“More of the same, I’m afraid. The witnesses identified Selby’s roommate, Tommy Razenwood, as the man we want. Do you think you could talk to Kathy again and tell her this, convince her it’s Razenwood and not Selby we’re after? I’m sure she knows where they are, and at this point she’s the only lead we have.”
“I’ll do what I can, Captain.”
After she’d left, Leopold said, “Fletcher, I think we’d better put a twenty-four-hour watch on Kathy Franklin’s apartment. If Connie doesn’t get anywhere, I still want to know if Selby shows up there again.”
“What orders if he does show?”
“Follow him. Tommy Razenwood is the one we’re after now.”
The next morning, at an hour still too early for most activity, a boy on a bicycle was starting out to deliver the morning newspapers on a quiet residential street near the north edge of the city. His name was Jim Maclves and he was twelve years old. He lived in the big white house on the corner with his parents and his two sisters.
This morning, as usual, he’d been the first one up. His father could sleep another hour before the alarm would ring to rouse him for his job at the bank. By that time young Jim would be back home and ready for breakfast.
The car was waiting at the first intersection, and the young man opened the door to call out, “Got an extra paper I can buy, kid?”
Always thankful for another sale, Jim said, “Sure,” and wheeled up next to the car.
That was when the man grabbed him around the neck, yanking him off his bike.
Jim tried to fight back, to break the grip on his throat and keep from being pulled into the car, but the man was too strong. The boy felt something hit him on the side of his head and the strength went out of him. He slipped to the pavement, feet tangled in his bike. The man stepped quickly from the car to lift him inside.
“What’s going on there?” a voice shouted from the ground floor of one of the houses. Even in his dazed condition Jim recognized old Matthews, who always sat by the front window waiting for his paper, even at seven in the morning. “Leave that boy alone!”
Matthews came running up, his slippers slapping on the sidewalk, and the young man straightened to face him. He hit the old man on the side of the head, but harder than he’d hit Jim. Then, as Matthews fell forward on his face, the young man seemed to panic. He kicked the bicycle aside and jumped back in his car, and in a moment he was gone.
Jim tried to shake the pain from his head and stand up. The first thing he thought of was poor old Matthews, who’d come running out to save him.
But it was too late for Matthews now. Looking at him there on the sidewalk, Jim could see he was dead.
Captain Leopold came back to headquarters that afternoon feeling old and tired. Perhaps it was the surge of fresh anger that had swept through him at the sight of the dead old man. Or perhaps it was just the senselessness of it all. Why did it have to happen? Why did people like Tommy Razenwood have to go through their lives robbing and killing?
Connie Trent came in, very quietly, and took the chair that Fletcher usually sat in. “I heard about it,” she said simply.
He nodded. “That makes it murder now.”
“You’re sure it was Razenwood?”
“I’m sure. The boy is the son of a bank manager. Razenwood was after another big haul. And he probably would have made it if that old guy hadn’t gotten involved.”
“The boy identified Razenwood?”
“Right away. Picked the photo out from a handful I showed him.” He stared at the picture on his desk, as if trying to conjure up the physical presence of Tommy Razenwood. “What about Kathy Franklin? Did you talk to her again?”
Connie nodded and crossed her long legs. “Kathy promised to call me here tonight, before eight. She’s talking to Pete about turning Razenwood in. I think the decision will be easier after this killing.”
“I hope so.”
“Do you have someone watching her place?” Connie asked.
Leopold nodded. Then, because his eyes were on her legs, he said, “You should get married and settle down, Connie. This is no life for a woman as good-looking as you.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “Is that an offer?”
“Just an observation,” he said, realizing he was sounding like an old fool.
They waited until eight o’clock for Kathy’s call, with Connie growing increasingly nervous. Fletcher had been out all day, checking known pushers for a line on Selby, but they’d heard nothing from him. It was as if the case had come to a dead end, with only the reporters keeping the phone lines busy, trying for a fresh morning lead on the story.
Then, at 8:15, Kathy Franklin phoned.
Connie motioned Leopold to pick up the extension as she talked. “Hello, Kathy! I was beginning to worry that we wouldn’t hear from you.”
“I said I’d call, and I’m calling.”
“How does it look? Did you talk to Pete?”
A hesitation. Then, “Yes.” Very softly.
“Well?”
“We’ll do it.”
Connie managed to smile at Leopold. “Fine. Where is he?”
“One thing first,” Kathy said. “Pete insists on it. Tommy has a lot of friends in town and they might find out what we did. Pete doesn’t want to go through life wondering if his next fix might be poisoned. He wants plane tickets out of here for both of us.”
Connie looked questioningly at Leopold. He hated to let a junkie off the hook, but at this point they had no evidence against Selby. And they had plenty against Razenwood. He nodded, and Connie said, “Agreed. Where do you want to go?”
“Latin America. He wants two tickets to Mexico City, and then we’ll go on from there. Who knows? Maybe it’ll be a new life for both of us.”
“I hope so,” Connie said. “You’ll get the tickets when you deliver Tommy Razenwood to us.”
“Pete says he can do it tomorrow night. I’ll phone you tomorrow and let you know where. Get us out of here on the midnight flight.”
“Don’t fail us, Kathy. You know it’s murder now\ and you could both be accessories. It’s jail or Mexico, and the choice is yours.”
“I know.”
Connie hung up and sat facing Leopold. “She’ll come through.”
“I hate the thought of that guy walking around free for another twenty-four hours.”
“We have no choice, unless Lieutenant Fletcher comes up with a lead.”
“We can always hope for that,” Leopold said.
But there were no leads from Fletcher. Both Selby and Razenwood seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth. No one had seen them at their usual haunts, and even the pushers insisted they did not know their whereabouts.
“It’s a blank wall,” Fletcher said the next afternoon.
“Then Kathy Franklin is our only contact. Let’s hope she comes through.”
“You got the tickets for her?”
Leopold nodded. “Connie has them. But she doesn’t turn them over until we have Razenwood.”
“So we just wait for the call?”
“There’s nothing else we can do. I think the case has been publicized enough to have every parent on guard. We’re watching the bus and the train stations, and the airport. Of course if he wants to get in his car and drive down to New York there’s no real way we can stop him. That murder might have scared him, though. I don’t think he’ll try another kidnaping.”
All through the early evening Connie Trent waited for Kathy’s call. When it finally came, just before seven, the voice on the other end was breathless. “Look, Tommy’s got a gun. He’s planning to leave town tonight, but he’s coming here first to pick up Pete’s car.”
“He’ll be at your apartment?”
“Downstairs, in the street. The car is a blue ’69 Ford, license number 8M-258. I’ll walk out with him to the car, then you can grab him. Be careful, though. He’ll use the gun if he has to.”