CHAPTER FOUR

Wednesday—8:25 A.M.

Stanton placed two spools of recording film on Clancy’s desk and then moved away, seating himself, straddling a chair in his favorite position. Kaproski, tilted back in his chair against one of the filing cabinets as usual, yawned and closed his eyes. He felt that his hours the previous night entitled him to no less. Clancy stared at the spools of film.

“Is there anything worth listening to?”

Stanton shook his head. “Not unless you want to listen to some of the screwiest conversations this side of vaudeville. And also not unless you got plenty of time to waste. There’s twelve hours of recording tape there, and damn near half of it is phone conversation. That damn phone almost didn’t stop ringing last night. I’m telling you, A.T. & T. made a fortune. People calling at all hours.…”

Clancy looked at him in surprise. “How late did you stick around?”

“Me? All night.” Stanton shrugged. “My wife is babysitting for her sister up in White Plains while her sister’s in the hospital; and I figured I might as well stay there as go home and look at a sink full of dirty dishes. I napped a couple of times with the earphones on, but I went back afterwards and picked those parts up I missed. But it was all the same screwy crap.…”

“What do you mean, ‘screwy’?”

Stanton looked at him. “Well, in the first place I guess this Cervera family must be roughly the size of the Jukes and Kallikaks put together, and they sound just about as smart. Every aunt and uncle and second cousin must have called as soon as they heard the news—all worked up and worried. And I guess in that family when somebody has any trouble, the deal is to offer them food. If everybody comes through, I figure the old lady ought to have enough to stock a couple of supermarkets. Anyway, everybody who called was all upset—but the old lady.” Stanton shook his head in wonder. “That’s what was so screwy. She was the calmest of the bunch. She tells them that her Lenny is a good boy so don’t fret, and anyway he has a good job waiting for him when he’s finished with the law.… I’m telling you, she’s a real pistol, that old lady.”

Clancy dug out a cigarette and lit it. He stared at the matchstick. “Are you sure that none of the uncles or the second cousins wasn’t really Lenny himself? Being cute?”

“All I’m sure of is if they all keep their word, the old lady shouldn’t go hungry in the near future,” Stanton said. “If one of them was Lenny calling, he didn’t say anything helpful. And personally I doubt that a guy fresh out of Sing Sing and on the lam, would be promising spumoni to anybody, even his old lady.”

Kaproski opened one eye languidly. “The Cerveras are from Catalonia. They don’t eat spumoni. I don’t think.” The thought led him to another, sufficiently important to lead him to open both eyes. “Did they all speak English?”

“Yeah. A couple of times somebody started off in a wad of foreign talk, but the old lady brought them back on the track in a hurry. She’s a good American, to hear her tell it, and so’s her boy Lenny.…”

“Lenny didn’t speak Catalon,” Clancy said absently. “His old man was killed in an accident when he was a kid and his mother changed over to English in the house.…”

Stanton nodded. “Yeah. Well, Lieutenant, you want to listen to these tapes?”

Clancy pushed them away. “No.” He frowned in sudden thought. “You say you listened all night. Did anyone call to tell the old lady about Marcia Hernandez?”

Stanton raised his eyebrows. “No. What about Marcia Hernandez?”

“Cervera knocked her off last night,” Kaproski said quietly. “That’s all.”

Stanton sat up. “I didn’t know that.”

“Stick around the precinct sometimes and get up to date,” Kaproski said. “We got regular bulletins on all news events.”

A large figure bulked in the doorway. Captain Wise stood there, eying Clancy with a worried look on his heavy face.

“I hear you had quite a night last night, Clancy.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you getting anywhere?”

“I’m getting tired.” Clancy stared at the spools of tape broodingly, not seeing them at all. He brought his eyes up to meet the captain’s. “I’m going up to see the warden at Sing Sing today. Maybe I’ll get some ideas up there.”

“Is there anything we can help you with?”

