Within a few minutes Will Henry was standing next to a pile of clothing that reached his waist, and Brown was opening the padlock on the trunk. Jimmy Riley, who had been watching the uniform operation in a kind of trance, gasped. Will Henry reckoned Brown could arm a whole police force in a bigger town than Delano with what was in the trunk. Brown took a green felt cloth from the trunk and spread it over Jimmy Riley’s firehouse card table.
“Now,” said Brown, lifting a large, squarish-looking pistol from the case and polishing it with a corner of the cloth, “here’s your latest sidearm, the Colt .45 automatic pistol, as used by the U. S. Army in the recent European war.” He took an enormous bullet from the trunk. “Fires a piece of metal that will knock a man flat on his back if it only hits his outstretched hand. A big wallop.”
Will Henry picked up the pistol and held it gingerly. Brown sensed he had not yet suited his man to the weapon. He removed two more pistols, revolvers, from his trunk and placed them on the felt cloth. “Two very fine weapons, both from the house of Colt. A .32 revolver with a two-inch barrel, excellent piece for the detective or the officer who wants to conceal his weapon. Or your .38 revolver with your four-inch barrel. A fine police sidearm. I feel, myself, that this pistol will sooner or later become standard for most law-enforcement agencies.” Will Henry picked up the pistol and pointed it at a spot on the wall. Then he quickly brought it down and fumbled for an entrance to the cylinder. He had had enough problems with “unloaded” pistols. Brown showed him the mechanism v^hich allowed the cylinder to fall sideways. “I think this might be the best weapon for you, Chief Lee. Npt as bulky as the .45, but a lot more impact than the .32. An excellent piece. Now, you’re going to need an extra weapon around here, Chief. If you ever have to deputize a man you’re going to have to arm him. You can’t have a man showing up here with a .22 rifle or a .410 shotgun for police work. You ever shot much with handguns?”
“Not much.”
Brown began hauling boxes of cartridges from the trunk. I’m going to leave you with a thousand rounds. That may sound like a lot, but you’ve got to go out in the country somewhere and practice a lot with the pistol. Not at all like using a rifle or shotgun. Different thing entirely. Now, you’re going to need at least three pair of handcuffs. Hear you’ve already been in a two-cuff situation; handled it well, too. One key fits ‘em all, so you don’t have to worry about keeping track of a pocketful of keys.” He held up a small blackjack similar to the one Skeeter Willis had shown Will Henry. “An officer’s best friend.” Brown dove into one of the other cases and came up with a holster and belt. “Handcuffs fit right in here; here’s a place for a dozen extra rounds of ammunition; and your billy fits right here. All your equipment on one belt. Just buckle this on, and let’s see how it fits.” It fit.
“Now—”
“Let’s see what all this comes to, Mr. Brown.” Brown whipped out an order pad and began writing furiously. “I’m sure you’ll find every item on this list absolutely necessary in time, Chief. I’ve been equipping peace officers for twelve years now, and I can honestly say that I’ve never overequipped one yet. Now, let’s see. That’s two winter uniforms, shirt and trousers, three summer uniforms—that’s first-grade military khaki there, sir—shirt and trousers, one pea jacket, one winter hat, one summer hat, two black neckties, one holster and belt with attachments for extra ammunition, handcuffs, and blackjack, one blackjack, two Colt .38 pistols, three pair of handcuffs, and one thousand rounds of .38 ammunition. That comes to exactly three hundred forty-nine dollars and forty-five cents.”
Will Henry looked narrowly at the little man. “Couldn’t you think of anything to spend the other fifty-five cents on?”
Brown grinned. “I always like to see a department come in under budget.” He reached into an inside pocket and withdrew a thin leather case. “By the way, Chief. Just as a token of our esteem and congratulations on your new post, the National Law Enforcement Equipment Company, Incorporated, would be honored if you’d accept this little gift.” He opened the box and set it on the green felt. Inside were three badges, large, medium, and small. Each bore the legend Delano Police Department and the designation Chief. “One’s for your shirt, the middle-sized one clips onto your cap, and the little one”—he took a small leather wallet from his pocket and pinned the smallest badge into it—“this is for carrying when you’re in civilian clothes. It’s gold plated.”
