Worst Fears Realized (31 page)

“How am I helping you?”

“You tell me where to find Mitteldorfer. You tell
me why Mitteldorfer wanted these people dead. You say this in a court of law.”

The man shook his head. “If you are not killing me,
he
is killing me.”

“No,” Dino said. “We will protect you from Mitteldorfer.”

To Stone’s astonishment, the man began to cry.

Dino gaped at him, startled.

The man stood up. “I must have toilet,” he said.

“Later,” Dino replied.

The man began unzipping his fly.

“All right, all right,” Dino said. He handcuffed the man with his hands in front of him, so that he could use the toilet. “Let’s go,” he said.

Stone followed the two into the hallway outside the interrogation room. It was a narrow hallway, and momentarily crowded. Dino held the man against the wall to allow two police officers to pass.

Stone saw it coming and opened his mouth to yell, but too late. The man reached out and plucked the pistol from an officer’s belt, elbowed Dino out of the way, and pointed the weapon at Stone.

“Gun!” Stone yelled, diving for the floor. From behind him he heard two shots, and he looked up to see the suspect fall to the floor beside him. A good part of his head was missing. Stone looked back down the hallway. Andy Anderson was still in a combat crouch, with his weapon pointed at the dead man.

“Oh, shit!” Dino said.

54

A
LL HELL BROKE LOOSE IN THE HALLWAY.
Half a dozen cops had their weapons out, pointing them in every direction. Andy Anderson was leaning against the wall, vomiting. The cop whose gun had been taken was screaming, over and over, “It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault!”

Dino, who was lying on top of the dead man, got to his feet. “Nobody shoot!” he yelled. “Everybody shut up!” Gradually, the noise died down. “The perp is dead,” Dino said. “Everybody holster your weapons right now.”

Stone took Andy’s pistol and handed it to Dino, then got Andy headed toward the locker room. “Go in there and splash some cold water on your face,” he said to the young cop.

“All right,” Dino said, pointing at various cops, “you call the medical examiner and get him over here; you get a blanket and cover the body; everybody go and
write down exactly what you saw, and do it now, before it gets cold.” The hallway emptied of policemen. “Jesus Christ, did I fuck this up,” Dino said. “We had the guy.”

“It’s okay, Dino,” Stone said.” He wasn’t going to give us Mitteldorfer, anyway. He was going to jerk us around for the fun of it, that’s all.”

“At least, we got a confession on tape,” Dino said. “That’s something, anyway”

Shortly, the ME arrived, did his work, and had the body removed. The precinct janitor arrived with a mop and cleaned up the bloody mess on the hallway floor. Dino and Stone repaired to Dino’s glassed-in office, and Dino pulled the blinds.

“Now we’re back where we started,” Dino said.

“No, we’re not. The guy who was doing the killings is gone, so we don’t have to watch our backs anymore. Somehow, I don’t think Mitteldorfer is up to doing his own killing.”

“You think this guy was his son?”

“Apparently, he had two—Ernst, who works at the cigarette factory, and this one. Remind me to thank Andy Anderson,” he said. “He was very quick; the guy didn’t even have a chance to get off a round.”

“I’ll get him decorated for that,” Dino said.

“If you need an affidavit, let me know.”

Andy Anderson knocked on the door, came in, and set some papers on Dino’s desk. “There’s my account of what happened, Lieutenant,” he said.

“Andy,” Stone said, “thanks for being so quick. You saved my ass.”

“I’m glad I could help,” Andy said. “What can I do now?”

“I don’t guess you’ve heard anything from Hamburg yet,” Dino said.

“Not yet; I’ll call again.”

Stone spoke up. “Andy, when you brought the guy in, you emptied his pockets, didn’t you?”

“Yes; everything’s deposited with the desk sergeant.”

“Get the envelope; let’s see what he had on him,” Dino said.

Andy disappeared.

“What’s our next move?” Dino asked Stone.

“Let’s start at the dry cleaner’s and work outward, distributing the guy’s picture,” Stone said. “If we can find out where he lives, maybe he has some stuff there that will tell us something.”

“Good idea; I’ll get Andy on it.”

Andy returned with a brown envelope and handed it to Dino.

Dino tore open the envelope and dumped the contents onto his desk, and the three men gathered around.

