The development of crime detection in the last decade has followed
closely along the line of industrial development. Just as no great
commercial establishment can long survive without systematic management,
so no great detective force can develop efficiency with chaos on the
throne.
Centralization, through closer and ever more close systematization, has
not only been the tendency, but the great phenomenon of the modern
industrial world. The same condition obtains to-day in the police
profession.
A detective force, like the New York Central Office, is managed much the
same way as a big commercial enterprise. Under modern conditions every
large mercantile establishment must depend for success on the wisdom of
its directing genius combined with the intelligent cooperation of its
army of subordinates. In similar manner, the head of a big detective
bureau directs the efforts of his men to success or failure.
Moreover, the same qualities by which a man attains commercial eminence
will win distinction for him as a detective. Intelligence, persistence,
reliability, are the foremost essentials. But these qualities, while
enabling one to achieve success in subordinate posts, seldom carry one
to commercial or professional heights; to the all-commanding peaks of
power and glory. The industrial king is monarch by reason of his ability
to give efficient direction to the labor of others. The present-day
detective king wields his scepter for precisely the same reason.
As great business campaigns are managed and directed from a desk in the
office of the president or manager, so the ceaseless war against
criminals is directed from the desk of the detective chief. For, be it
remembered that the chief function of a detective force is to obtain
evidence that will convict.
In ninety per cent. of all crimes which the police are called upon to
investigate, the identity of the guilty person is soon established. The
baffling problem is to obtain evidence, admissible in a court of law,
which will convince a jury of the defendant's guilt. Even though a
person's guilt be apparent to all, the difficulties in shattering the
protecting wall which the law erects around every accused man or woman,
are frequently insuperable. Evidence which convinces the police or the
prosecuting attorney of the defendant's culpability is as likely as not
to be found incompetent in court and barred from the record. The result
is a verdict of acquittal and all the work of the police goes for
naught.
Unfortunately for the public at large, the Lecocq type of detective does
not exist outside the pages of fiction. But even were there a thousand
Lecocqs, reinforced by half a thousand Sherlock Holmeses, employed on
the New York detective force, it is doubtful whether their peculiar
ability would prove of much practical service. Their deductions,
wonderful and convincing though they might be, would never be permitted
to reach the ears of a jury.
So in the end, the great detective is the one who, seated at his desk,
with the reports of his dozens of subordinates before him, is able to
direct their collective efforts toward a single goal--the production of
such evidence as is admissible in a court of law.
Since countless writers of detective fiction have provided the public
with a most distorted notion of the methods of crime detection, it may
not prove unprofitable to devote a moment or two to a peep behind the
scenes at the Central Office.
Captain Manning is the titular head of the bureau. He finds on his desk
eleven police slips, each bearing in succinct outline the story of a
crime which requires the services of Central Office detectives.
Ordinarily he will assign two men to each crime and perhaps the same
day, or the following one, the detectives will make a verbal or written
report. Out of the eleven cases, perhaps ten will prove to be minor
robberies of no especial significance, except to the victims. On the
face of them, they are the work of professional house-breakers, or
pickpockets or hold-up men.
Manning will deliver a list of the stolen articles to his "pawnshop
men," who will inquire of all pawnbrokers whether anything on the list
has been pledged. Duplicate lists will also be left with all pawnbrokers
with the request that they notify the police if anyone offers to pledge
any of the stolen articles.
Other detectives will drop casually into places suspected as being
"fences," and closely question the proprietors as to what new articles
he has purchased recently. Of course, the "fence" gives little or no
information, but he thereby lays himself open to prosecution as a
receiver of stolen goods should they be found on his premises
subsequently.
Next, Manning starts in operation his most potent machinery for the
apprehension of minor criminals. He is aware that about ninety per cent.
of his detectives have little or no detective ability. They are known as
"stool pigeon" men, and it probably would be no exaggeration to say that
they comprise ninety-five or ninety-eight per cent. of the entire active
detective force. These men, through intimidation, or money, or the
granting of protection for minor derelictions, are able to maintain a
staff of "stool pigeons," or crooks, who keep them informed of the
doings of other crooks. It is through this source that most of the
professional criminals are apprehended.
