Dirty Harry 03 - The Long Death (14 page)

It was a beautiful Monday morning in San Francisco. On a morning like it, sunny, sixty-three degrees, it would be hard for most people to really believe such things as rape, murder, child prostitution, and white slavery existed.

It was hard for Harry Callahan to believe as well, but that was what kept getting him up every morning and into work. He wanted to make it impossible to believe. Unfortunately, doing that involved risks, and the reality of the world sometimes made it difficult for Harry to take all of them himself, much as he wanted to.

Harry’s black-gloved fists hit the top of a plain gray desk on either side of a nameplate reading, “Sgt. McConnell.”

“How would you like to go back to school, Sergeant?” he asked.

“Oh?” said the policewoman, looking up at Harry’s braised face. “Do you have something to teach me?”

“Sergeant,” Harry sighed, coming around to sit heavily on the chair beside her writing table, “can’t we have a conversation that doesn’t include sexual allusions?”

McConnell leaned across her typewriter. “Inspector Callahan,” she admonished, then changed her tact. “May I call you Harry?” He nodded. “Harry, Harry, Harry,” she readmonished, “you’ve got to be crazy if you think I’m going to let a hunk like you slip through my fingers.”

“On your own time,” Harry suggested in a warning tone. “We’ve got a job to do.”

McConnell stopped smiling and leaned back. “I do my job, Inspector,” she said seriously. “You know that. I’m sure you asked around about me.”

“Everyone spoke highly of you,” Harry admitted. “But I don’t see it. What are you doing on the police force?”

“My job!” McConnell exclaimed. “Hey, Inspector, you don’t hold the monopoly on wanting to improve the world, you know. Other people have convictions and morality, too.”

“That’s not the point . . .”

“Harry,” the policewoman scolded. “I’ve been here five years. I’ve seen whores with their faces carved. I’ve seen children dying of old age. I’ve seen the most ridiculous, cruel, stupid men . . .”

“And you’re still here.”

“Hey, just because people are in pain, do I have to stop living?” McConnell demanded with a quiet passion. “Do I have to trudge through life like a walking wounded because someone else did something stupid or destructive? I can help them, but I’m not going to suffer for them.”

Harry couldn’t deny the validity of her convictions, but he had his own crosses to bear. He wasn’t doing anyone else’s suffering, he was constantly mourning his own losses. Besides, he wasn’t worrying about her past record, he was worrying about what he was planning to get her into.

McConnell saw something in his expression. “Harry, I’m not saying don’t worry about me, I’ll be all right. Worry about me all you want. I’d appreciate it. Just say what you want to say and let’s get going.”

Harry said it and they got going. Within a half an hour they were headed for the University of California at Berkeley.

“The second summer semester is about to start,” Harry told her. “I want you to enroll in a few film courses, fill out an application for fall acceptance into the university, look for an apartment, and do all those funny little things new students from out of state do.”

“Only film courses?” she wondered.

“Yeah. A girl as attractive as you won’t arouse any suspicion. Every pretty girl from the Midwest wants to be a movie star.”

“Why, Harry,” the sergeant smirked, “I didn’t know you cared.”

Harry smirked back. “Fill your schedule so you’ll be around all day. Be sure to take at least one course taught by Roy Hinkle.”

“You have anything on Hinkle?”

“Nothing substantial. Just a solid hunch . . .” Harry let the sentence trail off.

“That he’s The Professor?” McConnell finished for him.

“You’re way ahead of me,” Harry concurred.

“It makes a modicum of sense,” she elaborated. “If Mohamid didn’t call the killers out on you, then Hinkle is the only logical choice. As Sherlock Holmes said, ‘once you’ve eliminated the impossible, whatever’s left, however improbable, has to be the truth.’ ”

“Or words to that effect,” Harry said as he turned onto Telegraph Avenue.

“Or words to that effect,” the girl agreed. “And given that he’s a college teacher, it’s not out of the realm of possibility that his code name became The Professor.”

Harry marveled at her deductions as well as her vocabulary. “No wonder they made you a sergeant,” he mused.

McConnell looked over and flashed him one of her disarming smiles. “Wanna arm wrestle?” she suggested gayly.

