Mark of Murder - Dell Shannon (27 page)

Laughing at him. Not wanting to look at him. Stupid,
they said. The girls, the pretty girls looking at him and--He was on
his feet, pacing excitedly, cradling the gun. A pretty girl named
Ellen, screaming when he tried to kiss her . . .

Suddenly he yelled in a high savage voice, "
What
d'you think of me now, you bastards? All you Goddamned bastards--show
you--show all of you--
"

Nobody heard him at all,
and after a while he stopped. Jesus God, wouldn't it ever get dark
tonight?

* * *

Dwyer and Scarne came in while Palliser was still
talking. Nothing had shown up, of course. Palliser had been a little
excited to find a button missing from Cliff Elger's topcoat. "But
it was a bigger button, and a different color, and who'd be wearing a
topcoat in July?" And as for asking whether anybody had given
away any clothes for salvage lately, you couldn't expect anything on
that. If X had belatedly realized he'd left that button behind, and
couldn't replace it on the jacket or cardigan, and gave it away to be
rid of it, he wouldn't say so. The canny way he'd got rid of the gun
. . .

Mendoza agreed inattentively. He had a county guide
open in front of him and was studying the big detailed map of the
downtown area.

"I only dropped in to report no progress too,"
said Dwyer. "I'm on my way down to Santa Monica to have a look
at the wardrobe of a fellow named Ross. Don't know how well he knew
Nestor--he's just there in the address book. And you'll likely be
getting a formal complaint from a Wall Street type by the name of
Marlowe. He wasn't home when I got there--seems he has a butler who
also acts as his valet, all veddy--veddy, but it was his day off; the
maid was scared of me and my warrant, and let me in. The master
arrived just as I was looking over his second-best evening jacket,
and he didn't like me at all. He said so. Police, he said, and it was
a dirty word coming from him, pawing over his clothes--very
highhanded, and the idea of trying to connect him to a sordid crime--
Quite a little pile there, I'd say."

"Money and family," said Mendoza, sounding
faintly amused. "But you're not going anywhere else. All that
can be put off--our Slasher is the hell of a lot more important. That
one we've got to get, and in a hurry."

"You have any bright ideas how to do it, beyond
what we're doing? Somebody'll recognize him and say so--he's got to
eat, he'll be showing somewhere--”

"Eventually!" said Mendoza. "It's not
good enough. Yes, I've got a bright idea. Jimmy! Call down to Traffic
and ask Fletcher to come up here. Now look." He pointed at the
map. "He's stuck to the downtown area up to now, and never above
Third. This is his part of town. Incidentally, remembering what we
got from up north, the part of any town where that sort does
land--the drifters, the almost bums. On and around Skid Row. All
right. We had one quite promising lead, you remember, from that leg
work on men with scarred faces. A man like that had rented a room
over on Boardman, said his name was John Tenney. Had, we subsequently
found, paid the landlady partly in silver dollars. Only he skipped
before we laid hands on him. He could have skipped because he heard
our man questioning the landlady--we don't know."

"
Are you heading any particular direction?”
asked Dwyer.

"
Paciencia
. After
that we got the attempt on the Rollen girl and the murder of this
late unknown. Both along San Pedro, four blocks apart. I'll tell you
where I'm heading. I think he's just smart enough to have realized
that, with his description in circulation, he's got to have cover,
some safe hole to lie up in. I think he's found one, and it'll be
somewhere not too far from where he attacked those two. I can't offer
a guess where it might be, an empty building--if there are any--or
what. But he's got to be somewhere around there, and he won't be
coming out of his hole until after dark. We're going to get a lot of
men, the more the merrier, and conduct a building-to-building search
in a twelve-block square between Main and San Pedro, between Temple
and Third."

"For God's sake!" said Scarne. "Do you
realize how much territory that covers?"

"
Some of it," said Mendoza, "is taken
up by the Civic Center. We're sitting on one perimeter of it right
here. I know. A lot of residential streets, a lot of business--and
part of Skid Row. Nevertheless, we're going to do that. We're going
to pry into every nook and cranny--"

"Now?" said Dwyer.

