Cynthia Manson (ed) (19 page)

“Right across the hall is the office
of an accountant named Thomas Kistner. He’d already left. His secretary, Loreen
Garrity, was closing up the office. She had the door open a crack. She saw the
three kids come out of the loan company, taking their masks off. Fortunately,
they didn’t see her.

“She went to headquarters and looked
at the gallery, and picked out Servius and Castrella. They were picked up.
Kelly was with them, so they took him in, too. In the lineup the Garrity girl
made a positive identification of Servius and Castrella again. The manager thought
he could recognize Kelly’s voice.

“Bail was set high, because we
expected Vince Servius would get them out. Much to everybody’s surprise, he’s
left them in there. The only thing he did was line up George Terrafierro to
defend them, which makes it tough from our point of view, but not too tough—if
we could put the Garrity girl on the stand. She was the type to make a good
witness. Very positive sort of girl.”

“Was? Past tense?”

“This afternoon she was pushed out
the window of the office where she works. Seventeen stories above the sidewalk.
Gil Shinn tells me that Connie Wyant has it definitely tagged as homicide.”

“If Connie says it is, then it is.
What would conviction have meant to the three lads?”

“Servius had one previous
conviction—car theft; Castrella had one conviction for assault with a deadly
weapon. Kelly is clean, Jim.”

Heglon frowned. “Odd, isn’t it? In
this state, armed robbery has a mandatory sentence of seven to fifteen years
for a first offense in that category. With the weight Vince can swing, his kid
brother would do about five years. Murder seems a little extreme as a way of
avoiding a five-year sentence.”

“Perhaps, Jim, the answer is in the
relationship between Vince and the kid. There’s quite a difference in ages.
Vince must be nearly forty. He was in the big time early enough to give Johnny
all the breaks. The kid has been thrown out of three good schools I know of.
According to Vince, Johnny can do no wrong. Maybe that’s why he left those
three in jail awaiting trial—to keep them in the clear on this killing.”

“It could be, Dan,” Heglon said. “Go
ahead with your investigation. And let me know.”

Dan Fowler found out at the desk
that Lieutenant Connie Wyant and Sergeant Levandowski were in the Interrogation
Room. Dan sat down and waited.

After a few moments Connie waddled
through the doorway and came over to him. He had bulging blue eyes and a dull
expression.

Dan stood up. towering over the
squat lieutenant. “Well, what’s the picture. Connie?”

“No case against the kids, Gil says.
Me, I wish it was just somebody thought it would be nice to jump out a window.
But she grabbed the casing so hard, she broke her fingernails down to the
quick.

“Marks you can see, in oak as hard
as iron. Banged her head on the sill and left black hair on the rough edge of
the casing. Lab matched it up. And one shoe up there, under the radiator. The
radiator sits right in front of the window. Come listen to Kistner.”

Dan followed him back to the
Interrogation Room. Thomas Kistner sat at one side of the long table. A cigar
lay dead on the glass ashtray near his elbow. As they opened the door, he
glanced up quickly. He was a big, bloated man with an unhealthy grayish
complexion and an important manner.

He said, “I was just telling the
sergeant the tribulations of an accountant.”

“We all got troubles,” Connie said.
“This is Mr. Fowler from the D. A. ‘s office, Kistner.”

Mr. Kistner got up laboriously. ‘
Happy to meet you, sir,” he said. “Sorry that it has to be such an unpleasant
occasion, however.”

Connie sat down heavily. “Kistner. I
want you to go through your story again. If it makes it easier, tell it to Mr.
Fowler instead of me. He hasn’t heard it before.”

“I’ll do anything in my power to
help, Lieutenant,” Kistner said firmly. He turned toward Dan. “I am out of my
office a great deal. I do accounting on a contract basis for thirty-three small
retail establishments. I visit them frequently.

“When Loreen came in this morning,
she seemed nervous. I asked her what the trouble was. and she said that she
felt quite sure somebody had been following her for the past week.

