but they’re both decent, good-looking young men. However, in recent years I believe even Ab knew that it was going to be Allan she would choose in the end. I doubt that Ab even proposed to her. I think he felt—wrongly, I’m sure—that being the son of a murderer cast a stigma on him in the eyes of a policeman’s daughter. In any event, even granting that he went into a jealous rage when Pat finally accepted Allan Walters last night—providing Ab knew of it—why would he kill her grandfather? Why didn’t he kill Allan Walters instead? Phil Linton would never have done anything to influence his granddaughter’s decision. I’m very sure of that.”
“He might have,” said Inspector Sansone, “if he’d known that Ellison was a crook.”
“Ab a crook,” exclaimed Dab. “Abner Ellison never did a crooked thing in his life!”
The policemen again exchanged glances.
“We’ve got good reason to believe Abner Ellison was a crook,” said Inspector Sansone, “and that Phil Linton knew it and was about to expose him.”
The inspector looked doubtfully at Lieutenant Romano.
Lieutenant Romano said, “This much is fact that we can prove. Abner Ellison was with Philip Linton last night. He was with him half an hour or so before Linton was murdered. Patrolman Bellinger saw the two of them come out of this house about eleven o’clock. They spoke to him. They walked down the hill toward Broadway together.”
“But Phil was killed inside the house by someone who forced an entrance. He must have been killed after Abner left him.”
“Ellison could have followed him back here and forced the window so it would look like an intruder,” replied Romano. “We have reason to believe that Ellison’s conference with Linton last night convinced him he had to kill Phil to save his own skin.”
“Why? Why on earth should you think that?”
Romano looked inquiringly at Sansone.
“Take over if you want to, Inspector,” he said.
Inspector Sansone regarded Dab with narrowed eyes. His big, spatulate fingers played over his square chin.
“I shouldn’t tell you this, Mr. Dab,” he said, “but I think I’ll let you have it. It’s top-echelon police business and mustn’t be repeated, but you’re peculiarly concerned in this affair and I think you have a right to know. Phil Linton knew something. Something that was hot as a firecracker. He told me two or three months ago that he’d talked to the new commissioner—he’s an old-time cop Phil had known well—and told him he’d blundered on to something and that in time he might be able to offer the Department some information that would knock the town wide open. Right after that, Ellison moved out of here. Things seemed kind of cool between Ellison and Linton from that time on.
“I guess you remember the Grand Jury probe into the numbers racket a year or so back. Evidence was presented to indicate that some Manhattan police officers had been taking graft from the Lenny Fassio mob that’s got the numbers and a lot of other enterprises sewed up in this town. Well, I remember the investigation, all right. There were some dirty hints in the papers that I was one of the ‘high officials implicated.’ I’ve got thirty-five years on the force and am due for retirement. The reason I’m still here is I wouldn’t quit under fire.
“Main witness against the cops was a former Fassio gunsel named Mike Stella. The Grand Jury returned indictments but before the case could come to trial, Stella disappeared. He stayed disappeared. Theory is he was bumped and packed in cement. So the case fell to pieces and the D.A. wound up grinding his teeth down to stubs. A few cops retired, some of the brass got busted, half a dozen detectives were put back in uniform and sent out to walk beats in Canarsie. That’s all there was to it, so far as the public was concerned. But very quietly a departmental investigation continued. That’s why I’m still around. I’m going to take a pension only when I’m free and clear of any charges, actual or implied.
“The numbers racket went merrily on, of course. There were whispers that somebody connected with the law firm of Burke and Holmquist was the payoff man. Burke and Holmquist acted as counsel for Lenny Fassio when he was called before that senatorial television show a while ago. Abner Ellison works for Burke and Holmquist.”
“Good Lord, man!” interrupted Dab. “Are you trying to imply that working for a law firm that accepts criminal cases makes a man a crook? Burke and Holmquist are one of the most respected legal offices in the city. Besides, Ab is mighty small potatoes. He’s only been working for the firm a few years, since he got out of Columbia Law School. He’s never even tried a case. He’s just a kind of glorified clerk who looks up precedents and points of law.”
“Nevertheless,” declared Sansone, “his connection with Burke and Holmquist would give him an opportunity of meeting Lenny Fassio and Lenny’s boss mobsters. And his connection with Phil Linton would give him access to a lot of cops, including some top brass in the department.”
“This is plain damned silly!” flared Allan Walters. “Everybody knows that Mike Stella himself was payoff man in the numbers. That’s what the whole investigation was about!”
“You’re forgetting your rank, Detective Walters!” Sansone barked like a martinet on the drill field. “But under the circumstances, I’ll overlook the breach of discipline. Stella may have been payoff man. But he broke with Fassio and turned pigeon. That’s why he’s got a cement overcoat or is cut up in little pieces and stowed away in trunks. With the heat on, it was a lot safer to use a respectable lawyer as payoff man than to use a known mobster. Even Fassio hasn’t got enough money to corrupt the top men of Burke and Holmquist. But Ellison was a little man, with just the right contacts, and Fassio’s money would look mighty big to him. One cop even intimated that he’d been approached by Ellison in person, but that cop was under a cloud himself and nobody would take his unsupported testimony. When Phil Linton, who’d been retired for years and out of touch with departmental business, said he might have information about the payoff, it was a different matter. How would he get such information except through personal contacts? And who was he closer to than Abner Ellison, the boy he’d brought up, who had lived with him up to a couple of months ago?
“Now I can tell you something that I can vouch for. I saw Phil four days ago. He seemed mighty unhappy. He said he was going to see a certain person on Wednesday night. That was last night, the night he was murdered. He said he had to make sure, but he’d be sure after he saw this person, and he’d lay what he had before the commissioner. Well, he saw Abner Ellison last night and he won’t lay anything before the commissioner, because Phil Linton’s on a slab in the morgue right now.
“The way I figure it, it all ties in. The Fassio mob thought maybe Phil’s granddaughter knew something, too. Did she say anything last night to you that would indicate she knew, Walters?”
“No,” said Walters in a choked voice. “No, I’m sure she didn’t know anything.”
“You’d better be careful in dark alleys just the same, young man,” warned the inspector. “The mob must know you were with her and they may figure she talked to you. They may try to keep you quiet. But they probably think having the girl is enough assurance that you won’t squeak, even if you know something.
“Here’s what I think. Murder’s a lot simpler than kidnapping. They left chilling Linton to Ellison. But Fassio’s still got a few old-timers around, some of them just sprung from stir, who were experts in the snatch racket even before the Lindbergh law was passed. Those are the guys who got the girl. It was neat, siphoning the gas tank and all. Maybe they figure having
