Clean Sweep
Roger Torrey

Dal Prentice stood with feet apart, heavy eyebrows meeting in a line above hard eyes. He stared at the blonde young woman, said: “And he just walked in and started shooting, eh? Where was you?” in a sceptical voice. His eyes didn’t blink, held round and scowling.
The woman looked back defiantly, met the hard glare, turned her eyes towards the side of the room and away. She pointed, said: “I was in the kitchen. There. I let him in and he said, ‘I want to see Margie,’ and I called her. I knew he was her old man. I went in the kitchen and then the shooting started.”
“And then?”
“Well, I waited a minute and heard him run out and then I went in.”
“What didja wait for?”
“My gawd! Did I want to get shot?”
Prentice considered. He said: “Well, I s’pose not,” in an easier tone, turned, called through the door of the bedroom at his right: “How ‘bout it, Doc?” said: “All right, all right,” to the irritable voice that called back a request for time, and swung to the blonde again. He asked: “Who was with her when he come?”
“Nobody.”
He spoke to the lean man at his elbow. “Y’see, Al. He just comes in and starts shooting. What a honey!”
The lean man looked bored, offered: “Maybe he was sore,” in a voice that showed a total lack of interest, and Prentice snorted: “Sore!” and slewed back to the woman.
“You said nobody?”
The blonde stuck out her lower lip.
“I said nobody.”
“No?”
“No.”
Prentice smoothed his voice and smiled. His eyes didn’t soften. He said: “Now, now, be nice. Tell a man. Who was with her? This heel wouldn’t have killed her if she’d been alone, would he?”
“He did.”
“Now, now. You know what the score is. Let’s tell secrets.”
“You tell me one and I’ll tell you one.”
The blonde took in her lower lip, tried a smile, and the grin left Prentice’s face and he snapped: “Okay! This Marge is a witness against Pat Kailor on the murder rap he’s facing. The witness. If that’s a secret, you’re told. Who was with her?”
“Nobody.”
“That’s your story?”
“It’s the truth.”
Prentice gritted: “Like hell!” between his teeth, took a step ahead with his hand raised, and the lean man at his side caught his arm, held it, said: “Easy, Dal! Don’t be a chump.”
“She’s lying.”
“What of it?”
The blonde girl said: “You’re Allen, aren’t you?” and he dropped Prentice’s arm, told her: “Yes.”
“I’m not lying.”
Allen slid between the scowling Prentice and the girl, said softly: “No... just stalling. Let me put it in a different way. Who was with her earlier if there wasn’t anybody here when he came?”
The blonde said: “I... uh...” looked past Allen and caught Prentice’s eye and finished: “There was three,” in a hurried voice.
“Who?”
“Two of ‘em I don’t know. They been here before but they wasn’t looking for anyone in particular. The other one wanted Margie.”
“Who was he?”
“Hal Cross. That bird of a deputy District Attorney. If it wasn’t that he’d have closed me up I wouldn’t have let him in the house.”
Allen flashed Prentice a look, said: “Oh, oh,” with the accent on the first one. He asked the blonde: “You sure?”
“I should be. He stuck me on a liquor rap that cost me a hundred dollar fine. They only found part of a pint.”
“What did he want?”
The woman shrugged. “Margie. Margie come in the room when I was talking to him or he’d never have seen her. I was just going to tell him she was out, but she come in and I flashed her not to crack wise and he says to her, ‘I want to see you,’ and she takes him in her bedroom.”
“Why didn’t you want him to see her?”
The muscles on the girl’s jaw tightened. She flashed out: “A hundred dollars. Didn’t you hear? He told me if I copped a plea he’d see it was suspended.”
Allen laughed suddenly, said: “Tough break!” and to the man in the white coat who came out of the bedroom: “Howzit, Doc?”
The police surgeon had glasses jammed up on his forehead. He was wiping his hands on a towel but one sleeve had a bloody cuff. He shook his head, growled: “Dead. About two minutes after I got here. She was unconscious.”
Prentice grunted: “How ‘bout one of the slugs?” and the surgeon reached into the pocket of the white coat, pulled out a piece of lead and tossed it to him. The bloody cuff made a smear by the pocket and he swabbed at this with the towel, complained; “I put this on fresh, not an hour ago. Damn these shootings,” added in a tired voice: “I suppose you’ll want to know. Thirty-eight. Three times. Stomach and twice in the right lung. Almost centre, the last one. Looks like he turned that one loose just as she was falling. It slants. She never spoke a word. That cover it?”
Prentice looked at the bullet, tossed it from one hand to the other while he thought. He turned to the woman, asked: “You sure she and this heel that killed her was married?”
“Uh-huh! There was an argument once, and she showed me her certificate.”
“What was his name on that certificate?”
She hesitated, just for an instant, then said: “Denzer-George Denzer.”
The surgeon stopped pawing at his coat with the towel. He looked up from this at the two detectives and the woman, jerked out irritably: “Well! Is there any reason I’ve got to stay here? How about it?”
“Okay, Doc! We’ll lock the room until the print and cameramen get here. Thanks a lot.”
The doctor grunted: “For nothing! Be seeing you,” and went out. The white coat made a grey blotch in the darkness as he climbed into the ambulance.

Prentice argued: “You don’t get it, Cap! Here’s this gal bumped. The story’ll be her old man come back to town and finds her in a spot. He’ll be supposed to’ve gone screwy and given her the works in a fit of rage. See. He’ll either beat the rap or get at the most five years. See. He’s got a swell defence. Outraged husband finds wife hustling. The only thing is, it ain’t so.”
Captain of Detectives Hallahan said: “Why ain’t it, Dal?” in a weary voice.
“Well, for one thing, Hal Cross come to see her earlier in the evening. I could tell that the landlady was hushing something and I figured there was a man in the room with her when her husband came in. There wasn’t. It turned out that Cross had been down and seen her and left.”
“What of it?”
Prentice laughed. “Plenty! Three months ago I told you there was going to be trouble over the contract to run the new paving out on Seventh. That it’d be juicy enough to bring out all the sharpshooters. You said I was screwy but here’s the second killing over this same contract. Screwy, hell!”