Will Henry picked up the order blank and signed it. “Mr. Brown, you sure come prepared, don’t you?”
“Chief, I know my business, and I know my officers’ business. I know what they need to do the job.” He turned to Jimmy Riley. Now, just let me run out to the car for a minute. I’ve got a few things you’re going to be needing.”
Will Henry gathered his things and left Jimmy Riley to the tender mercies of T. T. Brown.
Chapter 10.
SINCE THE NEW police station was simply being added onto the already-planned fire station, building proceeded quickly. Will Henry had been chief for less than a month when it was completed. On the Saturday night before the Monday when the station was to be officially open, he and Hugh Holmes were hard at work in the new building. T. T. Brown’s custom-made bars, doors, windows, and locks had arrived during the week, and their installation had been completed the day before. Holmes had purchased a roll-top desk, two filing cabinets, four straight-backed chairs, a swivel chair, and a hat rack. The cells had been furnished with wooden bunks, cotton mattresses, and army blankets, and a large potbellied stove was glowing in the office. Will Henry was tacking wanted posters to a new bulletin board, and Holmes, his shirt sleeves rolled up, was sweeping up excelsior, in which the new furniture had been packed. A man from the telephone company had just left. The new instrument had been hung on a wall next to a window opening into the firehouse, so that it could be answered from the other side. The telephone rang.
Will Henry put down his box of thumbtacks and answered it. It was Estelle, the night operator. “Is that you, Mr. Lee? Chief?”
“Yes, Estelle. How’re you?”
“I’m just fine, but I’ve got a lady on the line who’s nearly
‘bout hysterical. She says there’s something terrible happening over on Maple Street.” The streets on the north side of the M&B tracks were all named after trees. They were lined with nearly identical white houses built by Thomas Delano to house his work force.
“Well, you better connect her with me, here. You can do that, can’t you? I mean, the phone is all hooked up, isn’t it?”
“Yessir. Here she is.” There was a click, and Will Henry could hear someone breathing irregularly, as if trying to suppress sobs.
“Hello. Hello, this is Will Henry Lee. Chief Lee. What’s the matter?”
“Oh, thank God!” a woman’s voice said. “I’m so glad I got hold of you! The operator said there was a phone in the jail now. I’m so glad you was there.”
“Yes, I’m here. Now what’s the matter? What’s wrong?”
The woman continued in a loud whisper. “You’ve got to come over here quick. He’s going to kill her this time if you don’t get here quick! I can hear him now, and she’s crying again. I—”
“Who is this speaking?”
“I’m Mrs. Smith. My husband is James Smith. I’d send him over there to stop it, but he’s on the night shift at the mill. He’s stopped him before.”
“Stopped who, Mrs. Smith?”
“That Butts man next door. He’s beating her up again.”
“I see. Now you’re on Maple Street, is that right? Where is Maple Street?”
“On the corner. The corner of Poplar. They’re right next door, at number four. We’re number two. Can you come over here quick? He’s going to kill her—”
“I’ll be right there, Mrs. Smith. Now, you stay away from their house until I get there, you hear? Don’t go in there” He hung up the phone and started to get into his coat. “Sounds like somebody’s beating up a woman over in Milltown,” he said to Holmes. Holmes reached for his coat.
“I’ll come with you.”
They started for the door. Will Henry stopped. He looked at the gun belt lying on his desk. He strapped it on and left the building.
Will Henry drove as quickly as he could through the Saturday-night shopping traffic. “I’ve got to get a siren for this car,” he said, blowing his horn at a mule and wagon blocking his way.
“Get it,” said Holmes grimly. “I’ll fix up the money.”
“You know a man named Butts?”
“Grady Butts? Works at the mill?”
“I guess that’s the one.”
“I know his wife, Mary. She saves a dollar a week at the bank. Never misses a week. Never met him. Don’t think he knows she’s putting the money away. She always comes in alone. Pretty, in a plump sort of way. She’s got forty-two dollars in her account. Forty-two weeks, forty-two dollars.”
