CHAPTER IV
THE LIQUID BULLET
On our return to the city, I was not surprised after our conversationover in New Jersey to find that Garrick had decided on visiting policeheadquarters. It was, of course, Commissioner Dillon, one of thedeputies, whom he wanted to see. I had met Dillon myself some timebefore in connection with my study of the finger print system, andconsequently needed no second introduction.
In his office on the second floor, the Commissioner greeted uscordially in his bluff and honest voice which both of us came to knowand like so well later. Garrick had met him often and the cordiality oftheir relations was well testified to by Dillon's greeting.
"I thought you'd be here before long," he beamed on Garrick, as he ledus into an inner sanctum. "Did you read in the papers this morningabout that murder of a girl whose body was found up in New Jersey inthe underbrush?"
"Not only that, but I've picked up a few things that your manoverlooked," confided Garrick.
Dillon looked at him sharply for a moment. "Say," he said frankly,"that's one of the things I like about you, Garrick. You're on the job.Also, you're on the square. You don't go gumshoeing it around behind afellow's back, and talking the same way. You play fair. Now, look here.Haven't I always played fair with you, Garrick?"
"Yes, Dillon," agreed Garrick, "you have always played fair. But what'sthe idea?"
"You came up here for information, didn't you?" persisted thecommissioner.
Garrick nodded.
"Well do you know who that girl was who was murdered?" he asked leaningforward.
"No," admitted Garrick.
"Of course not," asserted Dillon triumphantly. "We haven't given it outyet--and I don't know as we shall."
"No," pursued Garrick, "I don't know and I'll admit that I'd like toknow. My position is, as it always has been, that we shouldn't work atcross purposes. I have drawn my own conclusions on the case and, to putit bluntly, it seemed to me clear that she was of the demi-monde."
"She was--in a sense," vouchsafed the commissioner. "Now," he added,leaning forward impressively, "I'm going to tell you something. Thatgirl--was one of the best stool pigeons we have ever had."
Both Garrick and I were listening intently at, the surprisingrevelation of the commissioner. He was pacing up and down, now,evidently much excited.
"As for me," he continued, "I hate the stool pigeon method as much asanyone can. I don't like it. I don't relish the idea of being inpartnership with crooks in any degree. I hate an informer who wormshimself or herself into a person's friendship for the purpose ofbetraying it. But the system is here. I didn't start it and I can'tchange it. As long as it's here I must accept it and do business underit. And, that being the case, I can't afford to let matters like thiskilling pass without getting revenge, swift and sure. You understand?Someone's going to suffer for the killing of that girl, not onlybecause it was a brutal murder, but because the department has got tomake an example or no one whom we employ is safe."
Dillon was shouldering his burly form up and down the office in hisexcitement. He paused in front of us, to proceed.
"I've got one of my best men on the case now--Inspector Herman. I'llintroduce you to him, if he happens to be around. Herman's all right.But here you come in, Garrick, and tell me you picked up something thatmy man missed up there in Jersey. I know it's the truth, too. I'veworked with you and seen enough of you to know that you wouldn't say athing like that as a bluff to me."
Dillon was evidently debating something in his mind.
"Herman'll have to stand it," he went on, half to himself. "I don'tcare whether he gets jealous or not."
He paused and looked Garrick squarely in the eye, as he led up to hisproposal. "Garrick," he said slowly, "I'd like to have you take up thecase for us, too. I've heard already that you are working on theautomobile cases. You see, I have ways of getting information myself.We're not so helpless as your friend McBirney, maybe, thinks."
He faced us and it was almost as if he read our minds.
"For instance," he proceeded, "it may interest you to know that we havejust planned a new method to recover stolen automobiles and apprehendthe thieves. A census of all cars in the questionable garages of thecity has been taken, and each day every policeman is furnished withdescriptions of cars stolen in the past twenty-four hours. Thepoliceman then is supposed to inspect the garages in his district andif he finds a machine that shouldn't be there, according to the census,he sees to it that it isn't removed from the place until it isidentified. The description of this Warrington car has gone out withextra special orders, and if it's in New York I think we'll find it."
"I think you'll find," remarked Garrick quietly, "that this machine ofWarrington's isn't in the city, at all."
"I hardly think it is, myself," agreed Dillon. "Whoever it was who tookit is probably posted about our new scheme. That's not the point I wasdriving at. You see, Garrick, our trails cross in these cases in anumber of ways. Now, I have a little secret fund at my disposal. In sofar as the affair involved the murder of that girl--and I'm convincedthat it does--will you consider that you are working for the city, too?The whole thing dovetails. You don't have to neglect one client toserve another. I'll do anything I can to help you with the auto cases.In fact, you'll do better by both clients by joining the cases."
"Dillon," answered Garrick quickly, "you've always been on the levelwith me. I can trust you. Consider that it is a bargain. We'll worktogether. Now, who was the girl?"
"Her name was Rena Taylor," replied Dillon, apparently much gratifiedat the success of his proposal. "I had her at work getting evidenceagainst a ladies' poolroom in Forty-seventh Street--an elusive placethat we've never been able to 'get right.'"
Garrick shot a quick glance at me. Evidently we were on the righttrail, anyhow.