“You are screwy. You add two and two and get nine. Or nineteen.”
“Then nine or nineteen is the right answer. Cap, I know.”
“You mean you guess.”
“Listen. Hal Cross is the deputy in charge of prosecuting Kailor, who’s charged with killing Grossman, who was chairman of the board of supervisors. There’s one tie-up with the paving contract. Now this Margie gal would’ve proved Kailor guilty of that shooting. She was an eyewitness to it. Cross seeing her makes a further tie-up.”
“You’re screwy but go on.” Hallahan leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes but the fingers of his right hand continued their nervous drumming on the battered desk.
“I hate to say it but Hal’s mixed in some way. He went down to buy her off and she wouldn’t go for the shot. He, or somebody, had it all arranged with this husband of hers to gun her out if she didn’t.”
“Cross is the prosecutor, not the defence attorney. It don’t make sense. You got paving contracts on the brain and can’t see anything else to it.”
“Have I? It’d make sense if Hal was working for Izzy Schwartz as well as the DA. It all works in. Izzy Schwartz was after that big paving job. Grossman doesn’t let him in and Grossman gets bumped. If Izzy don’t clear Kailor on this Grossman rap, Kailor’ll spill his guts. What was Cross down there for if he ain’t mixed in the mess?”
Hallahan held his hand palm out. His eyes were half closed but his voice held heat. “You’re dingy about the whole affair, Dal. Hal Cross is a good boy. You’re trying to figure out angles when there ain’t any angles. Even if you were right about Grossman getting killed over this paving steal, you’re wrong about Hal being wrong. Kailor might’ve been working for Schwartz but Cross isn’t. That’s the trouble with you. You get a notion and let it ride you. Cross isn’t mixed.”
Prentice made his jaw lumpy, slammed the table. “Hal Cross is. Al and I’ve known that for two months or more.” He slammed the desk for emphasis. “And... I’ll... prove... it. I’m going out and pick up this rat that killed his wife and I’ll prove it by him. A heel like that’ll talk.”
Hallahan brushed white hair back from his forehead, opened light blue eyes. He shrugged: “Go ahead if it makes you feel any better. I was going to put Peterson and McCready on it but you can have it. God himself couldn’t blast an idea out of that pig head of yours.”
“Allen thinks the same way I do.”
“He does?” Hallahan looked questioningly up at Allen and the lean man nodded, took a match from his mouth, said mildly: “Dal’s right, Cap! He’s bound to be.” He looked at the frayed end of the match, threw it on the floor. “Once in a while. Let’s go, Dal.”
Prentice followed him to the door, turned and glowered at Hallahan. He said: “And I’ll tell you what’ll happen. If we don’t find him, he’ll come in by himself as soon as everything’s fixed. Hal Cross’ll have it set for him to prosecute. And the guy’ll have the best lawyer Izzy Schwartz’s money can buy and he’ll beat the case. And mind you, I like Hal Cross. I used to think he was honest.” He stared hard at Hallahan, jerked out: “You see! The rat!” without saying for whom the name was meant, and went out.
Hallahan didn’t seem to have any doubt about whom was meant. He said: “Izzy Schwartz!” under his breath, as if he didn’t like the words.

After putting out a general alarm for George Denzer, husband and killer of the woman, Prentice and Allen methodically contacted all of the stools they knew. This was without result for the first day but late in the afternoon of the next, Prentice answered the phone, talked, and banged the receiver down with a satisfied expression. He told Allen, seated across from him: “Toad Simpson. He says Denzer’s holed up in a house on Alvarado. 1423 West Alvarado. Can’t miss it, he says. As soon as it gets dark we’ll take him.”
Allen looked bored and agreed, asked: “Do we take a squad?” and Prentice said with rising excitement: “No! It’d cramp us. I’ll sweat this frame out of him or break both hands. This Denzer thinks he’s got power back of him and I’ll show him a different kind.”
“We might take McCready. He won’t talk.”
“Well, all right. He can cover the back and we’ll crash it. You tell him.”
Allen nodded, yawned, and sauntered out to the general room, leaving Prentice staring at one big-knuckled hand and muttering about wife-killers.

With McCready at the back door, Prentice and Allen went quietly, side by side, up on the porch, tried the door as softly, found it open and stepped inside, guns out and covering the blackness they met. The flashlight in Allen’s hand clicked on with the light as far from his side as he could hold the torch, and as it ranged he said: “Too late!” in a hushed voice, bolstered his gun and turned the house lights on from the switch the flash picked out. Prentice made no answer until he had soft-footed through the other three rooms and back and looked again at the body on the floor.
He finally said: “I knew he was stiff the minute I saw him. I can tell a stiff as far as I can see one.” He motioned at the knife in the hollow of the dead man’s throat, pointed out: “And whoever done it twisted the knife.”
Allen still wore a bored look but his face was a shade whiter. “He ain’t been dead long. There’s still a little bleeding yet.” He raised his voice, shouted: “Hi! Mac! Come in!”
The three men stood looking soberly at the body and finally Prentice knelt and taking his handkerchief from his pocket wrapped it around the haft of the knife. Allen said warningly: “Why not leave...”
With both the front and back doors open the shrill of the police whistle carried no hint of direction, and while McCready raced to the back door, both Prentice and Allen dashed out the front. The whistle shrilled again and Prentice cursed, cried out: “In the back!” and they circled the house with Allen tripping over a low hedge concealed in the shadow.
They came to the back, Prentice ten feet in the lead, saw McCready leaning against a garbage container, shoot into the blackness at the end of the lot... and saw a tongue of flame lance back from the black and McCready sit down suddenly and lean against the can. Prentice dashed past him, the marksman at the end of the lot fired again, and Prentice slid to his belly and shot back.
Allen shouted: “Roll to the side, you fool! The kitchen light’s showing you!” He dived past the prone Prentice into shade, then ten feet ahead. He shot once, heard a door slam, shouted: “They’re in the house that faces the back street. I’ll head ‘em off from the front of it. We got ‘em boxed.”
