“I believe evidence,” Ramussen said sharply. “If you’re so damn sure of yourself, why don’t you swear out a warrant and have him arrested.”
Mark lit another cigarette carefully. “You’re not mad at me, you’re mad at yourself, Lieutenant. Why don’t you forget for a second that sacred wall cops build around themselves? Let’s start with the amiable assumption that we’re all human and fallible, and work together from there. I think Nolan has committed two murders, attempted one other, and incidentally, beaten hell out of two of Espizito’s men. I can’t prove all of that yet, but with your help I can.”
Ramussen drummed his fingers on the top of the desk and looked away from Mark. “That sacred wall you talk about is pretty much a defensive measure. We’re considered the scum of the earth by a lot of law-abiding citizens, and we get sensitive about it.” He rubbed his forehead and said in a low bitter voice: “I knew what Nolan was up to. But I was waiting him out, hoping he’d hang himself. That’s my fault, I suppose. Uncritical loyalty. Well, let’s have it all. You said two murders and an attempt.”
“Okay, tonight a man named August Sternmueller apparently committed suicide. He lived at the intersection of Crab Street and Ellens Lane. Does that mean anything to you?”
“That’s where Dave Fiest was shot. Go on.”
“Okay, here’s the story.”
16
Nolan was riding a high wave of contentment. He sat in Linda’s apartment with his legs stretched out before him, holding a beaded glass of whisky and ice in his hand.
“Kid, this is the life,” he said, grinning at her, and debating how much he could safely tell her of tonight’s activities. He knew that he was smart and strong; and it was important that she know it, too.
Linda smiled back at him and glanced casually at her watch. Eight-forty. She was wearing slippers and a robe. She had decided not to do her show tonight because her throat had got worse after Mark had left. Jim Evans had wanted to send a doctor over right away, but she knew it wasn’t that serious. Shortly after that Barny had arrived; and now she was wishing she’d made the effort to get to work.
“Aren’t you on duty tonight?” she asked.
“Sure, I’m working,” Nolan said, and sipped his drink. “But things are quiet. Don’t worry about me. You want to know a little secret, Linda?”
“What is it?”
“I may quit the department. Yeah, that’s right.” He laughed and rubbed the cold glass between his palms. “It’s a lousy racket you know. Lousy hours. Lousy pay. But it’s got its compensations.” He laughed again, new-found confidence coursing through his body. “I’ll say that again. It’s got its compensations. You know, kid, a cop can do lots of things an ordinary citizen can’t. That ever occur to you?”
The bottle was at his side on a table. Clean, bonded Bourbon. He poured another generous shot over his ice and glanced at Linda. “You know, kid, we never talked like this before. We just never sat down and talked. That’s been the trouble.”
Linda was smiling. “We’ve talked quite a bit, Barny.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. But not like this. Not in a quiet room with a couple of drinks. With the world going by outside the windows and not giving a damn about us. That’s what I mean.”
He was silent a moment, pondering the truth of this, and then he glanced at his watch. The habits of seventeen years were too strong to shake off in one drunken, exultant moment. “I’d better give Odell a call,” he said. “I’ll tell him I’m tied up and won’t be along for a while. Hell, they can get along without me for a few hours.”
“Barny, aren’t you liable to get in trouble?”
“You want me to go?” He smiled at her, confident and amused. “You want me to go, Linda?”
“Well, no.”
“Then let me worry about the trouble. Listen to how I handle this.”
He walked to the phone, swaying slightly, and called the Division. When Odell answered he said, “Sarge, this is Nolan. Look, I’m going to be a little longer than I thought on this job.” He winked broadly at Linda. “I’m at Empiro’s Place. But I should be along in an hour or so.”
“Okay,” Odell said.
“Just thought I’d let you know.”
“Okay.”
Nolan put the phone down and returned to his chair. “Now there’s a real Grade A slob for you,” he said. “Sergeant Odell.” He sat down and replenished his drink. Stretching out comfortably, he smiled at Linda.
“Most cops are rock-headed characters, you know,” he said. “You didn’t know that I’ll bet. But it’s a fact. They’re stupes. The only thing they know about is murder. They’re pros at that, it’s their racket. They could give any amateur a head start in that department and win hands down. They work with it all the time, they see it, they know what it is, and they’re not scared of it.” He sipped his drink, enjoying the thrill of skirting the subject of murder. “Let’s suppose a cop commits a murder,” he said. “Supposing he shoots a guy, just like that!” Nolan pointed his forefinger at Linda and depressed his thumb sharply. “He knows what’s going to happen, he knows the call that goes out for the wagon, he knows what Homicide will do, what they’ll look for, and he knows what the fingerprint men and the ballistics boys will do. You see? There’s no mystery about it, so there’s nothing to be scared of. The amateur doesn’t know anything about murder until he becomes a murderer. Then he’s scared and behaves like a nitwit. That’s a fact; nine out of ten times, the murderer catches himself, while the cops just stand by and make the pinch. It’s so damn simple.”
He finished his drink and then walked across the room and sat down beside Linda.
“I could commit a murder like that,” he said, grinning at her. “Got anybody you want out of the way? Glad to oblige. Hell, any cop could. That’s what they should be having us do instead of chasing down two-bit complaints.” The idea was new to him but he found it appealing. “Yeah, how about that?” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Ever think of all the crumbs that need to be swept up in this world? Just think of it for a minute. Look at the politicians. That’d keep cops busy for weeks just killing off all the politicians.” He stared straight ahead, looking through the windows into the darkness, and suddenly a slow strong anger ran through his body. “There’s guys like Petey Felickson, who you don’t know, and teachers, chemistry teachers, who make kids feel they’re something rotten, and bootleggers, and moochers and tramps and bums, none of them worth a damn, and guys like Dave Fiest, always trying to outsmart somebody, and creeps like Sternmueller with their noses in everybody else’s business.” He was breathing harder, and his big hands clenched and unclenched slowly. “That’s how I should spend my time. Getting rid of people like that.”
“Dave Fiest,” Linda said. The name came to her lips involuntarily. Nolan turned and stared at her, and she felt her hands tremble.
“Yeah, Dave Fiest,” he said. “That’s what I said. Dave Fiest. The guy I shot the other night.”
“He — tried to get away, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Nolan said slowly. “He tried to escape, tried to be a smart guy.” He was silent a moment, frowning; and then he laughed shortly and nodded at his empty glass. “Mind if I make myself another, kid?”
“No, help yourself, Barny.”
At the Thirteenth Division, Ramussen sat with his back to the desk, staring out over the dark street. Mark leaned against a filing cabinet, a cigarette in his mouth.
“We should hear from the police surgeon pretty soon.”
“That’s right.” Ramussen lit a cigarette, and in its flaring fight his face was lined and pale.