"I don't know yet just what happened," continued Dillon, "but I do knowthat she had the goods on it. As nearly as I can find out, a strangercame to the place well introduced, a man, accompanied by a woman. Theygot into some of the games. The man seems to have excused himself.Apparently he found Rena Taylor alone in a room in some part of thehouse. No one heard a pistol shot, but then I think they would lieabout that, all right."
Dillon paused. "The strange thing is, however," he resumed, "that wehaven't been able to find in the house a particle of evidence that amurder or violence of any kind has been done. One fact is established,though, incontrovertibly. Rena Taylor disappeared from that gamblinghouse the same night and about the same time that Warrington's cardisappeared. Then we find her dead over in New Jersey."
"And I find reports and traces that the car has been in the vicinity,"added Garrick.
"You see," beamed Dillon, "that's how we work together. Say you MUSTmeet Herman."
He rang a bell and a blue-coated man opened the door. "Call Herman,Jim," he said, then, as the man disappeared, he went on to us, "I havegiven Herman carte-blanche instructions to conduct a thoroughinvestigation. He has been getting the goods on another swell joint onthe next street, in Forty-eighth, a joint that is just feeding on youngmillionaires in this town, and is or will be the cause of more crimeand broken hearts if I don't land it and break it up than any suchplace has been for years." The door opened, and Dillon said, "Herman,shake hands with Mr. Garrick and Mr. Marshall."
The detective was a quiet, gentlemanly sort of fellow who looked ruggedand strong, a fighter to be respected. In fact I would much rather havehad a man like him with us than against us. I knew Garrick's aversionto the regular detective and was not surprised that he did notoverwhelm Mr. Herman by the cordiality of his greeting. Garrick alwaysplayed a lone hand, preferred it and had taken Dillon into hisconfidence only because of his official position and authority.
"These gentlemen are going to work independently on that Rena Taylorcase," explained Dillon. "I want you to give Mr. Garrick everyassistance, Herman."
Garrick nodded with a show of cordiality and Herman replied in aboutthe same spirit. I could not fancy our
getting very much assistancefrom the regular detective force, with the exception of Dillon. And Inoticed, also, that Garrick was not volunteering any information exceptwhat was necessary in good faith. Already I began to wonder how thispeculiar bargain would turn out.
"Just who and what was Rena Taylor?" asked Garrick finally.
Inspector Herman shot a covert glance at Dillon before replying and thecommissioner hastened to reassure him, "I have told Mr. Garrick thatshe was one of our best stool pigeons and had been working on thegambling cases."
Like all detectives on a case, Herman was averse to parting with anyinformation, and I felt that it was natural, for if he succeeded inworking it out human nature was not such as to willingly share theglory.
"Oh," he replied airily, "she was a girl who had knocked aboutconsiderably in the Tenderloin. I don't know just what her story was,but I suppose there was some fellow who got her to come to New York andthen left her in the lurch. She wasn't a New Yorker. She seems to havedrifted from one thing to another--until finally in order to get moneyshe came down and offered her services to the police, in this gamblingwar."
Herman had answered the question, but when I examined the answer Ifound it contained precious little. Perhaps it was indeed all he knew,for, although Garrick put several other questions to him and heanswered quite readily and with apparent openness, there was verylittle more that we learned.
"Yes," concluded Herman, "someone cooked her, all right. They don'ttake long to square things with anyone who raps to the 'bulls.'"
"That's right," agreed Garrick. "And the underworld isn't alone in thatfeeling. No one likes a 'snitch.'"
"Bet your life," emphasized Herman heartily, then edging toward thedoor, he said, "Well, gentlemen, I'm glad to meet you and I'll workwith you. I wish you success, all right. It's a hard case. Why, therewasn't any trace of a murder or violence in that place in which RenaTaylor must have been murdered. I suppose you have heard that therewasn't any bullet found in the body, either?"
"Yes," answered Garrick, "so far it does look inexplicable."
Inspector Herman withdrew. One could see that he had little faith inthese "amateur" detectives.
A telephone message for Dillon about another departmental matterterminated our interview and we went our several ways.
"Much help I've ever got from a regular detective like Herman,"remarked Garrick, phrasing my own idea of the matter, as we paid thefare of our cab a few minutes later and entered his office.
"Yes," I agreed. "Why, he's even stumped at the start by the mystery ofthere being no bullet. I'm glad you said nothing about the cartridge,although I can't see for the life of me what good it is to us."
I had ventured the remark, hoping to entice Garrick into talking. Itworked, at least as far as Garrick wanted to talk yet.
"You'll see about the cartridge soon enough, Tom," he rejoined. "As forthere being no bullet, there was a bullet--only it was of a kind younever dreamed of before."
He regarded me contemplatively for a moment, then leaned over and in avoice full of meaning, concluded, "That bullet was composed ofsomething soft or liquid, probably confined in some kind of thincapsule. It mushroomed out like a dumdum bullet. It was deadly. But thechief advantage was that the heat that remained in Rena Taylor's bodymelted all evidence of the bullet. That was what caused that greasy,oleaginous appearance of the wound. The murderer thought he left notrail in the bullet in the corpse. In other words, it was practically aliquid bullet."