“Not today, dear,” Harry answered wearily. “I’ve got a headache.” The inspector pulled the car over at the corner of Bancroft Way. “Now watch your ass,” Harry recommended seriously. “From now on you’re Jo Frawley, a Midwest orphan who never accepts dates from the same man twice. Don’t lay it on thick, but get the point across.”

“Thank you very much,” McConnell said in a bored tone. “Care to give me any hints on my makeup?”

“Just remember,” Harry continued, undaunted, “if Hinkle is The Professor and is tied in with these slavers, they’ll be fast, vicious, and professional. Don’t take any chances. Stay in touch always.”

McConnell put her hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I appreciate your concern, but take it easy, Harry. There’ll be undercover guardian angels from vice all over the place. And if that fails, I’ll always have you.” She leaned forward and kissed him. “Now get out of here before someone recognizes you,” she cracked and hopped outside the car. She walked away with her suitcase without looking back.

Harry watched her walk away in the student disguise of tight jeans over boots and a fuzzy, clinging sweater. There’s a new girl in town, Harry thought, and an angry depression fogged in his mind. He would have felt better if she
had
been a student from the Midwest or a secretary or a nurse. Anything but a cop. Well, Harry concluded, slamming the car into gear, better a cop than a victim. And definitely not both.

He drove back to headquarters thinking about Inspector Kate Moore. She had been his sixth partner and the third to die. She was shot by a terrorist on Alcatraz Island. Harry had paid back her killer in kind for all the good it did her. He’d think about her from time to time. Not as often as he thought about his wife, but enough.

His wife had long before stopped being a person. She had become a deity that Harry remembered with a fondness he knew he wouldn’t feel again. Kate was still a tangible being, a hardened innocent who tried so hard to be one of the boys. Lynne McConnell couldn’t care less about that. She was a woman and proud of it. She didn’t try to fit in, she just was.

That kind of mental security, that kind of psychological peace could prove very attractive. It could also prove infuriating. It could incite respect or it could incite a vengeful rage. It could lead to love or rape. The sad thing was that there was nothing anyone could really do about that. All one could do was live and hope that she was never at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Harry got back to headquarters to find out that Captain Avery was indeed waiting for him.

The captain, Lieutenant Bressler, and Fatso Devlin were all waiting for him in his office. A video-tape deck and television set on a cart had been wheeled and plugged in.

“Well, if it isn’t the know-it-all inspector!” Avery announced loud enough for the whole floor to hear as Harry came in. “You have any more answers for us, Inspector?”

Callahan looked from Avery’s flushed, exalted face to Bressler and Devlin who had taken up positions on the other side of the desk. Their lips were clamped shut. Harry wouldn’t have been surprised if Avery had stapled them closed.

Rather than answering, Harry shook his head. It wasn’t enough for Avery.

“No answers?” he demanded with vicious glee. “You mean you have absolutely nothing to say about the press conference?”

“What press conference?” Harry asked, knowing that it was exactly what Avery wanted him to say.

“What press conference?” Avery repeated in mock shock. “But I thought you had all the answers, Inspector Callahan. I thought you knew exactly what you were doing. If I had any idea you were in any way unsure I never would have assigned you the Steinbrunner case!” By the time he had finished the speech, the captain was shouting. He wanted to make sure everyone heard him disciplining his errant inspector.

No sooner had he collected more wind than he was expelling it again. “Well, for your information, Inspector, we found the missing Uhuru girl today. Do you happen to know what she said?”

Harry was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t, so he decided to “did.” “I already said no once,” he said directly in Avery’s face.

The captain’s left eye almost closed completely as he glared back at Callahan. “Another answer,” he marveled. “Well, it just so happens that I have a video tape of her meeting with reporters this morning. Would you care to take a few seconds out of your busy schedule to see it?”

Harry nodded curtly. Avery couldn’t think of anything to say to that so he motioned for Bressler to turn the machine on.

A pale, nervous Negro girl in a red wraparound dress appeared on the screen, surrounded by a pushing lake of microphones, lights, and cameras. All manner of questions were being thrown at her as she tried to speak. She looked hysterically around until a gentle-looking man with high cheekbones and brown hair, pushed all the newsmen aside and put his arm around the obviously upset girl.

