The Case of the Crime King

Chapter 11

The following afternoon, Friday, March 21st, Gerald Federson’s landlady phoned to tell us that the dead man’s brother had cleared all personal effects from the room. She said he had not inquired about police visiting the room, and she had volunteered no information.

The next day, Saturday, the information the assistant warden at San Quentin had promised me arrived. It listed twenty-three inmates who either had been released recently or were due for release within the next few weeks. I noted that both Big Julie Martin and Harry “Beak” Strite were on the list.

The assistant warden had taken the trouble to include the record of each parolee. Thirteen were white-collar criminals. These we eliminated from our calculations immediately, as it was unlikely that a robbery gang would attempt to recruit this type of man. It was equally unlikely that a white-collar criminal would have anything to do with armed robbery.

The remaining ten men all seemed good prospects as possible members of the gang. Four were already out of prison. One had a Los Angeles address, one lived in San Diego, and two were from San Francisco. We arranged for a stakeout on the local man and teletyped requests to San Diego and San Francisco to have the other three covered.

We also contacted the sheriff’s office of Marin County, in which San Quentin is located, and arranged for tails to pick up the six men due for release the moment they walked out the prison gates. Sheriff’s deputies would turn over this detail to local officers as soon as the men reached their home towns.

When Frank and I had completed all these arrangements, we met with Captain Peters and Chief Brown in the latter’s office to make a complete report of our activities.

Chief Brown nodded when we finished. “Looks like you’ve covered all possible angles. Don’t see how this gang could commence operations without our knowing about it.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Gives you a funny feeling, though.”

“How’s that?”

“Like sitting on a powder keg in the center of a ring of guys with torches. And trying to look every way at once to see who’s going to light the fuse.”

Because the gang was expected to operate statewide, law-enforcement measures against it were coordinated by the Criminal Investigation Section of the State Attorney General’s office. Captain Peters was the liaison officer in this, Frank and I remained in charge of the Los Angeles end. The A.G.’s office was to act primarily as a central information center for all police departments and sheriffs’ offices throughout the state. Any activity suspected to be that of the gang was to be reported to the A.G.’s office at once. However, police investigation would be handled by the local police where the activity took place. The code name “Operation Statewide” was to be used on all communications concerning the gang.

On March 29th Jules Martin and Harry Strite walked out of prison and rented a small apartment in downtown Los Angeles. Strite obtained a truck-driving job. Martin rented a typewriter and worked at home on true crime stories. Both men were under round-the-clock surveillance.

Maurice Wey was still at large.

A month passed without any sign of gang activity. Martin and Strite made no attempt to contact old underworld associates. Their parole officer reported that Martin had sold two more stories and that Strite was doing well in his job. As they could not be kept under surveillance indefinitely, the stakeout was lifted.

Over Frank’s and my objections.

We put up a strong argument to Captain Peters. I brought out the photostats of the letters written by Maurice Wey and pointed out the evidence that someone other than Wey was the gang’s proposed leader.

“We’ve gone over the records of all possibles,” I told the captain. “A couple of dozen men altogether. Big Julie is the only one who fits.”

“How do you figure that?” he wanted to know.

“This Maurice Wey is head and shoulders above most of these guys in intelligence. The assistant warden described him as brilliant. Says he could pass the bar examination if he had a chance to take it. He’s just not the type of man to take orders from some lunkhead. He’d be the boss himself.”

“I see. You figure the boss would have to be at least as brainy as Wey for Wey to accept him.”

“Doesn’t that figure?”

The skipper gave a reluctant nod. “Maybe. But we can’t tie up men forever. Particularly when all evidence indicates Martin and Strite are now law-abiding citizens.”

Frank said, “You ever see an habitual change, skipper?”

“No,” the captain admitted. “But I never knew an habitual with Martin’s talent, either. He doesn’t need a gun any more.”

I shook my head. “You know better than that, skipper.”

“Huh?”

“We’ve had guys in here with enough money salted away in safety vaults to retire for life. Yet they keep using a gun till they’re caught. Just to keep their hands in.”

“Yeah, I know,” Peters said wearily. “So does the Corner Pocket. But how long can you keep a stakeout just on the off-chance that something may happen? Six months? A year?”

“It’s only been a month.”

“Uh-huh. Without a sign that either Martin or Strite has any connection with the robbery gang. There’s no point in arguing. The chief says lift the stakeout.”

“Okay,” I said. “But I’ll make you a bet.”

“What?”

“Eventually Big Julie and Strite will decide to keep their hands in.”

The captain shook his head. “No bet.”

During the next few days information came down from the C.I. Section of the A.G.’s office that stakeouts on all the other suspects throughout the state had also been pulled. With the exception of relatives and known associates of Maurice Wey. The general assumption was that Operation Statewide would have started long ago if it was going to materialize at all, and that the gang must have abandoned its plans. However, the escaped convict’s associates would continue to be covered indefinitely until he was recaptured.

Wednesday, April 16th, started off even more quietly than most days. Frank and I signed in at Robbery Division at 8:00 a.m., checked the message book, looked over the bulletin board, and read our mail. Aside from some stand-up muggs from C.I.I. of some jewel-robbery suspects, there was nothing of importance in either of our boxes. Even the muggs weren’t very important, as we’d managed to get makes on the jewel-robbery suspects the day before, and wants were already out on them.

Frank said, “Know what, Joe?”

“What?”

“This is the first time in six months we’ve had a clear slate.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Hardly seems possible. Not a thing to do but sit around.” Frank tilted back his chair, put his feet on another chair, and lit a cigarette.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” I advised.

“Why not? I’m not superstitious.”

I gave him a puzzled look. “What?”

“Some people think climbing in the bathtub makes the phone ring. I don’t.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This is the same idea,” Frank said. “You think if I get comfortable it will make something happen.”

I grinned at him. “Bet you something does.”

Frank raised his eyebrows. “You really that superstitious, Joe?”

“I’m not superstitious at all.”

“Then why do you think something will happen?”

“Because it always does,” I said.

The buzz of conversation in the squad room suddenly ceased as the hot-shot speaker sounded off: “Attention, all units in the vicinity of West Sixth and Bixel. Two-eleven and a shooting at Grammon’s Supermarket. Officers need help. Two officers involved in a gun duel with two suspects. No descriptions of suspects available. Units One-A-Fifty-four and One-A-Eighty-one handle the call. Code Three. Repeat: Attention, all units—”

Frank’s feet hit the floor with a bang. In the same movement he crushed out his cigarette and came erect. Even though I had a standing start, he caught me at the door.

As we hurried toward the elevator, Frank said, “Me and my big mouth.”

“Huh?” I said.

“I should have stayed out of the bathtub.”