“As a matter of fact there is,” Clancy said slowly. “I want Roy Kirkwood and Judge Kiele really covered, not just at home, but every minute. And I don’t mean like Marcia Hernandez was covered, either.… And I want them covered whether they like it or not. I can’t spare Kap or Stanton; I’ve got other jobs for them.” He looked at the man tilted against the filing cabinet; Kaproski’s eyes were open and watching Clancy calmly. “Kap, I want you to dig up Lenny’s old gang—they call themselves the El Cids. Talk to the headman, and talk to him like a Dutch uncle if you have to. Cervera had to get that car someplace, and there’s no black four-door sedan on the stolen-car list this morning, because I already checked.”

He turned to Stanton. “And Stan, you get over to Jersey, to this place that promised Lenny a job. It’s a used-car lot, you say. He might have picked up a heap there, although I’ll admit it sounds doubtful. But I’m damned if I know what other leads to try.”

Captain Wise leaned over the desk. “And who keeps an eye on you, Clancy, while everybody is watching somebody else?”

“I keep an eye on me,” Clancy said evenly.

“That’s great.” Captain Wise made no attempt to hide the disgust in his voice. “That’s being the big Irish hero. Except that last night he tries to knock you off and almost gets away with it. I just saw the report, and the sergeant in that patrol car uncovers one of those biddies there that says she saw the whole thing from her window; she couldn’t sleep, and she says that if Kaproski hadn’t taken you down, we’d of had you downtown on a slab alongside the girl.”

“He would have missed by a mile—” Clancy began, and then suddenly sat up straight. “She saw it through her window? Did she see the car?”

“Yeah, she saw the car, all right. The only thing is, she wouldn’t know a Stutz Bearcat from a droshky.”

“Great.” Clancy leaned back again. “Well, anyway, I’m going up to Sing Sing and I’m pretty sure Lenny Cervera isn’t going to follow me up there, vendetta or no.” His eyes came over to the two detectives listening. His voice hardened. “I thought I gave you two assignments.…”

Kaproski’s chair came down with a thump. Stanton pulled himself erect in a hurry. The two looked at the lieutenant, at the captain, and then at each other. And then disappeared through the doorway.

Clancy sighed. “All right, Sam. You’re right, of course; being a hero in this business is stupid. When I get back from Ossining you can hang a bell on me, but in all honesty I don’t see anything to be gained by having somebody in my hair at the moment.”

Captain Wise thought about it. “Well—”

The telephone rang. Clancy leaned over and picked it up. “Hello?”

“Clancy? How are you? This is Doc Freeman. Downtown.”

“Hello, Doc. How goes it?”

“Pretty good. Say, Clancy, I just finished working on a girl, a hit-run. They tell me Kaproski brought her in last night. Is she one of your current little problems?”

“More or less.” Clancy stared at the phone. “Why? Did you run across anything in the autopsy that could help pin this thing on somebody? Or help locate the driver?”

“No. As a matter of fact, it was more the other way around.” Doc Freeman hesitated. “I checked her over and she was a holy mess. Smashed up worse than most hit-runs we usually see. But while I was working on her, the boys in the lab were going over her clothes, and …” Doc Freeman’s voice sank. “Clancy, I’ve got some news for you. Bad news. Unless we’re crazy, this wasn’t an accident. This was murder.”

Clancy shook his head and sighed.

“Doc, we figured that out about two seconds after it happened. In fact, we even—” He stopped suddenly. His eyebrows drew themselves together in a puzzled frown. He pulled himself more erect in his chair, gripping the telephone tighter. “We knew it was murder, yes. But how would you boys know? What have you found that would indicate it was murder?”

“For one thing, there wasn’t any paint on her clothes,” Doc Freeman said simply. “And no glass. I know the report didn’t say anything about broken headlights, but Clancy, I’ve seen a lot of these cases, and I never saw anyone smashed up like this without breaking the headlights. So I had the boys do an extra-special check on those clothes, and we found wood fibers imbedded in the cloth. Southern pine, if you’re interested, treated with creosote. The only logical answer is that whoever hit her had mounted some two-by-fours vertically around the bumper, sticking up to avoid smashing the radiator grill and the headlights. And to protect the fenders from scratching them, or from leaving paint marks on her clothes. In other words, the thing was premeditated.…”

Clancy thought a moment. “Kaproski was right there; he saw the whole thing. He isn’t here right now, but he didn’t say anything about seeing any rig in front …”

“I saw the report,” Doc said. “Apparently from where he was, he couldn’t see much of anything. And anyway, this wood thing wouldn’t have to be a big deal, you know. Just a nailed-together thing that he could wedge over the bumper. And in that neighborhood, at that time of night, he could have slipped it on a few minutes before he did the big run, and then taken it off a block or two away and stashed it in the trunk, or even in the back seat of the car.…”

Clancy sighed. “You’re not being very helpful, Doc.”

