't carrying guns--just blackjacksand knucks."

  "O.K., Joey. Come on up, and I'll call a squad car to take you home."

  He gave me a bitter grin. "And have 'em coming after me again andagain until they catch me? No, thanks, Inspector. In one minute, I'mgoing to walk across and ask 'em what they're following me for."

  "You can't do that, Joey!"

  He looked hurt. "Inspector, since when it is against the law to ask acouple of guys how come they're following you? I just thought I oughtatell ya, that's all. So long."

  I knew there was no point in arguing with Joey Partridge. I turned andsaid: "Want some action, Your Grace?"

  But he was already on his feet, holding that walking stick of his."Anything you say."

  "Come on, then. We'll take the fire escape; the elevator is too slow.The fire escape will let us out in the alley, and we won't by outlinedby the light in the foyer."

  I already had the bedroom door open. I ran over to the window, openedit, and started down the steel stairway. The Duke was right behind me.It was only three floors down.

  "That Joey is too smart for his own good," I said, "but he's right.This is the only way to work it. Otherwise, they'd have him in thehospital eventually--or maybe dead."

  "He looked like a man who could take care of himself," the Duke said.

  "That's just it. He can't. Come on."

  * * * * *

  The ladder to the street slid down smoothly and silently, and Ithanked God for modern fire prevention laws. When we reached thestreet, I wondered where they could have gone to so quickly. Then theDuke said: "There! In that darkened area-way next to the little shop!"And he started running. His legs were longer than mine, and hereached the area-way a good five yards ahead of me.

  Joey had managed to evade them for a short while, but they hadcornered him, and one of them knocked him down just as the Duke cameon the scene. The other had swung at his ribs with a blackjack as hedropped, and the first aimed a kick at Joey's midriff, but Joey rolledaway from it.

  Then the two thugs heard our footsteps and turned to meet us. If we'dbeen in uniform, they might have run; as it was, they stood theirground.

  But not for long.

  The Duke didn't use that stick as though it were a club, swinging itlike a baseball bat. That would be as silly as using an overhand stabwith a dagger. He used it the way a fencer would use a foil, and thehard, blunt end of it sank into the first thug's solar plexus with allthe drive of the Duke's right arm and shoulder behind it. The thuggave a hoarse scream as all the air was driven from his lungs, and hedropped to the pavement.

  The second man came in with his blackjack swinging. His hand stoppedsuddenly as his wrist met the deadly stick, but the blackjack kept ongoing, bouncing harmlessly off the nearby wall as it flew fromnerveless fingers.

  That stick never stopped moving. On the backswing, it thwackedresoundingly against the thug's ribcage. He grunted in pain and triedto charge forward to grapple with the Englishman. But His Grace wasgrace itself as he leaped backwards and then thrust forward with thatwooden snake-tongue. The thug practically impaled himself on it. Hestopped and twisted and was suddenly sick all over the pavement.Almost gently, the Duke tapped him across the side of his head, and hefell into his own mess.

  It was all over before I'd even had a chance to mix in. I stood there,holding an eleven millimeter Magnum revolver in my hand and feelingvaguely foolish.

  I reholstered the thing and walked over to where Joey Partridge waspropping himself up to a sitting position. His right eye was bruised,and there was a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth,but he was grinning all the way across his battered face. And hewasn't looking at me; he was looking at the Duke.

  "You hurt, Joey?" I asked. I knew he wasn't hurt badly; he'd takenworse punishment than that in his life.

  He looked at me still grinning. "Hurt? You're right I'm hurt,Inspector! Them goons tried to kill me. Let's see--assault andbattery, assault with a deadly weapon, assault with intent to kill,assault with intent to maim, attempted murder, and--" He paused. "Whatelse we got, Inspector?"

  "We'll think on plenty," I said. "Can you stand up?"

  "Sure I can stand up. I want to shake the hand of your buddy, there.Geez! I ain't seen anything like that since I used to watch BatMasterson on TV, when I was a little kid!"

  "Joey, this is Chief Inspector the Duke Acrington, of Scotland Yard.Inspector, this is Joey Partridge, the greatest amateur boxer thiscountry has ever produced."

  Amazingly enough, Joey extended his hand. "Pleased t'meetcha,Inspector! Uh--watch the hand. Sorta tender. That was great! Duke, didyou say?" He looked at me. "You mean he's a real English Duke?" Helooked back at Acrington. "I never met a Duke before!" But by thattime he had taken his hand away from the Duke's grasp.

  "It's a pleasure to meet you, Joey," the Duke said warmly. "I likedthe way you cleaned up on that Russian during the '72 Olympics."

  Joey said to me, "He remembers me! How d'ya like that?"

  One of the downed thugs began to groan, and I said, "We'd better getthe paddy wagon around to pick these boys up. You'll prefer charges,Joey?"

  "Damn right I will! I didn't let myself get slugged for nothing!"

  It was nearly forty-five minutes later that the Duke and I foundourselves in my apartment again. The ice in our drinks had melted, soI dumped them and prepared fresh ones. The Duke took his, drained halfof it in three fast swallows, and said: "Ahhhhhh! I needed that."

  We heard a key in the door, and His Grace looked at me.

  "That's my son," I said. "Back from his date."

  Steve came in looking happy. "You still awake, Dad? A cop ought to gethis sleep. Good morning, Your Grace. Both of you look sleepy."

  Stevie didn't. He'd danced with Mary Ellen until four, and he stilllooked as though he could walk five miles without tiring. Me, I feltabout as full of snap as a soda cracker in a Turkish bath. The threeof us talked for maybe ten minutes, and then we hit the hay.

  * * * * *

  Three and a half hours of sleep isn't enough for anybody, but it wasall we could afford to take. By eight-thirty, the Duke and I were inmy office, sloshing down black coffee, and, half an hour after that,we were cruising up Amsterdam Avenue on the second day of our hunt forMr. Lawrence Nestor.

  Since we were now reasonably sure that our man was in the area, Iordered the next phase of the search into operation. There were squadsof men making a house-to-house canvass of every hotel, apartmenthouse, and rooming house in the area--and there are thousands of them.A flying squad took care of the hotels first; they were
the mostlikely. Since we knew exactly what day Nestor had arrived, we narrowedour search down to the records for that day. Nestor might not use hisown name; of course, but the photograph and description ought to help.And, since Nestor didn't have a job, his irregular schedule and hisdrinking habits might make him stand out, though there were plenty ofplaces where those traits would simply make him one of the boys. Itstill looked like a long, hard search.

  And then we got our break.

  At 9:17 am, Lieutenant Holmquist's voice snapped over my car phone:"Inspector Royall; Holmquist here. Child missing in Riverside Park.Officer Ramirez just called in from 111th and Riverside."

  "Got it!"

  I cut left and gunned the car eastward. I hit a green light atBroadway, so I didn't need to use the siren. Within two minutes, wehad pulled up beside the curb where an officer was standing with awoman in tears. The Duke and I got out of the car.

  We walked over to her calmly, although neither one of us felt verycalm. There's no point in disturbing an already excited mother--oraunt or whatever she was.

  The officer threw me a salute. I returned it and said to the sobbingwoman, "Now, just be calm, ma'am. Tell us what happened."

  It all came out in a torrent. She'd been sitting on one of thebenches, reading a newspaper, and she'd looked around and littleShirley