He got to his feet and running low, went past the side of the house and around to its front. Prentice slid back to McCready, stooped over him, and the hidden gun blasted again and the can by his side clanged. He took McCready by the feet and drew him back into shelter, heard Allen bawl out: “I’m set. How’s Mac?”
Prentice drew a whistle from his pocket and blew three times, called back: “In the body some place. Ambulance case and quick. He’s bleeding from the nose and mouth.” He heard Allen blow his own whistle three times... then three times more... heard an answering rattle of a nightstick some distance away... then another whistle at the same distance.
Lights were flashing on in the house next door and when Prentice saw the back door show a thread of light he called: “You there in the house! Come here quick! It’s police!” The door opened wide; the marksman cornered in the rear house fired again and there was a frightened squawk and the door closed and the light went out. Prentice bawled impatiently: “You in there. Leave that light out and come here. You won’t get hurt.”
A side window opened and a voice quavered: “I... I’m af-f-fraid.”
“Hurry and phone the police station to send riot cars and an ambulance to this address. Hurry, man! There’s an officer dying here. Tell ‘em Prentice said so.”
“Riot cars and an ambulance?”
“Yes! Hurry, man! Riot cars and an ambulance. Hurry!”
The window went blank and in a moment he heard an excited voice say: “Operator! Operator! The police station. Quick!” He lifted McCready’s head higher, McCready coughed bloody foam and he lowered him hastily.
Allen shouted: “How’s Mac?”
Prentice felt McCready’s wrist and found a strong pulse and shouted back: “He’ll make it, I think, if they get him to a hospital quick.”
The voice at the window asked: “He dead yet? The police are coming. With an ambulance.”
“Good! Thanks! Stick out in front and tell ‘em where I am and not to rush in here.”
“I’ll not leave my house.”
“Go to the front window and holler then.”
Another whistle shrilled and Prentice heard flat feet pounding down the sidewalk. He shouted: “In here. Come close to the house,” and in a moment a uniformed man was alongside him. He said: “Take care of this man. No matter what, you stay here. Got it?” He slid close to the back door of the rear house, keeping in the shadow, shouted: “Al! They’re on their way.”
“Good. I found the guy that started this. The copper.”
“Yeah!”
“He was laying alongside the house when I found him. He saw something moving and told whatever it was to come out. Nothing came so he blew his whistle and went in after whatever it was. He got crowned.”
Prentice could hear a dissenting voice. “He says it wasn’t a whatever. It was two guys.”
“They must just have killed the guy and were making their sneak when he come along. Make him watch the other side.”
“I have.”
Prentice heard the moan of an ambulance siren, followed by a deeper, lustier roar that he identified as the riot squad cars and he heard and segregated the latter sound as belonging to three of these. He said: “Eighteen men and the works!” with an evil grin, hurried past McCready and the watching patrolman to the street and called: “Doc! Here he is. You need a stretcher.”
He watched McCready get loaded on the stretcher, saw one limp hand trail along the ground as he was carried to the ambulance, hurried to the first of the riot cars drawn up along the walk and commandeered a shotgun and took command.
He ordered: “You six cover the front and where you can watch the sides. Snap it up. Lieutenant Allen is there and he’ll tell you. You three get on this side and you other three on that one. They’ve got Lieutenant McCready already, so watch your step. You four, come with me. I’m going in, and you cover me.”
He started with head down, walking fast towards the back door of the house that held the imprisoned men. One of the four men with him came along his side, said: “Here’s a grenade, Lieutenant! For God’s sake, don’t go in with nothing but a shotgun.”
The interruption shook Prentice out of the black rage the sight of the wounded McCready had bred in him and he stopped while yet in the shadow, bawled out: “Hey! You in there! Come out or we’re coming in. Quick!”
There was a moment’s silence, then a voice shouted back: “We got some people in here that ain’t mixed in this. Can they come out?”
“Send ‘em.”
Prentice called a low-voiced warning and the four men with him scattered out, watching the house. The back door opened and a man and woman came out, the woman half-carrying, half-dragging the man. She stopped when just outside the door, and Prentice called. “Come on. Get clear.”
The woman laughed hysterically, said: “They come in and pointed guns at us and my husband fainted.” She wavered a moment, dropped the unconscious man and started to slump down, and Prentice stepped from the shadow of the bush and started towards her.
A gun crashed from the back window and he jumped back, slid to his belly, said: “She’ll just have to faint,” in a resigned voice. The gun blasted again and two of the men with him shot back at the pale tongue of flame. He said from the ground: “Hold ‘em. I can’t rush the back door with them two laying in front of it. I’ll go in from the front with the pineapple.”
He eased on his belly out of the range of fire from the back window and to the front, called softly: “Al! Oh, Al!” heard an answer and said: “Cover me. I’m on my way.”
He got to his feet, pulled the pin on the grenade, took two steps towards the house and lobbed the bomb to the front porch with just force enough to carry it to the door, dropped, counted five before the crash and was on his feet again running as the shock came to him. He saw the front door hanging crazily on broken hinges, smashed into it shoulder first, with his pistol in his hand, and was in the hall and shooting at the dim shape outlined against the hall window when he heard Allen’s feet pound the floor behind him. The shape fired back once, went down with the combined blast of his and Allen’s guns, and he turned, cursed, said: “You would shoot in my ear. He was cold turkey for me. You wrecked that ear, sure as hell.”
He heard Allen laugh and crept cautiously down the hall, heard a burst of pistol shots and the deep roar of a shotgun, stood up and said: “Broke out the back! It’s curtains!” They heard a shout from outside that confirmed this guess, saw the man in the hall was a stranger and quite dead, went out the back door and found the guard placed there grouped around a body that had just cleared the window.
The woman by the steps sat up as they came out, said in a shaky voice: “They said they had shot a policeman and that they were afraid to give up.” Allen patted her shoulder, said: “They were smart.” He followed Prentice to the body and as they reached it one of the men snapped a light on, showing the dead face. Prentice asked: “Any of you know who... My good God! It’s Williams, of the DA.’s office.”