“A little over a hundred bucks in U.S. currency and a bunch of German marks,” Dino said. “No wallet; a key ring with two keys.”

“Outside and inside doors,” Stone said. He opened a folded piece of paper. “And a rent receipt made out to Erwin Hausman.” He read out the address.

“That’s around the corner from the dry cleaner’s,” Andy said.

“That’s a break,” Stone said.

“Yeah,” Dino said, “let’s get over there. He turned
to Andy. “Make sure that this doesn’t get into the press yet; I don’t want Mitteldorfer to read about it and run.”

“Uh, Lieutenant,” Andy said, “I’m afraid we got unlucky there.”

“Tell me.”

“There was a camera crew from Channel Four in the neighborhood when the patrolmen arrested the guy. They got the whole thing on tape.”

“Do they know who he is?” Stone asked.

“I don’t know.”

Dino looked at his watch. “We’ve got until the five o’clock news”, he said.

“If they don’t do a bulletin at the top of the hour.”

“Andy, you get on the phone to Channel Four; see if you can get them to hold the story for twenty-four hours. Offer them an exclusive, if you have to.”

“Lieutenant,” Andy replied, “they’ve already got an exclusive.”

“Tell them I’ll do an interview if they’ll hold it for twenty-four hours.”

“I’ll be lucky if I can get them to hold it until eleven o’clock,” Andy said.

“Do the best you can. Come on, Stone.”

The building was a run-down pile of bricks with a fire escape hung on the front. There was no Hausman on any of the mailboxes, but one of the keys opened the front door. Dino banged on the super’s door. A small, Hispanic man emerged.

“Yes?” he asked.

Dino showed him a badge. “You have a tenant named Hausman,” he said. “What’s his apartment number?”

“I don’t know nothing,” the man said.

Dino showed him the rent receipt. “What’s his goddamned apartment number?”

“They are in 3D,” the man admitted.

“They? Who’s they?”

“Mr. Hausman and his friend.”

“Male or female friend?”

“Male.”

“What does he look like?”

The super shrugged. “Kind of like Mr. Hausman, but with real short hair.”

“Is the friend in the apartment now?”

“I don’t know. They come and go a lot.”

“Fine; you go back inside your apartment and stay there until I call you.”

The man went inside and closed the door.

Dino turned to Stone. “Are you armed?”

Stone produced his 7.65mm automatic.

Dino whipped out his cell phone and called for backup. “Let’s go,” he said.

They walked quietly up the stairs and found apartment 3D. Dino put his ear to the door. “TV is on,” he whispered.

They took up positions on either side of the door.

Dino knocked firmly. “Hello?” he said, imitating the super’s accent. “It’s the super here.”

Nothing.

Stone listened to the door but heard nothing but the TV.

Dino knocked again, this time louder. No reply. He inserted the key in the lock and turned it as quietly as he could. As the door opened, the TV got louder. “Hello?” he called. “It’s the super here; I’ve got the plumber with me to check the plumbing.”

No reply.

Dino nodded at Stone and, as they had done a hundred times before, they went in, guns out ahead of them. They went from room to room, which didn’t take long, since there were only three of them.

“We’ve got two different shoe sizes here,” Stone called from the bedroom, “and a lot of empty hangers in the closet.”

Dino came into the bedroom. “What else?”

“Top drawer of the dresser is empty and open.”

“You think the other guy ran?”

They walked back into the living room, just as the TV station cut to the news desk.

“We’ve got more on that arrest on Third Avenue this afternoon,” the newscaster said. “Let’s go back to the scene and Maria Jones.”

The station cut to a young woman with a microphone, standing outside a dry cleaner’s. “Thanks, Bob. I’ve been able to confirm with the shop owner that the man who was arrested outside this dry cleaner’s shop earlier today is a dead ringer for a drawing that the police ran in Sunday’s
New York Times.
He is apparently connected with a Herbert Mitteldorfer, an ex-convict being sought by police for questioning in at least five murders and the bombing of an art gallery
last week. I’m going over to the precinct now and talk with the police. Back to you, Bob.”

“Well, if that was the second report, I guess our guy saw the first one and lit out.”

“And the first thing he would have done is call Mitteldorfer,” Dino said.

Stone looked around. “There’s no phone here.”

