Next morning I phoned Captain Parker, head of the Metropolitan Division, as I had promised. After commending Herman Joyce for his good work, I suggested he get a couple of days’ leave as a reward.
Parker said he thought he could arrange it.
Carl Lincoln and I weren’t due to report in until five P.M. since the night trick works from five until one in the morning. But when we both checked into the squadroom at one P.M., we found Captain Maurice Spangler in his office.
The head of the Vice, Gambling, and Narcotics Division is a square-bodied, grizzled man in his early sixties, who normally has the affable manner of a traveling salesman. I say normally because on occasion he can be about as affable as a Gila monster.
This afternoon he was in a cordial mood. Smiling at Carl, who had entered the office first, he said, “What are you doing here so early, Corporal?” Then he spotted me behind Carl. “You too, Rudowski? Something must be up.”
Outside of my old neighborhood on the South Side, very few people call me Rudowski. I’m not ashamed of the name and I’m proud of my Polish ancestry. But when you have to give your name over the phone to strangers a dozen times a day, Mateuz Rudowski requires too much repeating and, quite often, spelling out. People understand me instantly when I say Matt Rudd. But for some perverse reason Maurice Spangler insists on using my real name.
When Carl and I were both seated, I said, “We’ve got Benny Polacek in the can, Captain. We nailed him at nine last night.”
Spangler looked gratified. “How good’s your evidence?”
“We haven’t seen the film yet. We left it at the lab last night. We thought maybe the D.A. would want to see it before we make the next move. We got the junk in a marked envelope and the money in another, of course, so I think we can nail him even if the film turns out blank.”
“The junk been analyzed yet?”
“Should have been by now. We left it at the lab.”
Spangler picked up his desk phone and called the Crime Lab. He asked for George Abbot, then after a few moments conversation he hung up again.
“The package was ten grains,” he said. “One grain of heroin and nine grains of powdered milk sugar. They sure gyp the poor suckers, don’t they?”
“Nine to one is about standard,” I said. “The junkies know it’s cut, but what can they do? And one grain is enough to get a conviction.”
The captain picked up the phone again and told the switchboard operator to get him the D.A.’s office. When he got through, he asked to speak to the District Attorney, Norman Dollinger.
After a moment’s wait he said, “Norm? Maury Spangler. My boys caught Benny Polacek with the goods last night.”
There was another pause, then: “Pretty solid. We haven’t seen the film yet. I thought you might want to see it too when it’s run.”
After listening, Spangler said, “O.K. Fine,” and hung up. “He’s coming right over,” he announced. “We’re to meet him in the lab.”
We all three took the stairs to the third floor and walked down the hall to the Crime Lab. Plump George Abbot was inside, peering through a microscope, but he looked up when we entered.
“Afternoon, Captain,” he said. “Hi, Rudd, Lincoln.”
The captain said, “The D.A.’s coming over to look at Rudowski’s and Lincoln’s film, George. Want to set it up in the projector?”
“Sure,” Abbot said.
Rising, he led us into the windowless projection room, which also doubled as the ballistics lab. Selecting a roll of film from a rack, he held it up to the ceiling light to examine a few feet.
“Looks pretty clear,” he said, and began putting it into the projector.
The county courthouse is only across the street from Police Headquarters. By the time Abbot had the film strung into place, the D.A. had arrived.
Norman Dollinger was a tall, slightly stooped man in his mid-fifties with a thin, studious face and horn-rimmed glasses. I suppose he was an efficient enough district attorney, but he was first a machine politician and second a servant of the people. I didn’t hold this against him, because you can’t hold office in either the city or county of St. Cecilia unless you are a machine politician. But I did hold it against him that he made a pretense of being dedicated to equal law enforcement for all, when everybody knew he winked at local rackets which had machine protection. He was up in arms over the narcotics racket solely because the machine wanted it stamped out.
The film was gratifyingly clear for an infrared job, since they don’t always come out perfect. Benny Polacek’s face was easily identifiable as he passed the junk and received payment for it. After the showing was over, Dollinger examined the other evidence and nodded with satisfaction.
“He couldn’t beat it with Clarence Darrow defending him,” he said. “Let’s go downstairs and talk to him.”
The captain returned to his office instead of going downstairs with us. Carl, the D.A., and I descended to the basement together.
The felony section is built for maximum security. You can’t even get into the booking room until the desk sergeant looks you over and presses a buzzer to release the barred entry door. No one but police officers and officers of the court are allowed farther than that, lawyers and other visitors having to wait for prisoners to be brought to the visitors’ grille. And even officers can’t carry any kind of weapon beyond the booking room.
Checking our guns at the desk, we waited for the desk sergeant to buzz open the first door to the cell blocks. Four feet beyond this was a second door which also had an electric lock controlled from the desk. It was impossible for both doors to be open at once: the first had to be closed and locked before the second would open.
Beyond the second door were the cells, three banks of them, walled with two-inch-thick plexiglass so that the patrolling inside guard could see into them at all times. Only the doors to the cells were of barred steel.
