Ellery Queen’s Anthology. Volume 38, Fall/Winter 1979

Edward D. Hoch Captain Leopold Gets Angry

It started out as a nasty case — children in danger. And that kind of case always hit Captain Leopold in his gut, hit him even harder than murder...

Captain Leopold and Lieutenant Fletcher have a new associate — Connie Trent, former undercover narcotics agent and now a member (and the best-looking one!) of the Detective Division of the Police Department...

The children had lingered at the playground through most of the morning, enjoying the sudden July sunshine after three days of rain. The young man who paused to watch their playing might have been basking in the sun himself, enjoying a solitary stroll across the park.

After a moment he called out to one of the nearby children. “Liz? You’re Liz Lambeth, aren’t you? I know your daddy.”

The little blonde girl left the others and came cautiously closer. She was nine years old, with a child’s curiosity, and the man had a pleasant, friendly face. “You know my daddy?”

“Sure. Come along. I’ll take you to him.”

She screwed up her face uncertainly. “He’s at work!”

“No, he isn’t. He’s parked right down the road in his truck. You want to see him, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, come with me, then. It’s just a little way.”

He held out his hand, and after a moment the little girl took it.

The armored car had just pulled up in front of Independent Electronics Corporation when the young man left his parked auto and walked quickly toward the entrance. He paced himself well, so that his route intercepted that of the uniformed man who was carrying a heavy white sack in one hand and a drawn revolver in the other.

“George Lambeth,” he said, making it a statement and not a question. The guard turned and slowed his pace. In the armored car the driver suddenly became alert. The young man extended his hand, revealing a child’s crumpled red T-shirt. “We have your daughter. She’ll be dead in ten seconds unless you give me that money.”

“What?” The color drained from the guard’s face and he glanced toward his partner in the truck.

The driver had his gun out now and was opening the door. “What is it, George?”

“Five seconds, Mr. Lambeth.”

“They’ve got my daughter,” Lambeth told the driver. “They’ve got Liz.”

The uncertain driver raised his gun, but the young man stood his ground. “Shoot me and she dies. My partner is watching from that car across the street, and he has a gun at her head.”

“Give him the money, George,” the driver said.

George Lambeth handed over the heavy white sack. The young man accepted it with a nod and tossed the red T-shirt on the pavement. Then he turned and walked back the way he had come.

In another minute his car disappeared from view around a corner.

Lieutenant Fletcher brought the report to Captain Leopold’s desk shortly after one o’clock. “This looks like another one, Captain. He snatched the nine-year-old daughter of an armored-car guard and threatened to kill her if the guard didn’t hand over the Independent Electronics payroll.”

“How long ago?”

“Just before noon. The girl was released unharmed a few blocks away. They’re questioning her now, but it sounds like our loner again. He lured her into his car near the playground, then bound and gagged her and left her on the floor in the back seat.”

Leopold nodded. “How much money?”

“Eighty-seven thousand, mostly in small bills. It seems the company maintains a check-cashing service for employees.”

“Description fit last week’s bandit?”

“Close enough, and the modus operandi is identical.” A week earlier the son of a supermarket manager had been kidnaped and held for ransom — all the cash in the supermarket safe. Then, too, a lone young man — apparently unarmed — had made the demand for money, and calmly carried it away in a supermarket shopping bag.

“Get those guards down to look at pictures. The little girl, too, if she’s able to.” Leopold felt a surge of anger at the crimes. There was something about the endangerment of children that hit at his gut the way not even a murder could. Perhaps it was because he had no children of his own. Perhaps this made all of them his children.

Lieutenant Fletcher scratched his head. “I’ll do that, Captain. But there’s another angle we might check out. Connie Trent was at my desk when the first report came in. She has an idea about it.”

“Connie? Send her in.”

