CHAPTER THREE

 

 

Saturday - 7:05 a.m.

 

Clancy came down the steps of the 52nd Precinct followed by Kaproski. They got into the car, made a U-turn, and headed in the direction of the Uptown Private Hospital. Early-morning traffic slowed them down. For a city with the best public transportation in the world, Clancy thought morosely, it seemed like more people used automobiles every day. Or trucks. Or bicycles; or motorcycles. He couldn't imagine where they parked them - even with his police sticker he had trouble.

Kaproski glanced at the drawn face at his side. 'You don't look like you got much sleep, Lieutenant.'

'I didn't,' Clancy said shortly, it was almost four-thirty before I got out of the hospital. I came back here and tried to take a nap in my chair, but I can't sleep in a damn chair.'

'Yeah. Me neither.' Kaproski changed the subject, approaching the new one a bit warily. 'How's Rossi, Lieutenant?'

Clancy yawned. 'All right, I guess. At least nobody called me since I left the hospital.'

'You think he'll pull through?'

'He'd better. Anyway, that's what we're going to find out right now.' Clancy waited until a traffic-light turned green and then patiently followed a large waddling truck through the crowded intersection. 'I just want to stop in and check at the hospital a minute. Then we're going over to the Farnsworth Hotel and put the manager through the wringer.'

He glanced over at the big detective beside him. 'Did you find anything last night?'

Kaproski shook his head. 'Not a thing. I sealed the room; then I went through all the linen closets and broom closets and out in the service areas and down in the basement; I even checked out all the junk they got in that stinky elevator out in back. Nothing.'

'How about the other guests?'

'Nobody new checked in within a week. Hell, half the hotel is empty; the other half, they been living there since the year one.'

'Did you see the manager?'

'Sure.' Kaproski seemed a bit uncomfortable. 'Lieutenant - I don't think he had anything to do with it.'

'No?' Clancy glanced at him curiously. 'If Chalmers is telling the truth, the hotel manager is the only one who could have seen and recognized him. And I don't think Chalmers is lying. His trouble isn't stupidity - you don't get to his job in the D.A.'s office by being stupid - his trouble is ambition. And the manager is also the only one who could have known the room number. What makes you think he's clean?'

Kaproski stared out of the window. 'You got to see him in person to know what I mean.'

'Well,' Clancy said, 'we'll see him in a few minutes.'

He pulled up before the hospital, forced to double-park, and turned off the ignition. He stared at the solid row of cars parked on both sides of the street as far as eye could see.

‘A NO PARKING sign sure seems to impress the people in these swank neighborhoods,' he said with disgust. 'You stay with the car; if somebody pulls out, you park it. I'll be back in a minute. I just want to check on Rossi and see how he's doing.’

‘Sure, Lieutenant.' Kaproski slid over behind the wheel.

Clancy moved from the car with a shake of his head and walked into the hospital lobby. He came across the tile floor, advancing on the desk. The same pretty nurse was on duty; Clancy's eyebrows raised.

'Hello, nurse. What do you do - work twenty-four hours?'

'Good morning, Lieutenant. No; I'm on from midnight until eight in the morning.' She smiled at him sympathetically, it's been less than four hours since - since you were here last night, you know.'

Clancy grinned, running his hand over his face.

'I lose track of time,' he said. He walked to the small elevator and then paused. 'That young intern - doctor, that is. Willard. Is he still on duty, too?'

'Yes, he is. The doctors' offices are on the fifth floor. Do you want me to call him?'

'No, that's all right. I'll see him after I check on our boy. What room did they put him in, do you know?'

She nodded. 'Six-fourteen.'

He got in the elevator, smiling his thanks, pushed a button, and rose smoothly to the sixth floor. The doors of the elevator opened automatically; he stepped out, walked down the bright corridor and turned a corner. Barnett was sitting firmly in a chair outside the door of the room, trying his best to appear inconspicuous. He looked up a bit unhappily as Clancy approached, and then came to his feet.

'Hi, Lieutenant.' The large patrolman looked around, shaking his head. 'Jesus, what a duty!'

Clancy looked at him sharply. 'What's the matter? Any trouble?'

