Kill as Directed

Twenty-Five

Dr. Brown in the blue guest room, well-lighted now, door closed, vis-à-vis elderly Lieutenant Galivan, who looked like his father. Dr. Brown sipping Kurt Gresham’s private-stock cognac, smoking a parade of cigarettes in defiance of the coronary statistics. Telling his story from the beginning.

And Lieutenant Galivan, who looked as if nothing in this world or the next could surprise him, looking surprised.

Somebody knocked on the door and Galivan said patiently, “Come in.” A beef-shouldered man came in. “We’re through, Lieutenant,” he said. “M.E.’s signed the order, the meat wagon’s here. All right to take them down?”

“No,” said Galivan.

“No?” echoed the big detective.

“There are federal angles to this thing, Sergeant.”

“Federal? And here we were, figuring it the usual: old husband, young wife, young lover.”

“Let’s leave it like that for now,” Galivan said in his slow, tired voice. “Remember. For the papers, nothing.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get rid of the technical people. Everybody. Just you and Jimmy Ryan stay. And keep the meat wagon on tap. But on a side street, off the Avenue.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes. Send Sidney over to get the District Attorney. The D.A.’s an early-to-bedder, but he’ll want to be in on this. Have you ever met Max Crantz, our D.A., Doctor?”

“No,” said the doctor.

“Hell of a nice guy. A straight-shooter. Okay, that’s it, Sergeant.”

The detective went out, closing the door. Galivan sucked on his pipe, looking at Harry through the smoke. “Well, we’ve come a long way from the Lynne Maxwell business, haven’t we? There’s nothing else, is there?”

“I’ve told you everything.”

“You sure got yourself messed up.”

“That, Lieutenant,” said Dr. Brown, “I did indeed.”

Galivan puffed. “Damn this pipe. Oh, that funeral-parlor setup, I’ll put the Yonkers police on that. And San Francisco on Uncle Joe. I think you’ll find others who’ll appreciate the by-products of this thing, too. Like the Federal Bureau. I take it you intend to cooperate?”

“All the way.”

“If there’s anything I can do for you, Doctor, I’ll do it.”

“Thanks, but I’m not looking for any favors, Lieutenant. I got myself into this mess, and I’ll get myself out of it, or pay the price.”

“No favors,” said Galivan. “But to be instrumental in cracking an operation like this narcotics setup — don’t sell yourself short, Doctor. You’re going to have a lot of law-enforcement people grateful to you. Including Max Crantz.”

Galivan’s pipe was making dying sounds. He made a face and got up and went to the extension phone. He dialed the operator and said, “I’d like to talk to Mr. Christopher Hammond, please. At the New York offices of the FBI.”