Connie Trent was easily the best-looking member of the Police Department. Tall and dark-haired, with a constant twinkle in her large brown eyes, she’d managed to charm the entire Detective Division after only six months on the job. But it wasn’t only her face and figure that Connie had going for her. A college graduate with a degree in sociology, she had joined the force as an undercover narcotics agent. Her cover had been blown after four months when she helped set up the biggest drug raid in the city’s history, but she had continued working among addicts as a known member of the police force. Oddly enough, the people she encountered seemed to show little resentment against her former undercover role. It was almost as if they welcomed the relief that arrest sometimes brought.

Connie still carried a snub-nosed Colt Detective Special in her handbag, but she was unarmed when she entered Leopold’s office. The tight green dress she wore was hardly immodest, but Leopold observed that it wasn’t designed to hide everything either.

“Good to see you again, Connie,” he greeted her, extending his hand. It wasn’t his practice to shake hands with women, but he felt somehow that a policewoman was different — especially when she was as attractive and feminine as Connie Trent.

“You’ve heard about the armored-car robbery?” she asked, getting right to business.

“Fletcher just told me.”

“It’s the same as last week’s supermarket job, and I may have a lead for you. I didn’t want to say anything till I was certain, but with this second robbery I can’t take a chance any longer. Next time this guy might kill a child.”

“It’s someone you know?” Leopold asked.

“Not exactly.” Connie Trent sat down, crossing her long legs. “When I was doing undercover work I met a girl named Kathy Franklin. She was on heroin, and she led me to a lot of the others who were arrested later. I helped Kathy get a suspended sentence, and signed her onto a methadone maintenance program. I’ve seen her about once a week over the past two months, and she’s really straightening herself out. She has a job as a waitress in a bowling alley, down near the Sound.

“Anyway, she has a boy friend named Pete Selby who’s still on heroin. I think he’s the one who got her hooked originally, though she’d never admit it. I’ve never seen Pete, so I figure he’s been avoiding me. But one night last week when I stopped by to check on Kathy it was obvious Pete had just left.”

“How obvious?”

“You know — she was sort of tensed up, and there were cigar butts in the ashtray. I asked her and she admitted he’d been there. In the kitchen there was a shopping bag from the Wright-Way Supermarket. It’s way the other side of the city from Kathy’s apartment, but there was this bag on the table next to a bottle of rye and two glasses. So when I heard about the robbery the next day I was suspicious. The robber carried the money away in a shopping bag just like that one.”

“You didn’t report it then?”

Connie Trent shrugged. “You can’t convict anyone with just a shopping bag. But he’s still on heroin, and that means he needs money. I figure someone would have to need money a great deal to pull anything like these two jobs, with the children.”

“She’s worth talking to,” Leopold agreed. “Want to go there with me?”

“Of course!” Connie said quickly. She seemed honored by the invitation, which surprised Leopold.

“Let’s go, then. Fletcher, you talk to the guards and the little girl, see if you get anywhere with the pictures on file.”

Kathy Franklin lived in a fourth-floor walkup apartment near downtown.

The area was part of a much-delayed urban renewal program that had left the blocks around her building barren and scarred as if by war.

Here and there a single sickly tree grew, revealed after years of hibernation by the demolition work around it; but for the most part the setting was depressing even on a sunny July afternoon.

Leopold stepped over a shallow puddle of water that had accumulated from the recent rains and followed Connie up the steps of the building. As they climbed to the fourth floor he wondered for the first time if Kathy Franklin was black or white, and he found out when a pretty white girl opened the door to Connie’s knock.

“Oh! Come in,” she said, her voice a bit reluctant as she stepped aside.

Connie introduced Leopold and explained why they had come. “Today an armored car was robbed, Kathy. By the same person who robbed the supermarket last week.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Kathy Franklin said, a little too quickly.

Leopold cleared his throat. “We want to ask you about Pete Selby.” “I haven’t seen him in months.” Too quickly again.

