The Case of the Crime King

Chapter 31

Martha Gerrold was a cooperative witness. She answered all questions fully, holding nothing back. The trouble was that she knew very little aside from what she had already told us. She believed most of the robbery loot to date had already been spent for arms to be used in the planned revolution. Recently she had heard talk of another arms shipment going out. She knew no details, but had caught mention of a ship named the Gloria May.

She knew nothing of the gang’s future robbery plans. Nor had she any idea when the other members of the gang next planned to use her home as a hideout. She said she never got advance notice. The various members moved in and out as they pleased, without consulting her.

We took the two male suspects down to the Felony Section and booked them on suspicion of armed robbery. In view of the woman’s statement that she had acted under duress, it was decided not to charge her with harboring wanted criminals. She was booked as a material witness and sent to the Women’s Jail.

We arranged for stakeouts on the Lake Street house in case any other members of the gang showed. I phoned the local office of the F.B.I. and informed them that we now had definite information that Big Julie and his gang were behind the planned Honduran coup. I also gave them the tip about the Gloria May.

After getting off a teletype to the Attorney General’s office informing them of the suspects’ apprehension, Frank and I closed up shop for the night.

On Thursday, May 29th, the district attorney issued complaints against Edward Saltenson and Harvey Daniels. The following day their answer was received in the private chambers of the judge of Division 34 of the Municipal Court. They were bound over for the charges filed against them and transferred to the County Jail in lieu of the posting of $50,000 bond each. Because of Harvey Daniels’ boast that Big Julie would break them out of jail, they were placed under twenty-four-hour security guard.

The cooperation of the press was requested in withholding the news of the suspects’ arrests, in the hope that other members of the gang might appear at the Lake Street hideout.

The maneuver didn’t work. On Monday, June 2nd, witnesses in the three supermarket robberies and the payroll robbery began to receive telephone threats warning them not to testify against the suspects. It was obvious that Big Julie had somehow learned of his confederates’ arrest.

The news ban was lifted and the story appeared in papers throughout the state. Police guards were assigned to all witnesses who had been threatened.

No more threats were reported, and there was no other activity by remaining members of the gang. They seemed to be marking time. A week passed.

On Tuesday, June 10th, I received another night call at my apartment, this time at 11:40 p.m. It got me out of bed.

“Hello,” I said sleepily.

“Joe,” Sergeant Tom Anderson’s voice said. “If you were asleep, get your pants on and get ready to roll.”

“What’s up?” I asked, coming fully awake.

“Big Julie fell off the wagon.”

“Huh?” I said.

“He and Strite just wrecked Pinto’s Tavern on Third. Tore the joint apart. Put the bartender in the hospital and banged up three other customers badly enough to require medical attention!”

“Got a line on them?”

“Have we!” Andy said gleefully. “An informer was in the place. Guy named Smoky Fallon.”

“Yeah,” I said. “He’s a contact of mine.”

“Well, he didn’t know how to reach you at night, so he called us. He tailed them from Pinto’s. Said he wouldn’t have dared but they were so drunk he didn’t think they’d notice. Got close enough to hear them discussing plans for the rest of the night.”

“Uh-huh.”

“They plan to spend it in a cat house on Fifth. Smoky knew the place they were talking about. Place called Belle’s. He gave us the address.”

“Got it staked out?”

“In the process. Smoky’s phone call wasn’t ten minutes ago. By the time I hang up, the whole area ought to be sewed up tight.”

“What’s the address?” I asked.

He gave it to me, and designated a spot a half block away for us to meet.

“How about phoning Frank, too,” I said. “I’m gonna be rushed for time.”

“Will do,” Andy said. “Incidentally, Smoky’s tip clears up another case, too.”

“What’s that?”

“Vice Squad didn’t know the place was a cat house.”

12:03 a.m. I arrived at the corner Andy had designated. I found him and LaMonica standing in the recessed doorway of a clothing shop.

“Everything under control?” I asked.

“Better than that,” Andy said. “Must be two hundred officers staked out in the area. And not a peep of suspicion from the house. They’re definitely in there, too.”

