Ed McBain (20 page)

I was sipping at my hot coffee when the buzzer on my desk sounded. I pushed down the toggle and said, "Levine here."

"Dave, want to come into my office a minute? This is the lieutenant."

"Sure thing," I told him. I put down the cup, said, "Be right back" to Pat, and headed for the Old Man's office.

He was sitting behind his desk with our report in his hands. He glanced up when I came in and said, "Sit down, Dave. Hell of a thing, isn't it?"

"Yes," I said.

"I'm holding it back from the papers, Dave. If this breaks, we'll have every mother in the city telephoning us. You know what that means."

"You want it fast."

"I want it damned fast. I'm pulling six men from other jobs to help you and Pat. I don't want to go to another precinct for help because the bigger this gets, the better its chances of breaking into print. I want it quiet and small, and I want it fast." He stopped and shook his head, and then muttered, "Goddamn thing."

"We're waiting for the body to come in now," I said. "As soon as we get some reports, we may be able to learn something."

"What did it look like to you?"

"Strangulation. It's there in the report."

The lieutenant glanced at the typewritten sheet in his hands, mumbled "Uhm," and then said, "While you're waiting, you'd better start checking the missing persons calls."

"Pat's doing that now, sir."

"Good, good. You know what to do, Dave. Just get me an answer to it fast."

"We'll do our best, sir."

He leaned back in his leather chair. "A little girl, huh?" He shook his head. "Damn shame. Damn shame." He kept shaking his head and looking at the report, and then he dropped the report on his desk and said, "Here're the boys you've got to work with." He handed me a typewritten list of names. "All good, Dave. Get me results."

"I'll try, sir," I said.

Pat had a list of calls on his desk when I went outside again. I picked it up and glanced through it rapidly. A few older kids were lost, and there had been the usual frantic pleas from mothers who should have watched their kids more carefully in the first place.

"What's this?" I asked. I put my forefinger alongside a call clocked in at eight fifteen. A Mrs. Wilkes had phoned to say she'd left her baby outside in the carriage and the carriage was gone.

"They found the kid," Pat said. "Her older daughter had taken the kid for a walk. There's nothing there, Dave."

"The Old Man wants action, Pat. The photos come in yet?"

"Over there." He indicated the pile of glossy photographs on his desk. I picked up the stack and thumbed through it. They'd shot the baby from every conceivable angle, and there were two good close-ups of her face. I fanned the pictures out on my desktop and buzzed the lab. I recognized Caputo's voice at once.

"Any luck, Cappy?"

"That you, Dave?"

"Yep."

"You mean on the baby?"

"Yeah."

"The boys brought in a whole slew of stuff. A pew collects a lot of prints, Dave."

"Anything we can use?"

"I'm running them through now. If we get anything, I'll let you know."

"Fine. I want the baby's footprints taken, and a stat sent to every hospital in the state."

"Okay. It's going to be tough if the baby was born outside, though."

"Maybe we'll be lucky. Put the stat on the machine, will you? And tell them we want immediate replies."

"I'll have it taken care of, Dave."

"Good. Cappy, we're going to need all the help we can get. So..."

"I'll do all I can."

"Thanks. Let me know if you get anything."

"I will. So long, Dave, I've got work."

He clicked off, and I leaned back and lit a cigarette. Pat picked up one of the baby's photos and studied it glumly.

"When they get him, they should cut off his..."

"He'll get the chair," I said. "That's for sure." ' "I'll pull the switch. Personally. Just ask me. Just ask me and I'll do it."

I nodded. "Except one thing, Pat."

"Whafs that?"

"We got to catch him first."

The baby was stretched out on the big white table when I went down to see Doc Edwards. A sheet covered the corpse, and Doc was busy filling out a report. I looked over his shoulder:

POLICE DEPARTMENT
City of New York

D
ATE:
June 12.1953

F
ROM:
Commanding Officer Charles R. Brandon. 37th Precinct

T
O:
Chief Medical Examiner

S
UBJECT:
DEATH OF
Baby girl (unidentified

Please furnish information on items checked below in connection of death of the above named.