“She described him to me. Slim,
middle height, pearl-gray felt hat, tan raglan topcoat, swarthy complexion. I
told her that because she was the witness in a trial coming up, she should
maybe report it to the police and ask for protection. She said she didn’t like
the idea of yelling for help. She was a very—ah—independent sort of girl.”

“I got that impression,” Dan said.

“I went out then and didn’t think
anything more about what she’d said. I spent most of the morning at Finch
Pharmacy, on the north side. I had a sandwich there and then drove back to the
office, later than usual. Nearly two.”

“I came up to the seventeenth floor.
Going down the corridor, I pass the Men’s Room before I get to my office. I
unlocked the door with my key and went in. I was in there maybe three minutes.”

“I came out and a man brushes by me
in the corridor. He had his collar up, and was pulling down on his hatbrim and
walking fast. At the moment, you understand, it meant nothing to me.”

“I went into the office. The window
was wide open, and the snow was blowing in. No Loreen. I couldn’t figure it. I
thought she’d gone to the Ladies’ Room and had left the window open for some
crazy reason. I started to shut it, and then I heard all the screaming down in
the street.”

“I leaned out. I saw her, right
under me, sprawled on the sidewalk. I recognized the cocoa-colored suit. A new
suit, I think. I stood in a state of shock, I guess, and then suddenly I
remembered about the man following her, and I remembered the man in the hall—he
had a gray hat and a tan topcoat, and I had the impression he was
swarthy-faced.”

“The first thing I did was call the
police, naturally. While they were on the way, I called my wife. It just about
broke her up. We were both fond of Loreen.”

The big man smiled sadly. “And it
seems to me I’ve been telling the story over and over again ever since. Oh, I
don’t mind, you understand. But it’s a dreadful thing. The way I see it, when a
person witnesses a crime, they ought to be given police protection until the
trial is all over.”

“We don’t have that many cops,”
Connie said glumly. “How big was the man you saw in the corridor?”

“Medium size. A little on the thin
side.”

“How old?”

“I don’t know. Twenty-five,
forty-five. I couldn’t see his face, and you understand I wasn’t looking
closely.”

Connie turned toward Dan. “Nothing
from the elevator boys about this guy. He probably took the stairs. The lobby
is too busy for anybody to notice him coming through by way of the fire door.
Did the Garrity girl ever lock herself in the office, Kistner?”

“I never knew of her doing that,
Lieutenant.”

Connie said, “Okay, so the guy could
breeze in and clip her one. Then, from the way the rug was pulled up, he lugged
her across to the window. She came to as he was trying to work her out the
window, and she put up a battle. People in the office three stories underneath
say she was screaming as she went by.”

“How about the offices across the
way?” Dan asked.

“It’s a wide street, Dan. and they
couldn’t see through the snow. It started snowing hard about fifteen minutes
before she was pushed out the window. I think the killer waited for that snow.
It gave him a curtain to hide behind.”

“Any chance that she marked the
killer. Connie?” Dan asked.

“Doubt it. From the marks of her
fingernails, he lifted her up and slid her feet out first, so her back was to
him. She grabbed the sill on each side. Her head hit the window sash. All he
had to do was hold her shoulders, and bang her in the small of the back with
his knee. Once her fanny slid off the sill, she couldn’t hold on with her hands
any longer. And from the looks of the doorknobs, he wore gloves.”

Dan turned to Kistner. “What was her
home situation? I tried to question her. She was pretty evasive.”

Kistner shrugged. “Big family. She
didn’t get along with them. Seven girls, I think, and she was next to oldest.
She moved out when she got her first job. She lived alone in a one-room
apartment on Leeds Avenue, near the bridge.”

“You know of any boyfriend?” Connie
asked.

“Nobody special. She used to go out
a lot. but nobody special.”

Connie rapped his knuckles on the
edge of the table. “You ever make a pass at her. Kistner?”

