It had been three-thirty when I left headquarters. It was five when I got back. Hank Carter had returned and sat with Wynn and Lincoln at the same table where Wynn had given us our instructions.
The lieutenant greeted me with, “I said an hour, Rudowski. You’ve been gone an hour and a half.”
“I stopped to seduce a woman,” I said.
I knew he wouldn’t believe me. His face reddened and he said, “Get it through your head, Sergeant, that I won’t stand for insubordination. That’s the last smart crack I expect to hear from you as long as I remain your superior officer.”
Beverly had left me in too relaxed a mood to let even Wynn upset me. I said mildly, “Yes, sir. I’ll try to remember.”
After glaring at me a moment more, he said stiffly, “Well, what did you find out?”
I gave him a thorough report of everything that had happened, omitting only the cause of my delay. By the time I finished, he had simmered down enough to be civil.
He asked, “What’s your opinion of her story?”
“It sounded on the up-and-up. Of course she may just be a good actress, but I couldn’t detect any discrepancies. Incidentally, I lifted the stakeout.”
The lieutenant’s glare returned. “You took it upon yourself to relieve a detail ordered by a superior officer?”
“Sorry,” I said, starting to rise. “I assumed since their job was done, you’d want them back on regular duty. I’ll put them back on.”
“Sit down, Sergeant,” he said testily. “The stakeout isn’t needed any more. But you could have checked with me by phone.”
Obviously what he wanted was three messenger boys instead of assistant investigators. I suppose if I had worked under him permanently, I would do what Hank Carter did and never make a move without instructions. But I was anxious to get this case over with and get Wynn off my back. I planned to continue taking original action whenever I felt it necessary, and just put up with the hell I caught.
I said equably, “I thought you’d approve the action. Anything happen while I was gone that you think I ought to know?”
He seemed to imagine I had apologized for doing some original thinking, for his tone became mollified. “A little. Corporal Lincoln wasn’t able to locate April French through theatrical agents, but Carter brought back a little information. Bring Rudowski up to date, Sergeant.”
After five years as a team, Wynn still never called Hank Carter anything but Sergeant or Carter, and Hank always addressed him as Lieutenant or Sir. It was no wonder the redhead seldom smiled.
Carter said sadly, “He had three thirty-two-caliber slugs in him, which doesn’t seem likely for a gang kill. Usually the pros go in for heavier artillery. Two of the slugs are good enough for comparison purposes, if we ever turn up the weapon. The other hit a bone. Fingerprints lifted six sets of prints from the apartment, but none of them were Goodie White’s. His are on file because he’s got a gun registered with the department. A thirty-two revolver.”
I raised my eyebrows. “That’s interesting.”
“I checked the gun register for Norman and Beverly Arden too. Neither one of them have any guns registered.”
Wynn said, “I think I’ll go see Mr. White this evening. I’ll take Lincoln along. Rudowski, you can start hitting night clubs to see if you can locate April French, since you seem to have a way with women. Carter, you’ll stand by here as liaison.”
Captain Spangler had come from his office as the lieutenant started to speak. Overhearing him, he walked over to our table.
“You’re going to see Goodman White tonight, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir,” Wynn said. He gave the captain a brief rundown of developments. “Under the circumstances I think we’re justified in asking him to account for his movements last night and to turn over his thirty-two for comparison purposes.”
Spangler frowned. “I think you’d better take Rudowski instead of Lincoln with you, Lieutenant. And I’d suggest you let him do most of the talking.”
Wynn looked surprised. But he was consistent in his philosophy. Just as he expected subordinates to accept his orders without question, he wouldn’t have dreamed of questioning the order of a superior.
Without the least sign of resentment he said, “Yes, sir, if you want it that way.”
The captain told us all good night, logged out, and went home. Wynn rose to his feet.
“Let’s catch some dinner,” he said. “Then get back to work.”
We all had dinner together in the headquarters cafeteria. Afterward Hank Carter returned to the squadroom to stand by for any calls in the rest of us might make. Carl Lincoln went off in search of the deceased Benny Polacek’s honey blonde girl friend. Wynn and I checked out an F car and headed for the Twelfth Ward, with me driving.
The White Bowl was pretty fancy for the East Side, which is largely populated by dock wallopers and warehouse workers. If an outsider had opened the place, probably the glitter of the cocktail lounge and dining room would have scared the local working men away. But Goodie was a local boy, not only known to everyone in the ward, but looked up to as a leader. The White Bowl was the Twelfth Ward’s center of social activity.
One reason for this, aside from Goodie’s popularity, was the prices, which were all out of line with the glittering atmosphere. Bar whiskey in the richly furnished cocktail lounge was thirty cents, draft beer a dime. In the dining room you could get half a fried chicken, spaghetti and meat balls, or a roast beef plate for sixty cents, a passable steak for a dollar and a quarter. Goodie probably broke about even on food and drink, banking on the income from fifty bowling lanes for his profit.
During bowling season all fifty lanes were packed with league bowlers seven nights a week. Once when I had nothing else to do I figured out that the gross take from this operation amounted to twenty-one hundred dollars a week, and that didn’t include the take from afternoon open bowling. Why this wasn’t enough to get by on without seeking additional income from wholesaling narcotics was a little beyond me.
