Leopold's Way (37 page)

“Yeah,” Freddy said, beginning to go along with it. “That damned double-crosser would pull something like this!”

“Want to tell me who he is?”

Freddy's eyes narrowed in distrust. “I'll handle it, cop.”

“Look, you're on very thin ice. If I catch you with those diamonds, I could arrest you for receiving stolen property.”

Freddy thought about it. “No,” he decided, “I'm not telling you. Maybe the guy didn't take them.”

Leopold sighed and turned to the girl. “Glenda, who is Hoffman's accomplice?”

“I don't know. I didn't see him.”

“She's telling the truth, cop. I'm the only one who knows, besides Hoffman—and he's not about to talk. Even if he gets sent up, it wouldn't be for too long, and when he gets out he can still work his sweet little scheme in other cities.”

“Are you part of his scheme?”

“I was going to fence the gems, that's all. Don't bother taking notes, though, because I'll deny everything.”

“If you won't tell me who the accomplice is, call him up. Tell him you know he took the stuff and get him over here.”

That idea seemed to appeal to the little man. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Maybe I could do that.”

“If I get the diamonds and the accomplice, Freddy, you're off the hook.”

“All right, I'll call him.”

He walked to the phone and Leopold shot Glenda a look that told her to play along with him. Given a bit of luck, he'd have the accomplice and get her off the hook with Freddy.

“Hello? This is Freddy Doyle. Yeah, yeah…Well, something's gone wrong. The diamonds are missing…You heard me, missing!…Well, you damned…well better get over here to the apartment…Yeah, right now! And if you've got those stones, you better have 'em with you!”

He hung up and Leopold said, “That was good. Did he admit taking them?”

“Hell, no! He thinks I'm pulling a double cross, or that's what he said anyway. He'll be here.”

They sat down to wait, and Leopold watched the darkness settle over the city. He felt good, knowing the next hour's work would probably wrap up the case. “Get me a drink,” Freddy ordered the girl at one point, and she hurried out to the kitchen.

It was just after seven o'clock when the buzzer sounded and they heard someone starting up the stairs. “Expecting anyone else?” Leopold asked.

“No, that'll be him. Better be careful—he might have a gun.”

“Let him in. I'll be right behind you at the door.”

While Glenda stood terrified in the kitchen doorway, Freddy Doyle opened the apartment door. He peered into the now-darkened hall and asked, “Is that you…?”

Leopold cursed silently. He tried to step back quickly and pull Freddy with him, but it was too late. Three quick shots came with deafening suddenness from the darkness, and Freddy toppled backward into his arms.

“Stop!” Leopold shouted. “Police!”

He heard the running footsteps on the stairway, and allowed Freddy's limp body to sag to the floor. Behind him, Glenda was screaming. Leopold made it to the banister and fired a shot down the stairway, but he had no target. The street door was yanked open, and Freddy's assailant was gone. By the time Leopold reached the street there was no sign of him.

He climbed the stairs and went back into the apartment. Glenda was on the floor, kneeling in a widening pool of blood.
“He's dead!”
she shouted, close to hysterics.

“I know,” Leopold said, feeling suddenly old. He walked to the telephone and dialed headquarters.

Fletcher found him in his office, staring glumly at the wall. “I came as soon as I could, Captain. What happened?”

“I bungled, that's what happened, Fletcher. I was trying to pull off a neat trick, and I got a guy killed.”

Fletcher sat down in his usual chair, opposite the desk. “Tell me about it.”

Leopold ran quickly over the events of the evening, from his visit to the hospital, through the shooting of Freddy Doyle. “I didn't think our man was desperate enough to commit murder,” he admitted.

“Why would he kill Doyle?”

“Because he saw it was a trap. Maybe the bullets were aimed at me, too, but Doyle was in the way. I suppose he suspected something when Freddy called to say the diamonds were missing, because he knew he hadn't taken them.”

“But where were they?” Fletcher asked. “You said you saw them.”

