79 Park Avenue (35 page)

Joe waited until Mike had finished reading it. "Wasn't Park Avenue Models the same agency that girl mentioned?"

Mike nodded silently. He read the report again.

"What do you think?" Joel asked.

"Too close for coincidence," Mike answered. He got to his feet. "I'm goin' down to see Frank MiUersen with this. Maybe he knows something about it."

"Let me know what happens," Joel said, turning back to his desk.

Frank Millersen looked up as Mike walked into his office. "Hello, Mike, what can I do for you?"

"Look at this, Frank." Mike threw the report down on the desk.

Frank picked it up and scanned it quickly. His face was impassive when he looked up again at Mike. "What about it?"

"You know anything about it I don't?" Mike asked.

Millersen put a pipe in his mouth. "Nothing much," he said, Ughting it. "Just a routine Vice Squad action." He laughed shortly. "I spoke to one of the boys. It must have been quite a brawl. He told me when they got there the girls were all—"

"I don't mean that," Mike interrupted. "One of the girls mentioned Park Avenue Models. That's the same one that Florence Reese said she had worked for."

"I don't think that means much," Frank said through a cloud of smoke. "A lot of girls would probably know the name."

"Maybe," Mike admitted. "But why would she later deny it? That's what seems strange to me. Another thing that bothers me is how they could afford Vito's office. He doesn't work for buttons. The ordinary floosie can't get anywhere near him."

"Gellard had him, according to the report," Frank said. "He probably paid for the girls, too. A matter of self-defense."

Mike shook his head. "I don't knoW. It just doesn't hit me right."

Frank smiled at him. "Forget it, Mike. When you're in

the oflSce long enough, you'll see so many of these co-mcidences that you'll stop bothering about it."

"I can't," Mike said. "I keep remembering that poor kid in the hospital. The way she looked. That wasn't what she came to this town for."

Frank nodded. "She didn't come for that. But if a kid's straight, she never gets into that kind of trouble. I spoke to her old man when he came for the body. She was always a wild one."

"There's a difference between wild ones and bad ones," Mike said. He picked up the report and scanned it again. *T wish I could forget it."

"What are you goin' to do?" Frank asked.

Mike looked up from the report. There was a strange expression in the detective's eyes. An unaccustomed wariness guided Mike's tongue. "I don't know," he answered "I'll sleep on it first. If there's anything more, I'll call you in the morning."

Frank got to his feet, smiling. "That's smart. Maybe a good night's rest will make a big difference. I'll still be here tomorrow if you decide to go further."

"Thanks, Frank." Mike left the ofiice, but as he crossed the corridor toward the elevator he noticed that he had picked up another paper in addition to the report. He turned back.

He walked through the outer office and opened Frank's door. "Frank—" he said, before he noticed that the detective was on the telephone.

"Hold on a minute, Mary," Frank said, quickly covering the mouthpiece with his hand.

Mike looked at him curiously. Millersen's face, usually florid, seemed to blanch suddenly, "I'm sorry, Frank," he apologized automatically. "I didn't know you were on the

phone. I picked this up by mistake/' He put the paper down on the desk.

A strained smile came to Frank's lips. "That's okay, Mike. I was just talkin' to the little woman. Thanks."

Mike nodded and left the office, closing the door carefully behind him. Not xmtil he began to walk away from the door did he hear the hum of Frank's voice on the telephone. He went back to his own office, sat down heavily, and stared at the report,

"Well?" Joel asked.

Mike frowned. "Millersen thinks it's nothing."

"Frank ought to know," Joel said. "He's the expert."

Mike studied the report again. After a moment he turned to Joel. "Do you happen to know the name of Frank's wife?"

Joel grinned. "Sure. Mrs. Millersen.'*

"Not funny," Mike said. "Do yuh know?'*

"Why?" Joel asked.

"Just curious," Mike answered. "He was talkin' on the phone to her when I came in."

"Elizabeth," Joel said. "I had a few drinks with them one night. He calls her Betty."

Mike lit a cigarette. He turned his chair and stared out the window. Down in the street men were already walking about in shirt sleeves. Summer was racing to New York with all the promising fires of hell. Betty. Why would Millersen he to him?

He turned back to his desk and picked up the report. Park Avenue Models. What kmd of outfit was that? He had never heard of it, and now twice within a few weeks its name had come up. He reached for the telephone on his desk.