The silence held for a long minute-was broken by one of the uniformed men blurting out: “Jeeze!”

Dal Prentice nodded at Hallahan triumphantly and said: “Does that check?” in a tone that showed his satisfaction. He added: “I may be screwy about paving contracts but it’s proving up.” He turned to the new chairman of supervisors, who sat across the desk, said: “Didn’t Mr Cross tell you where he heard this fairy story? Who’s supposed to’ve told him all this, Mr Heilig?”
Heilig was florid-faced and heavy-chinned. One eyelid had a tic and this twitched as he said: “Mr Cross didn’t reveal his source of information. I asked him but he refused to tell. Frankly, Lieutenant Prentice, I’ll admit I believe him.”
Allen, from the side, offered: “So do I.”
Hallahan’s voice was incredulous. “Do you mean, Mr Heilig, that because you hear a cock-and-bull story about why a man was murdered... a story without the slightest bit of proof or verification to back it up... you believe it? Do you realise that you are practically accusing Izzy Schwartz of having Grossman killed because he wasn’t going to favour Schwartz on this paving business?”
Heilig shrugged and spread his hands. He said evenly: “I’m telling you what Hal Cross told me. I’m frank in saying I believe him and I want protection.” The tic became more pronounced. “Cross claims that I am in danger unless I do throw my influence in his way and I’ll not do it.” His face tightened. “Am I to understand you will do nothing about this?”
Hallahan said hurriedly: “I’ll be very glad to detail a man or two men to go with you.”
Prentice jeered: “So they’ll make him an easier target, huh? This backs up what I think, don’t it?”
“What you think!” Hallahan said, sarcastically.
“My reason for coming to your office, Captain,” Heilig said, “wasn’t alone this. I’m honestly nervous over this warning but there’s another angle you seem to overlook. Sid Grossman was a damn’ good man and a damn’ good friend of mine. He was killed for some reason, and this is a good explanation. May I say that I don’t understand your attitude towards this same explanation? It seems to me you should be interested in any possible lead.”
Hallahan’s face showed red. He snapped: “We got the man in jail that killed him. Lead, hell! We got the killer.”
Allen’s voice was very mild as he pointed out: “But he won’t be convicted. There are no witnesses, now, that he is the killer.”
Hallahan stood up, crossed to the wall and stared at a reward poster. His clenched hands were behind his back and showed the knuckles white. He didn’t turn as Heilig said: “Lieutenant Prentice tells me that he believes Schwartz to be responsible for that. That he thinks Kailor was hired by Schwartz.”
Hallahan turned and glared at him. He blurted out: “Lieutenant Prentice also thinks that Cross is mixed up in that. I’ve known that boy for ten years, helped him get his deputy job for that matter, and he’s mixed, according to Lieutenant Prentice. All I hear this last few days is Cross, Kailor and Schwartz, and now more of it.”
Heilig shrugged and Hallahan swung around to Prentice. “Dal! You’re so damn’ sure about this, you see that Mr Heilig is protected.” He added with heavy sarcasm: “Why don’t you go up and see Schwartz and tell him to tend to his paving business and quit the murder racket. Tell Cross, too, while you’re at it.”
“That’s an idea at that.”
“Mr Heilig, we’ll see that you have two men with you that’ll do everything but get in the bathtub with you. That is,” he bowed to Prentice, “Lieutenant Prentice will see that you have. How’s that? As far as Kailor being convicted for killing Grossman, I’m not the DA. I’m only in charge of the department that puts ‘em in jail for the DA to convict. That isn’t up to me.”
Allen said to Heilig in the same mild voice: “That wasn’t meant as a rib.”
“I take it that Cross didn’t threaten you,” Hallahan said to Heilig... “that he warned you. Is that right?”
“That’s the way I took it. He as much as told me that Schwartz was the man that hired Kailor to kill Grossman for that reason, and that I was in danger for the same reason.”
“All right, Dal! This don’t fit your pipe dream about Cross being in it.”
“Why don’t it fit? Maybe Cross is losing his guts. Maybe he figures that Mr Heilig will take it as a warning and throw the deal to Schwartz.”
“Maybe!” Hallahan snorted contemptuously. “Maybe this, maybe that. I guess this and I guess that. But you don’t know.” He turned to Heilig. “Maybe you’ll go for Schwartz then if you’re so damn worried about this.”
Heilig said: “I didn’t ask to be appointed to the board in Grossman’s place but...” His voice grew firm as he finished the sentence. “As long as I am, I’ll do as I think best, regardless of threats.” He walked to the door. “Then you’ll see I’m protected, whether you believe there’s a need or not. Is that right?”
“Right.”
Heilig went out and Hallahan snapped out: “I’ll be dingy if this keeps up.”
“You and me both. C’mon, Al.”
“Where you going?”
Prentice grinned: “Up and see Schwartz. That was an idea.”

Prentice led the way down the hall and past the door that said: ‘Magna City Construction Company-Izadore Schwartz, President’... around a jog in the hall and to a door that said “Private”. The door opened on an intersection with one branch corridor leading to the back and service elevators. There was no one in that corridor and it was apparently rarely used. He raised his hand to knock and the door opened under it and Schwartz, with his back partially turned to the opening door said: “Then, Gino, you go ahead and...” He turned from the man inside the room, said: “Why, why, hello, Lieutenant!”
Prentice shouldered past him, said: “I didn’t know you had company,” in an ironic tone. Allen followed him into the room, staring hard at the man called Gino, and Gino backed to the desk, sat on its edge.
Schwartz still held the door. He said: “Of course I’m always glad to see you, Lieutenant, but...” He coughed. “I have a secretary in the outer office to announce visitors. I might have been busy instead of all through with my talk.” He made an almost imperceptible motion with his head towards the still open door, and Gino came to his feet, said: “I’ll be seeing you then, Mr Schwartz.”
“Come up any time. Lieutenant Prentice is an old friend of mine... such an old friend he doesn’t bother to be announced.” He slightly stressed the name.
