Authors: Ellery Queen
“Andy, you're covering up like mad. Why did you quit all of a sudden?”
Betz blinked. “Need another drink.”
The man got up and lurched over to the bar. Corrigan picked up Betz's change and followed him. He dropped the money on the bar in front of the ex-chauffeur. “You forgot your money again, Andy.”
Betz picked at the bills, fumbling. “Bartender, give everybody another drink. How about a drink, Captain?”
Corrigan left him there.
Chuck Baer was waiting when Corrigan got back to the MOS.
“You look like bad news,” Baer said.
“Just puzzling, Chuck. Andy Betz has quit his job. I just came from a session with him. He's tanked up in a Greenwich Village bar and spending money like the CIA.”
Baer hiked his red eyebrows.
“Claims he's been loaded for years and has just decided to quit and spend some of it,” Corrigan said. “It could be on the level at that. I needled him some, but it didn't work. He just seems ashamed that he couldn't find the guts to quit in person. I don't know, Chuck.”
“You believed Harry Barber, too,” Baer remarked unkindly.
“Maybe I'm losing my grip.”
“You'll be crying on my shoulder next. You look like hell, Tim. Better get a night's sleep.”
“I plan to get one tonight. Did you see your contact?”
“Yeah. Some rumors flying around, all right. My boy is a runner for a couple of bookies. Hardly big time, but he gets into a lot of places where the shots hang out and he has a remarkable set of ears.”
“You don't have to present his credentials,” Corrigan said sourly. “What's he come up with?”
“He says the scoop is that Marty Martello was behind the hit. Nobody really knows. It's just spec.”
Corrigan made a disgusted noise. “I can get spec without leaving my office.”
“Well, I told him to see if he could dig up something hard. With this guy you never know. He could come up with a lead that aims straight at Martello.”
“A lot of nothing, Chuck. If Martello did order the hit, no two-bit informer is likely to get anything on it.”
“You're in a mood, you are! You know what, Captain? The hell with you.”
Corrigan growled something that might have been an apology. “It's almost log-out time. How about a drink at Maxie's?”
“I'll think about it,” Baer growled back. But he got to his feet. He wasn't feeling like a happy boy himself.
On Tuesday morning Corrigan got to his office feeling like a reasonable facsimile of a human being. His first act after reading the morning teletype was to phone the Communications Center.
But there was nothing yet on Harry Barber and Pat Chase.
It wasn't fair. Here we go again, he thought, and phoned Major Conners on Long Island.
“We haven't a clue yet, Captain,” the major said. “But Sergeant Betz is hard at work on it.”
“Who?” Corrigan said. He thought he hadn't heard right.
“Our supply sergeant. His name is Arnold Betz.”
Corrigan was silent. Finally he said, “Is that spelled B-E-T-Z, Major?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Is the man's record handy?”
“It's next door in the S-1 section.”
“Would you pull it and see if there's any mention of his being related to an Andrew Betz?”
The major sounded startled. “Hang on.”
Several minutes passed.
“Yes, there is, Captain,” the major said, sounding excited. “Next of kin is listed as Andrew F. Betz, an older brother, care of Mrs. Elizabeth Grantâ”
“Bingo!” Corrigan said. “I suggest, Major, you place Sergeant Betz under arrest on suspicion of theft.”
“My God. You think I've been having the thief himself investigate the theft?”
“I'm afraid you have. If you'll hold him, I'll be out to question him as soon as I can get there.”
“He isn't here now,” Major Conners said, in the tones of a sick man. “He's not one of the permanent personnel. Most of our Guardsmen pull duty only a couple of nights a week. He'll be here tonight, though. He isn't scheduled, but while this investigation is going on I'm having him come in every night.”
“This can't wait, Major. Do you know where to reach him?”
“Well, yes. He manages a gas station during the day.”
“Then I suggest you contact the local police and have him picked up. I'll take the responsibility.”
Major Conners sounded relieved. “All right, Captain, if I may quote you to the locals. But what makes you sure he's the guilty man?”
“I'll” explain when I get there.”