“Miss Franklin, the man who committed these crimes is a particularly vicious person. He endangered the lives of two children. Now you say you haven’t seen Pete Selby in months, but you admitted to Miss Trent that you’d seen him just last week.”

She shot Connie a deadly glance. “I forgot about that time. He was only here a few minutes.”

“He brought a shopping bag with him, from a supermarket that was robbed.”

“I asked him on the phone to bring me a loaf of bread and some milk. Are you going to arrest him for that?”

“What about today?” Leopold asked, ignoring her question. “Where was he this morning, just before noon?”

“I told you I haven’t seen him, and I meant it.” She was suddenly nervous, grabbing for an open pack of cigarettes that slid from her grasp; the cigarettes spilled across the carpet. She cursed and bent to retrieve them.

Connie was on the floor helping her, and Leopold drew back. He wasn’t getting anywhere. Perhaps a woman had a better chance with her.

“Look here, Kathy,” Connie began, reaching for the last of the cigarettes. “If Pete is involved in these crimes you have to tell us. Can you imagine how you’d feel if one of those child hostages was killed?”

“I don’t know anything,” Kathy insisted. “Not a thing.”

“Where’s Pete living these days, Kathy? Is he shacked up with another woman?”

“No!” she screeched from the floor, still on her knees. “He’s with Tommy Razenwood!”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. They have an apartment somewhere.”

Then, as if suddenly remembering Leopold’s presence, Kathy got to her feet and lit a cigarette. “I don’t know anything about it,” she told him. “I don’t see Pete any more.”

“If he’s still on drugs he needs money. Is Razenwood on the stuff, too?”

“I don’t know. I know nothing about Razenwood.”

Her face was frozen into an expression that told Leopold they had pressed it to the limit. If there was more information to be had, they weren’t going to get it from her this afternoon. “All right,” he said with a sigh. “Come on, Connie. We’d better be getting back.”

The policewoman nodded, then reached out to touch Kathy on the arm. “If you hear anything, Kathy, you have my number. Please call me.”

Downstairs Leopold asked, “What do you think?”

“Oh, she’s still seeing him. There’s no doubt about that. But she may just be covering up his usual drug activities. Until we get an identification from that armored-car driver or the supermarket manager, it’s all guesswork.”

He had to agree. “Let’s get back downtown. Maybe Fletcher had some luck with the witnesses.”

Fletcher came into the office almost at once, holding a group of files and mug shots. “We got it, Captain! The driver picked him out, and the manager and the little girl confirmed it.”

“Let me guess,” Leopold said. “Pete Selby.”

Fletcher shook his head. “I struck out on Selby. He was the right age and build, but the wrong face. I was running through some of the people arrested with him in drug raids, though, and I hit a bull’s-eye. A guy named Tommy Razenwood.”

“Razenwood.” Leopold took the picture and studied it. “He and Selby are rooming together somewhere. If we find one we’ll find the other.” The young man in the photo was grim-faced and sleepy-eyed. His age was 23, the same as Selby’s, but he had only one drug arrest, for LSD. There was no evidence that like Selby he was on heroin.

“No known address,” Fletcher pointed out.

“Kathy Franklin knows where they’re holed up. I’m sure of it.” He pressed a buzzer on his desk. “And if anyone can get through to her, Connie can.”

“You sorta like her, don’t you, Captain?”

“Connie? She’s an intelligent young woman.”

Fletcher winked. “I wasn’t talking about her brains.”

Connie Trent appeared at the door and smiled at them both. “Something else, Captain?”

“More of the same, I’m afraid. The witnesses identified Selby’s roommate, Tommy Razenwood, as the man we want. Do you think you could talk to Kathy again and tell her this, convince her it’s Razenwood and not Selby we’re after? I’m sure she knows where they are, and at this point she’s the only lead we have.”

“I’ll do what I can, Captain.”