“One at a time please, one at a time,” the man stressed. “Ms. Ray has had a terrifying experience. If you’ll all just be patient, she will make a statement.”

“Who’s that?” Harry asked.

“Don’t you know?” Avery inquired sarcastically.

“Her lawyer,” said Devlin. The captain looked at Harry’s partner with demotion in his eyes. Fatso grimaced and shut up.

The reporters had quieted in the meantime. Rose looked with trepidation from her lawyer to the line of microphones.

“Go ahead,” said the lawyer.

“Big Ed Mohamid raped the girl Barbara Steinbrunner,” she said in a tiny, thin voice. “He raped me. He murdered the Steinbrunner girl and threatened to murder me if I talked.”

Immediately the flood of questions started again as the reporters moved back in. The lawyer tried to fend them off, but it was no good. Harry heard the black girl moaning, “he raped me,” as the lawyer jostled her toward the car. The last shot in the report was a view along the side of the car taken from the front fender. As the lawyer pushed her head down so she could get into the car, Harry saw her face covered with tears.

“All right, all right,” the lawyer yelled, getting in the car himself. “Ms. Ray has been through a horrible ordeal. She is still living in fear of her life. No more questions please.”

And on that note, the limo door closed, and the lawyer, Rose Ray, as well as anyone else who had been inside, drove away.

Avery slammed the machine off. “Well, I hope you’re satisfied, Inspector,” he raged as Harry moved slowly behind his desk, deep in thought. “Mohamid was guilty all along, just as I said.” Harry sat down, found a piece of paper and a pencil and started to work.

“Big Ed is still wounded and under police guard,” Harry said quietly. “You can arrest him any time.”

“I don’t need your permission for that,” the captain said, misunderstanding. “And from now on, Callahan, you report to me personally before you even go to the bathroom, is that clear?”

Harry looked up for a second, then returned his attention to the paper in front of him. He realized that Captain Avery had come down from his mountain because he thought he was safe. If Uhuru was guilty, then he had nothing to fear from Internal Affairs. So he wanted to secure his superiority with the rest of the men by dressing Harry down personally and in public.

Harry was in a very delicate situation. If he told Avery what he thought of him, the captain had plenty of witnesses when he brought Callahan up on charges. It was a perfect way of demoting him. But if he kissed ass, he’d lose a lot of self-respect. Normally, he wouldn’t give a shit about insubordination or demotion, but another life was at stake. He had to stay on the case because of McConnell.

“Inspector Callahan,” Avery roared. “Do we understand each other?”

Harry held up the piece of paper. On it was a readily identifiable drawing of a hand with every finger missing except the upraised middle one. “Yes sir,” he said, and before anything could be done about it, he drew the forefinger in. “Perfectly.”

Avery looked like his head would come completely off and go swooshing around the room. Harry kept his face expressionless. The captain clenched his fists, ground his upper teeth on his lower lip, and stalked out of the office.

“Christ, Harry,” Bressler breathed. “What was on the paper?”

“A token of my esteem,” the inspector replied.

“God, Harry,” piped in Devlin. “I thought you were going to be thrown out of the game for sure.”

“Yeah,” Harry mused. “So did I. Why wasn’t I, Al?”

“Come on into the office,” Bressler said instead of answering Harry’s question. “I don’t know about you, but I need a drink.”

Once everyone was inside Bressler’s domain and the door was closed, the lieutenant got down to brass tacks.

“To tell you the truth, Harry,” he started, “we didn’t find the Rose girl. She just sorta appeared. We get a call from the networks, we turn on the set, and there she was.”

“From what I can tell,” Devlin interjected, “she was talking on the court steps.”

“The TV people verify that,” Bressler continued. “She comes down the steps, gives her statement, and gets in the car and just disappears. We go over to the courthouse to check it out, and not one lawyer or judge in the place has talked to the girl.”

“What was her lawyer’s name?” Callahan asked.

“He didn’t give a name,” Devlin answered. “He just said he was her lawyer.”

“So it was just a ‘media event,’ ” Harry theorized. “A media event that’s just buried Mohamid.”

“Looks that way,” Bressler admitted. “Avery’s out for his blood and it’ll be hard to control the public now.”

“Any chance of riot?” Harry inquired.