Doc Freeman’s feelings were hurt. “You don’t want me to be helpful, Clancy—you want me to be hopeful. I’m just giving you the facts, ma’am, that’s all. The way it figures, it’s going to be very tough to nail the driver of that car. He won’t have to pull in anywheres for repairs.”

“We didn’t think he’d go to a garage for repairs anyway,” Clancy said, slowly refusing to admit even to himself his disappointment at Doc Freeman’s words. His eyes sought the captain’s face. Captain Wise nodded slowly up and down, and then vigorously shook his head. Clancy continued, properly interpreting these gestures.

“Of course all garages are being checked as a matter of routine, but so far without luck.” Captain Wise nodded again, smiling broadly.

“I don’t think he’d have to go to a garage at all,” Doc said slowly. “The way it looks, that wood would spread the shock enough so that the most he might have is a little dent on the top of the radiator. And you find me a car in New York without a little dent, and I’ll kiss Mary Kelly for you. In Macy’s window.”

“Watch your language,” Clancy said with a grin. His grin faded. “He could have some wood splinters in the radiator grille, though,” he said thoughtfully.

“If he didn’t put some padding between the two-by-fours and the radiator,” Doc said. “Or if he doesn’t have enough brains to look for them and clean them out. Or if he doesn’t get caught in the rain and get them washed off. Or if some busybody gas-station attendant doesn’t wipe them off when he’s checking the oil. Or—”

“All right, already,” Clancy said testily. “I heard you.”

“Well,” Doc said reasonably, “I just wanted you to know.”

“And thank you, too!” Clancy hung up almost angrily.

Captain Wise stared at him. “I caught most of it,” he said slowly. “So there’s no chance of our spotting the car from the damage.” He shook his head in disgust. “Don’t tell me the punk is going to get away with this, too.”

Clancy shrugged. “I’m going to get some work done, if you don’t mind, Sam. And then I’m going up to see the warden.” His eyes were cold on the other. “And Sam, don’t call that louse a punk.”

“Don’t call that momser a louse,” Captain Wise said, equally serious, and walked out.

Clancy drew the pile of reports from his in basket, and started going through them one by one. The net result of most of them was nil; he sighed and continued. And then paused, his eye racing down a scrawled sheet. His hand shot out for the telephone.

“Sergeant, is Mathews here?”

There was silence while the desk checked. “No, sir. He’s on late today. He was assigned to Mr. Kirkwood until early this morning.”

“I know,” Clancy said. “Can you reach him at home? I’ll hold on.”

The desk sergeant grunted agreement and dialed. It took a few minutes to convince Mrs. Mathews that the matter was sufficiently important to awaken the lord and master, but eventually the sleepy patrolman came on the line.

“Hello?”

“Mathews? This is Lieutenant Clancy. Listen, Mathews; when you went over to Mr. Kirkwood’s last night, did you stop and see about the second man? The one who was supposed to cover the rear?”

“Sure, Lieutenant. Like you told me. But he wasn’t there, so I left word with that runty superintendent. But he never showed. I was there all alone damn near all night. I tried to cover the front and the back, but you know how that goes …” He yawned and then remembered. “I put it all in my report. Didn’t you see it?”

“I saw it,” Clancy said. “That’s why I’m calling. What kind of cover is this, anyway?”

“Well, jeez, Lieutenant, it wasn’t my fault. Anyway,” Mathews added, almost smugly, “he was all right. I seen him when he come in last night and again when he went out to work this morning. And there was two guys on him when he left the apartment this morning. He’s O.K.”

“Yeah,” Clancy said. “Lucky for us. Well, O.K., Mathews. Get yourself some sleep.”