'Naw. It's just that this ain't like Bellevue. I guess nobody in this joint ever seen a cop in a hospital before. They look at a guy like he was some kind of a freak.'

'Well, it's another job, Frank,' Clancy said easily. 'We have to keep an eye on this character for the time being. They'll be along to move him, though, as soon as they can. Probably this morning. And out of the precinct, I hope.'

'You and me both,' Barnett said fervently, and then remembered to add, 'Lieutenant.'

Clancy smiled. 'How's he doing?'

Barnett shook his head. 'I haven't the faintest. The only one's been in to see him was the doctor a couple times.'

'And?'

Barnett shrugged. 'He didn't say nothing to me.'

'I'll talk to the doctor later,' Clancy said.

He opened the door silently and entered, closing it softly behind him. The Venetian blinds were drawn, leaving the room in deep shadows. The man in the bed was a dim lump under the sheets across the room. Clancy walked quietly to the side of the bed and looked down; the bandaged face was turned slightly in the direction of the wall, the mouth open grotesquely. For one second Clancy stared at the head on the pillow; then his face darkened and he swiftly laid a pair of fingers across the thick, open lips. He froze. Oh Jesus! he thought. Oh Christ!

In an instant he was at the window, tugging the cord that opened the blinds. Light flooded the room. He returned to the bed, studying the sheets bunched unevenly over the body there; he flicked them back with a muttered curse. Bright sunlight lit the room, revealing a kitchen knife sticking from the chest of the twisted body. The light touched the copper rivets that held the wooden handle; glinted from the small amount of blade between the handle and the body. With an oath Clancy went to the door, swinging it wide.

'Barnett!'

'Yes, Lieutenant?' The chair in the hallway came down with a thump; Barnett stuck his head in at the door. The sight of the body on the bed brought him further into the room. His eyes widened, fastening on the knife in astonishment.

'Who ...?'

Clancy swung the door shut savagely. 'That's right! Who? Who came into this room?'

'Nobody, Lieutenant! I swear it! Nobody!'

Clancy stamped to the windows, glared at the curved latch still locked in place. He came back to the bed, forcing his voice lower. 'Barnett,' he said quietly, dangerously. 'What did you do? Go out for coffee?'

'Honest to God, Lieutenant!' The big patrolman's face was ashen. 'I swear it! On my mother's grave! I didn't move from here from the time they wheeled him in. Not even to go to the john!'

'Barnett,' Clancy said almost viciously, 'somebody came into this room and stabbed Rossi. Who?'

'I told you, Lieutenant. Nobody came in except the doctor a couple of times. And you.'

Clancy gritted his teeth. 'And how do you know it was the doctor that came in?'

'He had on a white uniform,' Barnett said desperately. 'And a mask and gloves and all that TV jazz.'

'That makes him a doctor,' Clancy said bitterly. His eyes were burning as he glared at the frightened patrolman. 'Was it the same doctor both times? Well, was it?'

Barnett was stumped. He stared at the floor, avoiding the other's eyes. 'Jesus, I think so, Lieutenant. It's hard to say. They all look alike in them white clothes.'

'And when was the last time this doctor was in here?'

'Not very long ago,' Barnett said, desperately trying to remember. 'I'd say less than a half-hour ago. I didn't check the time.'

Clancy took a deep breath to bring himself back under control. 'You stay here. He's dead and you didn't stop that. See if you can keep somebody from stealing the body until I get back!'

He went down the corridor fast; his feet beat a rapid tattoo on the veined marble of the stairway leading down to the fifth floor. At the foot of the steps his eyes moved in both directions impatiently; a small electric sign, bright even against the blinding brilliance of the corridor walls, angled out, marking the doctors' offices. He walked over and pushed through the door brusquely; Dr. Willard, feet on a desk and coffee-container in hand, looked up.

'Hello, Lieutenant. You're up early. Want some coffee?' His hand went out tentatively to a thermos on the desk.

'No, thanks.' Clancy stared about the office. His eyes, expressionless, came back to the intern's face. 'How's our patient?'

'All right. Pretty good, as a matter of fact. The last time I looked in on him he was coming along fine. His pulse and respiration were all that you could expect.'

