Reardon almost expected the man to ask, What case? but he didn’t. The stocky lieutenant drew up a chair and sat down, crossing his legs comfortably, frowning slightly at the man across the desk from him.
“You want the police to give you protection?”
“That’s what the police are for, ain’t they?” Sekara was a short, husky man with shoulders that seemed too wide for his body. His voice was harsh; even his hair, graying and cropped short, seemed stiff, tough as wire. He was impeccably dressed in a pinstripe suit His tiny black eyes tried to stare the lieutenant down.
“That’s what we’re here for,” Reardon agreed equably. “I would have thought, though, that you could furnish yourself with better protection than we could give you.”
“You’d have thought wrong,” Sekara said flatly. “You see me here, don’t you?”
“I see you.” Reardon put a look of surprise on his face. “But it’s a bit odd. I heard just this morning, from a very reliable source, that the mob isn’t really angry at anyone...”
“Mob? What mob? You guys are beginning to believe your own stories.” Sekara glared. “I don’t know what mob you’re talking about. All I know is three friends of mine — well, call them acquaintances, better, maybe — get knocked off in short order, and everyone in town knows about Captain Tower and his cute little list with four names on it. Four names, by the way, he ain’t ever been able to pin a thing on, but that’s besides the point. The thing is three of them names is dead and mine’s the fourth, so I’m asking protection, until you guys catch the nut who did in the others.”
“Even if you don’t trust your own muscle, or think you can’t,” Reardon said, “I’m still surprised you’d come to the police. I would have thought a private detective agency, maybe. They rent out protection.”
“What is all this about muscle?” Sekara sounded like any righteous citizen with cause to complain. “Anyhow, why should I shell out for protection when you guys are in business? I’m a taxpayer, and if you think I’m not, just call the Federal Building and check.” He shook his head. “And I don’t mean peanuts, either!”
Captain Tower was watching the interchange benignly. Reardon sighed.
“If you’re asking for police protection, Mr. Sekara, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you a few questions. First, what makes you think you are in any danger?”
“What is this? You trying to kid me?” Sekara glared. “I just got through telling you — Jerry Capp, then Pete Falcone, then Ray Martin. What d’you want?” He sat more erect, leaning over the desk; his voice seemed to become even more harsh. “Look, mister, this whole thing is the responsibility of the cops in the first place. Some nut reads Captain Tower’s famous list in the papers and starts knocking guys off—”
“But Captain Tower’s famous list, as you put it, hasn’t been in the papers for well over a month, now,” Reardon said quietly. “What made the killer wait so long?”
“How do I know what some nut will do? You guys—”
“That’s the third time you’ve said it was a nut,” Reardon commented. “You really think it was some nut?” He waited for an answer and when none was forthcoming, he nodded, as if coming to some conclusion. “Maybe you’re right; maybe the guy was a nut on the alphabet. You notice the three that were killed were in alphabetical order?” He smiled at Sekara. “Maybe you’re lucky you were born with a name beginning with S.”
Sekara was not amused. “I don’t care if it was a nut or not. I—”
“But we do, you see. Because if it wasn’t a nut, it was someone with a good reason for knocking off Capp, and Falcone and Martin. And you seem to think he has a good reason to knock you off, too.” Reardon’s voice hardened. “So you tell us — who wanted you four guys dead?”
Sekara was not intimidated. “I’m not here to tell you anything! I’m here to see I get the protection that I’m entitled to as a tax-paying citizen. And you’re here to see I get it.” He paused a moment and then added quietly, “Whether you want to or not.”
“Yes, I’m afraid you’re right.” Reardon glanced at his watch. “Well, I wonder if you mind waiting another half hour. I’ll have a man coming on duty then I can give you.”
“Only one man?”
Reardon studied the husky, broad-shouldered man as if he were some odd creature washed over the sill of the captain’s office by a tidal wave.
“One days and one nights and that’s all. If you want the army, I’d suggest you go over to the Federal Building yourself. Tell them all about your taxes and how you practically support the Pentagon single-handed. Maybe they’ll give you a platoon. All I can spare is one man per shift, two shifts per day.” And that’s two too many and take it or leave it and I hope you leave it, his tone of voice clearly added.
“I suppose it’ll have to be all right.” Sekara wasn’t happy about the decision and sounded it. He came to his feet, apelike in appearance. “Where do I wait?”
“In the outer office,” Captain Tower said. He waited until the door had closed behind the man and then swung his chair to face Reardon. “What do you think, Jim?”
“I think it’s a damned shame to have to put men on Sekara for protection when we’re up to our neck trying to protect decent people in this town.” Reardon sounded bitter, but also a bit puzzled. “And as I said before, I also think it’s strange as hell. I heard this morning that the mob isn’t involved in these killings; that the top men are actually bothered by them. According to my source, it came as a surprise; they weren’t prepared with replacements. And I believe my source.”
Captain Tower didn’t ask for the source; he knew better.
“It may be that the Syndicate as such isn’t involved,” he said calmly, “but that doesn’t mean that some individual — or individuals — in it aren’t involved. Several things struck me about our conversation with Sekara. One, he has no idea who might be after him, or who was after the others, or he’d take care of it himself without coming to us. And two, it’s fairly clear he doesn’t think any protection he might get from the mob can be trusted one hundred per cent.”
“Besides,” Reardon added, “why take chances? But what I don’t get is why he wants police protection instead of hiring some private agency? They wouldn’t stop at one man a shift; they’d rent him ten if he wanted. And I don’t think it’s because of the dough.”
“It isn’t the money, I’m sure,” Captain Tower said. “The fact is the mob dislikes private detective agencies even more than they do the police. Private agencies sometimes go a bit beyond their job of protection and sometimes dig up things they shouldn’t, and information like that can be dangerous. And often expensive, too.”
“True,” Reardon said. He frowned into space for a while and then came to his feet, moving toward the door. He paused, looking back at the captain. “And also,” he said softly, “coming to the police themselves for protection...”
Captain Tower frowned at him. “What about it?”
“Well,” Reardon said, softly, “you couldn’t really ask for a better demonstration of personal innocence, could you?”
He smiled at the captain’s expression and closed the door behind him.
Friday — 3:10 p.m.
“I don’t like it any more than you men do,” Reardon said sharply. “But those are orders and there’s no point in arguing. Stan, you cover him from three until he goes to bed — which better not be too late or he’ll be on his own from then on. There’s a limit to the amount of overtime I’ll okay protecting that hood. Bennett, you have him from eight in the morning until three in the afternoon. Arrange with him to let you make a call to Stan wherever Stan wants around two thirty every afternoon, and you and Stan can arrange where you’ll meet.”