“Thanks, Lieutenant. Good night. I mean, good morning.” He yawned again and hung up. Clancy turned back to his work with a glance at the clock. He could spare another hour before catching the train to Ossining; he bent over his papers, determined to do as much as he could before he left. The minutes swept by.

Wednesday—12:50 P.M.

The cab driver who picked Clancy up at the Ossining station of the New York Central might have been less talkative if he had known he was addressing a lieutenant of police, but it is extremely doubtful. He took note of the destination with raised eyebrows, made an illegal U-turn in the middle of the block to head the other way, and then waited until the meter had marked up $1.35 before turning his head to speak around a drooping cigarette pasted to his lower lip.

“No visitors on Wednesdays,” he offered helpfully.

Clancy said nothing. The driver nodded, satisfied.

“Newspaperman, huh? That’s the racket! Man, you missed all the excitement—you should have been here yesterday! Today is nothing; yesterday was the day. They was a cop shot—sireens going like hell all over town! I could tell you all about it …” He glanced over his shoulder, warming up for a commercial, but one look at Clancy’s set features and he subsided.

“Oh, a cop, huh!” he said disgustedly, and relapsed into sulky silence.

Clancy dropped off at the main gate of the penitentiary, paid the driver with a minimum tip, and rang the bell mounted there. As he waited, his eyes scanned the high walls and threatening towers; not for the first time in his career he thanked the fates that had led him to the side of the law. In the neighborhood from whence he had sprung, many had not been so fortunate.

The bell was answered. He produced his identity, waited in a small security booth until a telephone call had been made, and then followed a uniformed guard through long passages to the warden’s office. He thanked his guide, watched the door closed firmly behind him, and turned to face a tired-looking man watching him from across a paper-strewn desk. The warden had not slept for several days, and looked it.

“The captain told me you called yesterday, Lieutenant,” the warden said wearily. “What can I do for you?”

Clancy chose a seat and sat in it, resting his hat on his knee.

“I’m not sure, Warden,” he said slowly. “I’ve been assigned to the case until Cervera, at least, is picked up. He made threats against several people before he went up, and now it looks as if he’s trying to make them good. I’m looking for a lead. I hoped to find something here that could give me a hint as to where he might head for in New York, or who he might look up.”

The warden nodded. “I’ve heard about last night’s events, Lieutenant.” He shrugged, his dark-rimmed eyes steady on his visitor. “Possibly it would be better if you just asked questions. I’ll do my best to answer them.”

“All right,” Clancy said. “First of all, Warden, what was your impression of Lenny Cervera? How did he act here? Would you have expected something like this from him, based on what you had learned about him in his three years here?”

The warden considered the question. When he answered there was a furrow between his eyes. “Lieutenant, I see the new men when they come in, and I see them again when they go out—when their time is up and they’re freed In between, I only see them when they get into some particular trouble—like Blount, for example. I had no contact with Cervera. There are just too many men here, and too many problems. Maybe that’s not the way it should be, but that’s the way it is. All I can say, from what the guards have told me, is that Cervera apparently didn’t get into any particular trouble.”

He leaned forward, his eyes holding Clancy tightly. The effect of doing without sleep was evident in his voice. “But I’ll tell you this, Lieutenant: after fifteen years on this job, I’d expect about anything from any one of the men in here.…”

“You mentioned Blount,” Clancy said. “That was another question I had, Warden. I’ve read the newspaper accounts of these men but I’d like your story on them.”

“Well, you know Cervera and his case. Williams was here for second-degree murder; he knifed a man in a bar fight. Marcus was in for arson—he had a cute stunt of setting fires for insurance, and using just enough explosive to destroy the evidence. Or so he thought. Blount, of course, is a bad man. He was here for bank robbery; he blew a safe in a Glens Falls bank—but he’d been up before for everything from placing a bomb in a car to assault and battery. And up here he gave us nothing but trouble. A real tough guy.”

“Trouble?” Clancy asked. “In what way?”

“In every way. Fighting, constant complaining, vandalism.… He spent half his time here in solitary confinement.”

“I see. Did the four men involved in the escape all work in the same section?”

