The Further Adventures of Batman (37 page)

I

T
he Gotham City Department Store loomed before her.
What am I doing here?
she asked herself. Her brow wrinkled with the effort of recall.
Was it something The Man told me?
For a moment her eyes glazed. Then, suddenly remembering, Carol proceeded through the revolving door.

Her heart quickened as the security guard gave her the once over. Then he turned to answer a customer’s question, and Carol relaxed. Dressed in a light blue sweater and designer jeans, she strode nimbly down the center aisle. She appeared about sixteen, with short dark hair and economical features.

What were my instructions?
Carol halted momentarily, chewing her lower lip. A voice seemed to speak in her ear:
Walk to the back of the store.
Staring straight ahead, Carol glided past the cosmetics counter and maneuvered through a maze of dress racks. Not pausing to inspect the latest fashions, she proceeded with single-minded concentration.

As she approached the rear of the store, her step faltered. She glanced right and left, indecisive. The voice guided her again:
Turn right.
Carol turned mechanically. The
jewelry department is straight ahead.
Carol marched toward the counter.

Three customers clustered around the display cases. A middle-aged sales clerk approached them. “May I help you?”

A woman asked to see a Longines watch. As the clerk brought it out, Carol sauntered over, her eyes seeking the diamond rings.

“I’ll be with you in a minute,” the clerk said, glancing at Carol.

“That’s all right,” Carol answered. “There’s no hurry.”

The customer standing next to Carol frowned at the watch’s price tag. “I’ll have to think it over,” she said, drifting away.

Replacing the watch, the clerk turned her attention to Carol. Her eyes ran appraisingly over Carol, noting her age and dress. “Are you looking for anything in particular?” she asked.

Carol nodded.
Ask for the first ring on the bottom row,
the same inner voice instructed. Carol pointed to the ring. “I’d like to see that one, please.”

The sales clerk made no attempt to conceal her surprise. How could a girl of Carol’s age afford such an expensive diamond ring? She didn’t appear wealthy. But looks are deceiving; some very wealthy families allowed their teenage children charge privileges. However, on a purchase of any magnitude, a parent’s presence was required.

“I see you have a discerning eye,” the clerk offered cheerfully, withdrawing the ring from the case. “This is a round one-carat diamond solitaire with a four-prong fourteen-carat yellow gold mounting. The list price is four thousand dollars. With a twenty percent discount, our price is three thousand two hundred.”

Carol hesitated.

“Is it a gift for someone?”

“No, it’s for me,”

The clerk’s eyebrows rose. “Perhaps you’d like to see something else. The rings in this case are more moderately priced. They begin at two hundred dollars.”

“All right. Could you show me that one?” Carol pointed to the tray in the middle of the case, “I’d like to compare the two rings side by side”

“Certainly. Of course this other one is a cocktail ring.” As she bent over, Carol swiftly snatched the ring on the counter and replaced it with an imitation fished from her pocket. The facsimile was identical in all respects, except for the diamond which was paste—a cheap synthetic. The unsuspecting clerk brought out the cocktail ring and placed it beside the other. “This is a charming ring,” she said. “A diamond cluster arranged in a sunburst pattern. Your friends will envy you.”

“How much is it?” Carol asked.

“Only four hundred dollars.”

“I like it,” Carol said. “But I’ll need my mother’s permission. May I bring her in to look at it?”

“Of course,” the clerk said, replacing the two rings. “I’ll see you soon,”

Carol said, turning on her heels. Her heart fluttered with the secret knowledge of the valuable ring concealed in her pocket. The saleslady hadn’t suspected a thing.
Now just keep cool
, Carol told herself, feeling quivery.
You’ll be out of this place in no time.

She retraced her steps, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. But her heart pounded wildly as she saw the security guard eyeing her across the length of the store.
He couldn’t have seen me at the jewelry counter. It was much too far and outside his field of vision.

