Shadows Everywhere (10 page)

"Not exactly, Sergeant. I plan to do more than just tell you when and where. I plan to tell you everything."

"In exchange for?"

"There's an expression, Sergeant,
`quid pro quo.'
Something for something. You've heard of it?"

"I didn't realize you were so well-educated. Stop talking around it and get to the point."

Grindle fixed cold eyes on Day for a moment, then nodded. "The point is, if I don't say any more to you, that burglary's going to happen and I'm going to be richer."

Day frowned and sighed. He didn't like the direction the conversation was taking. He didn't like this habitual crook keeping him on a string, keeping him wondering.

"Right, Sergeant," Grindle said, "I'll be one of the two burglars. And I'm willing to tell you how you can arrest my partner. You'll have him red-handed enough for a sure conviction."

"And what about you?"

"Why, I get away."

"With the loot?"

Grindle nodded. "All of it instead of half. And you get a feather in your blue cap."

Day clenched and unclenched his right fist. "How would you like me to take you in for attempting to bribe an officer?"

The sarcastic smile spread on Grindle's lean face. "How would you like to try to prove that? There's no need to get angry, Sergeant. I'm doing you and myself a favor. In a way, it's your duty to take me up on the deal–either it's one of us or simply neither of us."

"Then you'll be holding the whole thing over my head, Grindle. No thanks."

Grindle spread his hands. "Holding
what
over your head? How could I tell on you without putting myself in jail? And who'd believe me, anyway?"

He had a point, Day had to admit. Maybe the best thing was to pretend to go along with him, tell the department and nab both of them. "Who's your partner going to be?" Day asked.

"Ned Davis."

Day's interest sharpened. Ned Davis would he quite a catch, one of the top burglars in the city.

"You have a score to settle with him?" Day asked.

"I've got my reasons," Grindle said blandly. "He'll he tucked neatly away and he'll never suspect me."

"I'll think about it. All right?"

"Sure, Sergeant."

"Get in touch with me in a few days. And I don't want to see that damn car of yours behind me again."

"Sure, Sergeant. Anything else?"

"Yeah," Day said, "where's the barbecue sauce?"

A
ll that next week Day thought about Grindle's offer. He knew it wasn't meant to be a one-shot proposition. Grindle was willing to hand over a lot of ex-friends and a lot of information for safety and virtual immunity for himself.

Why shouldn't Day take him up on it? Ethics? He had found in the past several years that the whole world was unethical. Also, what was in it for Day? No profit of any kind. Promotions maybe; satisfaction in his job.

With a start he realized that dealing with Grindle
would
give him satisfaction; and it would rid society of some of its most proficient malefactors, while one would go free.

What really made up Day's mind was that he waited too long. He'd put Grindle off twice, trying to decide. Then he realized that after this long the department would know he'd been vacillating. They'd ask him why he hadn't said something sooner, and he'd have no good answer for that question. All the whole thing would amount to would be another gray mark on his record.

The next time Grindle contacted him, Day told him it was a deal. They arranged to meet later and talk over the details, and after Day hung up the phone he sat quietly for a long time. He didn't feel the same as he had before the telephone call, and he knew he never would feel the same again.

It didn't matter how he felt, he told himself. There was Audrey to think about now; Audrey and Greg. He didn't want to retire on a sergeant's pension twenty years from now, and that was the way things were heading.

Day and Grindle met at the Bangkok Inn, a little lounge with an Oriental motif. Over drinks they worked out the details, and it was agreed that Grindle would telephone Day a few days before the burglary so he could devise a plausible reason for being at the scene.

The details of the plan were simple enough to have that "can't fail" sureness about them, the residence to be burgled was the Kray estate on Farnham Road. It was a large house set well off the road on three or four acres. Grindle and his partner had already cased it and decided to go in through a side window. They would leave their car parked in a secluded spot near a grove of trees on Farnham, and when they'd got what they'd come for, leave by the same way they'd entered, cutting back across the property to the car. The main item in the big house that had attracted their attention was Jackson Kray's valuable coin collection. Grindle would see that he'd be the one carrying that and whatever cash they found.

Day would be waiting near the car, surprise them when they came toward it and order them to halt. Grindle would run, Day would fire a warning shot over his head, then another shot that would miss him.

At this point in the planning Grindle informed Day with a smirk that in case one of the shots did hit him, he'd taken care to see that the police department would subsequently learn about the arrangement they'd made, from letters he'd left with his wife.

"She's the only other soul who'll know about this," Grindle said. "But we're close. I'm a family man and I trust her. She knows this is like a business with me."

"And what if Ned Davis runs, too?" Day asked.

"You don't miss
him,
"Grindle said, draining the last of his drink.

That was something Day refused to let worry him too much. An experienced burglar like Ned Davis was not apt to run with a loaded revolver aimed at him.

Almost a week passed before Grindle called Day at home. Day moved around the corner, playing the long telephone cord out behind him, so that Audrey couldn't possibly overhear the conversation.

"Next Thursday night at eleven," Grindle said, no trace of the sarcasm in his telephone voice. "Jackson Kray's going out of town."

"You sure you've got everything worked Out?" Day asked nervously. "I mean, what about alarms? A watchdog?"

Grindle laughed, a low, confident chuckle. "You do your job, Sergeant Day, I'll do mine. Between the two of us we should rise high in our professions."

The tension in Day mounted as the time for the actual burglary and the apprehension of Ned Davis drew nearer. A few days before the action he mentioned to some of his fellow officers that an informant had told him the Kray residence was due to he hit. This caused no great alarm, and didn't even particularly attract attention. Daily, informants passed a steady flow of tips to various detectives, and many of them turned out to be untrue.