After she’d left, Leopold said, “Fletcher, I think we’d better put a twenty-four-hour watch on Kathy Franklin’s apartment. If Connie doesn’t get anywhere, I still want to know if Selby shows up there again.”

“What orders if he does show?”

“Follow him. Tommy Razenwood is the one we’re after now.”

The next morning, at an hour still too early for most activity, a boy on a bicycle was starting out to deliver the morning newspapers on a quiet residential street near the north edge of the city. His name was Jim MacIves and he was twelve years old. He lived in the big white house on the corner with his parents and his two sisters.

This morning, as usual, he’d been the first one up. His father could sleep another hour before the alarm would ring to rouse him for his job at the bank. By that time young Jim would be back home and ready for breakfast.

The car was waiting at the first intersection, and the young man opened the door to call out, “Got an extra paper I can buy, kid?”

Always thankful for another sale, Jim said, “Sure,” and wheeled up next to the car.

That was when the man grabbed him around the neck, yanking him off his bike.

Jim tried to fight back, to break the grip on his throat and keep from being pulled into the car, but the man was too strong. The boy felt something hit him on the side of his head and the strength went out of him. He slipped to the pavement, feet tangled in his bike. The man stepped quickly from the car to lift him inside.

“What’s going on there?” a voice shouted from the ground floor of one of the houses. Even in his dazed condition Jim recognized old Matthews, who always sat by the front window waiting for his paper, even at seven in the morning. “Leave that boy alone!”

Matthews came running up, his slippers slapping on the sidewalk, and the young man straightened to face him. He hit the old man on the side of the head, but harder than he’d hit Jim. Then, as Matthews fell forward on his face, the young man seemed to panic. He kicked the bicycle aside and jumped back in his car, and in a moment he was gone.

Jim tried to shake the pain from his head and stand up. The first thing he thought of was poor old Matthews, who’d come running out to save him.

But it was too late for Matthews now. Looking at him there on the sidewalk, Jim could see he was dead.

Captain Leopold came back to headquarters that afternoon feeling old and tired. Perhaps it was the surge of fresh anger that had swept through him at the sight of the dead old man. Or perhaps it was just the senselessness of it all. Why did it have to happen? Why did people like Tommy Razenwood have to go through their lives robbing and killing?

Connie Trent came in, very quietly, and took the chair that Fletcher usually sat in. “I heard about it,” she said simply.

He nodded. “That makes it murder now.”

“You’re sure it was Razenwood?”

“I’m sure. The boy is the son of a bank manager. Razenwood was after another big haul. And he probably would have made it if that old guy hadn’t gotten involved.”

“The boy identified Razenwood?”

“Right away. Picked the photo out from a handful I showed him.” He stared at the picture on his desk, as if trying to conjure up the physical presence of Tommy Razenwood. “What about Kathy Franklin? Did you talk to her again?”

Connie nodded and crossed her long legs. “Kathy promised to call me here tonight, before eight. She’s talking to Pete about turning Razenwood in. I think the decision will be easier after this killing.”

“I hope so.”

“Do you have someone watching her place?” Connie asked.

Leopold nodded. Then, because his eyes were on her legs, he said, “You should get married and settle down, Connie. This is no life for a woman as good-looking as you.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Is that an offer?”

“Just an observation,” he said, realizing he was sounding like an old fool.

They waited until eight o’clock for Kathy’s call, with Connie growing increasingly nervous. Fletcher had been out all day, checking known pushers for a line on Selby, but they’d heard nothing from him. It was as if the case had come to a dead end, with only the reporters keeping the phone lines busy, trying for a fresh morning lead on the story.

Then, at 8:15, Kathy Franklin phoned.

Connie motioned Leopold to pick up the extension as she talked. “Hello, Kathy! I was beginning to worry that we wouldn’t hear from you.”

“I said I’d call, and I’m calling.”

“How does it look? Did you talk to Pete?”

A hesitation. Then, “Yes.” Very softly.

“Well?”