'And how long ago was that?'

The young doctor glanced at his wrist-watch. 'Oh, about an hour or so ago, I'd say.' He took another sip of coffee, and then looked up. 'Want to go up and take a look at him?'

‘If you don't mind.'

'Not at all.' The young doctor finished his coffee, set the cup down on his desk, and swung his feet to the floor. He dug a stethoscope from a drawer, slung it around his neck, and got to his feet. 'He's coming along all right, especially considering the shape he was in, but between you and me, I'll be happy when they take him someplace else.'

Clancy didn't answer. He led the doctor down the deserted corridor; they mounted the steps side by side, the young intern silent in his rubber-soled shoes. At the top of the steps they turned in the direction of Room 614; as they came around the corner leading to the room the doctor's eyebrows went up.

'Where's the guard?'

‘Inside the room.'

Dr. Willard stared at the man beside him with an odd expression; he increased his stride, pushing through the door with Clancy immediately behind him. He caught his breath audibly at the sight that greeted him, and then hurried forward, staring down. His fingers automatically reached for and lifted an eyelid; he released it and felt for the wrist. He dropped the flaccid arm and started to reach for the knife; then his hand stopped and wiped itself against his white trouser leg.

'He's dead ...'

'That's right.'

'But he was doing so well. He was…’ His eyes were fixed on the knife-handle, his mouth slightly open.

'Yeah.' Clancy reached down, drawing the sheet back over the knife, carrying it on up until it also covered the tortured face. He stepped back, unconsciously wiping his fingertips together. 'How many doctors are there in the hospital?'

'Doctors? How many -?' The eyes of the young intern finally came away from the knife; they showed surprise at the question.

'That's right. Don't worry about my questions and don't try to analyze them. Just answer them.'

Willard nodded blankly. 'There are six doctors listed as being on the staff. I'm the only intern; the only one on night duty, too, as far as that goes. You see, this is more a nursing home, rather than a regular hospital ...'

'I know.' Clancy was impatient; if I hear it once more I'll scream. How about nurses?'

Willard stared at him. 'What about them?'

'How many?'

'Oh! I don't know. Eight or nine on nights, I guess. I can find out if it's important.'

‘It's not important.' Clancy looked over at the patrolman standing silent and guilty to one side. 'Barnett – go downstairs and get Kaproski. He's in my car, either in front of the hospital or parked someplace near. Bring him up to the fifth floor where the doctors' offices are.' He turned. 'Come on, Doctor. We're going to have a little meeting downstairs.' He stared at the door. 'Can these rooms be locked?'

The young intern reached into his pocket, dragging out a bunch of keys, selecting one. 'They can be, yes, but -'

'Let me have the right one.'

Clancy waited as the doctor fumbled the proper key free from the ring. He took it from the nerveless hand, led the way outside, locked the door, and slipped the key into his pocket. Barnett silently took the elevator as the other two walked to the steps and descended. Inside the small office Clancy stared about as the young intern fell into a chair. Then he seated himself on a corner of a desk, his face screwed up in deep thought. The two men waited in silence; quick footsteps finally sounded in the hallway and the door burst open to admit Barnett and an excited Kaproski.

'Jeez, Lieutenant! Barnett tells me ...'

Clancy held off the other's outburst with a raised hand. 'Yeah.'

'Holy Mac, Lieutenant; what will Chalmers say?'

'Forget Chalmers.' The lean Lieutenant stared at the other three men somberly. Weariness washed over him; he forced his mind to concentrate on their problem. 'Sometime less than an hour ago somebody dressed in a doctor's outfit went into that room and knocked off our boy. With an everyday kitchen knife. And either nobody saw him, or - like Barnett - they didn't attach any significance to seeing him. It must have taken at least some preparation, or the guy was a real gambler. And even then he'd have to be luckier than a guy with two bicycles.' He stared at the others. 'He had to know who Rossi was, where he was, and how to go about getting to him. And all in very little time.' He sighed deeply. 'That's about what we have to go on ...'