Gino’s sloe eye swivelled to Prentice. He said: “Prentice?” slowly, hesitated, again said: “Prentice?” with the same question in his voice and Prentice said: “Yeah!” He reached out, said: “I’ll close the door,” and Gino said: “But I’m just going!” Schwartz was still holding the door and Prentice took it and as Schwartz released his hand, closed it, asked: “Where? Not by any chance to see Heilig, were you?”
Gino said: “I don’t understand!” in an angry voice, and Allen spoke from the side. “You got a permit for that gun you’re packing there under your arm?” His eyes had not left Gino since he had entered the room but his face was blank.
“Yeah! I got one.”
“Let’s see it.”
Gino produced a wallet and the permit from the wallet, and Allen looked it over and handed it back. He said to Prentice: “It’s from that heel of a police chief down at Colton. It’s good any place in the county though.”
Gino grinned. Prentice opened the door and Gino started towards it, but as he went out his eyes slewed back at Prentice, with a malevolent gleam.
Schwartz went back of his desk, asked: “What was it you boys wanted?” His tone was mild but his eyes were very cautious.
Prentice leaned over the desk, spoke bluntly. “To tip you to lay off Heilig.”
“I don’t get you.”
“Why stall! Listen, Schwartz! We know why Grossman was killed. Know! Get that. Don’t let it happen to Heilig.”
“Don’t be silly, Lieutenant: I’m running a reputable business and I won’t stand for that kind of talk.”
“No-o-o? You’re running a contracting business that depends on what you can swing from the city hall.” He leaned farther over the desk, his eyes dark and smoky looking, his lips curled over his teeth in a snarl. “Listen, Schwartz! You may be a big shot but you ain’t big enough to murder in order to swing these same contracts. You can burn as easy as the next man. Don’t forget that. Lay-off-Heilig!”
“Is that what you came up to tell me?”
“Just that!”
Schwartz laughed, mocked: “Just that! Listen, you heel! You make trouble for me and I’ll have your job in twenty-four hours. Now get to hell out of my office.”
Allen took hold of Prentice’s arm, shook it. He said: “All right, Dal, that’s enough. He’s told. It’s up to him.” He started Prentice towards the door and Schwartz asked: “What makes you think I’ve got anything to do with Heilig?” but Allen laughed and ignored the question. He said: “Come on, Dal!” and opened the door, but turned there and said to Schwartz: “You’d be safer at that.”
“What do you mean by that crack?”
“If you got our jobs in twenty-four hours. Be seeing you.” He laughed again, as followed by Prentice, he went out.
The door slammed, cutting off Prentice’s muttered: “In jail!”
The two men started down the dim back corridor that led to the service elevators. Allen wore rubbers heels, and only Prentice’s footsteps made sound. They rounded a turn in the hall, passed a tiny closet reserved for the storage of janitor supplies and as they passed it Allen, who was behind, shouldered into Prentice, knocking him to one side. At the same time he caught Gino’s arm, deflected the blade that was directed between Prentice’s shoulders. Prentice turned, saw what was happening, and swung his gun from under his arm and against Gino’s jaw with the same motion, and Gino slid to the floor between them. The knife clattered against the wall.
Allen panted out: “I saw a shadow. That’s all. He was in the closet.” He reached for the knife, added: “Hell! What a shiv!”
Prentice reached down and hauled Gino to his feet. He said: “I’ve seen this mug some place, or his picture. D’ya suppose Schwartz hired him for this?”
“Let’s ask him.”
They turned and started back the hall to Schwartz’s office and when they reached it, grinned at each other, knocked, and when Schwartz opened the door filed through, carrying the unconscious Gino with them. Prentice said: “Look what we found in the hall, Schwartz,” and threw Gino half across the room to where he fell on the desk and from there to the floor. In falling he took a dictaphone and two letter baskets down with him.
Schwartz stood by the door staring at Gino and Allen asked: “What d’ya know about him?”
“Nothing much. What’s happened?”
“Not one damn’ thing yet. He made a mistake and started to stick Dal with about a yard of shiv and we took it away from him. Didn’t you expect it?”
“My God, no!” Schwartz’s tone carried conviction.
“Who is he anyway?”
“Gino Petrone. He came up to see me about a job.”
“Didja give him one?”
“No.”
Prentice said slowly: “He’ll have one for about five years now. Working for the state. That’ll be a load off his mind.”
“Surely you boys don’t think that...”
“Hell, no, Schwartz! We don’t think. We wouldn’t be policemen if we did.” Allen picked up Gino, who was showing signs of renewed interest in life, and hauled him to his feet. He said: “C’mon, boy friend. Let’s go down and see what you think of our ail jay.” He boosted him to the door, waved his hand at Schwartz and said: “Be seeing you, like I said we would.” His voice was cheerful.
Schwartz said: “That’s right, you did say that.” He looked worried, cursed when he put the shattered dictaphone back on the desk.

Dal Prentice said: “But we have to see him tonight. We’ll wait.”
The maid had a tiny white apron over a black uniform and a white cap, that matched the apron, perched on one side of her head. She rattled the chain that held the door from further opening, explained again: “Mr Cross didn’t leave any word,” and Prentice, as patiently, said again: “Then we’ll wait for him.” She looked undecided and he showed her his badge and identification card, told her: “It’s business from Mr Cross’s office that’s supposed to be a secret. Get it?”
“But Mr Cross didn’t say...”
“He didn’t know we were coming tonight or he’d have waited.”
“It’s my night off and I was going to a show.”
“We won’t stop you. We have to see Mr Cross tonight. It’s important.”
“Well, I guess it’s all right.”
“Sure it is, sister.”
She opened the door, said: “I guess you could wait in the library,” and Allen said: “That’d be fine.” As they went in he poked a finger at the white cap, and she giggled and blushed.
Prentice asked: “Any idea where Mr Cross went?”
“He didn’t say.” She hesitated a second, offered: “But you might get him at Mr Schwartz’s house. I answered the phone just before Mr Cross went out, and Mr Schwartz was on the line. Shall I call and see?”