We didn’t have to ask the guard which cell Benny Polacek was in, for we could see right through them all, as though the occupants were all in one big room. He was in the far corner of the third bank, isolated from other prisoners by a distance of several cells.
When the three of us stopped in front of his barred door, Polacek looked up sullenly. Then, as he recognized the district attorney, his expression changed to one of surprise.
“Well, well,” he said. “How come the D.A. himself is interested in small potatoes like me? I expected about a twelfth assistant.”
Norman Dollinger looked him over estimatingly, then said to me, “He doesn’t seem to have the shakes.”
“He’s not a user,” I said. “Just a pusher.”
“Yeah,” Carl said. “The slob doesn’t even have the excuse of being hooked himself. He just likes the money. We saw him bareass naked last night, and there isn’t a needle mark on him.”
Dollinger turned his attention back to the prisoner. “We just ran the film of your last night’s transaction, Polacek,” he said crisply. “It came out quite well. An analysis of the product you sold shows it was cut heroin. And of course by now you realize the money you accepted was marked. Looks as though we have an open-and-shut case.”
“So I take the fall,” the pusher said with a shrug. “How come you’re telling me? All your assistants busy?”
“We consider you an important case, Benny. We’ve been laying for you for some time. We can put you away for life with no hope of parole, you know.”
Benny Polacek’s eyes narrowed. In a slow voice he said, “The way you say that, I smell the offer of a deal.”
“You smell correctly. As you say, you’re small potatoes. Ordinarily you’d just be a routine report on my desk, and I wouldn’t even bother to look at the evidence against you. You wouldn’t rate as low as a twelfth assistant, because I only happen to have five, but you’d be handled by the junior member of my staff. How would you like to walk out of here with all charges dropped?”
Benny Polacek’s eyes grew large. “You’re kidding.”
“Not at all. You mean nothing to us. The minute we salt you away, some other vermin will take over your customers. Pushers are a dime a dozen. We want the man who supplies the pushers. The wholesale outlet.”
Polacek’s eyes remained large. “You mean if I give you his name, you’ll let me walk out of here?”
The D.A. shook his head. “It’s not going to be that easy. You’re going to have to set him up, just as you were set up. We want photographic evidence of you making a buy, plus your testimony on the stand. We won’t settle for just a name. You’re off the hook only when we get a conviction.”
The prisoner’s eyes returned to normal size. “I might of known there’d be a gimmick. How long you think I’d live after the trial?”
“A long time, if you fully cooperate. We also want from you the name of every retailer you know. If we smash the entire ring, you’ll be safe enough.”
Polacek emitted a bitter laugh. “For a D.A., you ain’t been around much. A guy squeals and he’s done. Even if you picked up everybody in the business, every gun in town would be after me. They never let a pigeon get away with it, even when they got no ax to grind.”
“The code of the underworld,” I growled. “You’ve been seeing too many B movies. Nobody in any other racket is going to give a hoot in hell if you rat on a horse distributor, Benny. But if it makes you feel better, we’ll furnish you protection after the trial until you get out of town. You’d be better off living somewhere else under a new name than rotting your life away in the joint.”
He thought this over before answering. “I’d have one eye over my shoulder the rest of my life.”
“Better than having the handle of a pickax over your shoulder,” Carl said. “Would you rather make little ones out of big ones the rest of your life?”
Polacek thought some more. Finally he said, “Can I chew this over a while?”
“No,” Dollinger said definitely. “It’s a take-it-or-leave-it proposition. You can decide right now.”
“Umm. Can I talk to a lawyer before I decide?”
“If you wish. But any reputable lawyer will advise you to jump at the chance. What lawyer do you want to talk to?”
Polacek considered for some time. “How about Martin Bonner?”
The D.A. looked surprised. “He’s pretty high class for a pusher. Do you think you can get him to represent you?”
“I don’t know. He won’t know me from a hole in the wall when I call him. I just figure he’s tops, and’ll give me a right steer. Maybe you could ask him to listen to me.”
Dollinger glanced at me, and I moved my head in indication that I wanted to talk to him out of Polacek’s earshot. We walked a few yards away, Carl trailing after us.
“I was going to put in an objection when you said he could talk to a lawyer,” I said. “Chances are any lawyer he deals with regularly would also represent the wholesaler, and that would shoot the whole works. But Bonner’s as honest as they come. He couldn’t possibly have any connection with the dope ring.”
“No, I’m sure he couldn’t,” Dollinger agreed. “He seldom even takes criminal cases. Essentially he’s an estate and corporation man. Why do you suppose Polacek picked him?”
“Maybe for the reason he said,” Carl suggested. “He knows Bonner will give him a right steer.”
“Then suppose we let him phone Bonner,” the D.A. said.
But when we returned to his cell Benny Polacek had a further condition. He insisted that he be allowed to talk to the lawyer with no one eavesdropping. He stipulated that he be allowed to call from a public phone booth, with no cops within hearing range.
“I got a right to private consultation with my attorney,” he said. “It’s that way or nothing.”
The district attorney nodded and I said, “There’s one in the headquarters waiting room, Benny. How’s that?”
Benny Polacek said that would be fine.