The Copper Frame

Chapter 4

Once the ordeal of the funeral was over, Saxon threw himself into his work. There were no drastic changes he cared to make in the procedures his father had set up, but he did make one minor change.

He found a safe yet more useful role for Sam Lennox than sitting around the squad room waiting for the rare occasions when he was needed as a driver. Since he was around headquarters all the time the chief was there — which was most of the time, inasmuch as a police chief’s work was chiefly administrative — Saxon put him on permanent daytime desk duty, thus releasing one more man for necessary outside duty. Lennox still remained under his watchful eye most of the time, and in addition was performing a useful function.

Meantime neither the sheriff’s office nor the state police had discovered any new leads in Andy Saxon’s murder. It was beginning to show all the dreary signs of an unsolved homicide.

It had for many years been Andy Saxon’s custom to allow members of the force assigned to duty over Christmas and New Year’s to shift duty with other members who were willing to trade. The new acting chief saw no reason to suspend this tradition. Accordingly, he called a general staff meeting for 4 P.M. on Saturday.

The Christmas Eve and Christmas Day schedules were settled first. A number of swaps were made, matters finally being settled to the satisfaction of everyone concerned. New Year’s Eve wasn’t as easy to resolve, however, for everyone liked that night off.

It was customary on New Year’s Eve to move each shift forward one hour so that the relief change-over wouldn’t come just at midnight. Instead of running from 4 P.M. until midnight, the second trick started at 5 P.M. and ran until 1 A.M. This allowed those assigned to the swing trick an extra hour to see in the new year instead of having their celebrations interrupted at the climax of the evening.

The second trick consisted of two radio-car teams, a single foot patrolman in the downtown area, and a desk man. One of the radio-car men got George Chaney to swap duty with him for the usual ten-dollar fee. The other three and the beat cop preferred to save their money. So everyone was satisfied but Art Marks, who was assigned to desk duty that night. Marks wanted off because he and his wife were invited to a house party New Year’s Eve. When no one volunteered to swap with him, he raised the bid to fifteen dollars.

There were still no takers.

The expression of disappointment on the middle-aged lieutenant’s face was too much for Saxon. He said, “I’ll sit in for you, Art.”

Everyone in the squad room looked at him in astonishment, for the chief of police wasn’t expected to pull desk duty at any time, let alone on New Year’s Eve.

“I don’t have a thing on,” Saxon said. “Emily has to go on duty at eleven P.M., so we’d have to leave anywhere we went by ten, and local parties don’t get started until that time. We hadn’t planned any celebration in any event, so soon after my dad’s funeral.”

Art Marks said uncertainly, “Well, if you don’t mind, Chief, I’d sure appreciate it.” He started to reach for his wallet.

“Skip the fee,” Saxon said. “I’ll get even by making you do me a favor sometime.”

When the meeting broke up, Vic Burns followed Saxon into the chief’s office. Closing the door behind him, he stood scratching his right biceps.

“Got an itch?” Saxon asked.

The stocky lieutenant dropped his hand to his side. “That damned bullet burn. It’s scabbed over and itches all the time. That was a pretty nice thing you did, Chief. Smart, too.”

“Why smart?”

“You must know Art expected the chief’s appointment. He hasn’t said anything, but you can tell it rankled. Now you’ve got him solidly on your side.”

“I think he was on my side anyway, Vic. I haven’t noticed any sign of resentment.”

“Oh, he’s being a good trouper. But if you’ll notice, he hasn’t smiled since the day you broke the news of your appointment.”

“You’re imagining things,” Saxon said. “He never did smile much.”

“Maybe,” Burns said doubtfully. “Still, I’ve had a feeling all week that Art was brooding over the injustice of being bypassed. I think what you’re doing for him may shake him out of it.” He turned toward the door. “Just thought I’d tip you off. Morale’s important.”

“Thanks for bringing it to my attention.”

When Burns had gone out, Saxon sat musing for a time. Had the lieutenant been trying to warn him that Art Marks’s attitude was something deserving serious attention — that perhaps there was danger of the veteran lieutenant’s attempting deliberately to undercut his authority in some way? Knowing the stolid Marks as well as he did, Saxon considered it hardly likely that he would be capable of anything that devious. Nevertheless, the incident left him vaguely disturbed.

During Christmas week Emily was still working the three-to-eleven trick at the hospital, her change-over to the swing trick not coming until Monday, December 29. On Christmas Eve Saxon picked her up when she got off at eleven o’clock, and they had their tree together at her apartment at midnight.

Since Julie Fox had received a few days off to spend Christmas with her parents in Rochester, they were all alone. Saxon brought up the question of their marriage.

“We ought to wait at least until six weeks after the funeral,” Emily said. “That’s considered proper.”

