Longarm didn’t wait around to see who else wanted to get up and fight. Instead, he dashed out the door just in time to see Billy Vail disappear up the street toward the Federal Building.
Chapter 2
Longarm followed Billy Vail into the Federal Building and went to his own department, where he had a desk, a chair, and a stack of files. He was not surprised to find an envelope marked CONFIDENTIAL on his desk. So Longarm sat down and opened the envelope. The top page inside contained Judge Franklin Getty’s address, as well as that of the former Smith home. There was also a rough sketch of James Smith, although Longarm thought it too vague to be of much value.
At the bottom of the page, Billy had boldly printed: SECRET ASSASSIN. AGE, HEIGHT, WEIGHT, COLOR OF HAIR ALL UNKNOWN. NO PHOTOGRAPHS. EVERYTHING LOST IN FIRE. GOOD LUCK.
The second page contained several newspaper clippings with information on the Marble brothers and the other three members of their gang, including some suspected hideouts and the names of a few of their nearest relatives.
Longarm returned everything to the envelope and slipped it inside his coat pocket.
“Leaving already?” one of the other deputies asked.
“Yeah,” Longarm said. “Got a new case.”
“Where they sending you this time?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “I guess I’ll go wherever the trail leads me.”
“Sounds mysterious,” another man commented, curiosity stamped all over his face.
“I hope not,” Longarm told them both as he left to walk down the hall to see Billy Vail.
He nodded to Henry, the clerk in Billy’s outer office, and knocked on the open door to Billy’s inner sanctum.
“Custis? Come in,” Billy said from behind his big desk. “Close the door behind you.”
When Longarm was settled in the chair across from Billy, the older man went on. “Take as much time as you need. Keep a tab on your expenses. Feel free to wire for as much money as it takes to wrap everything up neat and tidy.”
“Do you mean really that?”
Billy nodded. “Just take care of everything and don’t leave any loose ends that could come back and destroy a damned good department.”
That last remark startled Longarm because Billy had never said such a thing before. But Longarm supposed it made sense. If the Marble Gang, led by Tom and Dave Marble, were captured alive, they’d probably tell everyone about The Assassin, and that could cause a major embarrassment.
Billy and his superiors right up to the top of the bureaucracy would, of course, claim that Commissioner Pinter had been the only one who had known about The Assassin. But the newspapers would smell the lie and it would cause the department some bad publicity.
“And Custis?”
“What?”
Billy lowered his voice. “I am quite sure that you had better make Judge Getty your first order of business.”
“I understand,” Longarm replied, knowing that the man’s life was in grave danger. It seemed very likely that James Smith, or whoever he was, would first seek revenge against the lenient Superior Court judge before setting out to kill the Marble brothers and their gang.
Longarm wasted no time after that. He had the judge’s address, and trusted that he was not already too late to warn the man and perhaps save his life. Longarm knew Judge Getty very well, and held him in complete contempt. Getty was one of those fellows who had great knowledge of the intricacies of the law but possessed not a whit of good, practical sense. He couldn’t see the forest for the trees, and was constantly allowing dangerous criminals back into society, often on the basis of some legal technicality.
Defense lawyers loved Judge Getty, and well they should, because he was almost always more sympathetic to the accused than to the victim. To Longarm’s way of thinking, the softhearted and senile old judge should have been removed from the bench years ago. His lenience had cost the citizens a huge amount of heartache and grief. Still and all, Longarm realized that he had to protect the judge. The man might be softheaded and softhearted, but even his harshest critics agreed that Judge Getty’s integrity was above reproach and that the old fool was incorruptible.
On his way out of the Federal Building, Longarm decided to make a quick detour over to Sixth Avenue in order to visit the burned remains of the Smith house. Maybe he could find some useful evidence, or at least speak to one of the neighbors to learn if anyone had seen the arsonist. If he had a little more information, it might make convincing Judge Getty a lot easier. The man was notorious for being stubborn and closed-minded. And he was such an idealist that he might dismiss the possibility of a threat against his life unless Longarm had more to act upon than just a hunch that James Smith wanted revenge.
Ten minutes later, Longarm was standing in front of the remains of the Smith household. Apparently, it had been a rather large house with two brick fireplaces, both of which were still standing with a basement foundation. A very unhappy-looking policeman was shoveling through the ashes. The officer was very glad to stop his work and talk once Longarm showed his badge.
“What are you digging for?” Longarm asked.
“They still haven’t been able to locate Mr. Smith’s body,” the dispirited sergeant replied. “They think he might have been trapped down in the basement when the fire started and we just haven’t found his remains yet.”
“I see.” Longarm squatted on his heels. “But you did find the remains of Mrs. Smith and the boy.”
“That’s right. And we found evidence that a fire had been set. This wasn’t any accident.”
“What evidence did you find?”
“One of the investigators found an empty can that he said the arsonists used to hold kerosene. He showed it to me and said he could definitely identify the smell of kerosene, but I couldn’t. Can you?”
“No,” Longarm answered, “but I never did have an especially good sense of smell.”
“Well,” the policeman said, “this Detective Clark claims he does have an excellent sense of smell. And he showed us how the fire started in the back of the house and then flowed up the walls, across the ceiling, and into the second story.”
“I see.”
“They can tell a lot about a fire,” the policeman said, wiping his sooty brow. “It was real interesting how he pointed it all out to us.”
“So there’s no doubt that it was arson resulting in at least two murders.”
“Exactly. And that’s why I’m still here digging and poking around. I can tell you this much, Marshal. Whoever lit the fire was one deranged sonofabitch.”
“Yeah, he’d have to be.”
The sergeant shook his head. “I don’t suppose you heard that the woman and her son had also been stabbed.”
“No!”
“They were. Both of ‘em must have been murdered before the fire was set. The coroner found the blade marks on their rib cages and chest bones. It seems pretty likely that the fire was set just to wipe out the evidence of at least a double murder. Pretty cold-blooded, huh?”
Without answering, Longarm turned and began to walk very fast down Sixth Avenue, heading over to Tenth in order to reach Judge Getty as quickly as possible.
The judge lived in an impressive two-storied Victorian mansion a few blocks east of town near Washington Park. When Longarm bounded up onto the man’s front porch, there was no sign that anyone was home. Longarm pounded hard on the massive door made of oak and adorned with squares of clear and stained glass.
“Judge Getty! Judge! It’s United States Deputy Marshal Custis Long! Open up, please.”
A middle-aged woman appeared at the door. She peered through one of the little glass panes and said, “Show me identification, please.”