"Get Alec Temple for me," he said into it Alec had just been transferred to the Rackets ofl&ce.

Alec's voice came on the wire. "Yes, Mike?"

"Do me a favor," Mike said. "I want a q.t. check on an outfit, Park Avenue Models, Inc., 79 Park Avenue, City."

"What d'yuh want to know?" Alec asked.

"Everything you can find out about it," Mike answered. "But it's very important that no word goes downstairs about it. I don't want Millersen's office to hear about it. This is one time I think we can show 'em something.'*

"Okay, Mike," Alec laughed. There was always a void between the attorneys and the police who were assigned to the office. "I understand."

"As quick as you can. Alec," Mike said.

"Tomorrow morning quick enough?" Alec asked.

"That will be fine. Thanks." Mike put down the phone. He ground out his cigarette just as the phone rang.

He picked it up. "Keyes."

"Mike, Frank Millersen here." Millersen's voice was heavy over the wire.

"Yes, Frank," Mike said.

"I was just thinkin' maybe we ought to look into that model agency if yon want." Millersen sounded shghtly apologetic.

"Forget it, Frank," Mike said. "You're probably right about it. Just coincidence. Sorry to have bothered you."

"Okay, Mike." Millersen's voice was hesitant. "If you're sure.'*

"I'm sure, Frank. Thanks anyway," Mike said.

"You're quite welcome, Mike." He rang oflF, leaving Mike wondering whether that had been a note of relief he had heard in the man's voice.

Chapter 16

THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY peered shrewdly at Mike from behind wide hom-rimmed glasses. He gently tapped the papers on the desk before him with a gold pencil. "So you want to resign?'* he asked quietly.

Mike nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Why?"

*Tersonal reasons, sir," Mike answered stiffly.

The Old Man swung away from him and looked out the window. "Unhappy in your work here, Mike?"

"No, sir."

The Old Man fell silent, and for a long time the only soimd in the office was his stertorous breathing. At last he spoke. "I never figured you for chicken, Mike."

Mike didn't answer.

"This job you did on Park Avenue Models is a big one. One of the most important ever to come through this office. Yet, just because it reaches into influential places, you want to quit."

Still Mike didn't speak.

The Old Man turned to face him. *'How do you think I feel,'* he asked suddenly, "when I find my own chief detective involved? Don't you think I want to quit?" He didn't wait for Mike to answer. "But I can't. I took an oath. You took the same oath when I hired you. We can't quit."

"That has nothing to do with it, sir," Mike said.

"Balls!" The Old Man exploded. "So what if a dozen stinking poUticians and rich businessmen are involved? Afraid they'll wreck your career?"

Mike didn't reply.

"You'll have no career for them to wreck if you run out now. Everybody will know you're yellow," the Old Man said.

Mike took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, sir. Is that all?'*

The Old Man leaned forward over the desk, breathing heavily. "You don't understand, Mike. This is the opportunity of your Ufetime. Look where Tom Dewey went with one case hke this. After this is over, you can call your shots, you can go anywhere you want. Don't throw your Ufe away, boy."

"May I leave now, sir?" Mike answered.

Contempt crept into the Old Man's voice. "It's seldom I guess wrong on a man, but I guessed wrong when I took you on. It proves that there's more to guts than the ability to stand in front of bullets."

Mike's face flushed. He bit his lips to keep from answering.

"It's bad enough to have to swallow what I must about Millersen, but the thing that does it is to find you're a coward." The tone of his voice changed abruptly. "I'm an old man, Mike. I've spent a good part of my life in this

office. All I ever wanted was to do a good job, an honest job, to protect the people who placed their faith in me. This is the first time 1 ever felt I failed them."

"You didn't fail them, sir," Mike said. "All the information is right there on your desk."

"I am responsible for every man in my office," the Old Man said. "I will pay for Millersen, I will pay for you. Being District Attorney is more than just going before a Grand Jury and getting indictments, it's more than getting a conviction in criminal court. It's pride. Pride in doing your job without fear, without favor. When you quit, it's just as if I quit. The whole world will know it^"

Mike didn't speak.

"All right," the Old Man said. "Quit if you want to, but at least have the decency to tell me why. I know you're not a coward."

Mike took a deep breath. Suddenly he reahzed his hands were trembling.

