Wild Card

Valentine then went downstairs to the records room, and began looking through the files of men who’d been arrested in Atlantic City over the past twenty years. There were several thousand names, with many not in proper alphabetical order. He had heard that one day, all of the department’s records would be computerized, whatever the hell that meant. In the meantime, every search had to be painstakingly done by hand.

It took an hour and a half to see if any of the twelve suspects had ever been arrested. Of the group, three of the men had criminal records.

The first was Lester Clay, aka The Amazing Foodini. Lester had been arrested for carping checks, and done hard time in Rahway State Penitentiary. Valentine found his parole officer’s name on the sheet, and called him at home. From the officer he learned that Lester lived alone, and had few friends. The parole officer had called Lester a social misanthrope. Valentine hated labels, and said, “What does that mean?”

“He’s a real prick,” the parole officer said.

The second suspect was Martin Hollis — stage name Farky —who’d been arrested for sticking a frozen pepperoni pizza down his pants in the A&P supermarket. Farky had been in his magic costume — top hat, tails, and a walking cane — and acted like he didn’t know where the stolen food had come from when the arresting officer had pulled it from his pants. The arresting officer had not been amused. Hollis’s crime was not considered serious, and he’d been released with a warning.

Johnny Martin — Martin the Magic Man — was the third suspect to run afoul of the law. Johnny had pulled his car up to a street corner one night, and solicited a policewoman posing as a prostitute. The Magic Man had also been wearing his magic costume —a pink bunny outfit with a Styrofoam tail and floppy ears —and had been legally drunk. Martin had wisely thrown himself upon the mercy of the court, and was currently on parole. Valentine called his parole officer as well, and got no answer.

Going upstairs to Banko’s office, he handed his superior the three men’s files, and told him what he’d learned.

“Think it’s one of them?” Banko asked.

“I do.”

“Tell me why.”

“Most killers run afoul of the law at least once. You ought to haul them in.”

Picking up his phone, Banko called Marlene the dispatcher, who sat in a room on the first floor, and instructed her to contact the men in the field, and have them call in. Hanging up, he said, “I’m feeling good about this. How about you?”

“I just hope we’re not too late.”

“You mean to save Mona.”

Valentine nodded. He had not forgotten about Mona, even though he knew it was probably too late to save her. He imagined sharing a cup of coffee with her again, and hearing her rasp over a cigarette while trading one-liners.

“Keep the faith,” Banko said.

The office suddenly went dark. Valentine instinctively reached into his jacket, and drew his .snub-nosed 38 from his shoulder harness. He heard Banko get up and cross the room. The sergeant turned the lights on, then stared at his gun.

“You still using that old thing?” Banko asked.

“I like my .38,” Valentine said.

“You and Jack Webb on Dragnet. You know he upgraded to a .45.”

“You’re kidding. When?”

“Start of the fall season. Someone on the LAPD told him the department was changing, so he did to.”

“What’s with the lights?”

“President Carter’s orders,” Banko explained. “Buildings go dark every night. Don’t want to be too dependant on foreign oil.”

Valentine put his gun back into its harness They didn’t turn the lights off at the casino, he thought. A line on Banko’s phone lit up, and the sergeant snatched up the receiver, then put the caller on speaker phone. It was Romero, calling from a noisy bar. Banko told him about the three magicians with police records.

“We need to haul them in,” Banko said.

“We’ve already spoken to Hollis,” Romero said. “He’s definitely not the one.”

Of the three magician’s with records, Hollis was the only one who’d tried to talk his way out of it. That was what criminals always did.

“Why do you say that?” Valentine said to the box.

“Hollis invited us inside his house, and let us look around,” Romero replied. “He’s a little nutty, but harmless.”

“He let you look around?” Valentine said to the box.

“That’s right. Why?”

“That’s not normal.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s not a normal reaction from a person who’s been arrested before. He’s challenging you.”

“Look. We talked with him. The guy’s harmless.”

Valentine didn’t think so. Their killer knew how to appear harmless; that was why hookers felt so comfortable around him. That was his power. He grabbed Hollis’s record off the desk, and found his address in Chelsea Heights. To Banko, he said, “Hollis is the one.”

“You’re sure about this,” his superior said.

“One hundred percent.”

“We’re leaving right now,” Banko said to the box. “Meet us at Hollis’s house.”

Chapter 56