The night of the burglary Day got permission from Lieutenant Weston to take a uniformed officer on a stake-out at the Kray estate. They took Day's unmarked car and got to the Kray residence about nine o'clock. Day sent the uniformed officer, a young man whose name was Klutcher, around to watch the rear of the house, off to the opposite side from the window where Grindle and Davis would enter. Then he left the car parked down the road, walked back and settled himself in the shadows across from the closed gate to the Kray driveway.

From where he sat he could see the big house clearly. The only light was from the ornamental gaslight in front and from some lights left on in some upstairs rooms; no doubt to discourage prowlers. Day shook his head. When would people learn they weren't fooling anybody, that all they were accomplishing by leaving an inside lamp on was giving the burglars light by which to work. It was the outside lighting that did the discouraging.

Day checked the luminous dial of his watch: almost ten. He sat patiently and waited while the next hour passed, and then it was time for things to start happening.

Almost at eleven sharp Day's ears barely caught the faint rumble of an automobile engine. Headlights shone, then died down the street in the direction of the grove of trees where the car was to he concealed. Day felt the tension start in his stomach and spread throughout his body, and he tried to swallow the brassy taste in his mouth.

He waited a few minutes, then moved down toward the side of the house where he knew they'd he making their exit. For a fleeting moment he wondered if Officer Klutcher was still faithfully watching the rear side of the house. Then he reassured himself with the thought that Klutcher was the type of young policeman who followed orders to the letter, and Day had instructed him not to leave his post until he was called or heard shots.

Day crossed the dark road and stood near where the iron fence gave way to a low, ivy-covered wall, barely three feet high. He found that his throat was very dry now, so that when he swallowed it made a loud noise, and he absently reached inside his suit coat and touched the butt of his holstered Police Special.

Then he saw the movement near the side of the house, just a glimpse, brief but unmistakable, of a lithe, dark silhouette. Day vaulted the low wall and saw a second man emerge from the side window. The two men were moving side by side now, in a low, fast walk across the spacious, tree-dotted grounds toward where they'd left their car. Day followed them, broke into a jog and drew his revolver.

Both figures stopped, straightened in surprise, and turned toward him.

"Stay where you are!"

As Day yelled, the figure on the left spun abruptly and began to run, clutching what looked like a small suitcase tight against his chest.

Day fired his warning shot, high into the air. The figure continued to run.

"Halt!" Day shouted again. For an uncomfortable second he had the vague desire to aim the second shot at Grindle's bent back. It would be a difficult shot, but possible. Then he elevated the barrel slightly and squeezed two shots into the air.

Grindle didn't even glance around. He disappeared into the darkness, and a moment later the roar of a car engine and the screech of tires sounded from the road beyond the small grove of trees. Day saw the flickering glare of headlights as the car accelerated past the tall iron fence.

Day had stopped near the burglar who'd chosen to stay, still holding the revolver steady to cover the man. In the brightening moonlight he could make out the bitter and disgusted look on the often-photographed features of Ned Davis.

"What happened, Sergeant Day? One of 'em get away?" Klutcher was breathing hard as he ran up to where Day was holding the gun on Davis.

"Yeah," Day said, "there was one more. I fired at him but missed."

"I saw the vehicle," Klutcher said. "It headed south. Want me to run to the car and call in?"

"Right. Did you get a description?"

"No, sir, just saw the headlights."

"Call for the wagon, too," Day said as he handcuffed Davis and prodded him to walk in the direction Klutcher had run, toward the unmarked gray sedan up the road.

During the next six months Day apprehended three more burglars in like fashion–and Grindle's tips helped the sergeant break several other tough and well-publicized cases.

To prevent his superiors on the force from picking up a pattern in his exploits, Day varied his reports on his cases, once reporting he saw only the burglar he apprehended and suggesting the victim was turning in a false insurance claim; another time stating he'd seen three burglars (the "good citizen" victim in that burglary unknowingly cooperated by reporting as stolen more valuable bronze statuettes than one man could possibly have carried); and claiming in another burglary that he'd wounded the escaped burglar. In that case Grindle feigned a long recuperative period for the benefits of his cohorts in crime. Also, two of the burglars Grindle arranged for Day to capture were wanted on more serious charges in other states and extradited to serve long terms in distant penitentiaries where they couldn't, even by remote chance, compare notes on their respective downfalls.

Apparently, whatever precautions Grindle took to guard his "reputation" worked, for soon the nickname "Lucky Bill Grindle" was added to his list of aliases.

Then there were no more set-up jobs, and Grindle contacted Day only once every few months to feed him helpful information.

However, now the impetus was there. Day's superiors seemed to regard him more and more highly. Opportunity was his, and he had the skill and guts to make the most of it. Within three years he was cited for bravery and efficiency twice and promoted to sergeant first class, which meant that he was in charge of two teams of detectives.

Audrey was happier now. Sergeant first class pay was better than a sergeant's, and if a sergeant first class still worked irregular hours, at least they were more predictable hours, and a measure less dangerous.

Day saw his wife's enthusiasm for life reborn, saw his marriage turn from something deteriorating to something growing. Only from time to time, on the edge of sleep or wakefulness, did he think of Bill Grindle, whom he hadn't seen in several years.

Day dedicated himself completely to his job, working harder and more diligently on each case, with each passing year, almost as if he were unconsciously trying to prove something.