"Periodic drunk. Goes for weeks without touching the stuff, then he
goes out on a binge that lasts for a week sometimes.
"Name's Lawrence Nestor, alias Larry Nestor. Twenty-eight years old,
six feet one inch, slight build, but considered fairly strong. Brown
hair, brown eyes. Speaks with a lisp due to a dental defect; the lisp
becomes more noticeable when he's drinking." He turned the page of the
report he was reading from. "Arrested for drunkenness four times in
the past five years, got off with a fine when he pleaded guilty. He
molested a little girl two years ago and was picked up for
questioning, but nothing came of it. The girl hadn't been physically
hurt, and she couldn't make a positive identification, so he was
released from custody.
"Officers on duty in the neighborhood report that he has frequently
been seen talking to small children, usually girls, but he wasn't seen
to molest them in any way, and there were no complaints from parents,
so no action could be taken."
Lieutenant Shultz looked up from the paper. "He's had all kinds of
jobs, but he can't hold 'em very long. Goes on a binge, doesn't show
up for work, so they fire him. He's a pretty good short-order cook,
and that's the kind of work he likes, if he can talk a lunch room into
hiring him. He's also been a bus boy, a tavern porter, and a janitor.
"One other thing: The superintendent at the place where he was
staying reports that he had an unusual amount of money on him--four or
five hundred dollars he thinks. Doesn't know where Nestor got the
money, but he's been boozing it up for the past five days. Bought new
clothes--hat, suit, shoes, and so on. Living high on the hog, I
guess."
* * * * *
I thought for a minute. If he had money, he could be anywhere in the
world by now. On the other hand--
"Look, Lieutenant, you haven't said anything to the newsmen yet, have
you?"
He looked surprised. "No. I called you first. But I figured they could
help us. Plaster his picture and name all over the area, and somebody
will be bound to recognize him."
"Somebody might kill him, too, and I don't want that. Look at it this
way: If he had sense enough to get out of the local area two days ago
and really get himself lost, then it won't hurt to wait twenty-four
hours or so to release the story. On the other hand, if he's still in
the city or over in Jersey, he could still get out before the news was
so widespread that he'd be spotted by very many people.
"But if he's still drinking and thinks he's safe, we may be able to
get a lead on him. I have a hunch he's still in the city. So hold off
on that release to the newsmen as long as you can. Don't let it leak.
"Meanwhile, check all the transportation terminals. Find out if he's
ever been issued a passport. If he has, check the foreign consuls
here in the city to see if he got a visa. Notify the FBI; they're back
in it now, since there's a chance that he may have crossed a state
line--unlawful flight to avoid prosecution.
"And tell the boys that do the footwork that they're to say that the
guy they're looking for is wanted by the Missing Persons Bureau--that
he left home and his wife is looking for him. Don't connect him up
with the Donahue case at all. Have every beat patrolman in the city on
the lookout for a drunk with a lisp, but tell them the same story
about the wife; I don't want any leaks at all.
"I'll call the Commissioner right away to get his O.K., because I
don't want either one of us to get in hot water over this. If he's
with us, we'll go ahead as planned; if he's not, we'll just have to
call in the newsmen. O.K.?"
"Sure, Inspector. Whatever you say. I'll get right to work on it.
You'll have the Commissioner call me?"
"Right. So long. Call me if anything happens."
I had added the bit about calling the Commissioner because I wasn't
sure but what Kleek would decide I was wrong in handling the case and
let the story out "accidentally." But I had to be careful not to make
Shultz think I was trying to show my muscles. I called the
Commissioner, got his O.K., and turned my attention back to my guest.
He had been listening with obvious interest. "Another one of your
zanies, eh?"
"One that went too far, Your Grace. We didn't get to him in time." I
spent five or six minutes giving him the details of the Donahue case.