“Blount and Cervera both worked in the commissary—when Blount worked at all. Williams was in the laundry and Marcus was in the prison library. Marcus was the most educated of them all.”

Clancy frowned. “In general, then, the four didn’t have any particular contact with each other? Other than the fact that Blount and Cervera worked together? Were any of them cellmates?”

“No.” The warden shrugged in a tired fashion. “The men can get together in the recreation hall if they want to, or out in the yard. They can always meet in the library, as well, of course. I believe all four of them went out for the baseball team, but other than that …”

Clancy nodded. “How about visitors?”

“Well, Cervera had his mother and his girl friend, and occasionally—not too often—one of his old gang would come up to see him. Williams had a brother who visited him regularly. The brother took the body away this morning, as a matter of fact. Marcus? Nobody.” The warden shrugged. “It’s a funny thing—arsonists and blackmailers—they don’t seem to have any friends either on the outside or the inside. And Blount? Well, his wife was the only one he’d consent to see. She was the only one who had any effect on him at all. For a day or so after her visits he’d be a good boy. If it weren’t for her, I’d guess he would have spent the other half of his time in solitary, as well.”

“Any sex problem?”

“There’s always a sex problem in prison. But nothing particularly with those four.”

Clancy stared at the rim of his hat, hesitating. When he looked up, his eyes were grave but unwavering.

“Warden, I know you’ve had a hard time and you’re tired and you have a lot on your mind. I don’t want you to misunderstand what I’m going to say next. Security in this institution is your problem and not ours. But you must have considered the possibility of some inside help on this breakout. Here you have four men, different in age, different in character, and crime, working in different sections of the prison with little in common. It would seem to me …” He stopped.

“We’ve thought of it,” the warden said with no expression on his face at all. “Of course we’ve thought of it. And we have our own ideas about it. Which I’m not going to divulge to you or to anyone else at this time.”

He leaned over his desk, his voice suddenly hardening, his eyes suddenly narrowing. “But I can tell you this, Lieutenant: if our investigation proves what we’re thinking, somebody else is going to the chair, along with Phil Marcus if he recovers, and with Blount and Cervera, when and if they’re picked up!”

Clancy’s eyebrows went up. “The chair?”

“Jimmy Hughes died about an hour ago,” the warden said slowly. “He was the policeman who stopped them in town yesterday.” He stared at Clancy a moment and then his eyes swung around, looking through the window with pain. “I knew Jimmy very well. Every now and then we’d run into each other at the Elks, and we’d play a game of rotation, or sometimes eight ball. Jimmy always rammed the balls too hard—that was Jimmy …”

Clancy cleared his throat and broke into the embarrassing silence that had fallen. “Warden, is there any chance of my seeing Marcus while I’m here? Talking to him?”

The warden came back from the depths of his grim, unhappy thoughts. He shook his head. “It wouldn’t do any good. He’s still unconscious.” His voice became bitter. “Four pints of good, useful blood they’ve poured into him, trying to keep him alive. For what? For the chair.…”

Clancy came to his feet. The expression in the warden’s eyes was a little embarrassing, and also a bit frightening. “Well, thank you for your trouble, Warden.”

The warden swung about, pressing a button behind him.

“A guard will see you out, Lieutenant. And if we get anything that might be useful to you, we’ll be in touch.”

“Thank you.”

His last impression as he followed the uniformed guard from the office was of a tired-faced man looking down at the papers on his desk, his eyes not seeing them, his thoughts far away in some private hell. And any time you start to complain about responsibility at the 52nd, Clancy, he said to himself suddenly, just think of this man, sitting on a volcano for fifteen long years, with fresh fuel being fed into it every day.

The sunlight outside the gray walls never seemed so bright.

Wednesday—4:20 P.M.

Clancy walked into his office to find Kaproski tilted back against a filing cabinet, his hat pushed back from his unruly blond hair, and his eyes fixed calmly on a young man of about twenty or so who was sitting sullenly before the desk. The young fellow needed a haircut, and his black-leather motorcycle jacket could also have stood repair. Clancy raised an inquiring eyebrow at Kaproski.