'Go on?' Kaproski stared at him in amazement. 'Jeez, Lieutenant, we ain't going to have nothing to go on. As soon as Homicide reports this to Chalmers, he'll have a fit. He'll really blow his stack. He'll take it right out of your hands.'

'Which is why we're not going to call Homicide in on it,' Clancy said evenly. 'Not just yet.'

Three pairs of eyes stared at him in disbelief. He nodded equably and pulled out a cigarette, exhibiting a calmness he was far from feeling. He lit the cigarette slowly. Kaproski swallowed nervously, still not sure he had heard the other correctly.

'You ain't going to report a murder to Homicide? You, Lieutenant?'

'Not just yet,' Clancy repeated.

'But how do you figure on keeping something like this quiet, Lieutenant?' Kaproski was almost wailing. 'You told me that Chalmers was going to have another doctor check on him this morning .. .'

'That's right.' Clancy drew in deeply on his cigarette and contemplated the issuing smoke impersonally. He turned to the white-faced intern. 'Doctor, do you have a morgue, or a cold-storage room where you can keep that body for about twenty-four hours?'

Dr. Willard wet his lips. 'We - we don't have a regular morgue, but we have a storeroom that has been used for that purpose at times. It's air-conditioned ...'

'Good.' Clancy ground out his cigarette in the ashtray. 'That's where he goes, then. Does anyone ever go in there?’

‘Almost never, but. ..' The young intern looked up, his face was more curious than anything else. 'I don't like this. Why should I stick my neck out? What am I going to say when this doctor Chalmers sends shows up and asks for the man?'

'You're simply going to say that early this morning Lieutenant Clancy came along with a private ambulance and took your patient away. And since Lieutenant Clancy is a cop, there wasn't anything you could do about it.' He paused, thinking. 'And, of course, you don't know where they went.'

The young doctor looked startled at this suggestion. 'Why should I? Why should I lie?'

'Look, Doctor, you don't know Mr. Chalmers like I do.' Clancy spread his hands. 'He'd crucify me, you, the hospital, and everyone else if he knew about this right now.' His eyes fixed the other, if anybody but Chalmers were involved, I'd be the first to report this. For your information I've never done anything like this before. Police Lieutenants don't. But right now our only hope is to try and get to the bottom of this before Mr. Chalmers has a chance to get his oar in and muddy up the waters. We'd all be so busy trying to duck accusations that nobody would have time to look for a killer.' He paused, and then added, 'And that's what I'm interested in.'

Kaproski shook his head solemnly. 'Jeez, Lieutenant! You're sticking your neck out a mile.'

Clancy looked over in his direction calmly. His mind was made up. it's my neck. And you tell me how it could possibly be further out than it already is right now.'

The doctor was still frowning sullenly. 'I don't like it ...'

Clancy turned back to him. 'Look, Doctor; I'll take the full responsibility if anything goes sour. And I might mention that this is the only way to keep you and the hospital out of trouble. You don't know Chalmers.' He paused and then shrugged. 'You heard him. He holds you responsible for Rossi. If he steps in now it's going to be rough on everybody. This boy can be vindictive ...'

'And it's just for twenty-four hours?'

'That's all. At the most. I'll be lucky if I can keep him off my neck that long. And if the roof falls in, I promise you I'll see to it that you stay in the clear.'

'Well, all right.' The young intern didn't sound very happy. 'I just hope you know what you're doing, Lieutenant.'

Clancy grinned the beaten grin of at least partial triumph. 'That's two of us, Doctor.'

'Three,' Kaproski said.

Clancy's eyes surveyed the tall, heavy detective speculatively. 'Are you with me, Kap?'

'I'm with you, Lieutenant. Hell, this is mostly my fault, I guess. If I'd have been sharper in the Farnsworth none of this would have happened.' He twitched his head toward the silent uniformed man. 'How about Frank here?'

'Eagle-eye?' Clancy smiled coldly. 'Frank let a killer walk through a door he was supposed to be guarding. He'll go along, all right. Won't you, Frank?'

Barnett forced a strained smile. 'Who, me? Sure I'll go along with you, Lieutenant.' He cleared his throat nervously. 'Hell, I take orders from you, don't I? Ain't I always?'