Body was found on June 12.1953. at Church of the Holy

Mother. 1220 Benson Avenue. Bronx. New York.

A
UTOPSY PERFORMED?
Examination made?
Yes.

BY:
Dr. James L. Edwards. Fordham Hospital Mortuary

D
ATE:
June 12.1953

W
HERE?
Bronx County

C
AUSE OF DEATH:
Broken neck.

Doc Edwards looked up from the typewriter.

"Not nice, Dave."

"No, not nice at all."

I saw that he was ready to type in the "Result of chemical analysis" space.

"Anything else on her?"

"Not much. Dried tears on her face. Urine on her abdomen, buttocks, and genitals. Traces of a zinc oxide ointment, and petroleum jelly there, too. That's about it."

"Time of death?"

"I'd put it at about three
A.M.
last night."

"Uh-huh."

"You want a guess?"

"Sure."

"Somebody doesn't like his sleep to be disturbed by a crying kid. That's my guess."

I said, "Nobody likes his sleep disturbed, Doc. What's the zinc oxide and petroleum jelly for? That normal?"

"Yeah, sure. Lots of mothers use it. Mostly for minor irritations. Urine burn, diaper rash, that sort of thing."

"I see."

"This shouldn't be too tough, Dave. You know who the kid is yet?" '

"We're working on that now."

"Well, good luck."

"Thanks."

I turned to go, and Doc Edwards began pecking at the typewriter again, completing the autopsy report.

There was good news waiting for me back at the precinct. Pat came over with a smile on his face, and a thick sheet of paper in his hands.

"Here's the ticket," he said.

I took the paper, and looked at it. It was the photostat of a birth certificate.

U.S. NAVAL HOSPITAL
St. Albans, N.Y.
Birth Certificate

This certifies that Louise Ann Dreiser was born to Alice Dreiser in this hospital at 4:15
P.M.
on the tenth day of November, 1952. Weight 7 lbs. 6 ozs. In witness whereof, the said hospital has caused this certificate to be issued, properly signed and the seal of the hospital hereunto affixed.

Gregory Freeman, LTJG MC USN,
attending physician

Frederick L. Mann, CAPTAIN MC
commanding officer USN

"Here's how they got it," Pat said, handing me another stat. I looked at it quickly. It was the reverse side of the birth certificate. There were two tiny footprints on it, a left foot and a right foot. Beneath those:

Sex of child:
Female
Weight at birth:
7 lbs. 6 ozs.

Certificate of birth should be carefully preserved as record of value for future use.

1- To identify relationship

2- To establish age to enter school

There were several more good reasons why a birth certificate should be kept in the sugar bowl, and then below that the address where the official registration was filed.

"Alice Dreiser," I said.

"That's the mother. Prints and all. I've already sent a copy down to Cappy to check against the ones they lifted from the pew."

"Fine. Pick one of the boys from the list the Old Man gave us, Pat. Tell him to get whatever he can on Alice Dreiser and her husband. They have to be sailors or relations to get admitted to a naval hospital, don't they?"

"Yeah. You've got to prove dependency."

"Fine. Get the guy's last address and we'll try to run down the woman, or him, or both. Get whoever you pick to call right away, will you?"

"Right. Why pick anyone? I'll make the call myself."

"No, I want you to check the phone book for Alice Dreisers. In the meantime, I'll be looking over the baby's garments."

"You'll be in the lab?"

"Yeah. Buzz me, Pat."

"Right."

Caputo had the garments separated and tagged when I got there.

"You're not going to get much out of these," he told me.

"No luck, huh?"

He held out the pink blanket. "Black River Mills. A big trade name. You can probably buy it in any retail shop in the city." He picked up the small pink sweater with the pearl buttons. "Toddler's Inc. Ditto. The socks have no markings at all. The undershirt came from Gilman's here in the city. It's the largest department store in the world, so you can imagine how many of these they sell every day. The cotton pajamas were bought there, too."

"No shoes?"

"No shoes."

"What about the diaper?"

"What about it? It's a plain diaper. No label. You got any kids, Dave?"

"One."

"You ever see a diaper with a label?"

"I don't recall seeing any."