“Meet Julio Sagarra,” Kaproski said conversationally. He brought his chair down with a loud thump and leaned over, wrapping a large hand about the young man’s thin arm and squeezing slightly. The young man’s jaw tightened. “This is Lieutenant Clancy, Julio. You’re going to be a nice boy and talk to him.”

The young fellow pulled his arm free with a vicious jerk. “I ain’t got nothing to say I ain’t already said.”

Clancy hung up his coat, scaled his hat onto a filing cabinet, and walked around his desk. He dropped into his chair and looked at Kaproski questioningly.

“Julio is the head of the El Cids,” Kaproski said. “He’s a tough little monkey. He’s also a goddamned liar.”

“You say!” the boy sneered.

Kaproski raised a big hand; Julio automatically ducked.

“I say,” Kaproski said darkly. He turned back to Clancy. “He and I had a long talk but I didn’t like all the answers he gave me, so I figured a little chat down here at the station might get him to reconsider some of them answers.”

“Well, now,” Clancy said reasonably. “I’ve known that to happen. But there isn’t any reason to be rough on the boy, Kaproski. What did you object to in his answers?”

“Well,” Kaproski said, glowering meanly at the boy, “to begin with, I don’t like his face, and I don’t like the way he wears his clothes. And he needs a haircut. And to tell the truth I’d just as soon knock his teeth down his throat as sit here looking at him!”

“Here, now!” Clancy said, sitting straighter. “There’ll be none of that here! Just answer my question, Kaproski!”

“Well, all right, Lieutenant,” Kaproski said grudgingly. “But you don’t know these punks like I do.…”

“Just answer,” Clancy said coldly.

“Well,” Kaproski said, “he keeps insisting neither he nor any of the others in the gang would give Lenny Cervera the right time, let alone a car. Like the guy said somewhere, methought the Queen was protesting a trifle too much.”

Young Sagarra turned with a snarl. “Watch who you’re calling a queen, Copper!”

Kaproski raised his huge hand; Julio ducked back, subsiding.

Clancy suppressed a grin, keeping his face straight and his voice stern. “I told you before, Kaproski, there’ll be none of that here. We don’t use tactics like that. I’m sure there’s no need for it.”

“There ain’t,” the young man said angrily.

“You see? All right, son, suppose you tell me all about it.”

“Sure,” Julio said, leaning forward, his dirty hands pressing on the desk. “This character—” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder in Kaproski’s direction without taking his eyes from Clancy’s benign face. “—this guy he comes around asking about a car, like did we get one for Lenny, and stuff like that. And I told him the truth, ten times at least, only he don’t want to believe it.”

“I see. And what did you tell him that he didn’t want to believe?”

“I told him that first, do we look like we got cars? Huh? In the whole gang we got one crummy motorcycle, half the time it ain’t even running. And I told him that even if we had ten garagefuls of cars, we wouldn’t give Lenny Cervera a busted bicycle!”

“Oh? Why not?”

“Because he’s a fink, that’s why not!”

“Oh?” Clancy pulled out his cigarettes and withdrew one; he followed the boy’s eyes to the pack in his hand. He pushed it across the desk; Julio hesitated a moment and then took one. Clancy held out a lit match, waited until Julio had taken a light, and then lit his own. He flipped the match away and leaned back negligently.

“And why is Lenny a fink, Julio?”

“Because he killed Marcia, that’s why! She was a good kid. There wasn’t no need for him to do that.…”

“I see.” Clancy studied the end of his cigarette calmly. “But Julio, you have to understand Detective Kaproski’s point of view, too. You say you wouldn’t have given him a car because he killed Marcia—but whoever gave him the car gave it to him before he killed Marcia. So you can understand why Detective Kaproski found your story weak.”

Julio shook his head hopelessly. “What do I got to do to convince you guys? We ain’t got no cars, can’t you see that? We didn’t give Lenny no car or no nothing.” His dark eyes stared at Clancy broodingly. “And for my dough, he’s still a fink.”

“Well,” Clancy said easily. “You also have to look at the thing from Lenny’s standpoint. I heard a rumor just the other day that somebody told Lenny it was Marcia who tipped off the police about the stolen car—the one that got him picked up in the first place.”

Julio sneered. “Marcia? That’s nuts!”

