Kershman nursed a marguerita until Anderson arrived, a few minutes late and apologizing as usual. He ordered his usual Michelob draught and sat with a forced grin on hi face. Kershman avoided asking about Anderson’s family, a question that usually resulted in a fifteen-minute monologue that ended like a chapter from a soap opera. Kershman bad established himself as a correspondent for a European news syndicate, a perfect cover story for the kind of information he usually sought.
‘I’m in a bit of a jam,’ Kershman said, getting right to
‘What’s the problem?’ Anderson asked and his concern annoyed Kershman.
‘I heard there was a homicide in one of the fancy apartment houses out on Peachtree last night,’ Kershman said. ‘Thing is, there’s been nothing reported so far on it. Nothing on TV, the radio, in the newspapers. My problem is I queried our news office about it before really checking it out and they’re hot for the story. Now it looks like my tip may have been unreliable.’
‘Did you check the police reports?’
‘Yes. Nothing.’
Anderson frowned. Then shook his head as though disagreeing with his own thoughts. ‘There was this John Doe turned up in the city dump yesterday. Now, that would make a good story for you. No hands. His hands were cut off And he was shot in the face with a shotgun.’
Kershman listened intently to Anderson, making mental notes of everything he said. He always was prepared to tell DeLaroza more than he wanted to know rather than less.
‘This was definitely a woman,’ Kershman said.
‘I was around until four o’clock this morning. Lot of crazy things going on, but I would have heard if there was a killing in that neighbourhood.’
‘Well, if you could check around., discreetly. Perhaps, uh, there’s some reason the police are keeping it under wraps. I would prefer not to create any curiosity. I just thought I
might get something from the inside on it.’
‘I’ll go on down after we leave here, snoop around quietly. See if Twigs knows anything. He’s the county coroner.’
‘Remember, I don’t want to make any waves. This must be done carefully just in case they are working on something they don’t want the press to know about.’ He paused to sip the marguerita and then asked, ‘What crazy stuff was going on?’
Anderson chuckled. ‘Oh, Larry Abrams was screwing around with something half the night. A tape of some kind for the Vice Squad. He’s workin.g with a new man over there named Sharky.
‘What was on the tape?’
‘I don’t know. Neither does he. Know what he said? He said it sounded like a Chinese orgy.’
Kershman took another sip and. kept listening.
‘What made me think of it is that I picked up a post mortem tape for Abrams about two A.M. from Grady Hospital. It wasn’t the John Doe, because Twigs was complaining that Riley in Homicide was pushing him to do it before he went home.’
‘I see. Well, if you could just kind of check around, The thing is, I’m pushed for time. If there is something 1 can chase down, I’d like to know by this evening.’
‘I’ll do my damn best,’ Anderson said sincerely.
‘Was there anything else?’
‘Nope. Actually it wasn’t a very lively night. Oh, yeah, Abrams pulled a fingerprint report for somebody, too. I took it down to him. Funny thing, he got a positive make on the prints, but the subject’s been dead for a couple of months. Some truck driver from Nebraska.’
‘And who is this Abrams?’
‘A wiretap man, been in the OC six months or so. Nice little guy. Very talented. The Feds even borrow him every once in a while.’
‘Maybe he was doing this job for the government people,’ Kershman suggested.
‘No, I saw the tape. It had Sharky’s name on it.’
‘And what about this Sharky?’
‘I’m surprised you didn’t do something on him. He’s the narcotics cop who shot the pusher on the bus the other night.’
‘Oh, yes, of course,’ Kershman remembered seeing the headline, but he had not paid much attention to the story.
‘He was transferred into the Vice Squad because of it,’ Anderson said. ‘Now keep that under your derby, okay? It hasn’t been released publicly.’
‘1 won’t say a word,’ Kershman said.
Chapter Twenty
Sharky had filed a radio message through central for Friscoe to meet him and Livingston at a pizza parlour on Peachtree Street called Franco’s. they had been there less than ten minutes when Friscoe arrived, puffing through the door and looking no better or worse than he had at breakfast. Friscoe plopped down in the booth with them and waved the waiter away.
‘I got so much coffee in me, I couldn’t eat if I wanted to,’ he said. ‘So, you got some news?
Livingston was eating a submarine sandwich. Without looking up he said, ‘We just wanted to say hello. We thought maybe you missed us.’
‘Anything new?’ Sharky said, concentrating on a piece of pizza that had everything on it but chocolate syrup.
The lieutenant smiled proudly. ‘Yeah, I made a little score. I got lucky like Papa. Kenny Bautry, a Fed probation officer, has a guy who fits the description of the stiff in the city dump pretty good. Did thirty years plus in the joint at Leavenworth. Got out in October, reported once, and Kenny hasn’t seen him since.’
Sharky took another bite of pizza. ‘Name isn’t Corrigon, is it?’ be said.
‘Well shit!’ Friscoe said. ‘I’m gonna get a goddamn complex.’
Livingston slid the picture of Scardi across the table in front of Friscoe. ‘That’s who hit Corrigon and Domino.’
Friscoe looked at the picture and reared back in surprise.
‘That’s Angelo Scardi!
‘That’s very good, Barney,’ Livingston said.
Friscoe looked back at the picture with disbelief. ‘Angelo Scardi?’ he repeated.
Sharky nodded. ‘There’s no question about it, Barney. We got a positive on the prints.’ Then he leaned across the table and quietly told Friscoe about Scardi, Operation Stitch, and Corrigon. Friscoe listened without comment and then leaned back in the booth, letting it all sink in.
‘So, what’s your theory?’ he asked.
‘Arch and I think Scardi rigged the whole operation from the front end and somebody finished the job for him and fingered Corrigon.’
‘Such as...’
Sharky said, ‘Maybe this La Volte. Look, Scardi lived in that same area from 1930 until 1935. And Scardi was the only person who ever actually met La Volte face to face. Martland says Scardi only knew him by his code name, but I think that’s bullshit. I think Scardi knew this guy from the old days. I think it was set up from the beginning that La Volte would hit the team when it went in. Scardi put it all together, then conveniently got sick and came back to the U.S. That took him out of action and put him three thousand miles away when it happened — with a perfect alibi. Then he and La Volte split four mu in gold.’
‘That’s pretty good,’ Friscoe said. ‘But what we can’t do, we can’t get too cocky yet. We got to collar Scardi. But we also got to fill in some blanks here.’
‘Like what?’ Livingston asked.
‘Like why did Scardi come here? And why did he off Domino? And what was Corrigon doin’ here? This guy gets outa Leavenworth after thirty years, gets on the first bus south, and comes straight to Atlanta. But he wasn’t looking for Scardi, because Scardi was still in Nebraska at the time.’
‘That’s right,’ Sharky said. ‘Which means Corrigon was after somebody else and that somebody else pulled Scardi in to do the number on Corrigon.’
‘And you think it was La Volte he was after, right? Friscoe said.
‘What the hell would this Italian guerrilla be doin’ in Atlanta?’ Livingston asked.