“We’ll do it.”

Connie managed to smile at Leopold. “Fine. Where is he?”

“One thing First,” Kathy said. “Pete insists on it. Tommy has a lot of friends in town and they might find out what we did. Pete doesn’t want to go through life wondering if his next fix might be poisoned. He wants plane tickets out of here for both of us.”

Connie looked questioningly at Leopold. He hated to let a junkie off the hook, but at this point they had no evidence against Selby. And they had plenty against Razenwood. He nodded, and Connie said, “Agreed. Where do you want to go?”

“Latin America. He wants two tickets to Mexico City, and then we’ll go on from there. Who knows? Maybe it’ll be a new life for both of us.”

“I hope so,” Connie said. “You’ll get the tickets when you deliver Tommy Razenwood to us.”

“Pete says he can do it tomorrow night. I’ll phone you tomorrow and let you know where. Get us out of here on the midnight flight.”

“Don’t fail us, Kathy. You know it’s murder now, and you could both be accessories. It’s jail or Mexico, and the choice is yours.”

“I know.”

Connie hung up and sat facing Leopold. “She’ll come through.”

“I hate the thought of that guy walking around free for another twenty-four hours.”

“We have no choice, unless Lieutenant Fletcher comes up with a lead.”

“We can always hope for that,” Leopold said.

But there were no leads from Fletcher. Both Selby and Razenwood seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth. No one had seen them at their usual haunts, and even the pushers insisted they did not know their whereabouts.

“It’s a blank wall,” Fletcher said the next afternoon.

“Then Kathy Franklin is our only contact. Let’s hope she comes through.”

“You got the tickets for her?”

Leopold nodded. “Connie has them. But she doesn’t turn them over until we have Razenwood.”

“So we just wait for the call?”

“There’s nothing else we can do. I think the case has been publicized enough to have every parent on guard. We’re watching the bus and the train stations, and the airport. Of course if he wants to get in his car and drive down to New York there’s no real way we can stop him. That murder might have scared him, though. I don’t think he’ll try another kidnaping.”

All through the early evening Connie Trent waited for Kathy’s call. When it finally came, just before seven, the voice on the other end was breathless. “Look, Tommy’s got a gun. He’s planning to leave town tonight, but he’s coming here first to pick up Pete’s car.”

“He’ll be at your apartment?”

“Downstairs, in the street. The car is a blue ’69 Ford, license number 8M-258. I’ll walk out with him to the car, then you can grab him. Be careful, though. He’ll use the gun if he has to.”

“We’ll be careful,” Connie said. “You just get out of the way when the police move in. He has a habit of taking hostages, and we don’t want you to be one of them.”

When she’d hung up, Leopold buzzed for Fletcher. “I want cars blocking both ends of the street, and I want men on foot nearby. It’s a bad place for a stakeout, because there are no other buildings.”

“I’ll handle it, Captain, but we can’t move in too early. If he sees too much activity he’ll get suspicious and stay away.”

“Use unmarked cars, and plainclothesmen. Keep the uniforms out of sight. I’ll go in your car.”

“What about me?” Connie asked.

“If he starts shooting it might be a dangerous place for a woman.”

“I was the one who gave you the lead, Captain — remember?”

“All right,” he said with a sigh. “You can ride with us, but you stay in the car.” He supposed he had to start treating her like a man sometime.

The summer night was hot and humid, with a forecast of possible thunderstorms in the area. It was the sort of night that would have brought the people of Kathy Franklin’s neighborhood into the streets for a breath of air, if there were still any people there. As it was, only one old woman sat on the steps in front of the apartment house, staring up the street at the piles of rubble and the sickly trees. Perhaps, thought Leopold, she was remembering the way it had looked before urban renewal. Or imagining how it might look in the future, after she was gone.

“What do you think?” Fletcher asked as they drove by the building. “Want me to get her out of there?”

“No. He could be watching.”