“I’m merely saying that I heard the rumor. He might have believed it.”

Julio snorted. “Then he’s a double fink! First for believing it, and second—” He stopped short.

Clancy read him like a book. “And second for not having passed the word on to the gang? Well, he may yet. What I’d like to know is what you intend to do about it if he does?”

Julio frowned. He took a deep drag on the cigarette, pinched it out, and thrust the butt into his jacket pocket. His eyes came back to Clancy’s, thoughtful.

“You’re conning me, ain’t you?”

“I’m not conning you, Julio,” Clancy said quietly, impressively. “I’m simply asking you a question.”

“You want me to be a fink, too. Is that it?”

Clancy leaned forward, his voice changing subtly. “I want you to think about something, Julio. Really think about it; that’s all. I want you to think that Lenny Cervera was involved in a prison break that cost a policeman’s life. And that after that he killed his girl friend in cold blood; ran her down like a dog. And that when he gets picked up he’s going to die in the electric chair. And that anybody who helps him in any way whatsoever is getting in pretty far over his head. It’s a lot more serious than pinching apples from a fruit stand!”

Despite his best intentions his voice had hardened; the eyes that held the young man were icy. Julio Sagarra stared at him, startled at first, and then turned to look at Kaproski. He nodded his head slowly in sudden comprehension.

“I get it,” he said wisely. “I’m not bright, but I finally get it. The Dolly Sisters.…” He pushed his chair back, coming to his feet with a faint grin. “Can I go now, Lieutenant? Or is the bad guy going to threaten to swat me again?”

“You can go,” Clancy said quietly, looking up at the young face with its thin sneer. His own face was expressionless. “Just don’t forget what I told you. Lenny Cervera is going to die in the electric chair. Whoever helps him is an accessory. If you’ve ever gone up to Sing Sing to visit Lenny, you know what it’s like. Just think about it.”

“I’ll do that, Lieutenant,” Julio said, with a wise look on his young, hard face. “I’ll think about it. I promise.” He turned and winked at Kaproski and then swaggered to the door. He paused there and turned. “And thanks for the smoke, Lieutenant.” With a grin he was gone.

Clancy shook his head hopelessly. Kaproski got to his feet, stretching. He grinned down at Clancy.

“I thought we were going real good there for a while, Lieutenant. When we going on the stage?”

“When we get a better act,” Clancy said sourly. He stared down at his desk, and then looked up at Kaproski. “I was raised in Hell’s Kitchen, Kap. Where were you raised?”

“Red Hook,” Kaproski said, surprised at the question. “Why?”

“What makes some of them go sour?” Clancy asked in a wondering tone. “It can’t be the neighborhood.…”

“I’ll tell you, Lieutenant,” Kaproski said with one of those bursts of insight that never ceased to amaze Clancy. “Most of them run scared, the way I figure. Me, I never was scared; and I guess you never were, either. Besides which,” he added with a grin, “my old lady would have broke my back.”

“Maybe that’s the answer,” Clancy said. He sighed and looked at his wrist watch, shook it, and then brought it to his ear. “What time is it? This thing has stopped.”

“About five or so,” Kaproski said, checking.

“And no word from Stanton yet?” Clancy shrugged. “Well, I’m going to get something to eat and then I’m going home. To sleep, or anyway, to try.” He was busy winding his watch. “But first …”

He reached for the telephone. “Sergeant, I’m leaving for home, now. If Stanton comes in, or calls, tell him to get in touch with me at home.”

He hung up and got to his feet. “Can I drop you someplace, Kap?”

“I’m going with you,” Kaproski said. “I’m going to stay with you again tonight.” He held up a hamlike hand. “Those are Captain Wise’s orders, Lieutenant. Don’t get mad with me.”

Clancy smiled. “I’m not angry. As a matter of fact, after last night I’m in favor of it. And I’ll tell you something that will please you.” His eyes ranged over the other’s tall body. “I’m even going to let you sleep in the bed, and I’ll take the couch. That way it’ll be a better fit for the both of us.”

Kaproski grinned at him.

“And I’ll tell you something that will please you, Lieutenant,” he said. “For a change, I ain’t going to argue.…”