The guard was stationed directly in front of the door with his arms folded sternly. He seemed to be following Carol’s movements.
It must be my imagination
, she thought.
He’s just staring straight ahead. Why should he single me out?
Had the saleslady detected the switch, after all, and tripped a silent alarm? An icy shudder ran through Carol’s body. She searched for another exit. Spotting one at the right side of the store, she turned in that direction, her feet feeling heavy and numb. Her steps were leaden and agonizingly slow.

Approaching the side door, her heart fell. The door was bolted. A sign said, please use front entrance. Carol tugged furiously at the bolt, to no effect.
What am I doing?
she asked herself.
Even if I get the door open, an alarm will probably go off.
She realized that she had only succeeded in calling attention to herself. The guard was advancing rapidly toward her.
Just act natural
, she told herself.
Pretend you’re a foreigner and can’t read English. No, that won’t work; my ID will give me away.

Panicky, Carol searched for the ladies’ room.
That’s no good
, she realized.
I can’t hide in there all day.
The guard was moving closer and closer.
Get rid of the ring!
But The Man would be furious if she returned without it. And the guard would see her reaching into her pocket. She was about to run, hoping to sidestep the guard and dash out the front door, when a man in plain clothes walked up to her. Seizing her arm in a firm grip, he identified himself as the chief security officer. “Please empty your pockets,”

A stab of terror cut through Carol like the point of a knife. Her body went limp and she began to reel.

“Get a hold of yourself,” the officer said, steadying her.

Her pupils were glassy-looking, her face white.

Propping her up against the wall, the officer reached into the left pocket of her jeans. His hand emerged with the ring.

“Do you have a receipt for this, Miss?” he asked.

“N-no,” Carol stammered. Her throat was so dry she could barely talk. She couldn’t think straight. She felt confused and paralyzed with fear.

“You took this off the jewelry counter.”

“No, it’s mine! It belongs to me!”

The officer gave a sarcastic laugh. “Enough of that, young lady. I saw you pocket this ring and substitute the imitation.”

Carol’s shoulders collapsed helplessly. “How could you see me?”

“On closed-circuit TV. We have a hidden monitor mounted above the jewelry counter. I observed you from the moment you approached the counter until you left. Come with me.”

He marched her back to the jewelry department, where the sales clerk stood glaring at her, holding the fake ring in her hand.

“Is this the girl?” he asked.

“Yes, that’s her,” the clerk answered tartly. “She looked suspicious from the moment I first saw her. You should be ashamed of yourself, young lady. A nice girl like you. You can tell she comes from a good family,” she added, turning to the officer.

“That’s a positive identification. What’s your name?”

Carol hesitated.

“Let’s see some ID.”

Carol produced a card case from her back pocket. The officer thumbed through the cards. “Carol Logan. Is that your real name? We can easily verify it.”

“That’s my name.”

“All right, let’s go upstairs to my office.”

“Please,” Carol pleaded. “Can’t you let me go? You have the ring.”

“Let you go? This is a serious offense, Carol: a planned theft. Do you realize that constitutes grand larceny? People go to jail for stealing much less. Come this way.”

“Such a pretty thing too,” the clerk said, shaking her head. “It’s a shame.”

“Sixteen years old,” the officer remarked, leading Carol away. The clerk clucked her tongue.

Carol sobbed as she entered the security office. “I didn’t know what I was doing. I couldn’t help myself.”

“You helped yourself to a four-thousand-dollar ring,” the officer cracked. “You knew exactly what you were doing.” He motioned her to a chair. Seating himself opposite her, he emptied the contents of her card case on his desk. “Is this your residence, 112 Milford Street, Westbury, Connecticut?”

She nodded miserably.

“What brings you to Gotham City?”

“I attend school here.”

“Do you live with your parents?”

“No.”

“You’re a runaway, aren’t you?”

Carol nodded.

“How long ago did you leave home?”

“Two months ago.”

“Have you been in touch with your folks?”

“No.”

“I’ll have to contact them, let them know what their daughter has been up to.”

“Oh no! Please, Mister, don’t tell them. I’m so ashamed.”

“You should have thought of that before. What made you take the ring?”

“I needed money.”

“Where did you get the imitation?”

“I bought it in a secondhand store.”