“How you know?”

“First stakeouts got here so fast they spotted them walking in the door. This ought to be easy. If they’re as drunk as Smoky says, — they’re probably sound asleep by now.”

“Sounds too easy,” I said. “I can’t see taking Big Julie without trouble.”

LaMonica said, “We hand it to him on a platter, and he still complains. It should be a cinch. We don’t even have to bull our way in.”

“How you figure?” I asked.

“Well, it’s a cat house, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh.”

LaMonica said, “No reason a couple of officers couldn’t get inside by pretending to be customers.”

A few minutes later Frank arrived and we worked out the strategy of attack. It was decided that Frank and I would undertake the role of customers. Andy said that according to Smoky Fallon, Belle, the madam, had three girls working for her. He didn’t know two of them, but one went under the name of Flora. We would ask for her.

Andy and LaMonica led us up the street to the house. Every doorway and every recess we passed had a uniformed officer standing in it. Across the street from the house two F cars were parked, ready to turn their spots on the building on an instant’s notice.

Andy said, “Couple of cars in the alley out back, too. Anything goes wrong, we can light the place up like a Christmas tree.”

The building was a flat-roofed, two-story place with a yellow-stucco front. It looked as though it might house three to four large rooms downstairs, and anywhere up to six bedrooms on the second floor. There were lights in all the downstairs rooms and in one upper room.

When we had given it a thorough looking over, I drew a deep breath and said, “Okay, Frank. Let’s go.”

Andy said softly, “Good luck.”

He and LaMonica faded back into the darkened doorway of a shop. Frank and I crossed the street, climbed a short flight of steps, and knocked on the door.

A curtain over the glass upper portion of the door pulled back, and the rouged face of a fat woman of about fifty peered out inquiringly. I gave her an expectant smile.

The curtain fell back in place, and the door opened a crack. The woman was wearing a green evening dress.

“Hi, Belle,” I said genially. “Flora working tonight?”

She looked me up and down, searching her memory. “You been here before?’’ she finally asked.

“Sure,” I said. “With Jack. The tall fellow with dark hair. Remember?”

“Jack,” she said, groping in her memory again. She looked Frank over.

“I don’t remember you,” she said to Frank.

“No, ma’am,” Frank said. “Never been here before. I’m with him.” He nodded toward me, then gave her a fatuous grin.

Apparently Frank’s grin decided her that we were harmless. She pulled the door wide. We followed her through a hallway containing an open stairway to the upper floor, and into a large parlor. An archway off this led to what originally had been the house’s dining room, but now was furnished with sofas and chairs as a second sitting room. A door at the end of this room led to what was probably a kitchen.

Two hard-faced women in their late twenties, attired in gaudy kimonos, sat in the front room. They threw us bright, mechanical smiles.

“Flora is busy just now,” the fat madam said. “But these girls are free if you don’t want to wait.”

Frank threw me a questioning look.

As there didn’t seem to be any sleeping quarters on the first floor, Martin and Strite were obviously upstairs. Now that we were inside the house, we could have simply produced our IDs, ordered the women to be quiet, and gone upstairs to look. But both Frank and I once worked the Vice Squad. We’d been on enough raids to know how unpredictable some women can be when they see a police badge. Prostitutes aren’t prone to hysteria, but they are prone to anger. It was quite possible all three women would start yelling invective at the tops of their lungs. I felt it was best to keep things quiet until we got upstairs.

I looked the girls over and crooked my finger at the redhead. She rose languorously and walked over to me with an exaggerated sway of hips.

“You won’t regret not waiting, hon,” she said, and took my hand.

Frank gave the other girl an uncertain look and smiled shyly. She didn’t need any more invitation. She bounced erect, grasped his hand, and led him after me and the redhead.

The redhead and I reached the bottom of the stairs just as a shirt-sleeved figure appeared at the top. The man drunkenly supported himself by leaning one hand on the top stairpost and yelled, “Hey, Belle! Got any whisky around here?” Then he saw me and made a grab for his hip.

The man was Harry Strite.