"The same old story," he said when I had finished. "If your pilot
project here works out, maybe that kind of slaughter can be
eliminated." Then he smiled. "Do you know something? You're one of the
few Americans I've ever met, outside your diplomats, who can address a
person as 'Your Grace' and make it sound natural. Some people look at
me as though they expected me to be all decked out in a ducal coronet
and full ermines, ready for a Coronation. Your Commissioner, for
instance. He seems quite a nice chap, but he also seems a bit overawed
at a title. You seem perfectly relaxed."
I considered that for a moment. "I imagine it's because he tends to
look at you as a Duke who has taken up police work as a sort of
gentlemanly hobby."
"And you?"
"I guess I tend to think of you as a good cop who had the good fortune
to be born the eldest son of a Duke."
His smile suddenly became very warm. "Thank you," he said sincerely.
"Thank you very much."
There came the strained silence that sometimes follows when an honest
compliment is passed between two men who have scarcely met. I broke it
by pointing at the plaque on the front of my desk and giving him a
broad grin. "Or maybe it's just the kind of blood that flows in my
veins."
He looked at the little plaque that said _Inspector Royal C. Royall_
and laughed pleasantly. "I like to think that it's a little bit of
both."
* * * * *
The intercom on my desk flashed, and the sergeant's voice said:
"Inspector, a couple of the boys just brought in a man named
Manewiscz. A stolen car was run into a fire plug over on Fifth Avenue
near 99th Street. A witness has positively identified Manewiscz as the
driver who ran away before the squad car arrived."
"Sidney Manewiscz?" I asked. "Manny the Moog?"
"That's the one. He's got a record of stealing cars for joyrides. He
insists on talking to you."
"Bring him in," I said. "I'll talk to him. And get hold of Dr.
Brownlee."
"Excuse me," I said to the Duke. "Business." He started to get up, but
I said, "That's all right, Your Grace; you might as well sit in on
it." He relaxed back into the chair.
Two cops brought in Manewiscz, a short, nervous man with a big nose
and frightened brown eyes.
"What's the trouble, Manny?" I asked.
"Nothing, Inspector; I'm telling you, I didn't do nothing. I'm walking
along Fifth Avenoo when all of a sudden these cops pull up in a
squad-car and some fat jerk in the back seat is hollering that I am
the guy he seen get out of a smashup on 99th Street, which is a good
three blocks from where I am walking. Besides which, I have not driven
a car for over a year now, and I have been in all ways a law-abiding
citizen and a credit to the family and the community."
"Do you know the fat guy?" I asked. "The guy who fingered you for the
boys?"
"I never had the pleasure of seeing him before," said Manny the Moog,
"but, on the other hand, I do not expect to forget his fat face
between now and the next time we meet."
At that point, Dr. Brownlee came through the door.
"Hello, Inspector," he said with a quick smile. He saw Manewiscz then,
and his eyebrows went up. "What are you doing here, Manny?"
"I am here, Doc, because the two gentlemen in uniform whom you see
standing on both sides of me extend a polite invitation to accompany
them here, although I am not in the least guilty of the thing they say
I do which causes them to issue this invitation."
I explained what had happened and Brownlee shook his head slowly
without saying anything for a moment. Then he said, "Come on in my
office, Manny; I want to talk to you for a few minutes. O.K.,
Inspector?" He glanced at me.
"Sure." I waved him and Manny away. "You boys stay here," I told the
patrolmen, "Manny will be all right." As soon as the door closed
behind Dr. Brownlee and Manewiscz I said: "You two brought the witness
in, too, didn't you?"
"Yes, sir," said one. The other nodded.
"You'd better do a little more careful checking on him. He may be
simply mistaken, or he may have been the actual driver. See if he's
been in any trouble before."
"The sergeant's already doing that, sir," said the one who had spoken
before. "Meanwhile, maybe we better go out and have a little talk with
the guy."
"Take it easy, he may be a perfectly respectable citizen."
"Yes, sir," he said. "We'll just ask him a few questions."
They left, and I noticed that the Duke was looking rather puzzled, but
he didn't ask any questions, so I couldn't answer any.