Clancy didn't bother to answer. His mind was racing; he swung around, his jaw locked in determination. 'All right, here's the program. Doctor, you manage to get that body into the storeroom . ..'

'The key ...'

Clancy reached into his pocket and handed it over. He continued, disregarding the interruption.. . and do it without being seen. The boys will help you; strength they have. And don't disturb it, do you understand? Don't touch it - just move it. And then, Kaproski, you shake this hospital down from top to bottom ...'

'Looking for what, Lieutenant?'

Clancy snorted. 'For a doctor's outfit, of course! And where the killer could have come in and gone out. And if any of the nurses on duty saw anyone around without knowing what they were seeing. And where that knife could have come from.' He turned. 'Barnett, when you're through providing the doctor, here, with muscle, report back to the precinct. Tell the Sergeant I had Rossi removed to another hospital and you were relieved of your duty here. And get hold of Stanton and have him meet me at the Farnsworth Hotel - no; there's a coffee-pot on the corner of Broadway and 93rd, a couple of blocks east of the hotel. Tell him to meet me there. I'm going to get some breakfast.'

He looked at his watch. 'Tell him to make it in half- an-hour.'

He turned back to the doctor. 'When the D.A.'s man comes - the doctor - you know what to say.' He paused, frowning. 'What about that nurse on duty in the lobby downstairs?'

'I'll talk to her,' the young doctor said. 'She's - well, we're sort of engaged ...'

'Good.' Clancy thought a minute, checking everything in his mind. He looked up. 'How about you, Doctor? Where do we find you if we need you?'

'Me? I live here. When I'm not sleeping, I'm working. And vice-versa.'

'That does it then.' Clancy stood up. 'Let's get going.'

'Jeez, Lieutenant,' Kaproski said, worried. 'I sure hope -'

'-I know what I'm doing,' Clancy finished. He smiled bitterly. 'Well, that makes nine of us. I'm the other six.'

 

 

Saturday - 8:45 a.m.

 

Clancy pushed aside his plate, took a sip of his coffee, and set the cup back on the table. He fished a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, drawing in deeply, sending clouds of smoke spreading across the dirty counter. He turned to Stanton at his side.

'Well, that's the pitch,' he said softly. 'And don't tell me you hope I know what I'm doing.'

'Well, all right,' Stanton said resignedly. 'I just hope you know what you're doing, that's all.' He picked up his coffee-cup, staring into its murky depths as if the answer to some great secret was imbedded in the coffee-grounds at the bottom. 'So my pigeon is dead . ..'

'Your pigeon?' Clancy cocked an eye at him.

'Yeah. I was into him for sixty bucks and change at gin. On the cuff; or at least we were going to settle up before Tuesday.' Stanton drank his coffee and set the cup down bitterly, trying not to slam it. 'I should have known it was too good to be true!'

Clancy shook his head sadly. 'We all have our troubles,' he said sarcastically.

'Yeah.' Stanton dismissed his ill-fortune with a philosophic shrug. He turned his head. 'Do you have any ideas on this thing, Lieutenant?'

'None that are very clear.' Clancy frowned. 'Whoever blasted him at the hotel could have known they missed and that they took him to the hospital. If they stuck around, that is. And they could have known the name of the hospital from the ambulance. The thing is, who knew he was in the hotel? Only the manager.' He looked at the other thoughtfully. 'Were there any phone calls yesterday?'

'Not while I was there. Neither in or out.'

Clancy shrugged. He finished his coffee, snubbed out his cigarette in the dregs of his drink, and pushed himself to his feet. 'Well, let's get over to the hotel and get this thing rolling.'

They came out of the coffee shop, each immersed in his own thoughts, and turned down 93rd Street, walking quickly along the noisy sidewalk, anxious to get on with the job. The light at the corner of West End Avenue held them up momentarily and then they were finally across and approaching the hotel. They turned into the main entrance this time, stepping up the two low steps, pushing their way into the lobby. The gloom of the ancient interior caused them to hesitate a moment, allowing their eyes to adjust; then they walked across the worn rug to stand before the desk. An elderly man with pure white hair smiled at them in a friendly fashion from an old rocking chair back of the desk. He nodded and then managed to struggle free from the chair and hobble over to face them across the age-smoothed counter.