"But where does the detective work come in?" the reader asks.
It is accomplished by the two or three per cent. of real detectives on
the force.
For instance: A burglary has been committed. Part of the stolen articles
have been traced to a pawnshop. The pawnbroker describes the man who
pledged them, but the description might fit any one of a hundred
professional crooks. He does not recognize any of the Rogues Gallery
portraits as that of the man from whom he received the goods.
Pawnbrokers seldom identify crooks, for it is to their interest to plead
a bad memory in this respect.
But Detectives Burke and Duvaney ascertain from one of their "stool
pigeons" that Michael Ribbs, alias Padlock Mike, is in funds--that he
and his "moll," who may be his wife or his mistress, are enjoying the
fruits of Mike's labors. And as Mike's specialty is burglary, Chief
Manning rightfully decides that he is responsible for one or more of the
recent robberies.
From this point the real detective work begins. The chief assigns two of
his really capable men, not to solve any one of the numerous burglaries
that have been reported, but to ascertain the recent doings of Padlock
Mike and to obtain evidence--legal evidence that will stand the test of
the courts--with which to send the criminal to jail. And the chances are
that in convicting Mike, half a dozen mysterious burglaries will have
been solved.
This is the ordinary routine of detective work. Of course, there are
innumerable variations, and yet not as many as most people imagine.
About eighty-five per cent. of the detective force is constantly
employed at this routine business, while fifteen per cent., or even
less, is engaged on work that is not in a large measure mechanical.
As for Chief Manning, his genius for directing his subordinates is
inconspicuously employed all the time. But occasionally a more exacting
demand will be made on it. It may be in a homicide case in which a wife
has poisoned her husband.
Of course, in a case of this sort, "stool pigeon" men are useless, for
no professional crooks are involved. So Manning assigns six or seven of
his best men to the case. They do not roam about promiscuously, treading
on one another's toes. To each is given a phase of the case to develop
and he reports as frequently as possible to the chief. At the end of
four weeks Manning, surveying the reports of his men, finds himself in
possession of the following:
The chemical analysis of the vital organs shows that the victim died of
arsenic poisoning. Detectives have discovered the druggist who sold the
poison to the wife. Other detectives have turned in competent evidence
tending to establish the woman's dislike of her husband. Moreover, she
was in love with another man in whose company she was frequently seen.
Then it is found that the husband's life was insured and his death not
only released her from matrimonial ties which had become irksome, but
also netted her a considerable sum in cash.
Sufficient motive for the crime has now been established. The poison of
which the husband died has been traced directly to the wife. But a vital
element of the case is still missing. It is necessary to prove that the
wife had exclusive opportunity to administer the drug.
Manning now concentrates all his energies toward this end. Obviously,
all the deductions of Messrs. Lecocq and Sherlock Holmes would be
futile. But through shrewd questioning of the servants in the house he
ascertains that the husband was taken violently ill after supper and
that no guests were present at the meal.
An analysis of the sediment in the husband's coffee cup establishes the
presence of arsenic. It must be inferred that the wife's cup contained
none of the poison, for she developed no symptoms of poisoning after the
meal.
The servants declare that the wife invariably made the after-dinner
coffee in a percolator that stood on the sideboard. On the night in
question, she had boiled the coffee, but none of the servants had seen
her draw it from the percolator or serve it in the cups. But all of them
assert that for a year or more it had been the wife's custom to do the
serving, so it is a fair inference that the husband did not leave his
seat at the table to help himself to coffee, on the occasion of his
fatal illness. No one but the wife being in the room with him, and it
having been ascertained that she purchased the arsenic, hers was the
exclusive opportunity to drop it into the cup--and the evidence against
her is complete.
A case of this nature is not established by the deductive methods of a
Lecocq, but by the patient labor of a score or a half score of
detectives intelligently guided by their chief. The druggist who sold
the poison was found after a canvas of perhaps three or four hundred
apothecaries. The domestic strife in the victim's home was disclosed to
the police by relatives of the husband, whose interests naturally
conflicted with those of the wife. Other evidence was furnished
reluctantly by the servants, and, through the collective efforts of all
the detectives, the woman's crime has been reconstructed in a way
calculated to convince the ordinary juror.
