Authors: Ellery Queen
The Copper Frame (19 page)
Saxon drew his father's Detective Special from his pocket and handed it to Burns butt first.
“Stick this in your overcoat pocket,” he suggested. “Then you won't have to unbutton your overcoat to get at your service revolver.”
“What are you going to use?” Burns asked.
“I have mine. That's Dad's old gun.”
“Oh.” The lieutenant switched on the dome light long enough to break the gun and examine the bases of the shells in the cylinder. All six were filled. Switching off the light again, he flipped the cylinder back in place and shoved the gun in his side pocket.
At a quarter of ten a car came along Lake Shore Drive from the southwest and turned down Beach Road. By the light of the street lamp Saxon got a glimpse of the mayor's lean face.
“There goes Bennock,” he said.
Burns said nothing.
Five minutes later Saxon said, “Wonder what's holding up our reinforcements?”
“They'll be along,” Burns said.
But the other patrol car still hadn't arrived when, at five minutes to ten, a car came along Lake Shore Drive from the northeast and turned down Beach Road. By the street lamp Saxon could see two men in the front and a woman and man in back.
“There's Cutter and his group,” Saxon said. “Where the devil are those other four cops?” He picked up the dash mike and pushed the button. “Car Two to Control.”
There was no response from the speaker. Saxon didn't expect any. He could tell by the sound of his own voice in the microphone that he was speaking into a dead instrument.
“That's great!” he said, hanging up the mike. “Your radio's dead. We'll have to move in alone. They'll take off in all directions the minute they find out they've been tricked.”
Burns immediately shifted into drive and pulled out into the street. Without lights he drove the quarter block to Beach Road and turned into it. Where the road ended and the beach began there was a large parking area. At its near end was a refreshment stand, all boarded up for the winter. At the far end stood the barnlike roller-rink building. Two cars were parked alongside it.
Burns pulled the squad car behind the concealment of the refreshment stand, cut the engine, and got out. Saxon got out the other door. Quickly he started toward the roller rink with the lieutenant right behind him. Snow covered the lot, but it had partly melted, then frozen to form a hard, crunchy surface. Saxon could hear Burns's footsteps following only a pace behind.
The only windows in the roller rink were high up, and they couldn't see into the building from outside, but lights shone through the high windows. As they neared the door, Saxon drew his gun. At the same moment he felt a gun muzzle press into his back.
“Drop it, Ted,” Burns said quietly. “Fast, or I'll shoot.”
Saxon stared over his shoulder. “You gone crazy, Vic?”
“Drop it!” Burns snapped.
Saxon let the gun fall to the snow.
“Open the door and walk in,” Burns ordered.
Saxon pushed the door open. It led into a short hallway where there was a ticket window, then another door. Saxon went past the ticket window and pushed open the second door. Burns crowded right behind him.
The second door led into a huge, barnlike room. To the left was a refreshment counter, to the right a locker room and skate-rental desk. There were several rows of benches before an iron railing, and beyond the railing was the roller rink proper. It was nearly as cold in the building as it was outside.
Five people standing in front of the refreshment counter turned to stare at them as they came in. They were Adam Bennock, Larry Cutter, Sergeant Harry Morrison, Farmer Benton, and the women who had posed as Grace Emmet on New Year's Eve. All had their coats and hats on against the cold. Morrison and Benton had guns in their hands, but they let the muzzles droop when they saw the gun in Saxon's back.
“Saxon set this thing up,” Burns announced generally. “It was him talking to you on the phone, Larry, pretending to be Bennock. I couldn't get to a phone to tip anybody off, because he's been sticking to me like a leech.”
“Are there more cops out there?” Cutter asked sharply.
Burns shook his head. “Relax. Saxon left it to me to organize the raiding party, and I forgot to do it. I gimmicked my patrol-car radio so he couldn't check on it.”
Morrison and Benton put away their guns. Saxon looked Adam Bennock up and down. “You're in pretty fine company, your Honor. How's it feel to sell out your own town to a bunch of murderers?”
Bennock said nervously, “I'd better get out of here and let you handle this, Cutter. I don't want to be witness to a murder.”
“Sure, run along home to bed,” Saxon said. “You didn't mind when your partner, Larry Cutter, planned the murder of my father and of Grace Emmet, but you don't want to watch a killing, do you?”
Bennock didn't answer. He merely walked to the door and went out.
Saxon looked at the woman. In place of the mink she had worn New Year's Eve she wore a cheap dyed-rabbit coat. Her hair was still in a poodle cut, but had been dyed back to its natural red.
“How are you, Ann?” he said casually. “Did you know the reason Cutter brought you down here was so you'd be handy in case they decided to kill you?”
Her eyes widened and she looked at Larry Cutter. He paid no attention to her.
Saxon gazed sorrowfully at Vic Burns. “I hoped you weren't in on this, Vic, but I was afraid things would turn out like this. You were the one slated to end up in the chief's job, weren't you? You killed my father.”
“What do you mean, you were afraid things would turn out like this?” Burns asked with a frown.
“Farmer Benton put a bullet hole in my overcoat last Saturday night. While looking at it, I suddenly remembered the hole in your coat the night Dad was killed. The cloth had been singed. You don't get a burn like that from a ten- or twelve-foot range. Sam Lennox held the gun close to your arm when he fired, to be sure only to nick you. I suppose you got poor old Sam to go along by threatening to tell Dad he was drunk on duty, and he would be losing his pension. Sam's wife told me how you had covered for him the day he got drunk on duty.”
Burns said in a tone of disbelief, “If you had all that figured out, why'd you walk into this trap with me?”
“Oh, I'm not in a trap,” Saxon said. “You are. The state cops bugged this place this afternoon so that they could get all the conversation on tape. There are concealed mikes all over the joint. Adam Bennock didn't go home, incidentally; he walked into the arms of the state cops outside. Their signal to move in was when you and I walked in the front door.”
Farmer Benton and Sergeant Morrison both started to reach for their guns. Saxon took two fast steps and smashed Benton in the jaw. As the man went down, Saxon wheeled toward Morrison. Morrison's gun was just appearing when a left hook caught him flush on the chin. At the same moment Saxon's right hand snaked out and plucked the gun from his hand.
A small pop similar to the noise made by a cap pistol sounded, then two more in quick succession. Vic Burns stared down blankly at the gun in his hand, then let it fall to the floor when Saxon covered him with Morrison's gun. Apparently Larry Cutter was unarmed, for he had made no move to draw a gun.
Saxon said, “I took the bullets and powder out, Vic. Those were just percussion caps going off. Everybody over against the wall with hands against it.” He gestured with the gun.
Slowly Vic Burns walked over to the wall and leaned his hands against it. Cutter followed suit. Morrison and Benton didn't hear the order because they were stretched out on the floor unconscious.
“Me, too?” Ann Lowry asked in a small voice.
“You, too,” Saxon affirmed.
They were all leaning against the wall when the state police walked in.
Saxon was smiling.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1965 by Ellery Queen
Copyright renewed by Ellery Queen
Cover design by Kat Lee
ISBN 978-1-5040-1840-1
This 2015 edition published by
MysteriousPress.com
/Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
345 Hudson Street
New York, NY 10014
EBOOKS BY ELLERY QUEEN
FROM
MYSTERIOUSPRESS.COM
AND OPEN ROAD MEDIA