“Where you happened to find an exact duplicate of a diamond solitaire. Don’t con me. You said you couldn’t help yourself. What did you mean?”

“I meant I did it for the money.”

“Someone put you up to it. A professional thief with a knowledge of fine jewelry. Who was it?”

“No one!” Carol cried. “I planned the whole job myself.”

“Someone gave you the imitation. The same person who acts as your fence for stolen property.”

“I told you I bought the imitation. I was going to pawn the diamond ring.”

“Whom are you protecting? If you don’t come clean, the police will get the information out of you. If you cooperate with me, maybe we can work something out. I want to know who the main man is. This isn’t the first time someone pulled this scam. We were ripped off a week ago.”

The mention of the words “main man” sent a warning shock through Carol. She mustn’t give away the The Man’s identity. If she did, she would pay with her life.

“I can’t tell you anything else,” she said flatly.

“You’re scared, aren’t you? Afraid of what he’ll do to you. All right, have it your way. I’m turning you over to the police.”

“No, don’t!” Carol began to weep.

The officer softened. “Is this your first offense?”

Carol nodded.

“How can I believe you? If you’re telling the truth, the judge may go easy on you, considering your age. But this is grand larceny, Carol, not a shoplifting offense. He won’t let you off with a slap on the wrist. Unless you turn state’s evidence—disclose your confederate—you’ll end up in a girls’ reformatory. Is your partner worth it?”

Carol remained silent, her lips tight.

“All right, before I call the police, this is the procedure. A female security officer is going to search you. Then we’ll take your photograph for our files. We don’t want to see your face in this store again. Ever. Understand?”

Carol’s lips quivered. “Yes,”

He buzzed the female security officer. “Helen, will you please step in here?”

A tall uniformed woman entered. Her straight black hair was drawn into a tight bun. Surveying Carol with a frosty expression, she asked, “What’s up, Ted?”

The officer gave her a quick rundown. “She may be under the influence of drugs.”

“Let me see your arms,” she snapped, rolling up Carol’s sleeves with a rough tug. “There are puncture marks, all right. What are you on?”

Carol shook her head, “Nothing.”

“Which do you prefer, coke or heroin?”

“Neither,” Carol answered.

“Come on, who are you kidding? Your eyes are glassy. You show all the signs.”

A wave of dizziness swept over Carol. She wished she could shut out their prying questions.

“All right, take her into the other room,” said the officer. “Make sure she isn’t carrying anything else from the store, and take her picture.”

“This way,” the woman directed, conducting Carol into another room. The officer picked up the phone and dialed the police.

Satisfied that Carol had concealed nothing, the woman led Carol back to the office. “Stand back against the wall,” she ordered.

She snapped several Polaroid pictures, waited for them to develop, and gave them to the officer. He put them in a folder marked with Carol’s name.

Carol sat and cried until the police came.

II

Dick Grayson sat gazing out the window of the Gotham High
Clarion
office, where he worked as a reporter. It was a sunny spring afternoon, and Dick was itching to go outdoors, but the bell wouldn’t ring for another twenty minutes.

Maybe I can scare
up
some news at the police station,
he thought. He conceived a new column he would call “The Police Beat.” He wanted to do a story on teenagers and younger kids who got into trouble with the law. Maybe a series of articles would help promote understanding between adults and young offenders.

At last the bell rang. Dick jumped up, grabbed a note pad and pencil, and locked the office door. He drove to the police station, which was toward the center of town.

As he stepped inside, two policemen led Carol Logan into the station.

Carol!
Dick thought, startled. She was in his class at school. He wondered what she’d done. He didn’t know her well, but she seemed a nice girl—serious, quiet, hardworking.

Carol choked back a sob as the police booked her. A detective took her into the examination room for questioning.

Dick stepped over to Sergeant Brady, an old acquaintance.

“Hi, Dick. How are you?” Brady asked.

Dick explained that he was doing an article on juvenile crime for the
Clarion
and wondered if he could sit in on the questioning. “I know Carol,” he added.

“That’s against department policy,” Brady said, “But if you want to wait here, I’ll see what I can find out for you. I’m glad to assist a budding young journalist in his career.”