"There's four and a half hours of daylight left.
Set it up, get it started. After dark, they can search in pairs.
And--" Mendoza stopped, and said, "Yes. The dogs. I want
the dogs. Damn it, where's Fletcher?"

The L.A.P.D. had been slow to start using dogs. Maybe
some prejudice of the chief's; the chief liked dogs and maybe was
reluctant to see them used that way. But with increasing evidence of
their great usefulness, the force had finally acquired a few.
Oflicially they were under the Traffic office; Mendoza wasn't quite
sure how many there were yet, fully trained and ready for action. But
on this kind of action, as on many others, a trained dog would be
worth two men--seeing and hearing and smelling where a man wouldn't.

"My good Christ," said Dwyer mildly. "Look
at it." He flung the map down. "Dozens of little side
streets and courts--rooming houses, apartments--along the main drags,
warehouses, all those joints on the Row with flop-houses and a few
cat houses, probably, upstairs--my God, with a hundred men it'd take
three days to be sure you'd covered--"

"So we take three days, or three weeks!"
said Mendoza.

"
Did you like the afternoon headlines, Bert?
We're going to work this the only way we can. Damn." He massaged
his temples, elbows on the desk. "I've fumbled around at this .
. . I thought Art's business tied up to the Nestor thing, I've been
concentrating on that--but--I don't know . . ."

"Who's called the hospital last?" asked
Palliser.

"Jimmy. Just before I came in," said
Mendoza. "They say he's getting a little restless, which they
seem to think is a good sign. But of course--"

"
Yeah," said Dwyer. They all knew about
that. A clean dying one thing: the permanent brain damage another.
"You don't think now it was tied up to either case?" He
looked at Mendoza thoughtfully.

"
¿Qué sé yo?
”
said Mendoza. "I don't know. There's nothing really that says
yes or no. I'll say this much, I doubt very much whether that is
linked with our Slasher. In spite of his being the one who derailed
the Daylight. It doesn't fit--it isn't the right shape. But it could
have been the outside thing. And if it was"-he sat up
straighter, automatically brushing ash off the desk, aligning the
desk box and blotter--"if it was, by God, or if it wasn't, we'll
get the X on that and get him but good. But--"

"Amen to that," said Palliser.

"But in the meantime we've got the Slasher on
our hands. I say, let's go all out to get that one, and then we'll
have the slate clear--and the damn press off our necks--to hunt down
the other one. Plural or singular? Hell, I don't know," said
Mendoza. "I don't even know whether the motive on Nestor came
out of his abortion trade or something else--his girl friends, his
marriage.
¡Basra!
Forget about that for a minute--" He looked up as the door
opened.

"
What's the urgent summons to my lowly office?"
asked Fletcher of Traffic. He was a big, heavy, amiable man, about
due for retirement.

"How soon can you get me about fifty men?"
asked Mendoza. "More if you can. And all the dogs available? For
a house-to-house search of about one square mile of downtown?"239

Fletcher just looked at him. "Are you serious?
Right now? What the hell on? Not--"

"
That's just what," said Mendoza. "We've
got to get this boy, Jack, and the sooner the better. I've got a
hunch he's holed up somewhere inside that area, and I want a thorough
hunt. Leave the rest of the citizenry to its own devices awhile, and
haul in some men off tour. I can't make rules for your department,
but everybody in this office is working round the clock as from now.
Maybe you saw the afternoon headlines too."

Fletcher laughed shortly. "I did. The citizenry!
It's been told often enough, by a lot of people who should know, it's
got one damn good police force, but let a thing like this come along,
you'd think we're a bunch of morons, way they talk."

"Some people," said Mendoza, "just
naturally think we've got to be morons, to be cops in the iirst
place. Sometimes I almost agree with them." And he thought, If
Art died . . .

Fletcher rubbed his jaw. "Use your phone,"
he said, and it wasn't a request. He used it, ruthlessly, for ten
minutes. When he put it down for the last time he said, "God
help the innocent citizenry tonight. And bless the Hollywood
boys--they can pull men off a lot of nice genteel places where
nothing ever happens, without much danger .... Crews of twenty cars
to report in within fifteen minutes, that's thirty-six men. Another
twenty called in from stationary traffic duty, and God help the
drivers at downtown intersections. Lessee, it's four-forty. Call it
five o'clock for briefing. Where?"