“From where?” Connie asked. “There’s not another building within three blocks.”

“Let’s wait. It’s getting dark. Maybe the old woman will go inside.”

Because there was no place for cover, the unmarked cars had to remain some blocks away with their motors running, ready to move in. Fletcher’s car drove through the area twice, and then they transferred to another vehicle that wouldn’t look familiar. This time the old woman was gone from the steps, and the street was quiet.

“It’s after nine,” Fletcher said. “Still think he’ll come?”

Leopold watched the street lights going on, casting their harsh white glow over the shadowed jagged foundations. Before he could answer, a blue Ford turned into the street and parked in front of Kathy’s building.

“That’s the car!” Connie said.

“Right.” Leopold dropped a hand to the pistol on his belt, then took it away. “But it’s Kathy driving. And it looks as if she’s alone.”

“Think he’s already inside?” Fletcher asked.

“I don’t know. Let’s wait and see what happens. She said he’d be leaving in that car. Maybe he’s not here yet.”

They had fifteen minutes to wait before Kathy reappeared on the steps with a man. He stood in the shadows, glancing both ways on the street, before finally hurrying down to the car. She went with him to the car door and closed it after he slid behind the wheel. Then she moved back a few steps, waving goodbye to him.

“Let’s move!” Leopold shouted into the police radio. “All cars!”

The Ford started from the curb, moving slowly at first. It seemed to hesitate and almost stop, then Fletcher rounded the corner and the Ford took off. Two blocks away the police cars screeched into position, cutting off his escape.

“He’s stopping!” Connie said. “We’ve got him bottled up!”

“Stay here and keep down. Come on, Fletcher.”

Then they were out of the car and running, their guns drawn. The Ford hesitated between them and the police at the end of the street, and Leopold shouted, “Police, Razenwood! You’re surrounded!”

Suddenly he gunned the engine and veered to the left, over the curb, smashing through a board sign and across the rubble of a vacant lot.

“He’s getting away, Captain!”

Leopold fired two quick shots and started to run. On the next block they were firing, too, and he saw the Ford’s rear window shatter. The car hobbled across the brick-strewn lot and suddenly burst into flames as more bullets found their mark.

“He’s trying to get out,” Leopold shouted, racing forward. But the flames were too hot. The entire car was enveloped in fire, and there was no chance for anyone to get out alive.

Fletcher ran up then, and Connie, and presently Kathy came across the lot to where they stood. “Oh, my God,” Kathy cried, “did you have to do it like that?”

“One way’s as bad as another,” Leopold said grimly.

They went back to Captain Leopold’s office for coffee, and he sat glumly staring at Tommy Razenwood’s file on the desk before him. “I don’t like it to end this way, either, damn it! But the man was a kidnaper of children and a murderer! Maybe he didn’t deserve any better.”

“I didn’t say a word,” Fletcher mumbled. “How do you like your coffee, Connie?”

“Black, thanks.”

Fletcher came back in a moment with her coffee. Then he reached across the desk to pick up the files on Razenwood and Selby. But Leopold reached out to clutch them a moment longer. “What about it? What do you two think?”

“You fired first, Captain. If you hadn’t, maybe the others might have held their fire. But, hell, I’d have done the same thing. You can’t fool around with killers.”

Leopold barely heard the words. He was staring at the file on Pete Selby, seeing the notation under Known Habits:

Nonsmoker, nondrinker, addicted to heroin, frequents race tracks.

He read the words again. They seemed to have some meaning he couldn’t quite comprehend. “You can’t blame yourself,” Connie was saying.

Nonsmoker, nondrinker, addicted to heroin.

“Maybe I could have handled it differently,” he replied, wondering why the words of the report fascinated him so. It wasn’t even Razenwood’s file, but Selby’s. The file belonged to the wrong man.

Wrong man.

“Connie?” Go slow now. Take it easy.

“What is it, Captain?”