It was because Detective-Lieutenant Britz was endowed with a rare
combination of talents that enabled him to direct the work of others,
even while participating actively in the physical search for evidence,
that he ranked as the foremost detective of the Central Office. Had he
been merely a shrewd, capable, resourceful investigator, he could never
have attained to his present eminence.
Britz occupied a position subordinate to Manning, but his reputation far
exceeded that of the latter. And Manning, conscious of the value of his
lieutenant, reserved his services for the more baffling mysteries which
the Central Office from time to time was called upon to solve.
He was not jealous of Britz's reputation, for he was aware that the
lieutenant did not aspire to the head of the bureau, would not have
accepted the promotion had it been offered. As a subordinate Britz was
relieved of all the routine which occupied so much of the chief's time,
so that he could devote all his energies to the single case to which he
was assigned.
Moreover, Manning by purely voluntary renunciation, exercised none of
the supervision over Britz which his higher rank authorized. So that
Britz having been given command of the Whitmore case, was at liberty to
proceed with the investigation along his own lines.
On the morning following the escape of the butler with the documents
which the detective had gathered in Beard's home, Britz was at his desk
in Police Headquarters at eight o'clock. He had not troubled to search
for the vanished servant, arguing that the man would be easily traced
through his loyalty to Beard.
The first thing Britz did was to call up Dr. Henderson, the Coroner's
physician.
"I am sending the police photographer to the autopsy on Whitmore," he
said. "Please don't cut the body or probe the wound until he has taken a
picture of the bullet hole. It is most important. Also, let me have a
copy of your report on the autopsy as soon as possible."
Britz devoted the next hour to instructing his assistants in the work he
required of them. To each man was assigned a definite object to achieve
and he was sent forth to exercise all his resourcefulness toward a
single end. The cleverest "shadows" in the department were set to watch
the movements of those involved innocently or guiltily, in the
merchant's death. Collins, the detective also favored with a "roper."
"Fanwell," said Britz to the man he assigned to "rope" Collins,
"ingratiate yourself with him as quickly as possible. The subject is an
easy mark for a convivial companion. You'll probably find him around the
restaurants at night. Get an introduction and spend money freely. The
gloom of tragedy doesn't cling long to a man like Collins, and even if
it does, he'll try to dispel it with drink. Don't push him for
information, but lead him on gently. Cunningham and O'Malley will be
trailing him while you're roping."
Having set the secret machinery of the law in motion, Britz donned his
coat and hat and entered Chief Manning's room.
"Chief," he said, disposing himself in a chair, "I've ordered the men to
report to you on the Whitmore case."
The chief made no effort to hide his surprise.
"Not laying down on it, are you?" he asked.
"Not much," laughed Britz. "But I may be out of town a day or two."
"What is the status of the case?" inquired the chief.
"Chaotic," responded Britz. "But there are conflicting interests, and
pretty soon I expect to bring them into violent conflict."
Chief Manning's eyes traveled down the front page of the newspaper lying
open on his desk.
"I see the Coroner has sent Beard to the Tombs," he said. "There is no
doubt in my mind that the woman, Julia Strong, committed suicide. And
for the life of me I don't see just how you're going to connect Beard
with the murder of his employer."
"I'm not responsible for Beard's arrest," declared Britz. "The Coroner
ordered it on his own initiative."
"Shall we keep him in jail?" asked Manning.
"Yes, let him stay there for the present. He's an obstacle to the
progress of the investigation, if not the actual murderer."
Again Manning studied the newspaper account of the crime.
"Confound it!" he exploded, crumpling the paper. "I've read every line
printed about the case. I've talked with the Coroner and discussed the
case with Greig for half an hour this morning. If it meant a seat in
heaven for me, I couldn't offer a guess as to how the assassin got to
Whitmore. That man came down to his office yesterday morning, greeting
his employés with a smile, distributing the most kindly remarks. It
can't be that two or three hours later all those men would join in a
conspiracy to shield his murderer. And yet, if they didn't see him enter
or leave and didn't hear a shot, how the devil did the assassin get in
and out?"