"Your sergeants' office. I want every man issued
with extra ammo," said Mendoza. "I know our Slasher isn't
on the Most Wanted list--not on any list, his prints unknown--but
he's the hell of a dangerous boy. We don't want any more casualties,
do we?"

"I'll see to it," said Fletcher briefly.
"O.K., twenty minutes." He went out.

"We're going to be fairly busy for quite a
while," said Mendoza. "Maybe you'd all better snatch a
sandwich or something while you can." Dwyer and Scarne drifted
out after Fletcher. The outside phone rang and Mendoza picked it up
.... "Yes,
querida
,"
he said. Palliser watched him for a moment, saw he wasn't getting any
bad news, and went out unobtrusively.

"They said he's been restless. They seem to
think--it might be a sign that he'll be conscious soon. I--oh, damn,"
said Alison. "I know they're doing all they can, and--and they
know so much more now, but they're so horribly impersonal about it.
That afternoon nurse--they've got specials on, you know--talking
about the patient this and the patient that when it's Art."

"
I know," said Mendoza. "Just how they
are,
amante
. All in
the day's work to them."

Alison said forlornly, "She's a Seventh-Day
Adventist. She gave us some Improving Literature to read, about
vegetarian diets. Well, she seems kind enough, but--”

"Yes, darling. What about Angel? I said she
ought to see her own doctor."

"Yes, he gave her some tranquilizers but she
won't take them. Luis. Did you mean what you said--about
r--resigning? I don't know what you'd do. I don't know--"

"
No se preocupe
,"
said Mendoza. He thought, Have to borrow a gun somewhere. He couldn't
go home for his own .38 in the handkerchief drawer, the shoulder
holster, or Alison would know . . .

"--
Luis?"

"
No," he said. "I won't be home. We've
got a little project on down here. It's expect me when you see me,
I'm afraid."

"Yes," said Alison. A little silence, and
then she said, "It's just, it feels as if everything's in slow
motion, somehow. That it's days since I've seen you, and--everything
taking so long to happen--Luis--"

"Yes,” he said. "It does feel rather like
that."

"Mairi says to tell you to get a proper dinner
somewhere." Alison uttered a little laugh.

"I will if I have time."

"And El Señor broke that jardiniere you don't
like. The green one the Mawsons gave us for a wedding present. He
knocked it over quite deliberately----"

"¡Señor Comedido!" said Mendoza. "How
tactful of him .... I don't know when I'll see you,
amante
.
Take care .... " He put the phone down and said to Sergeant
Lake, "Get me a gun somewhere, will you? And a cup of coffee if
you can."

"See what I can do," said Lake, and got up.
In the doorway he collided with Lieutenant Goldberg of Burglary, just
coming in.
 

EIGHTEEN

"
Well, and what can we do for you, Saul?"
asked Mendoza. Goldberg asked first about Hackett and shook his head
at the latest report. "It's more the other way around, I'm
afraid. I just thought it'd be neighborly to mention it, in case
anything does happen."

"Make it short, we've got quite a night's
project mapped 0ut."

"Well," said Goldberg, "there was a
break-in last night at a gunsmith's shop over on Spring. Quite a lot
of stuff gone, and--"

"
Your problem," said Mendoza.

"It could turn into yours. I don't like it,"
said Goldberg. "All they took was guns--and the hell of a lot of
ammo for them. There was other valuable stuff there--he had a color
TV in the back room he was keeping for his wife's birthday, and he
does a side line in transistor radios, there were about twenty of
those. And he'd left a few bucks in the register. Well, the first
thing a burglar looks for is cash, usually. But all somebody, or
several somebodies, was interested in, was guns. We've been all round
the suspected fences and pawnbrokers today, and not a smell has
turned up. Which makes it look as if whoever the somebodies were,
they just wanted guns--as guns."