"Tell me, Mike," the Old Man said genfly. "You were a good cop and you were a good assistant. Why are you quitting?"

Mike met the Old Man's eyes. "She was my girl, sir." His voice was dull.

"She?" The Old Man's voice was puzzled. "Who?"

"Marja," Mike said. "Maryann Flood, I mean."

''This Maryann Flood?"

Mike nodded.

"But how—what?" The Old Man was confused.

"I didn't know she was in it when I called Alec for the check on Park Avenue Models three weeks ago, sir." Mike paused to light a cigarette. "If I had known, I might not have begun."

The District Attorney looked up at him. There was a

new understanding in his eyes. "I was right," he hali whispered. '1 was right about you."

Mike went on as if he hadn't heard the Old Man. *Then when I got the report, I had to continue. I sent up and got permission to continue. We got a wiretap and began to check. Everything began to fall into place—things we hadn't even thought about. How so many of our raids missed. Lots of things. Especially when we checked back on her first arrest and found that Frank Millersen was the arresting officer. It was even more convincing when we found out that he had banked close to twenty thousand a year. Isn't a cop in the world that can do that on his pay. From there to the businessmen who kept her in business, to the politicians she paid off, to the cops and detectives the girls took care of. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the investigation was over. Everything was ready to go before the Grand Jury for an indictment. It was then I knew I couldn't do it. I asked Joel Rader to take it for me."

The Old Man looked up at him. "You called in sick."

Mike nodded. "I was sick. Sick inside."

"But you've come up here while Joel is still in the courtroom."

"Yes," Mike answered. "I want to get out before I know how much damage I've done to her."

"You can't run away from that, Mike," the Old Man said gently.

Mike dragged deeply on the cigarette. "I can try, John."

"You're still in love with her." It was more statement than question.

Mike looked down at him. He didn't speak.

The door behind him opened, and Joel Rader came in, an excited expression on his face.

"You've done it, Mike!" he cried. •We've got an indict-

ment against every one of them. Flood, Millersen. It'll be the biggesi thing ever to hit this town!" He turned to the District Attorney, still seated behind the desk. "I've got warrants with me for their arrest. We're going downstairs to pick up Millersen now."

The D.A. got to his feet. "I'll go with you." He looked at Mike. "Coming, copper?'*

Frank Millersen stuck a pipe in his mouth and lit it carefully. When it was burning easily, he began to skim through the papers on his desk. Nothing special. He could look forward to a relaxing week-end with Betty and the kids. It would be the first in a long while.

There was a knock at the door. "Come in," he called.

The shuffle of several men's footsteps made him look up. The D.A. was standing in front of his desk, and behind him were Keyes and Rader. Beyond the door he could see the blue uniform of a patrolman. He felt an unaccustomed tightness in his chest, but he forced a smile to his lips and got to his feet, holding out his hand. "It's been a long time since you've been down here, Chief," he said.

His hand hung in space between them. The District Attorney made no move to take it. Awkwardly Millersen raised his hand to remove the pipe from between his lips, trying to make it seem one unbroken gesture.

The D.A.'s voice was low. "We have a warrant for your arrest, Frank."

He could feel his face whiten. "What are the charges, sir?" he asked. But he could read them in Mike's face.

"Do I have to tell you, Frank?" the Old Man asked gently.

Millersen's shoulders drooped, and he slumped into his chair. He was suddenly an old man. He looked down at

his desk. Aimlessly his hand shuffled the papers on it. He shook his head. "No."

Without looking up, he knew that the District Attorney had turned and walked out of the office. Rader's voice beat down at his head. "You better come with us, Frank." He looked up, agony in his eyes. "Give me a minute to get myself together," he said heavily. "I'll be right out." Joel looked at Mike, who nodded. "Okay," Joel said. "We'll wait for you."

They started out the door. ^ Millersen's voice stopped them. "Mike."

Mike turned to face him.

Millersen forced a smile to his lips. "I should have remembered you were a damn good cop before you joined the D.A. I couldn't have done better myself." Mike's lips were stiff. "I'm sorry, Frank." "It was your job, Mike," Frank said quietly. Mike nodded and followed Joel through the door. Miller-sen watched it close behind them. He picked up the pipe and stuck it in his mouth and drew on it. He could feel the heavy smoke deep in his lungs.