Britz smiled indulgently on his chief.
"When I have examined an enlarged photograph of Whitmore's wound and
studied the report of the autopsy, I'll answer your question. That part
of the mystery gives me no concern. It solves itself. Moreover, the
solution is so simple, you'll kick yourself for not having thought of it
immediately."
Manning looked annoyed.
"Your confounded habit of never revealing anything until you're
absolutely sure you're right is a damned nuisance," he blurted. "But I
suppose it's useless to urge you to tell. I've got a headache trying to
figure it out, but now I'll leave it to you."
"You may," Britz accepted the responsibility. "What we've got to
ascertain is who committed the murder."
"And when we've done that, he'll bring thirty clerks forward to swear
that no one entered Whitmore's room," said the chief, a note of sarcasm
in his voice. "How are we going to obtain legal evidence, not deductions
against him?"
"By first making sure which of the persons intimately connected with the
case did NOT commit the murder, and accusing him or her of the crime."
Manning eyed the lieutenant dubiously.
"In other words, you're going to prepare a lamb for slaughter in the
hope that the wolf will come forward and confess?" drawled the chief.
"Yes," acknowledged Britz.
"It's an established characteristic of wolves--saving the innocent lamb
from slaughter, isn't it?" mocked Manning.
"This wolf may be a domesticated animal--or perhaps not a wolf at all."
"Suppose you find that Beard is the murderer?" the chief shot at the
detective.
"Then we'll release him and lock up someone that isn't."
"That's a new way of capturing criminals--ascertaining who didn't commit
the crime," frowned Manning. "Suppose you lock up an innocent party and
the guilty one doesn't come forward to confess?"
"Then the others who have knowledge of the crime will squeal," answered
Britz. "Persons of refinement may shield a murderer through selfish
motives. But they don't permit an innocent person, especially if he or
she be one of themselves, to perish."
"Well, have your own way," growled Manning, his sullen demeanor only
partly concealing the admiration and affection which he entertained for
his lieutenant. "What do you wish me to do?"
"Take charge of the case while I'm away."
"Shall I take any decisive steps if the facts warrant?"
"Chief, no one has ever disputed that you know your business," said
Britz in frank sincerity. "Our methods may differ, but in the end we
usually reach the same goal. So go right ahead as though I were out of
the case."
Before leaving Manning's office, Britz sent for Greig and inquired
whether it was Officer Muldoon who had taken Beard to the Tombs.
"Yes," replied Greig. "The Coroner turned the commitment papers over to
him."
"Did Beard make any statement on the way to jail?"
"Not to Muldoon. But he telephoned to a lawyer named Luckstone."
"Very well. Now come with me."
After leaving Manning's office, Britz and Greig proceeded to the Federal
Building. The Criminal Branch of the United States Circuit Court was in
session and they made their way to the clerk's desk immediately beneath
the judge's platform. Producing a photograph from his pocket, Britz
showed it to the clerk.
"Do you recognize it?" he inquired.
The clerk studied the picture a long while.
"The features are somewhat familiar, but I can't place them," he finally
said.
"Pass it up to the judge and see whether he recognizes it," requested
Britz.
The judge returned the photograph with a negative toss of his head.
"Do you recall Arthur Travis?" asked Britz of the clerk.
A wave of recollection instantly swept across the clerk's mind.
"Sure," he replied. "Pleaded guilty to attempted post office robbery.
Was sent away for two years and half. He's in the Federal prison at
Atlanta now. And, by George! that picture resembles him slightly. Only
Travis was the ordinary, shabby specimen we invariably get here."
"Who defended Travis?" inquired the detective.
"Tom Luckstone was his lawyer. But no defense was offered. The prisoner
simply pleaded guilty."
"Thanks!" Britz returned the photograph to his pocket and started for
the door. In the corridor Greig laid a detaining hand on Britz's elbow.
"Why--lieutenant--" he gasped,--"that was a photograph of Herbert
Whitmore."
"Precisely," said Britz. "And we're going to hop on board the next train
for Atlanta."