"If you did, it wasn't in it long. Diapers take a hell of a beating, Dave."

"Maybe this one came from a diaper service."

"Maybe. You can check that"

"Safety pins?"

"Two. No identifying marks. Look like five-and-dime stuff."

"Any prints?"

"Yeah. There are smudged prints on the pins, but there's a good thumbprint on one of the pajama snaps."

"Whose?"

"It matches the right thumbprint on the stat you sent down. Mrs. Dreiser's."

"Uh-huh. Did you check her prints against the ones from the pew?"

"Nothing, Dave. None are hers anyway."

"Okay, Cappy. Thanks a lot"

Cappy shrugged. "I get paid," he said. He grinned and waved as I walked out and headed upstairs again. I met Pat in the hallway, coming down to the lab after me.

"What's up?" I asked.

"I called the Naval Hospital. They gave me the last address they had for the guy. His name is Carl Dreiser, lived at 831 East 217th Street, Bronx, when the baby was born."

"How come?"

"He was a yeoman, working downtown on Church Street. Lived with his wife uptown, got an allotment, you know the story."

"Yeah. So?"

"I sent Artie to check at that address. He should be calling in soon now."

"What about the sailor?"

"I called the Church Street office, spoke to the Commanding Officer, Captain..." He consulted a slip of paper. "Captain Thibot. This Dreiser was working there back in November. He got orders in January, reported aboard the USS
Hanfield,
DD 981 at the Brooklyn Navy Yard on January fifth of this year."

"Where is he now?"

"That's the problem, Dave."

"What kind of problem?"

"The
Hanfield
was sunk off Pyongyang in March."

"Oh."

"Dreiser is listed as killed in action."

I didn't say anything. I nodded, and waited.

"A telegram was sent to Mrs. Dreiser at the Bronx address. The War Department says the telegram was delivered and signed for by Alice Dreiser."

"Let's wait for Artie to call in," I said.

We ordered more coffee and waited. Pat had checked the phone book and there'd been no listing for either Carl or Alice Dreiser. He'd had a list typed of every Dreiser in the city. It ran longer than my arm.

"Why didn't you ask the Navy what his parents' names are?" I said.

"I did. Both parents are dead."

"Who does he list as next of kin?"

"His wife. Alice Dreiser."

"Great."

In a half hour, Artie called in. There was no Alice Dreiser living at the Bronx address. The landlady said she'd lived there until April and had left without giving a forwarding address. Yes, she'd had a baby daughter. I told Artie to keep the place staked out, and then buzzed George Tabin and told him to check the Post Office Department for any forwarding address.

When he buzzed back in twenty minutes, he said, "Nothing, Dave. Nothing at all."

We split the available force of men, and I managed to wangle four more men from the lieutenant. Half of us began checking on the Dreisers listed in the phone directories, and the rest of us began checking the diaper services.

The first diaper place I called on had a manager who needed only a beard to look like Santa Claus. He greeted me affably and offered all his assistance. Unfortunately, they'd. never had a customer named Alice Dreiser.

At my fourth stop, I got what looked like a lead.

I spoke directly to the vice president, and he listened intently.

"Perhaps," he said, "perhaps." He was a big man, with a wide waist, a gold watch chain straddling it. He leaned over and pushed down on his intercom buzzer.

"Yes, sir?"

"Bring in a list of our customers. Starting with November of 1952."

"Sir?"

"Starting with November of 1952."

"Yes, sir."

We talked about the diaper business in general until the list came, and then he handed it to me and I began checking off the names. There were a hell of a lot of names on it. For the month of December, I found a listing for Alice Dreiser. The address given was the one we'd checked in the Bronx.

"Here she is," I said. "Can you get her records?"

The vice president looked at the name. "Certainly, just a moment." He buzzed his secretary again, told her what he wanted, and she brought the yellow file cards in a few moments later. The cards told me that Alice Dreiser had continued the diaper service through February. She'd been late on her February payment, and had canceled service in March. She'd had the diapers delivered for the first week in March, but had not paid for them. She did not notify the company that she was moving. She had not returned the diapers they'd sent her that first week in March. The company did not know where she was.