Allen said: “Oh, don’t bother!” in a hasty voice. He was glancing at the flat desk and the pile of letters on it and the girl saw his glance and misunderstood. She blushed again. “It looks terrible but Mr Cross won’t have me tidy it. He says that important papers might be misplaced or lost.”
Prentice was looking at a decanter and tray of glasses on a stand made by a very small but very modern safe. He grinned at the flustered maid, said: “D’ya think a drink would be misplaced?” and Allen said: “Shut up, you chiseller.”
The girl laughed, went to the door, asked: “Do you really think Mr Cross wouldn’t be mad if I did go? I’ve had the date for a week.”
Allen said: “I’m sure it will be all right. We’ll take care of things.” He was still looking at the papers.
The girl coughed and blushed again, asked: “Do you know a policeman named Kerrigan?”
“Don’t believe so.”
“I go with him steady.”
“Lucky man!”
She went out and as she did, Prentice grunted: “Yeah! If he’s deaf!” and lifted the decanter. Allen said nothing in return, sorted papers on the desk.
When they heard the front door slam a half hour later Allen had a bulge in his inner coat pocket and Prentice had a perceptible flush on his face. The level in the decanter was four inches lower than on their arrival and both men held glasses. Cross stopped in the doorway, blurted out: “What... how...”
“The maid let us in, Hal. She had a date.”
“Sorry I was out, Prentice. Been waiting long?” He flashed a look at the desk, said sharply: “The maid should have taken you in the other room.”
Allen chose to misunderstand and looked at the decanter. He said: “We figured you’d have bought a drink if you’d been here so we went ahead. Sorry if we overstepped.” His grin did not show sorrow.
Cross reddened, said: “I didn’t mean it that way, Lieutenant. You are very welcome. Lieutenant Prentice and I are old friends.” He sat down back of the desk, worried eyes searching the litter, asked: “What is the trouble, or is it just a friendly call? I hate like the devil to talk business after I leave the office, Dal; you know that.”
Prentice stared over the rim of his glass at him. “We could have seen you at the office as well as not. Or can see you, rather. It’s up to you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“What’s the tie-up between you and Schwartz?”
Cross half rose from his chair, dropped back. His face turned white and his eyes bulged. He repeated: “Tie-up!” in little more than a gasp, pulled at his collar with his left hand while his right stirred the scattered papers on the desk.
Allen said: “They’re here!” and tapped his breast pocket. “We thought you’d rather talk it over with us here than down to the office. You being a good friend of Hallahan and Dal both.”
Cross choked and dropped his right hand below the desk top, while his left still pulled at his collar. Prentice took his eyes from his tortured face and stared back at the whiskey glass. He said: “It might make things clearer, Hal, if we tell you what we know. Would it?” in a mild voice.
Cross made a strangled noise and nodded.
“You’re to get a cut from Schwartz if his paving deal goes through. So you go in on the Grossman deal. We put the finger on Kailor for that, and you go down and try to buy the witness that we dug up that saw the shooting. When she wouldn’t pop you had her killed.”
Cross made a motion with his left hand, still kept his right below the desk. He cried out: “Dal! No! You’re wrong on that.” His eyes were bulging and his voice was unrecognisable.
“Am I? You were in the Grossman deal.”
“Yes, but not that way. I thought he was to be bribed. I was to talk to him on Thursday, and he was killed Wednesday night. That’s the truth. I didn’t know a thing about it.”
“You were in it, just the same. Why were you fretting about Kailor taking the rap if you wasn’t mixed in it?”
Cross hung his head, stared down at what his right hand held. He blurted: “I... I... couldn’t help... I was...”
Prentice was leaning forward in his chair, whiskey glass poised in his hand, and Allen was listening with a half grin. Cross looked up, moving only his eyes, stammered: “I... I couldn’t help it.” He straightened his shoulders and tried to lift his head but the effort seemed too great and he motioned with his left hand towards the safe and said: “It’s all in there. Signed and all. I was afraid...”
Prentice’s eyes had followed the motion and when his glance came back to Cross he saw him bring his right hand up from under the desk. As he jammed the gun it held against his temple, Prentice threw the whiskey, glass and all, full into Cross’s face and in the same motion was leaning across the desk and had Cross’s wrist bent down and the gun pointing at the floor. He was in a position where he could not get leverage enough to free the gun from Cross and he cried out: “Al! Get it.”
Allen had not moved from his chair. He said: “What for? I took the shells out of it when I went through the desk. I knew damn’ well he’d try to do the Dutch when he got caught up with.” He laughed, and at the sound Cross wilted and put his head down in his arms on the desk. Prentice sat on the edge of the desk, balancing the gun, and Allen asked: “Blackmailed into it, weren’t you?”
The head nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell us? That’d been better than getting mixed in a murder.”
Cross looked up in horror, tear stains streaking his cheeks. “I wasn’t in that. I went down there to warn her. I got thinking about Grossman being killed and thought she was in danger.”
“She was in danger all right.”
“I told her she’d better leave town and not tell anyone where she was going. I was afraid of Schwartz, but I didn’t want any more people killed.”
“Why were you afraid?”
Cross made a motion towards the safe, said dully: “It’s all in there. I was in a jam for money and I took some from him. It was when those inspectors on the new Armoury job he contracted were under fire. I didn’t make a case against them, and he could have ruined me at any time after that. I’ve just been getting in deeper all the time.” He dropped his head, stared at his hands. “The only thing left is...” He shrugged and looked at the empty gun on the desk.
Prentice was staring at Cross, a question in his eyes. He jerked his head at Allen, said: “Al! See what you think of this,” led the way to a corner of the room and talked, nodding his head at Cross from time to time. They came back to the desk and Prentice asked: “If we show you a way out of this, will you play ball with us?”
Cross spoke in the same dull voice. “There’s no way out. Schwartz will have me killed when he knows I’ve talked. And the whole dirty business will come out.”
“There is a way. A chance at least.”
“I’ll do anything you want.” Cross’s face did not lighten.