In midsummer, of course, there was no league bowling. Only about a half dozen lanes were in use when we walked in.
Jack Carr, Goodie White’s immediate assistant in everything from running the White Bowl to running ward politics, was behind the lane-reservation desk. He was a squat, powerfully built man with hairy arms and, as disclosed by an open-necked sport shirt, an equally hairy chest. He seemed to have thick hair everywhere except on top of his head, which was nearly bald.
We stopped in front of the desk and I said, “Hi, Jack. Goodie around?”
“Evening, Sarge,” he said. “I think he’s having dinner in the dining room.”
Then he recognized Wynn and pretended to do a double take. “Hey, Lieutenant, I hope you’re not here on official business.”
“Why?” Wynn inquired.
Carr grinned. “Vice cops don’t bother me because we run a clean place. Homicide cops scare me.”
“You got a guilty conscience?” Wynn asked unsmilingly.
Carr gave me a pained look. “This guy’s got no sense of humor, has he?”
“He only laughs at funny jokes,” I said. “Shall we try the dining room, Lieutenant?”
As we walked together toward the dining room, Wynn said, “Why do you think Captain Spangler wants you to do the talking to White, Sergeant?”
“I don’t know, sir,” I said. “I never question a superior officer’s orders.”
He gave me a suspicious look, but he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t, without disagreeing with his own philosophy.
Councilman Goodman White was a plump, hearty man with a full head of gray-flecked hair. He was seated alone at a table drinking coffee.
He glanced up as we neared his table, threw us a vote-catching smile, and rose with outstretched hand. “How are you, Matt? Evening, Lieutenant.”
Even civilians didn’t call Robert Wynn by his first name, I noted. There was something about the man which prevented any sort of familiarity.
“Hello, Goodie,” I said, shaking the proffered hand. “Keep your seat. We don’t want to disturb your meal.”
“I’ve finished, Matt. I’m just having coffee.” He waved us to chairs. “Join me?”
I took a chair across from him, and Wynn sat between us. White, ever the gracious host, waited until we were both seated before reseating himself.
“Have you gentlemen had dinner?” he inquired.
“Uh-huh,” I said.
“Like some coffee? Or an after-dinner drink?”
I shook my head. “We can’t have a drink, Goodie. We’re on duty.”
“Oh? Is this an official visit?”
“Let’s say semiofficial. Captain Spangler asked us to stop by.”
The plump councilman smiled. “Well. How is my old friend Spangler?”
“Chipper as ever. This is kind of embarrassing, Goodie, because the captain regards you as a personal friend. And he hates to involve personal friends in criminal investigations. That’s why he sent us over to have a quiet talk with you instead of dragging you down to headquarters like a common criminal.”
Goodie White looked amazed. “Dragging me down to headquarters! What the hell for?”
“Spangler said he was sure the lieutenant and I could straighten the matter out by having a personal talk with you, and that way the newspapers wouldn’t have to know a thing about it.”
Glancing at Wynn, I saw his face was dark red. He couldn’t understand this coddling of a murder suspect. But he was a good soldier. Captain Spangler had told him to let me do the talking, and the lieutenant was incapable of violating instructions.
White looked both puzzled and gratified. “I appreciate the captain’s thoughtfulness, but what’s it all about?”
“Know a fellow named Benjamin Polacek?”
“Sure. Somebody shot him last night. I heard it on the air. Kind of shook me up, because he was due here tonight to make a buy.”
He said it so casually, I was momentarily speechless. The last thing I expected was an admission from White that he was Benny’s wholesale supplier. Particularly without us even asking.
It jolted Wynn too, enough to make him insert a spontaneous question. In a squeaky voice he said, “What do you mean, a buy?”
“The guy phoned me a week ago wanting five extra-large, left-handed bowling gloves. We sell bowling supplies, you know. I didn’t know the guy, but Jack Carr said he bowled with one of the leagues and was a regular customer. So I had them ordered special. They came in the day before yesterday and I phoned him they were here. He said he couldn’t come after them until tonight at seven o’clock. Now he’s dead. What in the devil am I going to do with five extra-large-size, left-handed bowling gloves? They sell for four bucks apiece.”
Wynn and I stared at the man in fascination. Was he trying to be cute, I wondered? Did he know of Benny’s deal with the Narcotics Squad, and was he hoping this outlandish story would cloud the issue?
“What did he want with five left-handed bowling gloves?” I finally asked.
“Said he was getting up a new team of all left-handers. It seemed unlikely, because not one bowler in fifty wears a glove, and it struck me as odd that everybody on one team would want one. Odder yet that they all had extra-large hands. But it wasn’t any of my business why he wanted them.”
“You say these gloves came in?” I inquired.
He nodded. “Couple of days ago.”
“Mind letting us see them?”
He shrugged. “If you want to. But what’s this about me being involved in an investigation?”
“It’ll keep until we see the gloves.”
Shrugging again, White took a last sip of his coffee and rose to his feet.
“They’re over at the lane-reservation desk,” he said. “Follow me.”