“Shit,” Dino said.

They could hear cops pounding up the stairs. Andy Anderson was the first through the door.

“Andy, tape this place off, then get a team in here and turn it over very carefully. There was a second occupant besides Erwin Hausman; look for anything that could tell us who the other guy is, and anything that might tell us where to find Mitteldorfer.”

“Yes, sit,” Andy replied.

“Anything from Hamburg, yet?”

“No, sir, and nothing from Interpol, either.”

“Keep on them,” Dino said.

“Dino,” Stone said, “we need to talk. In the car.”

55

J
EFF BANION, THE PARK AVENUE DOORMAN,
was on duty when a taxi pulled up to his awning. He hurried to get the door, but as it opened, he saw that the cab’s occupant, who was paying the fare, was not likely destined for Jeff’s building. He stepped back to the front door and let the man deal alone with closing the cab’s door.

Then, to Jeff’s surprise, the young man came toward him. He was short, his hair was cut so closely as to make him nearly bald, and he was roughly dressed in baggy clothes and heavy boots. He was carrying a nylon duffel. “Can I help you, sir?” Jeff asked, not moving away from the door.

“I am seeing somebody in this building,” the man said with a thick accent.

“And who would that be, sir?”

“Mr. Howard Menzies.”

This did not add up at all to Jeff. “And what business would you have with Mr. Menzies?”

“I am having private business,” the young man said.

“Your name?”

“Peter Hausman.”

Jeff looked him up and down. “Wait right here, please,” he said. Jeff went inside and spoke to Ralph, the new desk man. “I’ve got a suspicious character out here who wants to see Mr. Menzies. Is he in?”

Ralph consulted a list of the building’s occupants. “Yes, unless he went out through the garage.”

“Get him on the house phone; I want to speak to him.”

Ralph dialed the number and listened. “Mr. Menzies? Jeff, the doorman, would like to speak with you.” He handed the phone to Jeff.

“Hello, Mr. Menzies?” Jeff said.

“Yes, Jeff, what is it?”

“There’s someone down here wanting to see you, but I wanted to speak to you before I let him in.”

“Who is it?”

“He says his name is Hausman, Peter Hausman.”

There was a long moment’s silence on the line, then Menzies spoke. “Oh, yes, that’s my nephew. He was in town for my wife’s funeral last week. Please send him up.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Menzies, but could you describe your nephew, please? I want to be sure it’s the right person.”

“He is about my height, has very short hair, and dresses rather oddly,” Menzies replied.

“Does he have an accent?” Jeff asked.

“Yes, he does.”

“I’ll send him right up,” Jeff said. He walked back to the front door and opened it. “Come in,” he said to the young man. “Take the elevator to the sixteenth floor; Mr. Menzies is expecting you.”

Hausman said nothing but went straight to the elevator and pressed the button.

Jeff felt he had covered himself, but he didn’t like having someone like that in the building. The other apartment owners wouldn’t like it, either, he knew.

“Jeff,” Ralph said.

Yeah?

“Carlos called in sick, and it’s recycling day. Would you please put the cans and newspapers out?”

“Sure, Ralph,” Jeff said. He didn’t like doing this very much, but there was no one else. He took the other elevator to the garage level, where the bags of recycling material and bound newspapers waited in a corner. He hung his uniform jacket and cap on a hook, pressed the button to open the garage door, and went to work. He humped the bags up to the street, four at a time, then turned to the heavy newspaper bundles. The people in his building sure read a lot of newspapers, he thought. He had never seen the attraction, himself. He sometimes watched the local TV news, but the news, in general, seemed to have little to do with him.

He broke a sweat with the newspapers, and as he piled the last bundle on top of the others, something caught his eye. On the front of Sunday’s Metro section was a drawing of a man, and he looked alarmingly like the young man he had just let into the building. There was also a photograph of another, older man.

Jeff eased the section from the bundle and read the story accompanying the pictures. The young man in the drawing had bushy hair, but otherwise was a ringer for this Peter Hausman. He turned his attention to the photograph of the older man. There seemed to be a familial resemblance between the two, and the older man looked a little like Howard Menzies, except that Mr. Menzies had a little beard and, of course, hair. The man in the picture was bald on top, so he couldn’t be Mr. Menzies.