One of the brass here to greet him, a Chief Inspector Davies, said, “I’ll be honest with you, Captain, this reflects on every one of us.”
“I don’t see that, Inspector.”
“Yes, it does,” Davies insisted. “The one man we got, and I’m afraid lost—”
“We lost him,” said the tight-lipped FBI agent Ramey that the captain had been introduced to. “We’ll be changing some procedures after this.”
“The point is,” Davies said, “we know who he is. Nicholas Leonard Dalesia. He’s not from the Northeast at all. He has no friends here, no associates, no allies. He hasn’t stolen a car. He’s been loose for almost a week in the middle of the biggest manhunt we can muster, and not a sign of him.”
“He’s gone to ground,” said the captain.
“Agreed. But how? The feeling is, around here,” the inspector told him, “the feeling is, the other two are with him.”
“I don’t follow that,” the captain said.
“We know they had to leave the money behind, hide it somewhere,” the inspector told him. “Are they with it now? One of them, the one you met, went over to New York State to engage almost immediately in another robbery. Did he do it for cash to tide the gang over while they’re hiding out?”
“You’re suggesting,” the captain said, “the one that came to us managed to escape your manhunt, did that second robbery, and went right back into the search area.”
“You don’t buy it,” Inspector Davies said.
“I know I wouldn’t do it,” the captain said. “If I got my hands on some different money, I’d just grab it and keep going.”
“Then where’s Nicholas Leonard Dalesia? It just doesn’t— Oh, Gwen, there you are. Come over here.”
A very attractive young woman in tans and russets had just entered the HQ room, and before the captain could show his bafflement — what was somebody like that doing here? — Inspector Davies all unknowing rescued him by saying, “Detective Second Grade Gwen Reversa, this is New York State Police Captain Robert Modale. You’re the two law officers who’ve actually seen and talked to that second man.”
After a handshake and greeting, Detective Reversa said, “John B. Allen, that’s who he was when I met him.”
“He called himself Ed Smith in my neighborhood.”
She smiled. “He doesn’t go in for colorful names, does he?”
“There’s not much colorful about him at all.”
“Tell me,” Detective Reversa said, “what do you think of the drawing?”
“Of Mr. Smith?” The captain shook his head, “It works in the wrong direction,” he said. “Once you know it’s supposed to be him, you can see the similarities. But I had a conversation with the man after I saw those posters, and I didn’t make the connection.”
Inspector Davies said, “While you’re here, Captain, I’d like you and Gwen to sit down with our artist and see if you can improve that picture.”
“Because you think he’s come back.”
Detective Reversa said, “But you don’t.”
“I think,” the captain said carefully, not wanting to hurt anybody’s feelings, “the third man could very well still be here, helping Dalesia hide out. But the fellow I talked to? What do you think?”
“He’s a cautious man,” she said, “and not loud. No colorful names. I think he’d be like a cat and not go anywhere he wasn’t sure of.”
Inspector Davies said, “So the two of you could improve that drawing.”
The captain bowed in acquiescence. “Whatever I can do to be of help.”
The artist was a small irritable woman who worked in charcoal, smearing much of it on herself. “I think,” Gwen Reversa told her, “the main thing wrong with the picture now is, it makes him look threatening.”
“That’s right,” Captain Modale said.
The artist, who wasn’t the one who’d done the original drawing, frowned at it. “Yes, it is threatening,” she agreed. “What should it be instead?”
“Watchful,” Gwen Reversa said.
“This man,” the captain said, gesturing at the picture, “is aggressive, he’s about to make some sort of move. The real man doesn’t move first. He watches you, he waits to see what you’re going to do.”
“But then,” Gwen Reversa said, “I suspect he’s very fast.”
“Absolutely.”
The artist pursed her lips. “I’m not going to get all that into the picture. Even a photograph wouldn’t get all that in. Are the eyes all right?”
“Maybe,” Gwen Reversa said, “not so defined.”
“He’s not staring,” the captain said. “He’s just looking.”
The artist sighed. “Very well,” she said, and opened her large sketch pad on the bank officer’s desk in this small side office next to the main HQ room. “Let’s begin.”
The three had been working together for little more than an hour when Inspector Davies came to the doorway and said, “You two come listen to this. See what you think.”
The larger outer room now contained, in addition to everything else, a quick eager young guy with windblown hair and large black-framed glasses like a raccoon’s mask. He mostly gave the impression of somebody here to sell magazine subscriptions.
The inspector made introductions: “Captain Modale, Detective Reversa, this is Terry Mulcany, a book writer.”
“Mostly fact crime,” Mulcany said. He looked nervous but self-confident at the same time.
“That must keep you busy,” the captain commented.
Mulcany flashed a very happy smile. “Yes, sir, it does.”
The inspector said, “Mr. Mulcany believes he might have seen your man.”
Surprised, dubious, the captain said, “Around here?”
“Yes, sir,” Mulcany said. “If it was him.”
The captain said, “Why do you think it was him?”
“I’m just not sure, sir.” Mulcany shrugged in frustration. “I’ve been talking to so many people in this neighborhood this past week, unless I make notes or tape somebody it all runs together.”
Gwen Reversa said, “But you think you saw one of the robbers.”
“With a woman. Yesterday, the day before, I’m not really positive.” Shaking his head, he said, “I didn’t notice it at the time, that’s the problem. But this morning, I was looking at those wanted posters again, just to remind myself, and I thought, wait a minute, I saw that guy, I talked to him. Standing... outdoors somewhere, with a woman, good-looking woman. Talking to them just for a minute, just to introduce myself, like I’ve been doing all week.”
“And he looked like the poster,” the inspector suggested.
“Not exactly,” Mulcany said. “It could have been, or maybe not. But it was close enough, I thought I should report it.”
Gwen said, “Mr. Mulcany, would you come over here?”
Curious, Mulcany and the others followed her into the side office, where the artist was still touching up the new drawing. Stepping to one side, Gwen gestured at the picture. The artist looked up, saw all the attention, and cleared out of the way.
Mulcany crossed to the desk, looked down at the drawing, and said, “Oh!”
Gwen said, “Oh?”
“That’s him!” Delighted, Mulcany stared around at the others. “That’s what he looks like!”