Corrigan jumped up, went over to the door, and motioned to Meisenheimer violently. When the detective ran in, Corrigan had Andy Betz's name and Greenwich Village address on a sheet of scratch paper. He handed it to Meisenheimer.
“I want this man picked up, Meis. If he's not at that address, try Noah's Bar and Grill. It's one block east of where he lives.”
“Description?”
“Fifty-five, about six-two, two hundred and twenty pounds. Dark hair speckled with gray. Heavy features. And if you find him in the bar, he'll probably be loaded.”
“What's the charge?”
“Suspicion of receiving stolen property will do as a starter,” Corrigan said grimly. “We might upgrade it to murder after interrogation. I have to run out to Long Island. Hold him here till I get back.”
Meisenheimer left fast, and Corrigan rang Chuck Baer's office.
“Doing anything, Chuck?”
“Answering the correspondence that accumulated while I was hibernating at the penthouse. Nothing I can't postpone. What's up?”
“Have to run out to Long Island.”
“For what?”
“The Air National Guard supply sergeant who let that rocket belt slip through his fingers is Andy Betz's younger brother.”
“I'll be damned!” Baer said. He chuckled. “So far you're batting three for zero. Some intuition.”
Corrigan told him what he could do with his intuition.
“Hey,” Baer said.
“Just be out front in ten minutes.”
19.
The 305th Air National Guard facilities consisted of a small hangar at one end of a dirt airfield, and a few dreary buildings. A single training plane was parked outside the hangar.
Corrigan stopped Car 40 before a crackerbox with a sign stuck in the ground reading: ADMINISTRATION. Inside, the two men found a uniformed sergeant behind a desk stippled with cigarette burns.
Corrigan showed his I.D. “I'm here to see Major Conners, Sergeant. He's expecting me.”
“Yes, sir, he told me,” the sergeant said. “This way.”
He led the way to a door lettered: COMMANDING OFFICER. He knocked, and a voice said, “Come in.”
They went in. The sergeant went out. He rather pointedly, Corrigan thought, shut the door behind him.
A square-shouldered man with close-cropped gray hair rose from behind a desk. He was wearing a uniform with a gold oak leaf on the collar. He was frowning and looked worried.
In a corner sat a sullen-looking man of about forty, in civilian clothes. He was big, though not as big as his brother. There was a strong facial resemblance. A stocky police officer with sergeant's stripes on his sleeve sat beside him.
The policeman rose when Corrigan and Baer came in; the man in civilian clothes remained seated.
“Captain.” The major offered a strong handclasp. “This is Police Sergeant Finch.”
The Sergeant said he was glad to meet Corrigan. It sounded like more than an amenity.
“Chuck Baer,” Corrigan said. “Mr. Baer is a private detective who has an interest in this thing.”
The major and the police officer both nodded. Corrigan looked at the seated man.
“This is Arnold Betz?”
“Yes.” Major Conners sounded decidedly uncomfortable. “He denies knowing anything about the rocket belt, Captain. I hope this isn't a foulup.”
“It isn't.” Corrigan examined Arnold Betz. “You're the brother of Andy Betz?”
“Yes, sir,” the man said. He was as sullen as a February day. But he was nervous, too. His fingers kept picking at his trousers.
Corrigan glanced at the police sergeant. “Has he been advised of his constitutional rights?”
“It's automatic these days,” the sergeant said wryly. “We even tell jaywalkers.”
Corrigan turned back. “Did you know why Andy wanted that rocket belt, Mr. Betz?”
“I don't know anything about how that belt turned up missing,” the man said in an aggrieved tone. “A darned thing. I've told the majorâ”
“You see, it would make a big difference if you knew. If you just stole the belt for your brother without knowing the use he intended to put it to, you're only guilty of theft. But if you knew what he was going to do with it, you'll take a bust for conspiracy to murder.”
Arnold Betz blinked.
“Andy says you didn't know why he wanted the belt,” Corrigan said in a sneering way. “But in my book he's trying to cover you. You knew all about the murder plan, Arnold, didn't you?”
The man's tongue came out and went in again. “You've already talked to Andy?”