The room was silent. Kistner stared
at his dead cigar. “I don’t want to lie to you, but I don’t want any trouble at
home, either. I got a boy in the Army, and I got a girl in her last year of
high. But you work in a small office alone with a girl like Loreen, and it can
get you.”

“About six months ago I had to go to
the state Capital on a tax thing. I asked her to come along. She did. It was a
damn fool thing to do. And it— didn’t work out so good. We agreed to forget it
ever happened.

“We were awkward around the office
for a couple of weeks, and then I guess we sort of forgot. She was a good
worker, and I was paying her well, so it was to both our advantages to be
practical and not get emotional. I didn’t have to tell you men this, but, like
I said, I don’t see any point in lying to the police. Hell, you might have
found out some way, and that might make it look like I killed her or
something.”

“Thanks for leveling,” Connie said
expressionlessly. “We’ll call you if we need you.”

Kistner ceremoniously shook hands
all around and left with obvious relief.

As soon as the door shut behind him,
Connie said, “I’ll buy it. A long time ago I learned you can’t jail a guy for
being a jerk. Funny how many honest people I meet I don’t like at all, and how
many thieves make good guys to knock over a beer with. How’s your girl?”

Dan looked at his watch. “Dressing
for dinner, and I should be, too,” he said. “How are the steaks out at the Cat
and Fiddle?”

Connie half closed his eyes. After a
time he sighed. “Okay. That might be a good way to go at the guy. Phone me and
give me the reaction if he does talk. If not, don’t bother.”

Jane was in holiday mood until Dan
told her where they were headed. She said tartly, “I admit freely that I am a
working girl. But do I get overtime for this?”

Dan said slowly, carefully,
“Darling, you better understand, if you don’t already, that there’s one part of
me I can’t change. I can’t shut the office door and forget the cases piled up
in there. I have a nasty habit of carrying them around with me. So we go
someplace else and I try like blazes to be gay, or we go to the Cat and Fiddle
and get something off my mind.”

She moved closer to him. “Dull old
work horse,” she said.

“Guilty.”

“All right, now I’ll confess,” Jane
said. “I was going to suggest we go out there later. I just got sore when you
beat me to the draw.”

He laughed, and at the next stop
light he kissed her hurriedly.

The Cat and Fiddle was eight miles
beyond the city line. At last Dan saw the green-and-blue neon sign, and he
turned into the asphalt parking area. There were about forty other cars there.

They went from the check room into
the low-ceilinged bar and lounge. The only sign of Christmas was a small silver
tree on the bar; a tiny blue spot was focused on it.

They sat at the bar and ordered
drinks. Several other couples were at the tables, talking in low voices. A
pianist played softly in the dining room.

Dan took out a business card and
wrote on it:
Only if you happen to have an opinion.

He called the nearest bartender
over. “Would you please see that Vince gets this?”

The man glanced at the name. “I’ll
see if Mr. Servius is in.” He said something to the other bartender and left
through a paneled door at the rear of the bar. He was back in less than a
minute, smiling politely.

“Please go up the stair. Mr. Servius
is in his office—the second door on the right.”

“I’ll wait here, Dan,” Jane said.

“If you are Miss Raymer, Mr. Servius
would like to have you join him, too,” the bartender said.

Jane looked at Dan. He nodded and
she slid off the stool.

As they went up the stairs, Jane
said, “I seem to be known here.”

‘Notorious female. I suspect he
wants a witness.”

Vincent Servius was standing at a
small corner bar mixing himself a drink when they entered. He turned and
smiled. “Fowler, Miss Raymer. Nice of you to stop by. Can I mix you something?”

Dan refused politely, and they sat
down.

Vince was a compact man with
cropped, prematurely white hair, a sunlamp tan, and beautifully cut clothes. He
had not been directly concerned with violence in many years. In that time he
had eliminated most of the traces of the hoodlum.