“Yeah,” Morrison said disgustedly. “How do you like that? We’ve had reports of her being seen everywhere from Denver to Miami, and all the time she was less than a hundred miles from Buffalo. The Erie police picked her up last night and she kindly waived extradition. Wonder if you’ll do me a favor, Chief?”
“Sure,” Saxon said.
“I’ve been developing a pain in my side ever since we left Erie, and it’s getting worse by the minute. I think maybe I have a hot appendix. I’m afraid to risk the last twenty-five miles. Can you stick my prisoner in a cell until I can get looked at by a doctor?”
“Of course. The woman we use as a matron happens to be at a party, but I know where she is. I’ll phone her to come over.”
“Why pull her away from a party?” the sergeant said. “At least until I’m sure I won’t be able to drive on. The prisoner won’t have to be searched, because she was searched by a matron in Erie, and I have everything she’s not allowed to carry in an envelope in my car. If I can find a doctor, I should know within an hour if it’s safe to drive on. If it isn’t, phone your matron then.”
Rules required that a matron be present at the jail any time there was a female prisoner. As this occurred too seldom to justify a full-time matron, the town’s only meter-maid, Jenny Waite, pinch-hit as matron when necessary. As a condition of her employment she had to keep headquarters informed of where she could be reached in emergency. But as the sergeant suggested, it would be a shame to interrupt Jenny’s New Year’s Eve celebration if the female prisoner was going to be there no more than an hour.
“I guess we can skip regulations this time,” Saxon agreed. He said to the woman; “I’ll hang your coat in one of the lockers.”
“Can’t I keep it?” she asked huskily. “I’m still cold from the ride. This dumb cop hasn’t got a heater.”
“Let her keep it,” Morrison said. “Which way do we go?”
Saxon took the cell key ring from his pocket and led the way back to the cell block. The three cells were in a row, the last one having a solid steel wall between it and the center one so that it couldn’t be seen into from the others. This was the “women’s section.”
As they passed the first cell, Edward Coombs said, “Company, huh? Maybe we can have a New Year’s Eve party.”
No one answered him.
Chapter 6
At the door of cell number three Sergeant Morrison removed the woman’s handcuffs. The barred door was standing open. The prisoner walked into the cell without being ordered and glanced around disdainfully. The place was immaculately clean, but not very homey, containing nothing but a washbowl with a polished steel mirror over it, a screened commode, and a drop-down bunk.
Seeing her expression, Morrison said, “Better get used to it, lady. You’re going to be living in one like it for a long time.”
She turned to glare at him, then whipped off her headscarf and tossed it on the bunk. Without the scarf she looked more like the composite drawing that had been published, for the short, bleached blonde hair which curled around her face in a poodle cut had been one of the distinctive features of the drawing.
Saxon locked the cell door. “You want anything, just holler,” he said.
“Who could want any more than this bridal suite has to offer?” she asked contemptuously.
Saxon turned away without answering. Morrison trailed him back to the waiting room.
Moving behind the counter, Saxon lifted the radio microphone and said, “Control to Car Two. Come in, Car Two.”
From the speaker George Chaney’s voice said, “Car Two to Control. Go ahead.”
“Come on in, George,” Saxon said. “I want you to run a patient over to the hospital.”
As he hung up the mike, Morrison said, “I could have driven that far, Chief.”
“They aren’t doing anything,” Saxon said. “New Year’s Eve is our quietest night of the year.”
Picking up the phone, he dialed the hospital and asked for the chief duty nurse. After a few moments’ wait a feminine voice said, “Mrs. Forshay speaking.”
“Hi, Edna,” he said. “This is Ted Saxon. I have a Buffalo police officer at headquarters who thinks he may have a hot appendix. Who’s on standby duty?”
“Dr. Harmon.”
“Better give him a ring and have him meet the patient in the emergency room. I’m sending him over in a squad car. The name’s Sergeant Harry Morrison.”
“Will do,” Edna Forshay said cheerily. “Happy New Year.”
“Same to you, Edna.”
Five minutes later the squad car reported in and took Morrison away. Three minutes after that, George Chaney’s voice came over the radio to announce their arrival at the hospital and report the car out of service until further notice.
At eleven-thirty Sergeant Morrison phoned from the hospital. “False alarm, Chief,” he said. “The doc diagnosed it as indigestion. He was a little sore about being pulled away from his merrymaking.”
“Well, I’m glad it was nothing more serious. You’ll be going on tonight, then?”
“Uh-huh. But do you mind if I goof off for another half hour? The nurses on this ward are having a quiet little New Year’s Eve party. No drinks, just coffee and cake. They’ve asked me and your two boys to help them bring in the new year.”
“Sure,” Saxon said. “Let me speak to either Chaney or Ross.”
It was Chaney who came to the phone. Saxon said, “What extension are you going to be near, in case of emergency?”
“One eleven, Chief.”
“Okay,” Saxon said, marking it down. “Happy New Year.”
“Same to you,” Chaney said.
If one eleven had been the extension of Emily’s ward, he would have asked to speak to her, because by now she was on duty; but it wasn’t. He contemplated phoning to wish her a Happy New Year, then decided against it. If she wasn’t tied up with a patient at midnight, she would probably phone him.
At midnight the fire whistle emitted the prolonged blast with which it annually signaled the start of a new year. A dozen church bells began to toll an accompaniment to it. Saxon went to the door and opened it a crack to listen for the horns and noisemakers of any celebrants who happened to be on the street.
There weren’t any, because it was now snowing heavily. When he had come on duty, the streets and sidewalks had been dry, although a foot-deep residue of old snow lay on the ground. But now there was an inch-deep blanket of white on the street.
He closed the door and went back to the cell block, suddenly impelled to have at least some kind of human contact at the moment all the rest of the town was celebrating.
Pausing before the first cell, he said, “Happy New Year, Coombs.”
The man gazed at him for a moment before saying sardonically, “Happy New Year to you, Chief.”
Walking on to the last cell, he found the blonde seated on her bunk. She had removed her fur coat and it lay folded alongside of her. She was wearing a green dress of expensive cut, but of not very good fit, for it hung too loosely on her.
She must have lost weight since she fled Buffalo a month ago, he thought. He wondered if it had been deliberate, in an attempt at disguise, or if worry over being hunted had sloughed off the poundage.
“Happy New Year, Miss Emmet,” he said.
She glared at him. “Are you kidding?”
Saxon returned to the desk and reseated himself. Emily must have been too busy to call, he thought, for the phone didn’t ring.
At five after twelve George Chaney’s voice came from the radio speaker. “Car Two to Control. We are back in service. Will drop Sergeant Morrison off at headquarters before resuming patrol.”
“Control to Car Two,” Saxon said into the mike, “Roger.”
Five minutes later Edward Coombs called, “Hey, Chief!”