Will Henry wondered if Holmes had every account at the bank in his head. “A Mrs. Smith who lives next door to them says it’s happened before. The way she talks you’re going to lose a customer unless this damn mule and wagon gets out of the way.” He drove around the wagon, blowing his horn.
As they pulled up in front of the house a woman stepped from behind a tree and ran to the car. “Oh, hurry! It’s getting worse! He’s going to kill her!” They heard the noise of something being knocked over, and the light against the shades on the front windows of the house changed its angle sharply.
Will Henry ran up the front steps, closely followed by Holmes. He stopped at the front door. The noise inside had stopped. He banged on the door. “Open the door! This is the police.” Now he could hear a woman sobbing.
“There’s no trouble here,” a man’s voice said. The words were slurred. “Go on away from here.”
Will Henry turned the knob and pushed the door open. The room was surprisingly neat. Will Henry had expected a shambles. A worn three-piece living-room suite occupied most of the room. A cheerful little fire was burning in the fireplace. Through a door at the back of the living room, he could see a dining table set for supper, and there was food on the table. The only upset in the room was a tiny table which had held a lamp. The table and lamp were sprawled across the floor, but the bulb was still burning. A small, plump woman stood with her back to the wall next to the fireplace. She was crying, and with every sob a spurt of blood came from her nose. The front of her cotton dress was soaked in blood, and it had begun to drip onto the floor.
Across the room from her stood a thin, wiry-looking man of medium height, dressed immaculately in a white shirt, necktie, and what must have been the trousers to his Sunday suit. His hair was slightly mussed, his face was red and twisted with anger, and he held a large lump of coal in his right hand. It occurred to Will Henry that the man had been about to hit his wife with the lump of coal. This thought so astonished him that he stood for several seconds without saying anything. The woman’s sobs were the only sound in the room.
“There’s no trouble here,” the man said. He seemed to be drunk.
Will Henry said, “Put that piece of coal down.” The man looked at the coal in his hand and seemed surprised to find it there. He dropped the coal onto the linoleum floor.
“This here’s private property. This’s my house. Get away from here. None y’business.” Holmes stepped toward the woman, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. “Stay ‘way from her,” the man said. Holmes took the woman by the arm and led her to a chair.
“Here, now, Mrs. Butts. You just hold this handkerchief to your nose.” An eye was swollen shut. Will Henry thought it would be very black within hours. He began to grow angry.
“Get outta my house,” the man said.
“Shut up,” Will Henry replied.
“You got no right—”
Will Henry hit the man with his open hand. “I said shut up. Stand over there by the wall until I get ready to talk to you.” The man backed up to the wall, holding his hand against his cheek. He looked like an outraged child who had been picked on by a bully. Will Henry went and looked closely at the woman’s face. She rolled her eyes in his direction and mumbled something about everything being all right.
“You’re not all right, Mrs. Butts. You’ve got a terrible black eye there, and your nose looks like it could be broken. Anyway, we can’t fix that here, we’re going to have to get you over to Dr. Mudter’s and let him fix you up.”
“Baby,” the woman said through her sobs. She rolled her eyes toward a bedroom door.
Will Henry turned to the front door, where the petrified Mrs. Smith stood watching. “Ma’am, could you look after the baby tonight? I expect Dr. Mudter will want her to stay at his clinic tonight.” The woman nodded and went to the bedroom. “Mrs. Smith from next door will take care of the baby until tomorrow,” he said to Mrs. Butts.
“Now, listen here,” said the husband.
“I told you to shut up. Hugh, could you get her into the car?
Put her in the front seat with us.” Holmes helped the woman to her feet and led her out of the house. Mrs. Smith appeared at the bedroom door with a bundle. “Mrs. Smith, would you have a look around here and take what you need for the baby, and then close up the house and turn off the lights when we’re gone?” The woman nodded. “And will you please call up Dr. Frank Mudter and tell him we’re on the way over there?” She nodded again.
“Now, listen,” said Butts. He was beginning to become agitated again. “You got no right.”
Will Henry stopped himself from hitting the man again, but he wanted to humiliate him somehow. He reached behind him for his handcuffs. He knew there was no need for them, but he very much wanted to humiliate the man. “Come here,” he said.