“You told me about your visit to Kathy Franklin that first time, when you suspected she was seeing Selby. Remember?”

“Yes.”

“You knew he’d just left because Kathy was tensed up and there were cigar butts in the ashtray and they’d been drinking. But Pete Selby doesn’t smoke or drink, not according to his file.”

“Maybe he just started,” she said with a shrug, but Fletcher was leaning forward, studying the file.

“And you mentioned the shopping bag, too. If a man has just robbed a supermarket and carried the money away in a shopping bag, would he bring the bag home and give it to his roommate?”

“He’d get rid of it as soon as he was finished with it,” Fletcher said.

“Exactly! And if the bag was at Kathy’s apartment it means the money was probably brought there, too.”

“But we know it was Tommy Razenwood who stole the money. The manager identified him, and so did everyone else. You mean he gave the money to Selby to take to Kathy’s apartment?”

Leopold shook his head. “Remember the cigar butts? There’s a much more likely explanation. Razenwood took it there himself. He was probably hiding in the closet when you arrived, Connie. Kathy was willing to admit that Selby had just left because it wasn’t true.”

Fletcher almost spilled his coffee. “Damn it, Captain, if the Franklin girl was in on the robbery with Razenwood, why should she finger him for the police and fly off to Mexico with Selby?”

“Why, indeed?” Leopold asked. He was already on his feet. “If we hurry, we can just about catch that midnight plane before it takes off.”

Kathy Franklin was at the gate, just handing in her tickets, when Leopold reached her. “I came to say goodbye, Kathy.”

She whirled, pale as death. “What—?”

“Where’s your traveling companion?”

Then he saw Tommy Razenwood, standing to one side with a magazine partly obscuring his face. Tommy saw Leopold at the same moment and seized Kathy. In an instant he had his arm at her throat, with a knife in his free hand.

“Tommy!” she screamed.

“Out of the way, cops! Try to take me and she dies!”

Leopold stood his ground. “Kathy’s not some nine-year-old child, Tommy. Kill her if you want, but we’re taking you.”

He moved then, as Fletcher came in from the other side. Razenwood shoved Kathy into Leopold and tried to run, but Fletcher brought him down with a waist-high tackle that sent the knife flying from Razenwood’s grip.

Then they had the handcuffs on him, as Connie grabbed Kathy.

“No Mexico trip after all,” Leopold told her. “You made me kill the wrong man.”

“He would have knifed me!” She turned to spit at Razenwood, who had ceased to struggle in Fletcher’s grip.

“So it was Pete Selby who died in the burning car,” Connie said.

Leopold nodded. “A dark street, a closed car, a man fleeing after she’d fingered him as Razenwood — that’s all it took to start us shooting. She’d already made sure of that by warning us he had a gun and would use it. Of course Pete Selby was fleeing because he was carrying heroin, not because he was a murderer. Razenwood had taken Selby’s place in Kathy’s bed, so they figured it was only right for Selby to take his place in the morgue.”

Two uniformed police officers appeared then, to help them get their prisoners out of the terminal. The scattering of midnight travelers turned to stare at the proceedings. “How’d they know the car would burst into flames like that and prevent easy identification of the body?” Fletcher asked.

“I imagine it was soaked in gasoline, with a few extra cans in the trunk. Selby hesitated as he started the car, remember. He may have smelled the gasoline.”

It was in the police car going downtown, with Razenwood seated between Leopold and Fletcher, that Leopold asked him a question. “What if our bullets had missed, Tommy? What if Selby had stopped the car and tried to surrender before it caught fire?”

He lifted his eyes and stared straight ahead. “That wouldn’t have happened, cop. I was on the roof of the building with a rifle, just to make sure he didn’t. I don’t know if it was you or me who drilled the trunk and set off that gasoline. But I guess it didn’t make any difference to Selby.”

“No,” Leopold agreed, “I guess it didn’t.”