'Arthritis,' he explained apologetically in a soft voice. He sighed. 'I guess I'm not as young as I used to be. Was a time -?'

'Yeah,' Clancy said brusquely. 'We'd like to see the manager.'

'Oh, I'm the manager,' the old man said with a smile. His blue eyes twinkled as if at an oft-repeated joke. 'I'm also the room-clerk and the telephone operator and the cashier.' His voice sobered. 'Of course we have a bellboy. I'm afraid I couldn't handle that.'

Clancy stared at him. The suit on the little old man facing him was shiny with age, and Clancy hadn't seen a cravat like the one about the ropy neck for years, but surprisingly enough both were neat and clean. He began to understand what Kaproski had meant.

'I see.' He nodded. 'I wonder if we could go somewhere and talk. We're from the police.'

'Oh, about last night?' The snowy head looked about the lobby with apologetic unhappiness. 'Couldn't we talk right here? You see, the bellboy's out on an errand, and . ..'

'All right,' Clancy said evenly. He shoved his hat back. 'First of all, I'd like details regarding the reservation for Room 456. If you want to check your records, go ahead.'

'Oh, I remember that,' the old man said hurriedly. 'I'm old but my memory is all right. It's just that this arthritis bothers me sometimes, mostly when it's damp. The room? A Mr. Chalmers called to reserve it. He said he was from the District Attorney's office and he wanted a room for a man named Randall - James Randall. And he left his phone number, both at work and at home, in case I needed to get in touch with him about the reservation, but of course we have plenty of room ...' He cleared his throat. '... at this time of year ...'

'Yeah,' Clancy said.

'And when there was this trouble last night, of course I called him,' the old man said simply.

'Yeah. But you knew as soon as you saw this Randall that his real name was Johnny Rossi, didn't you?'

The blue eyes were puzzled. 'I beg your pardon?'

You heard me. And didn't you wonder why Johnny Rossi would ever register in a hotel like this?'

The blue eyes wrinkled in hurt. 'There's nothing wrong with this hotel, sir. It's not new, I'll admit; but it's clean. And it's reasonable. We change the sheets every day. Why, most of the people staying here have been staying here for years.' The blue eyes surveyed Clancy calmly. 'I own this hotel, sir. I have for nearly forty years. I live here myself.'

Clancy looked at the small figure across from him, uncomfortable under the accusing hurt in the steady blue eyes. 'I'm not saying anything against your hotel. I'm just asking if you weren't surprised that a man like Johnny Rossi would want to stay here?'

'You keep saying Rossi; the man was Randall to me. And why should I be surprised? I didn't know Mr. Randall - or Rossi, if you wish - but some very important people have stayed here in the past. Very important. Why shouldn't Mr. Rossi want to stay here? It's clean, and it's decent...' The blue eyes dropped a bit in memory of the trouble of the previous night. 'What happened last night, sir, was the first time we've ever had any trouble - any scandal -'

Clancy stared at him in disbelief. 'You don't know who Johnny Rossi is? You never heard of him? Don't you read the newspapers?'

The white head shook slowly. 'Not very often, I'm afraid. They're not very pleasant, you know. Wars, and shootings, or bombings…’ The wrinkled hands clasped themselves tightly on the counter. 'And now they've come out with this atom bomb ...'

Stanton leaned over the desk, staring at the small man. 'Don't you ever listen to the radio?'

The blue eyes brightened. 'Oh, yes! Music, and some of the serials. I know that a lot of people think the serials are - well, contrived, I suppose the word is; but I like them. I know they're full of people's troubles, but people do have troubles, you know. I like the serials; I really do. And they're actually hopeful, most of them, if you just listen between the lines ...'

Clancy sighed and stared at Stanton hopelessly.

'Yeah. People have troubles, all right.' He studied the small figure waiting politely behind the desk. 'We'll want to go over that room again. One of my men, Kaproski, had it sealed last night.'

'Oh, yes, I remember him. I met him.' The blue eyes smiled at them. 'He seemed to be a very pleasant man.'