Leopold nodded. “They're right here—my one accomplishment for the night.” He took the can of coffee from its paper bag. “I had only a couple of minutes alone in that kitchen, but I got the idea that Freddy could lead me to Hoffman's accomplice if he thought the accomplice had returned and stolen the diamonds back again. So I used a can opener to open the bottom of this coffee can part way. I emptied just enough coffee into the sink so there'd be room in the can for this pouch of diamonds. Then I bent the bottom shut the best I could, and capped it with this plastic lid they give you, just so no coffee would run out. When Freddy was searching for the diamonds, he actually lifted the can out of its bag, but the top was still sealed and he never thought to examine the bottom.”

Fletcher opened the pouch and spilled a few of the gems onto the desk top. “A clever trick, Captain.”

“Clever—except that now Freddy is dead and we've got a murder on our hands. Our man isn't one to stand still for games.”

The lieutenant was frowning down at the gems. “If Hoffman used an accomplice, it had to be somebody who came in contact with him during those few minutes after the robbery. He couldn't have hidden the diamonds anywhere, because the street was searched, and there's only one person he had physical contact with—only one person he could have slipped the jewels to.”

Leopold nodded. “I've been thinking the same thing, Fletcher. Put out a pickup order on Neil Quart.”

The young man sat uncomfortably in the interrogation room chair, looking from one to the other of them. “What is this, anyway? You drag me down here at midnight like a common criminal? Just this morning I was a hero!”

“That was this morning,” Fletcher said.

Leopold sat on the edge of the desk, close to the man in the chair. “Look, Neil, I think it's time you told us the whole story. It's not just robbery now—it's murder.”

“Murder! I don't…” He started to rise and Fletcher pushed him back in the chair.

“Hoffman passed those diamonds to someone, who delivered them to a fence and later killed the fence. You're the only one who had physical contact with Hoffman after the robbery.”

“But I ran after him! I wrestled with him! I held him till the police got there! You know I did!”

“And while you were conveniently holding him, he slipped you the diamonds.”

“No! You're crazy! I didn't…”

Leopold began pacing the room. “There's no other way it could have been. You have to be the accomplice, Quart.”

“Look, it doesn't make sense! He was getting away! Why should there be this elaborate scheme to pass me the diamonds when he was getting away with them? If I hadn't grabbed him, he'd have made good his escape.”

Leopold thought about that, trying to sort out the facts in his mind. What Neil Quart said made sense, too much sense. “Where were you tonight around seven o'clock?”

“Working in Bambaum's shipping department, like every night. You can ask them.”

“All right,” Leopold said with a sigh. “Get out of here. Go on home. We'll check it in the morning.”

Fletcher looked surprised. “But Captain…”

“It's all right, Fletcher. I was wrong—again. This is my night for being wrong.”

Fletcher followed him back into his office. “Let me fix you some coffee, Captain.”

Leopold handed over the can. “I've lost it, Fletcher. I can't even think straight anymore. I jump on some poor kid and try to make a murderer out of him. I get some guy killed for nothing.”

“You recovered the diamonds, Captain.”

“Yeah.”

Fletcher was filling the coffee pot. “Well, Hoffman sure did something with those diamonds. He had them when he hit Officer Begler, and he didn't have them when they grabbed him a few minutes later.”

Leopold sat up straight. “How do we know that, Fletcher?”

“What? Well, hell, he sure didn't crack Begler's skull because he
wasn't
carrying the diamonds.”

“Fletcher,” Leopold said very slowly, “I think that's exactly what he did.”

They were waiting for Peter Arnold in the morning, when he unlocked the door of the Midtown Diamond Exchange. He glanced up, surprised, and said, “Captain Leopold! You look as if you've been up all night.”

“I have,” Leopold said, following him inside the store. Fletcher came too, but stayed by the door. “I've been getting people out of bed, checking on your finances, Arnold. I didn't want to make another mistake.”

“What?”