“Who makes these rules?” Saxon inquired. “Old dried-up spinsters who grab at any excuse to delay weddings?”

Emily smiled at him. “Six weeks isn’t forever, Ted. How about the first week in February?”

“The original date we picked was the first day of winter,” he said. “We ought to pick another special day. It makes anniversaries easier to remember. Let’s make it February second.”

“Groundhog Day?” she said. “We will not!”

They finally settled on Saturday, February 7.

On Tuesday, December 30, Saxon entered police headquarters at his usual hour of 9 A.M. to find Vic Burns working the desk. The daytime shift consisted of three beat cops and a single one-man car, and Bums was supposed to be working the car.

“What are you doing here?” Saxon asked. “Where’s Lennox?”

“He’s sick,” Burns said a little uneasily. “I pulled one of the beat cops and stuck him in the car so I could take over the desk.”

“Sick with what?”

“I don’t know. Just sick.”

“Did he call in?”

Burns looked embarrassed. “I guess Hanson phoned his house when Sam didn’t show up to relieve him. His wife said he was sick.”

“He’s drunk again, huh?”

Burns made a helpless gesture. “Aw, give him a break, Chief. Your dad’s death shook him up pretty bad.”

“It shook up the whole force,” Saxon said grimly. “But nobody else stays out drunk. I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

Going back out to his car, he drove southeast to the small frame house where Sam Lennox lived. Lennox had two sons and a daughter, but they were grown and married, and he and his wife now lived in the house alone.

Nora Lennox was a thin, sad-faced woman of about her husband’s age. When she opened the door and saw Saxon, she began to cry. It was a silent, hopeless sort of crying.

“Cut it out, Nora,” Saxon said gruffly. “I’m not here to eat anybody. May I come in?”

Silently she stepped aside to let him enter. Carefully wiping his feet, he moved into a small entry hall, took off his galoshes, and laid his hat on a little table against the wall.

“Where is he?”

“In the kitchen,” she said in a barely audible voice.

Saxon moved on into a tiny front room, through it into a central hall, and into the kitchen. Sam Lennox sat at the table in his police uniform, except for the jacket, an empty quart bottle and another just opened before him. He badly needed a shave. He made an attempt to rise when he saw Saxon but couldn’t quite make it and sank back into his chair again. He was as drunk as Saxon had ever seen anyone.

“’Lo, Chief,” he muttered.

There was no point in attempting to talk to Lennox. Saxon turned to face Nora, who had paused in the doorway. Tears were no longer running down her face, but her expression was one of hopelessness.

“How’d he manage this so early in the day?”

Nora Lennox worked her hands together. “He got up at four in the morning. Said he couldn’t sleep. He hasn’t been sleeping at all well since your father died. I thought he was just getting a glass of warm milk, like he does sometimes, so I went back to sleep. I didn’t know he had any whisky. I know there wasn’t any in the house, so it must have been hidden in the garage. When the alarm went off at seven, he wasn’t in bed. I came out and found him like this. He’d dressed himself, as you can see, but I couldn’t let him go to work. It’s grief over your father, Ted. You’ve got to consider that.”

“How do you mean, consider it?”

“It’s been months since it happened. I know your father warned him if it happened once more he’d have to board him off the force. But please give him one more chance. If he loses a third of his pension, what would we do? We’re going to be barely able to live on a full pension.”

“I’m not going to have him boarded,” Saxon said gruffly. “At least not this time. But he’s a police officer with definite duties, and it louses up the whole schedule when he pulls things like this. I may as well tell you bluntly that I won’t put up with it again.”

“It won’t happen again,” she said eagerly. “I promise. Next time I’ll get up with him.”

Lennox said in a maudlin voice, “Didn’t do no good after all. Might’s well let Vic tell the chief last time.”

Saxon glanced over his shoulder. “You might as well have let Vic tell the chief what, Sam?”

“When he caught me drunk. What’sa difference ole Andy boards me or you? Mighta known I’d get caught again.”

Apparently Vic Burns had caught Lennox drunk at some time in the past and had covered for him by not reporting it to the chief, Saxon thought. Suddenly he remembered an incident a few weeks back when both he and his father had been in city court all morning. When they came downstairs at noon, Lennox was gone and Vic Burns, working the desk, had said he’d had him driven home because he was ill. Lennox, free from Andy Saxon’s watchful eye all morning, had probably sneaked out several times to hoist a few in taverns. And Burns, realizing he was drunk on duty, had sent him home.

Saxon could hardly bring himself to blame Vic Burns for the cover-up. Everyone knew that Lennox had been warned that he was through if he ever again drank on duty. Saxon realized that he was now doing exactly what Burns had done on that occasion: letting the old alcoholic get away with it again.

Wearily he said, “See if you can get him sober by tomorrow morning, Nora. I’ll expect him to be on duty at eight A.M.”