The Case of the Crime King

Chapter 13

The gunfire had brought a number of people from their homes along Cameron Lane. Most were housewives, as it was only about nine in the morning and the men were off at work. A young woman on the porch to the right of the driveway stared at my gun from wide eyes.

I was beginning to recover from my blow on the head. Putting my gun away, I said to the woman, “Police officer, ma’am. Did you see a couple of men in tan jackets?”

“Both with big noses and glasses?” she asked. She pointed west. “They ran up that way.”

Frank limped up behind me then, and at the same moment the police car that had been trailing us came around the corner to the east of us. I waved it forward and into the curb. Only the driver was in the car.

Going over to the car, I showed my ID and asked, “Where’s your partner?”

“Left him covering the suspects’ car, sir. They got away, huh?”

I said, “They headed west on foot. Two men, one of average build, the other slim and short. Five-six or seven. Both have large noses and wear glasses. Both are wearing tan jackets, tan slacks, and brown hats. Get it on the air and get this whole section blocked off.”

The officer said, “Yes, sir,” and reached for his microphone.

Frank didn’t look as though he was in shape to climb the fence again. We got back to our car by walking to the corner and around the block.

A small crowd had collected around the wrecked Mercury, but the uniformed stakeout was making people keep their distances.

I showed the man my ID and asked if he’d touched anything in the Mercury.

“No, sir,” he said. “Thought there might be fingerprints. There’s a briefcase in the back seat.”

Frank and I both peered into the back seat. The briefcase lay on the seat, and it was so full, it bulged.

Frank said, “Looks like they abandoned the loot.”

“We’ll hope,” I said. I told the uniformed officer to stay with the Mercury and let no one touch it until someone from Latent Prints arrived.

There was no point in our sticking around for the manhunt. Within minutes police units would surround the entire area and begin to close in. The search would be conducted according to standard procedure, and our presence would add nothing. We could be more useful at the robbery scene.

I reported the location of the wrecked Mercury by radio, requested a man from Latent Prints, and told Control One that we were returning to Grammon’s Supermarket for investigation.

9:17 a.m. We arrived back at Grammon’s Supermarket. By then both Frank and I had pretty well recovered from our ungraceful tumbles off the board fence.

The street in front of Grammon’s was no longer deserted. Now that the shooting was over, hordes of curious onlookers had spilled from nearby buildings. Five black-and-white radio cars and two F cars were drawn up in front of the market. Traffic officers were diverting traffic at either end of the block, and other uniformed officers were attempting to disperse the crowd, with only partial success. But they had managed to keep the area immediately in front of the market clear of all but officers and witnesses.

In front of the market Captain Peters was talking to a round little fat man who wore a white apron. Frank and I went over to them.

“Friday, Smith,” the captain said, nodding to us. “Any luck?”

“Just a near miss,” I said. “They’re on foot and may be bottled up.” I glanced at a dark stain on the sidewalk where the wounded officer had lain. “How bad was he hit?”

“D.O.A.,” Peters said bitterly.

No one said anything. Then Frank asked in a low voice, “Who was he, skipper?”

“Kid named Art Ferguson. Twenty-six years old. Wife and two kids.”

After another moment of silence, I asked, “How about his partner?”

“Sergeant named Blake. Got a busted shoulder, I think. Walked to the ambulance, so he ought to make out.”

The Captain turned to the round little man he had been talking to and introduced him as Herman Grammon, the owner of the supermarket. Grammon solemnly shook hands with both Frank and me.

“Terrible thing,” he said. “Wish now I hadn’t done it. Should’ve just let them take the money and go. Terrible thing. Have it on my conscience the rest of my life.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“I was just telling the Captain about it when you arrived.” He looked at Peters. “Want me to go on from there, or start over?”

“Lieutenant Friday and Sergeant Smith will be in charge of the investigation,” Captain Peters said. “Better take it from the beginning.”

Grammon looked back at me. “Well, sir, they were waiting out front when I opened. In a car. We open at nine, understand, but I get here about twenty after eight. Unlock the door, then lock it again from inside.”

I said, “Uh-huh.”

“My clerks start arriving about eight thirty. They come in at different times, because it takes longer to set up some departments than it does others. The fresh-vegetable clerk arrives first. Has to check all the vegetables, you see, and dress up the display a bit. Pull wilted leaves off lettuce, throw away soft tomatoes. Stuff like that.”

I said, “We understand.”

“Point is, there’s about ten minutes between eight twenty and eight thirty when nobody’s here but me. They must have watched and found that out. Caught me just as I put the key in the door. Stuck guns in my back.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I didn’t make any resistance. You can always make more money. But you’ve only got one life.”

“Yes, sir. You did right.”

“Did what they told me. Took them back to the safe, opened it, and gave them the money. About two thousand in cash. They stuffed it in a briefcase. Didn’t bother with checks or silver.”

I said, “You’ll probably get your money back. They left a briefcase in their getaway car.”

“They did?” he asked in a pleased voice. Then he looked worried. “Where is it?”

“It can’t be moved until Latent Prints goes over the car. A police officer is watching it.”

“Oh,” he said in a relieved tone.

Captain Peters said, “What happened after they took the money?”

“The little fellow pulled out a roll of adhesive tape and told me to cross my hands behind me. Guess he meant to tape me up. But he changed his mind.”

I asked, “Why was that?”

“The police arrived. The two bandits saw the car stop out front and the two officers get out. They told me to lie on my stomach on the floor, then they ran up near the front of the store and crouched down behind a couple of displays. The two policemen pulled their guns, and one of them opened the door.”

When he paused, I said, “Go on.”

“That’s as far as he got. Just opening the door. Never even stepped inside. The little fellow fired, the officer staggered back and fell to the sidewalk. Then everybody began shooting. Both bandits and the remaining officer. Nobody got hit, though. Just my windows.”

I glanced at the windows and saw that a good deal of glass was missing.

Grammon went on, “After the first flurry of shots, the officer scuttled back out of sight. Behind his car, I think.”

Captain Peters put in, “That’s probably when he called in for help.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Grammon said. “Anyway, the two thugs took advantage of it to try for the rear door. Only it was padlocked and the key was in my pocket. I guess they were in too much of a hurry to ask me about it. Instead they made a break for the front. There was some more shooting out there, but I couldn’t see what was going on. Then I heard a car drive away fast.”

Frank said, “While back you said something about your conscience. What’d you mean?”

Grammon’s round face turned doleful. “That young officer would still be alive if it wasn’t for me. I had to play smart.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, these fellows didn’t have the job cased as good as they thought.”

“How do you mean?” I asked.

“My safe’s equipped with a silent burglar alarm. Connects into police headquarters.”

“Oh?”

“There’s a hidden switch you’re supposed to throw before you open the safe. To cut off the alarm.”

“Yeah,” I said. “We know the type.”

“I didn’t throw the switch.”