“It’s compounding a felony.”
Cross smiled with no mirth, shrugged.
“It’ll take Schwartz and everyone else that knows a thing about your deals with him out of the way. It’s dangerous, though. Plenty!”
Cross looked at the empty gun on the desk, shrugged again.

Cross opened the door to Schwartz, said: “How are you, Izzy?” and to the dim shape behind him: “And you, Kailor?” He told Schwartz: “Gino’s here and I’ve let the maid go and my wife’s out of town. I thought this would be a better place to meet than at your office.”
Schwartz shrugged out of a topcoat, grunted: “It’d make no difference. What can’t be proved, won’t hang anybody,” and Kailor, behind him, laughed and added: “Stiffs can’t get up and testify.”
Cross led the way to the library and as he stood at the door to let Kailor past him before closing it, Schwartz strolled to the desk and stood looking at the papers still littering its surface. He said without looking up: “That was good work getting Gino out,” and nodded at the little Italian seated across from him. “If you hadn’t pointed out to the judge that he was a stranger in town and had no motive for attacking those two coppers, I doubt if the judge would have gone for only five grand for bail.”
Kailor walked behind Gino and sat down, still behind him and facing Schwartz, who was standing back of the desk. He grunted: “That jail is nobody’s bargain, either. Before the writ and bond caught up with me, these same two coppers worked me over plenty, but didn’t learn anything.” He spat on the heavy rug, and staring at the back of Gino’s head, said, “If I was a damn’ wop I’d have spilled my guts.”
Gino swung around, snapped: “What’s that!” and Schwartz said: “Now, now boys!” He spoke to Cross. “Kailor got in a jam once and an Italian boy spoke his piece. I’ve told him that Gino ain’t that way... that Gino’s right.”
Kailor grunted scornfully and Gino turned his eyes away from him and back to Schwartz, who was reading a letter he had picked up from the desk. Gino said: “Cross has been telling me that this Prentice came to see him when I was in jail.” His voice had a slight accent but was soft and low.
Schwartz looked up from the letter, sat down at the desk, said: “He told me, too. What of it? They didn’t learn anything.”
“Cross did.” Gino’s eyes were black and glowing, and Schwartz looked puzzled. “Cross learned plenty.”
“What do you mean by that?” Schwartz swung towards Cross but Gino rapped out: “I’m still talking!” and Schwartz turned back to him. “Cross said this copper told him he had a tip about my brother and Williams going to do the Denzer job. And that he was there waiting and that the only reason he didn’t catch ‘em in the house was because the job took no time. Did Cross tell you that?”
“Why, no,” Schwartz said slowly. “I figured they were tipped to Denzer’s hideout but that was all. He turned to Cross, asked: “Did they tell you that, Hal?” in a puzzled voice.
Cross said: “Yes, they did.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this?”
Cross shrugged: “I thought you knew it,” turned his head away from Schwartz.
“Thought I knew it!” Schwartz shook his head and put the letter down on the desk. “What is all this?”
Gino slipped his right hand up his left sleeve, said in his soft, low voice: “Why shouldn’t he think you knew it? The copper said your office called him and told him.” His right hand slid out from the sleeve and an inch of steel followed it. “You told me and Mario it was a cinch. Told us that Denzer expected us to come there and pay off for you. I couldn’t go, so Williams went with Mario instead. They run into a stake-out.”
Schwartz burst out: “You’re crazy!” His eyes were on the knife blade showing in the Italian’s sleeve.
“Like a fox, I’m crazy! You had the girl killed because she knew too much. And Denzer. Why not my brother and me? If we were killed by the cops, we couldn’t talk.”
Cross, at the right, was leaning against the library door and was twenty feet from the group at the desk. Kailor was some five feet behind and directly in back of Gino, who faced Schwartz across the desk. Wide French windows, closed and draped, were at the left of the room. Schwartz looked over Gino’s head, narrowed his eyes at Kailor, who nodded slightly in return.
Gino bent a little in his chair, whispered, “Well... ain’t it so?”
His hand moved out of his sleeve a little more, and Kailor took a blackjack from his pocket and balanced it in his hand. He stood up and Gino heard the movement and turned his head. Schwartz squirmed in his seat, dragged a gun from his hip pocket, and Gino caught the motion and turned back. He said: “You would!” and flashed the knife all the way clear from his sleeve, and with this, Schwartz shot from below the desk.
Kailor had the sap halfway up to strike, but with the shot fell forwards on Gino. Gino twisted free, flinging him to the floor, and as Schwartz fired again, leaned across the desk. Schwartz cried out and made an attempt to lift his gun above the desk, but Gino was halfway across it with his right hand out, and the gun barrel hit the edge of the desk and clattered to the floor.
Gino lunged with the knife once more, turned his head towards the windows as they crashed open. Prentice, already half through the windows, flinched as Allen fired past his ear. Gino fell across the desk with his right hand still holding the knife in Schwartz’s throat. Schwartz, with his hands around Gino’s and the knife, wavered and slowly fell towards him and across him.
Prentice stepped gingerly towards the desk, gun in hand, watching Kailor, who had not moved since Gino had thrown him to the floor. He turned him over, said: “Deader than hell!” and to Cross, leaning white-faced against the door: “Looks like a clean sweep. How did he get it... from what we heard it was between Gino and Schwartz.”
“He fell when Schwartz shot the first time. Schwartz missed Gino and got him.”
Allen was straightening the tangle on the desk. He said: “Gino ain’t dead. Not yet. He won’t last until the surgeon gets here, though.” He bent over the Italian, asked: “Can you talk? Listen, you! Can you talk?” and straightened with a shrug when he got no answer except in muttered Italian.
Cross said: “Oh, my God!” in a sick voice. He retched and Prentice went to him and patted him on the back and told him: “You’re okay now. You’ll be a hero from now on. ‘Deputy District Attorney traps band of yeggs.’” He turned to Allen, who was trying to telephone. “And you, you lug, that’s twice you’ve blown my ear damn near off me. Is it a game?”

