Valentine produced a sheet of paper from his pocket, and unfolded it. Uncle Al had given him the names of twelve magicians who lived in the Atlantic City area who’d been performing for over twenty years. He handed the list to his superior.
“The Dresser is one of the guys on this list,” he said.
Banko snatched the sheet out of his hand, his eyes racing down the page.
“You’re absolutely positive about this?”
“He’s a magician. I called Lois, and she confirmed it.”
The rage melted from Banko’s face. He grabbed Valentine by the sleeve, and pulled him over to the desk where the others were huddled.
“You guys need to hear this,” Banko said.
Chapter 55
All twelve magicians on Uncle Al’s list were listed in the Yellow Pages. The list was copied down and Xeroxed, then divided into three groups, which were split between Fuller and Romero, and the other two pairs of detectives. The men left, and Banko gave Valentine a fatherly slap on the shoulder.
“This is a nice piece of detective work. Good going.”
“Guess I haven’t lost my street smarts,” Valentine said.
Banko gave him the slow burn. “Giving you the casino job still stings, doesn’t it?”
“Did I say that?”
“I was born late, but not late last night.”
“Yes, it still stings,” Valentine admitted.
“Do you know whyI put you in the casino?”
“Because I got shot, and you didn’t think I was fit for the street.”
“You’ve always been fit for the street.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“Because I knew you wouldn’t be corrupted by all that money,” Banko said. “I needed the squarest guy in Atlantic City to run that place, and you were the best choice.”
Sabina popped her head in. “Still got a job?” she asked.
“Looks like it,” Valentine said.
Sabina looked to her boss for assurance.
“Yes,” Banko said.
She said goodnight and left. Banko picked up one of the Xeroxed lists, and handed it to Valentine. “Make yourself useful, and run a background check on these suspects.”
“Does that mean I’m now working the case?”
“Don’t be a wise ass,” Banko said.
Valentine then went downstairs to the records room, and began looking through the files of men who’d been arrested in Atlantic City over the past twenty years. There were several thousand names, with many not in proper alphabetical order. He had heard that one day, all of the department’s records would be computerized, whatever the hell that meant. In the meantime, every search had to be painstakingly done by hand.
It took an hour and a half to see if any of the twelve suspects had ever been arrested. Of the group, three of the men had criminal records.
The first was Lester Clay, aka The Amazing Foodini. Lester had been arrested for carping checks, and done hard time in Rahway State Penitentiary. Valentine found his parole officer’s name on the sheet, and called him at home. From the officer he learned that Lester lived alone, and had few friends. The parole officer had called Lester a social misanthrope. Valentine hated labels, and said, “What does that mean?”
“He’s a real prick,” the parole officer said.
The second suspect was Martin Hollis — stage name Farky —who’d been arrested for sticking a frozen pepperoni pizza down his pants in the A&P supermarket. Farky had been in his magic costume — top hat, tails, and a walking cane — and acted like he didn’t know where the stolen food had come from when the arresting officer had pulled it from his pants. The arresting officer had not been amused. Hollis’s crime was not considered serious, and he’d been released with a warning.
Johnny Martin — Martin the Magic Man — was the third suspect to run afoul of the law. Johnny had pulled his car up to a street corner one night, and solicited a policewoman posing as a prostitute. The Magic Man had also been wearing his magic costume —a pink bunny outfit with a Styrofoam tail and floppy ears —and had been legally drunk. Martin had wisely thrown himself upon the mercy of the court, and was currently on parole. Valentine called his parole officer as well, and got no answer.
Going upstairs to Banko’s office, he handed his superior the three men’s files, and told him what he’d learned.
“Think it’s one of them?” Banko asked.
“I do.”
“Tell me why.”
“Most killers run afoul of the law at least once. You ought to haul them in.”
Picking up his phone, Banko called Marlene the dispatcher, who sat in a room on the first floor, and instructed her to contact the men in the field, and have them call in. Hanging up, he said, “I’m feeling good about this. How about you?”
“I just hope we’re not too late.”
“You mean to save Mona.”
Valentine nodded. He had not forgotten about Mona, even though he knew it was probably too late to save her. He imagined sharing a cup of coffee with her again, and hearing her rasp over a cigarette while trading one-liners.
“Keep the faith,” Banko said.
The office suddenly went dark. Valentine instinctively reached into his jacket, and drew his .snub-nosed 38 from his shoulder harness. He heard Banko get up and cross the room. The sergeant turned the lights on, then stared at his gun.
“You still using that old thing?” Banko asked.
“I like my .38,” Valentine said.
“You and Jack Webb on Dragnet. You know he upgraded to a .45.”
“You’re kidding. When?”
“Start of the fall season. Someone on the LAPD told him the department was changing, so he did to.”
“What’s with the lights?”
“President Carter’s orders,” Banko explained. “Buildings go dark every night. Don’t want to be too dependant on foreign oil.”
Valentine put his gun back into its harness They didn’t turn the lights off at the casino,he thought. A line on Banko’s phone lit up, and the sergeant snatched up the receiver, then put the caller on speaker phone. It was Romero, calling from a noisy bar. Banko told him about the three magicians with police records.
“We need to haul them in,” Banko said.
“We’ve already spoken to Hollis,” Romero said. “He’s definitely not the one.”
Of the three magician’s with records, Hollis was the only one who’d tried to talk his way out of it. That was what criminals alwaysdid.
“Why do you say that?” Valentine said to the box.
“Hollis invited us inside his house, and let us look around,” Romero replied. “He’s a little nutty, but harmless.”
“He let you look around?” Valentine said to the box.
“That’s right. Why?”
“That’s not normal.”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s not a normal reaction from a person who’s been arrested before. He’s challenging you.”
“Look. We talked with him. The guy’s harmless.”
Valentine didn’t think so. Their killer knew how to appear harmless; that was why hookers felt so comfortable around him. That was his power. He grabbed Hollis’s record off the desk, and found his address in Chelsea Heights. To Banko, he said, “Hollis is the one.”
“You’re sure about this,” his superior said.
“One hundred percent.”
“We’re leaving right now,” Banko said to the box. “Meet us at Hollis’s house.”
Chapter 56
Banko drove with the siren screaming on the dashboard, then killed the siren two blocks from Hollis’s address, and crept up the street. It was a quiet neighborhood, and as they parked several houses away from Hollis’s, a dog started to bark.
They found Romero and Fuller standing on the sidewalk, shivering from the cold. Both men looked annoyed; Hollis had done a good job convincing them he wasn’t a killer. “You’re making a mistake,” Fuller said. “Hollis isn’t the Dresser.”