'He's a doll,' Stanton said. 'Let's go, Lieutenant.'

'Just a moment.' Clancy turned back to the white-haired man. 'How about any phone calls? Either to or from Room 456?'

'I was just checking the night slips when you came in,' the old man said helpfully. He hobbled over to a small table set beside the rocking chair and came back with a thin pad. He began leafing through it. '456 ... Yes. There were two ...'

'Two?' Clancy reached out, taking the pad from the gnarled fingers. 'Murray Hill 7 - hell, that's mine. And this other one is the Uptown Private Hospital...' He tossed the pad down on the desk again. 'These were the only calls from 456 yesterday?'

The old man retrieved the pad, automatically smoothing the sheets with his crooked hands. He nodded seriously. 'Those were the only ones last night. The boy on the desk at night is pretty good. There was another one yesterday, in the morning, when I was here. That was just a few minutes after Mr. Randall - or Mr. Rossi - checked in.'

Clancy's eyes lit up. 'Do you have a record of that number?'

'I should have.' The old man wrinkled his forehead in thought; he hobbled back to the small table and fumbled in a drawer. Several similar pads came to light; he stared at them closely, discarded all but one, and came back to the counter, leafing through it. His fingers stopped; he nodded. 'Here it is. University 6-7887.'

Clancy took the slip and stared at the number scrawled there. A grim smile curved his lips; some of his weariness left him. 'I'll just copy this if you don't mind. And would you please put me through to the telephone company?'

'Certainly.'

The old man hobbled to the switchboard in the corner; he smiled apologetically at his clumsiness as he lowered himself slowly into the chair there. His knotted fingers dialed and then fumbled with a cord. He listened a while and then nodded pleasantly to the two men standing at the desk. 'You can pick it up there ...'

Clancy tilted his head in appreciation and lifted the telephone.

'Hello? Could you connect me with Mr. Johnson in the Supervisor's office please? Thank you ...' His fingers reached, pulling a pen from his jacket pocket, clicking it open. He inched the pad closer to him as he waited.

'Hello, Johnson? This is Lieutenant Clancy at the 52nd Precinct. Fine, and you? That's good. I wonder if you could give me some information. I want an address to go with a telephone number. That's right ...' He looked down at the number scrawled on the pad. 'University 6-7887. That's right. Sure, I'll wait.' His eyes stared at the telephone evenly as the moments passed; Stanton stayed quietly to one side, watching. The old man remained seated at the switchboard, his hands folded in his lap, his blue eyes taking in the scene calmly.

'Hello? What's that again? Yes, I've got it. 1210 West 86th Street. Apartment what?' He was scribbling rapidly as he spoke. 'Twelve. One, two. Right, I've got it. Thanks a million. Yes, we'll have to do that one of these evenings. Right. Thanks.' He hung up, staring at the paper in his hand, and then folded it and tucked it into his pocket. His eyes were bright as he swung to Stanton.

'Stan, you'll have to go over that room alone; I want to check out this phone number. Give it the full treatment - labels, luggage, clothes; everything. Linings and the works. Clear out his pockets and bring everything with you.'

Stanton nodded. The possible lead contained in the telephone number made him feel better as well. 'Sure, Lieutenant. I won't miss anything. Where do we get together afterwards?'

'I'll either be at the precinct, or I'll call in and leave a message. You wait for me there.'

'O.K.' Stanton hesitated, if you go back to the precinct, Lieutenant, Chalmers will be on your neck in a minute.' Clancy patted his pocket with the slip of paper in it. 'Maybe I'll have something for him by then.' He swung around to the little man hunched over the switchboard. 'Thanks very much for your help. And if any reporters, or anyone else, start asking questions ...' He saw the blue eyes begin to cloud.

'I'm not going to ask you to lie,' Clancy said gently. 'Just tell them that the police have asked you not to say anything.'

The old man nodded, the blue eyes clearing. Clancy turned toward the door, raised a hand in a salute, and trotted out. The old man looked at Stanton.

'He seems to be a very pleasant man, too.' 'Yeah,' Stanton said, turning in the direction of the elevator. 'He's pleasant enough. I just hope he's lucky enough…’