Inspector Queen’s Own Case

“Can you think of any other retired cop who’d be willing to team with Angelo? I’d need them both right away.”

The ex-detective pondered. Then he smacked the wheel. “Murph! I ran into him this past week. You remember Sergeant Al Murphy, Inspector — he used to be on radio car patrol in the 16th. Murph was retired this past June, and he told me he’s still undecided what to do with himself. Never saw a guy so itchy.”

“Anybody else you can think of, Wes? I’d like two teams, one for the night trick, one for daytimes.”

“I’ll bet Pete or Murph’ll come up with a couple. When do you want them for?”

“If possible, starting tonight.”

Polonsky climbed out of his Studebaker. “You take this stakeout for a while, Inspector. I’ll be right back.”

When he slipped behind the wheel again Polonsky was grinning. “Pete Angelo and Al Murphy’ll meet you in the cafeteria on 72nd in fifteen minutes. Pete says not to worry, he can get you ten teams. Your problem, he says, is going to be to fight off the ones you can’t use.”

Richard Queen sat there in silence. Then he pressed Polonsky’s arm and got out. The old man in the car watched the old man on the sidewalk stride toward Broadway like a very young man indeed.

On Monday morning Richard Queen phoned to tell Jessie he had started the ball rolling on Lieutenant Dimmesdale with a connection of his at the Pentagon, and that he would have to stick close to his phone all day.

“What are your plans, Jessie?” he asked anxiously. “I haven’t got you covered daytimes.”

“Oh, I’ll be all right. I have some laundry and a few other things to do, and then I thought I’d hop a cab and give that bachelor’s sty of yours the thorough housecleaning I promised. If you wouldn’t mind my coming, I mean.”

“Mind,” he said in a fervent tone. “And here I was all gloomed up. But be careful on the way, Jessie!”

Jessie arrived a little past noon. At her ring he bellowed that the door was off the latch, and she went in to find him on the phone in Ellery’s study, waving at her through the study doorway.

“Richard Queen, why didn’t you tell me your Mrs. Fabrikant had been here? Or is this your work?”

He grinned and went on talking.

“Not that it still doesn’t need doing,” Jessie sniffed. She hung her taffeta coat and her hat in the foyer, prepared to take her handbag into the bathroom, change into a housedress, and sail in. But when she got further into the living room, there was the gateleg table set for two with winking silver and fancy paper napkins. He had decorated a big platter artistically with assorted cold cuts, deviled eggs, potato salad, parsley, and tomato slices, and the aroma from the kitchen told her the coffee was perking.

Jessie turned the gas down under the coffeepot with the strangest thrill of proprietorship.

So they lunched tête-à-tête, and he told her that he had just finished arranging for an around-the-clock watch on Connie Coy’s apartment.

“But who’s watching?” Jessie asked, astonished.

“Four retired members of the Force,” he grinned. “Al Murphy and Pete Angelo signed up last night. Pete got Hughie Giffin for me this morning, and that was ex-Lieutenant of Homicide Johnny Kripps just now trying to climb through the phone. Murphy and Angelo for daytime duty, Giffin and Kripps for dark-to-dawn. And four better officers you couldn’t find between here and the west forty.”

“Connie Coy is back, then?”

“No. That’s one of the reasons I want the building covered. This way I’ll know the minute she gets home.”

When Jessie came out of the bathroom after lunch, in a housedress and with her hair bound in a scarf, she found him washing the lunch dishes.

“Here, Richard, I’ll do those.”

“You go on about your business. I’m a pearl diver from way back.”

But afterward he trailed her around the apartment in a pleased way, making a nuisance of himself.

“Haven’t you anything to do?” She was washing the living-room windows, and she suspected she had a dirt smudge on her nose. “Goodness!”

“I’ll go call Abe Pearl,” he said hastily. “Been meaning to do it all day.”

“Are you going to tell him about Finner’s death and how it ties in with the baby?”

“I called Abe on that early last week.”

“You never told me. What did he say?”

“I couldn’t repeat it.”

“Then Chief Pearl’s not so sure about my optical illusions,” Jessie couldn’t help saying.

“I’m afraid Abe’s not sure about anything any more.”

He went into the study and called Taugus police headquarters.

“Abe? Dick Queen.”

“Dick!” Abe Pearl roared. “Wait a minute.” Richard Queen heard him say, “Borcher, shut that door, will you?” and the slam of a door. “Okay, Dick—”

“I thought you were going to call me back last week.”

“Call you back? I’ve called that damn number of yours two dozen times. Don’t you ever stay home? What’s going on, Dick? Honeymoon — or something — with the Sherwood number?”

“Don’t be funny,” the old man said huffily.

“All right, all right. But you’ve tied my hands, I don’t dare buzz Centre Street for information — I’m sitting out here like a bump on a log. Come on, Dick, give!”