Captain Hallahan looked up when the two men came into the Homicide office, his red face shining, his white hair in an angry ruff. He bellowed: “That wop that tried to knife you is out on bail and so is Kailor and I’ve tried to get you since four o’clock to stop it. Cross stood there and let their lawyer plead ‘em out on bail. Bail on a murder rap. That’s what we’ve come to!” He snorted violently. “Don’t stand there with silly grins on your faces. Where was you? In some speak drunk?” I’m going to the DA and build a fire under him that’ll burn Cross out of his lousy job inside of twenty-four hours. You was right on him at least; he’s a heel.”
Prentice said: “Easy, Cap! You got high blood pressure!” in a calm voice and this calm infuriated Hallahan the more.
He exploded: “You may think it’s a joke to have a hood like that out running around knifing people in the back, but by God I don’t. Where was you? Hey! Don’t you know you’re supposed to phone in if you can’t come in? Huh!” He added in a milder tone: “Lord! I been worried sick about you.”
Prentice sat on the edge of the desk and swung his leg back and forth. He said: “We couldn’t help it. We was busy and couldn’t phone.”
“Busy! You should’ve been out and picking them two up again. You could hold ‘em on an open charge.”
“Sure we could but why fret about them? They’re dead.”
Hallahan ruffled his hair, opened his mouth.
“They’re dead and so is Schwartz.”
Allen said: “They all killed each other. It was more fun!” and Prentice grinned: “Couldn’t you buy a boy a drink?”
Hallahan reached blindly for the drawer in his desk. He said: “Is this a rib?” and jerked his hand away from the drawer, roared: “By God if you think you can come in here and...”
“It’s no rib, Cap!” Prentice’s voice was soothing. “They’re all dead an we’re damn near it from needing a drink. Come on and pop. We even took care of Hal for you.”
Allen looked pointedly at the drawer.
“All right, all right. You chisellers!” Hallahan jerked the drawer open and Prentice sighed happily as he poured his glass over full. He waved it at Hallahan, a little of the whiskey splashed, and Hallahan cursed and moved a report blank out of danger. He said: “All right, I know you’re two smarties. Tell it! What you been trying to do?”
Allen corrected: “Not trying. Doing. It worked.”
Hallahan grimaced and spat towards a battered cuspidor. He snapped: “If it worked, it worked late. First the chairman of the Board of Supervisors killed. Then there’s a girl shot, then a man knifed, then two more killed resisting arrest. One of them a detective assigned to working for the DA. Then three more killed, all at the same time, you say. Something worked.” He snorted.
Allen said soberly: “Grossman was killed by Kailor. That wasn’t our fault. Then the girl that could have proved this was killed by her old man. We couldn’t help that either.”
“I s’pose not. Dal had the notion that Cross was mixed in that.” He snorted again.
Prentice tipped his head and drank and put the glass on the desk. He argued: “He was. The story I told you was all true... about the frame being this guy killed his wife because he caught her hustling. And Cross was supposed to see that the guy beat the case when it came up. The only thing was that Cross didn’t know this and that the plan was changed. Cross wasn’t in the change, either.”
“Go on.” Hallahan rapped nervous fingers on the desk.
“Schwartz hired two hoods to wipe out Denzer because he figured that’d be safer than having him stand trial. Gino and Mario Petrone. Gino struck a snag, got held in Centreville three days on a speeding charge, and Mario had to have somebody else go with him on the job. Schwartz got Williams, who was working for him just the same as Cross was to go. That’s all there was to it. We got there right after they done their stuff and cornered ‘em. Williams knew he couldn’t beat it if he was caught but figured he might break free if he fought it out. He didn’t but I’ll always say he tried.”
Allen took up the story while Prentice filled glasses. “Cross wasn’t in this because Schwartz figured he’d lost his nerve. He was right because Cross went down and warned the gal but he was too late. We went up and tried to scare Schwartz into laying off Heilig and run into this Gino. The crazy hood knew it was us that killed his brother and tried to knife Dal. I don’t think Schwartz had a thing to do with that.”
Hallahan said: “Maybe not. You could’ve stuck Gino on that.”
“Sure we could. And have him get not more than five years. We got hold of Cross and scared hell out of him. He was ready to crack and I think he had the notion that Kailor had spilled his guts to us when we give Kailor the works. We worked a frame with him, let him get Gino and Kailor out, and got him to set Gino against Schwartz. Gino was nuts about his brother getting the business and believed everything he was told. That’s all there was to it. When the beef started, Schwartz tried to kill Gino and popped Kailor by mistake. That saved us the bother.”
“And Gino killed Schwartz?”
“He surely did.” Allen looked reflective. “And the funny thing is, it was with a knife and he stuck him in the same place his brother stuck Denzer.” He tapped the hollow in his throat. “He even turned the knife the same way. I shot Gino through the chest but Schwartz had already hit him in the belly and he’d have died from that.”
“What about Cross?”
“He’s okay! He got blackmailed into working for Schwartz in the first place and he’s such a weak sister he couldn’t get guts enough to break loose. We’re covering him on the whole thing. That’s Dai’s idea.”
Hallahan argued: “But if he was in it?”
Prentice complained: “Oh, what the hell! It was just drag in a lot of dirt and he’s smarted up now. What would we make by it?” He leaned forwards. “Look, Cap! If he hadn’t worked with us we couldn’t have proved a thing on either Schwartz or Kailor and Gino’d only got maybe five years. He helps us and they kill each other off. Ain’t that better?”
Hallahan looked doubtful and Prentice persisted: “He got roped in on the whole damn’ thing. Give the guy a break. He’s been a friend of yours. And besides, the way politics are in this rotten town it’s a damn good thing to know there’s one deputy prosecutor that’s honest.”
Hallahan grinned slightly, said: “Even if he went crooked to get that way. Maybe you’re right. I always liked Hal.”
Prentice laughed suddenly, set his glass down. “I feel sorry for the poor guy. He’s got the messiest rug I ever saw in my life.” He grinned at Allen, added: “The hell he’ll catch when his old lady gets home.”