“How do you think we found out where he got the belt?”
Some suspects could hold out indefinitely under interrogation. Others broke quickly. Arnold Betz was a quick breaker. Corrigan had not expected it to be so easy.
Betz flicked a glance at the major and away. They watched him struggle. No one said anything.
The man grew paler and paler. He said in a barely audible voice, “Andy didn't kill that kid. I called him yesterday morning after I read about it in the paper. He told me he didn't have a thing to do with it.”
“You called him where?” Corrigan rapped.
“At his home. He lived over the garage at the Grant estate. He said he was packing and would contact me when he got settled in a new place. He didn't want to talk about it over the phone.”
“If he wouldn't talk about it, how do you know he didn't kill Gerard Alstrom?”
Betz swallowed. “He told me that much. He said not to worry, because he had nothing to do with the kid's death. He said he hadn't had any notion the use that was going to be made of the belt.”
Chuck Baer said, “You mean he got the belt from you for somebody else's use?”
“Yes, sir. I guess.”
“What do you mean, you guess?” Corrigan snapped. “Did he or didn't he?”
“I
think
it was for someone else,” Betz said miserably. “I mean because of what he said over the phone yesterday morning. At the time I really didn't know why he wanted it.”
“You mean you went along without an explanation?” Corrigan said. “What did you do it for? The money?”
“It wasn't just the money,” the man said in a whine. “Andy's always been able to con me into things. Ever since we were kids. He's fifteen years older than me. I got in the habit of letting him boss me around.”
Major Conners said, “There was money involved, though, Sergeant Betz?”
Betz averted his eyes. “Yes, sir.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred dollars.”
“Did Andy mention how much
he
expected to get for it?” Corrigan demanded.
“He didn't tell me a thing. Except that I wouldn't get in trouble.”
“How could you swallow that?” Major Conners asked angrily. “Even if the belt hadn't been used in a murder, we have a monthly inventory. You knew that. The minute it was discovered missing, you had to know there'd be an investigation.”
Betz made a helpless gesture. “The two belts had been in storage so long, Major, nobody was likely to come looking for them except at inventory time. And as supply sergeant I made out the monthly inventory report. I figured I could just keep listing both belts indefinitely.”
Corrigan said to Major Conners, “That covers it, Major. Unless you have more questions?”
“One. When did this transaction with your brother take place, Sergeant Betz?”
“A few days ago. Last Friday night. He first contacted me about it the previous Monday, though.”
The major looked disgusted. “You can haul him away, Sergeant Finch. This isn't a military offense, because the belt wasn't government property. National Guard property belongs to the State of New York. He'll have to be charged as a civilian.”
Corrigan said to Finch, “He's all yours, Sergeant.”
“Won't you want him as a material witness in your murder case, Captain Corrigan?”
“Eventually. We'll let that be worked out between the two district attorneys' offices. For now I've got what I need.”
When Arnold Betz had left in the custody of the police sergeant, Corrigan said to Major Conners, “Thanks for your cooperation. You've given us a big assist toward solving this thing.”
“Frankly, I wish I'd never heard of the guy,” the major said. “I like to run a tight ship, as the Navy boys say. By the way, have you ever seen a rocket belt in action?”
Corrigan shook his head. Baer said, “Neither have I, except once in a newsreel.”
“Would you like to?”
“Might be a good idea at that,” Corrigan said. “There's somebody here who knows how to use it?”
“Our chief pilot instructor. He used to work for Bell Aerosystems. It was through him we originally got the belts.”
The major conducted them to the small hangar.
“We have only two training planes assigned to us,” Conners said fretfully. “Our equipment is largely on paper. We do have enough pilots to put a squadron of nine fighters in the air, however, if we were ever called to Federal duty and given the planes.”
Two men in fatigues were servicing the plane inside the hangar. A solid sandy-haired man, also in fatigues, was watching them.
Major Conners introduced the solid man as Captain Morrison.
“Captain Corrigan and Mr. Baer would like to see a demonstration of the Bell Rocket Belt, Alex,” the major said. “Got the time?”