“It was a damned clever plan, I have to say that. I suppose Rudy Hoffman thought it up, and then got friendly with some jewelers around town till he found one who needed the money.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I think you do, Arnold. You closed the shop at nine o'clock the other night, and quickly removed the diamonds from the window. Rudy Hoffman came by as scheduled, broke the window and ran. You pocketed the diamonds and called the police. Then you took the diamonds to Freddy Doyle, who was supposed to sell them. The plan had a great advantage—Hoffman didn't have to spend precious seconds scooping up the loot in the window, and if he were arrested a block or two away, he'd be clean. No diamonds, no evidence. He probably planned to dump the cane and topcoat and keep on going. Only Officer Begler wasn't where he was supposed to be, directing traffic. Hoffman knew it was too soon to be arrested—right by the window. He didn't have the diamonds and the whole plot would be obvious, so he hit Begler with the cane and ran. That's when he had more bad luck—a young fellow named Neil Quart chased after him. You had the diamonds all the time, but unfortunately Hoffman didn't even have a chance to pretend he'd dumped them. We had an impossible crime on our hands, even though you didn't plan it that way.”

Peter Arnold continued staring at them. He ran a damp tongue over his lips and said, “I assume you have some proof for all this?”

“Plenty of proof. You're in bad financial trouble, and aiding in the theft of your company's diamonds was an easy way out for you. We've got the gems back, and with you in jail I'm sure Hoffman can be persuaded to tell it like it was.”

“There were witnesses who saw Hoffman at the window, though.”

“Yes, but they only saw him reach inside. He would hardly have had time to scoop up all those loose diamonds, and only you, Arnold, actually said you saw him do that. You said you saw it while you were locking the door, even though there's a velvet drape at the rear of the window that keeps you from seeing anything from inside the store. You didn't see him take the diamonds because he never took them. They were already in your pocket when he broke the window and started running.”

“I don??

“You panicked when Freddy called you, and especially when you saw me in the doorway with him. You recognized me, of course, and started shooting. That alone told me the killer was someone I'd questioned in connection with the case.”

Peter Arnold moved then, as Leopold knew he would. It was only a matter of guessing whether the murder gun was in his coat pocket or behind the counter. His hand went for his pocket, and Fletcher shot him from the doorway. It was a neat shot, in the shoulder—the sort Fletcher was good at.

Arnold toppled against a showcase, crying and clutching his shoulder, as Leopold slipped the gun from his pocket. “You should have dumped this in the river,” he said. “We could never have made the murder charge stick without it.”

Fletcher locked the front door and called for an ambulance. They had to get Arnold patched up, and booked for murder and robbery, and then they could both go home to bed.

(1972)

T
HE DAY WAS SUNNY,
with an August warmth that hung in the air like an unseen cloud. It was the sort of day when children's voices carried far in the muggy atmosphere, when the slamming of a screen door or the barking of a dog could be heard throughout the quiet suburban neighborhood surrounding Maple Street.

Out back, beyond the trees that marked the boundary of developed land, a group of boys barely into their teens stood watching while one of them fired a .22 rifle at a row of beer cans they had set up on a log. Presently the mother of the boy with the rifle appeared at the line of trees and shouted for him to stop. He did so, reluctantly, and the other youths drifted away. The boy with the rifle walked slowly back to his mother, his head hanging.

The afternoon settled into a routine of humid stillness, broken only by the rumble of an occasional delivery truck or the crying of a baby. It was nearly an hour later that the screaming started in a house on the next street, beyond the trees and across the open field.

Though the houses were some distance away, the screaming was heard quite clearly on Maple Street.

Lieutenant Fletcher took the call on Captain Leopold's phone, interrupting a department meeting on a recent wave of midtown muggings. Leopold, watching Fletcher's face from the corner of one eye, saw the blood drain from it.

“I'll be right home,” Fletcher said and hung up. He turned to Leopold and explained. “I've got to get home, Captain. They think my kid might have killed somebody with his rifle.”

“Go ahead,” Leopold said. “Call me when you find out what happened.”

He went on with the meeting, accepting suggestions from the other detectives and from policewoman Connie Trent, but his mind was on Fletcher. He hoped the news wasn't quite as bad as it had sounded on the phone. He and Fletcher had worked together for so many years that the troubles of one often became the worries of the other.