The Death Instinct

'The Open?' someone asked. 'What Open was that, Ed?'

'Why, the United States Open, of course,' said Fischer.

Titters greeted this assertion. 'You won the US Open, did you, Eddie?' someone called out.

'Oh, yes,' said Fischer with a broad smile. He had excellent teeth. 'Many times.'

Laughter circulated more broadly.

'How many?'

'Lost count after three,' he answered happily.

'Get going,' said one of the policemen, shoving the cream-colored suit jacket back into Fischer's arms.

From Grand Central, Fischer was taken to police headquarters for questioning by Commissioner Enright, Chief Inspector Lahey, and Assistant District Attorney Talley. Captains from the bomb squad and from Homicide, including Littlemore, sat in an array of hard chairs along a wall. Fischer had sociable words for everyone. With the District Attorney, he was especially effusive, asking after not only Talley's own health but that of Mrs Talley as well.

'You know each other?' Commissioner Enright asked.

'We're old friends,' replied Fischer. 'Isn't that right, Talley?'

'I've never met the man, Commissioner,' Talley replied to Enright.

'Listen to that,' said Fischer, smiling broadly and clapping Talley on the back. 'Always the jokester.'

Commissioner Enright shook his head and ordered the interrogation to commence. 'Mr Fischer,' he said, 'tell us how you knew there would be a bombing on Wall Street on the sixteenth of September.'

'Why, I didn't know, did I?' answered Fischer. 'I only knew it would come after the closing bell on the fifteenth.'

'But how? How did you know that?'

'I got it out of the air.'

'The air?'

'Yes — from a voice,' explained Fischer informatively. 'Out of the air.'

'Whose voice?' asked Inspector Lahey.

'I don't know. Perhaps it was a fellow member of the Secret Service. I'm an agent, you know. Undercover.'

'Wait a second,' said District Attorney Talley. 'Did we meet at the Metropolitan awards dinner a few years ago?'

'Did we meet? repeated Fischer. 'We sat next to each other the whole evening. You were the life of the party.'

'Oh, for heaven's sake,' said Enright. 'Please continue.'

'Who's your contact at the Secret Service?' asked Lahey.

'You're asking for his name?' replied Fischer.

'Yes — his name.'

Fischer threw Talley a look implying that Inspector Lahey was either a little ignorant or a little addle-brained, but that it would be impolite to say so: 'Goodness, Inspector. He doesn't tell me his name. What sort of Secret Serviceman would that be?'

'How did you know about the bombing?' asked Talley yet again.

Fischer sighed: 'I got it out of the air.'

'By wireless?' asked Lahey.

'You mean radio? I shouldn't think so. I'm very close to God, you know. Some people resent that.'

After two and a half hours, Commissioner Enright brought the interrogation to an end, no further results having been produced. Fischer was committed to an asylum.

Littlemore collared District Attorney Talley before the latter left police headquarters and asked him whether it was legal for United States army troops to be stationed on a Manhattan street.

'Why not?' replied Talley.

'I never saw infantry in the city before,' said Littlemore. 'I thought they had to call out the National Guard or something — you know, with the Governor's consent.'

'Beats me,' said Talley. 'That'd be federal law. Why don't you ask Flynn's men? They'd probably know.'

Littlemore returned to his office and paced, irritated. Then he cranked up his telephone. 'Rosie,' he said to the operator, 'get me the Metropolitan Tennis Association.'

As Littlemore rung off, Officer Stankiewicz poked his head through the door, holding a sheaf of papers. 'Final casualty list, Cap,' said Stankiewicz. 'Want to see it before it goes out?'

Littlemore leafed through the unevenly typed document, which gave for every man, woman, and child killed or wounded on September 16 a name, address, age, and place of employment, if any. Page after page, hundreds and hundreds of names. Littlemore closed his eyes — and opened them at a knock on his door. Officer Roederheusen poked his head through.

'I found Speyer's ship, sir,' said Roederheusen, unshaven and red- eyed. 'There's a James Speyer booked on the Imperator, leaving tomorrow for Germany at nine-thirty in the morning. I saw the manifest myself.'

'Nice work, Spanky.'

Stankiewicz looked quizzically at Roederheusen.

'I'm Spanky now,' explained Roederheusen proudly.

Littlemore rubbed his eyes and handed the casualty list back to Stankiewicz, whom he waved out of his office. 'What's Speyer been up to?' he asked Roederheusen.

'Nothing, sir,' said Roederheusen. 'He didn't go out all night. This morning at eight he went to work. He's been there all day.'

'Who's on him now?' Littlemore went to his door and shouted, 'Hey, Stanky. Get back in here. Give me that list again.'

The phone rang.

'Two beat officers, sir,' Roederheusen replied as Stankiewicz reentered the office. 'Should I call them off?'

Littlemore answered the telephone. Rosie, the operator, informed him through the telephone that the vice president of the Metropolitan Tennis Association was on the line.

'Put him through.' Littlemore motioned to Stankiewicz to hand him the list. To Roederheusen, he said, 'No. Make sure somebody keeps an eye on Speyer all day. If he makes a move, I want to know.

If he doesn't, you meet me at his house at five tomorrow morning. Yeah, five. Now go home and get some sleep.' Littlemore cradled the receiver between chin and shoulder as he returned to the page of the casualty list devoted to government officers. 'Where's the Treasury guy, Stanky? There was a Treasury guard who died.'

'Hello?' said a man's crackling voice through the receiver.

'If he ain't on that list, Cap, he ain't dead,' said Stankiewicz.

'Hold the line,' said Littlemore into the telephone. 'Know what, Stanky? Don't argue with me today. Go check the handwritten list.'

'The, um, handwritten list?'

'Hello?' said the telephone.

'Hold the line,' Littlemore repeated. To Stankiewicz, he said, 'What do I have to do, spell it for you? You and Spanky made filing cards for all the casualties. I told you to make me a list from those cards. You wrote me the list. I saw it. Then I told you to have the handwritten list typed up. This is the typed list. I'm asking you to go back and check the handwritten list. Okay? The Treasury guy's name began with R; I saw it on his badge. Maybe you missed some others too.'

'Is anybody there?' said the telephone.

'Um, the handwritten list is gone, sir,' said Stankiewicz.

'Hold the god-busted line, will you?' Littlemore yelled into the receiver. He looked at Stankiewicz: 'What do you mean "gone"?'

Stankiewicz didn't answer.

'Okay, Stanky, you threw away the handwritten list. Nice work. How about the filing cards? Don't tell me you threw those away?'

'I don't think so, sir.'

'You better not have. Or you'll be back on patrol next week. Go through every card. This time make sure you get everybody.'

Alone in his office, Littlemore identified himself to the vice president of the Metropolitan Tennis Association and asked whether an Edwin Fischer had ever won the United States Open.