Chapter 9

The development of crime detection in the last decade has followed closely along the line of industrial development. Just as no great commercial establishment can long survive without systematic management, so no great detective force can develop efficiency with chaos on the throne.

Centralization, through closer and ever more close systematization, has not only been the tendency, but the great phenomenon of the modern industrial world. The same condition obtains to-day in the police profession.

A detective force, like the New York Central Office, is managed much the same way as a big commercial enterprise. Under modern conditions every large mercantile establishment must depend for success on the wisdom of its directing genius combined with the intelligent cooperation of its army of subordinates. In similar manner, the head of a big detective bureau directs the efforts of his men to success or failure.

Moreover, the same qualities by which a man attains commercial eminence will win distinction for him as a detective. Intelligence, persistence, reliability, are the foremost essentials. But these qualities, while enabling one to achieve success in subordinate posts, seldom carry one to commercial or professional heights; to the all-commanding peaks of power and glory. The industrial king is monarch by reason of his ability to give efficient direction to the labor of others. The present-day detective king wields his scepter for precisely the same reason.

As great business campaigns are managed and directed from a desk in the office of the president or manager, so the ceaseless war against criminals is directed from the desk of the detective chief. For, be it remembered that the chief function of a detective force is to obtain evidence that will convict.

In ninety per cent. of all crimes which the police are called upon to investigate, the identity of the guilty person is soon established. The baffling problem is to obtain evidence, admissible in a court of law, which will convince a jury of the defendant's guilt. Even though a person's guilt be apparent to all, the difficulties in shattering the protecting wall which the law erects around every accused man or woman, are frequently insuperable. Evidence which convinces the police or the prosecuting attorney of the defendant's culpability is as likely as not to be found incompetent in court and barred from the record. The result is a verdict of acquittal and all the work of the police goes for naught.

Unfortunately for the public at large, the Lecocq type of detective does not exist outside the pages of fiction. But even were there a thousand Lecocqs, reinforced by half a thousand Sherlock Holmeses, employed on the New York detective force, it is doubtful whether their peculiar ability would prove of much practical service. Their deductions, wonderful and convincing though they might be, would never be permitted to reach the ears of a jury.

So in the end, the great detective is the one who, seated at his desk, with the reports of his dozens of subordinates before him, is able to direct their collective efforts toward a single goal--the production of such evidence as is admissible in a court of law.

Since countless writers of detective fiction have provided the public with a most distorted notion of the methods of crime detection, it may not prove unprofitable to devote a moment or two to a peep behind the scenes at the Central Office.

Captain Manning is the titular head of the bureau. He finds on his desk eleven police slips, each bearing in succinct outline the story of a crime which requires the services of Central Office detectives. Ordinarily he will assign two men to each crime and perhaps the same day, or the following one, the detectives will make a verbal or written report. Out of the eleven cases, perhaps ten will prove to be minor robberies of no especial significance, except to the victims. On the face of them, they are the work of professional house-breakers, or pickpockets or hold-up men.

Manning will deliver a list of the stolen articles to his "pawnshop men," who will inquire of all pawnbrokers whether anything on the list has been pledged. Duplicate lists will also be left with all pawnbrokers with the request that they notify the police if anyone offers to pledge any of the stolen articles.

Other detectives will drop casually into places suspected as being "fences," and closely question the proprietors as to what new articles he has purchased recently. Of course, the "fence" gives little or no information, but he thereby lays himself open to prosecution as a receiver of stolen goods should they be found on his premises subsequently.

Next, Manning starts in operation his most potent machinery for the apprehension of minor criminals. He is aware that about ninety per cent. of his detectives have little or no detective ability. They are known as "stool pigeon" men, and it probably would be no exaggeration to say that they comprise ninety-five or ninety-eight per cent. of the entire active detective force. These men, through intimidation, or money, or the granting of protection for minor derelictions, are able to maintain a staff of "stool pigeons," or crooks, who keep them informed of the doings of other crooks. It is through this source that most of the professional criminals are apprehended.

"But where does the detective work come in?" the reader asks.

It is accomplished by the two or three per cent. of real detectives on the force.

For instance: A burglary has been committed. Part of the stolen articles have been traced to a pawnshop. The pawnbroker describes the man who pledged them, but the description might fit any one of a hundred professional crooks. He does not recognize any of the Rogues Gallery portraits as that of the man from whom he received the goods. Pawnbrokers seldom identify crooks, for it is to their interest to plead a bad memory in this respect.

But Detectives Burke and Duvaney ascertain from one of their "stool pigeons" that Michael Ribbs, alias Padlock Mike, is in funds--that he and his "moll," who may be his wife or his mistress, are enjoying the fruits of Mike's labors. And as Mike's specialty is burglary, Chief Manning rightfully decides that he is responsible for one or more of the recent robberies.

From this point the real detective work begins. The chief assigns two of his really capable men, not to solve any one of the numerous burglaries that have been reported, but to ascertain the recent doings of Padlock Mike and to obtain evidence--legal evidence that will stand the test of the courts--with which to send the criminal to jail. And the chances are that in convicting Mike, half a dozen mysterious burglaries will have been solved.

This is the ordinary routine of detective work. Of course, there are innumerable variations, and yet not as many as most people imagine. About eighty-five per cent. of the detective force is constantly employed at this routine business, while fifteen per cent., or even less, is engaged on work that is not in a large measure mechanical.

As for Chief Manning, his genius for directing his subordinates is inconspicuously employed all the time. But occasionally a more exacting demand will be made on it. It may be in a homicide case in which a wife has poisoned her husband.

Of course, in a case of this sort, "stool pigeon" men are useless, for no professional crooks are involved. So Manning assigns six or seven of his best men to the case. They do not roam about promiscuously, treading on one another's toes. To each is given a phase of the case to develop and he reports as frequently as possible to the chief. At the end of four weeks Manning, surveying the reports of his men, finds himself in possession of the following:

The chemical analysis of the vital organs shows that the victim died of arsenic poisoning. Detectives have discovered the druggist who sold the poison to the wife. Other detectives have turned in competent evidence tending to establish the woman's dislike of her husband. Moreover, she was in love with another man in whose company she was frequently seen. Then it is found that the husband's life was insured and his death not only released her from matrimonial ties which had become irksome, but also netted her a considerable sum in cash.

Sufficient motive for the crime has now been established. The poison of which the husband died has been traced directly to the wife. But a vital element of the case is still missing. It is necessary to prove that the wife had exclusive opportunity to administer the drug.

Manning now concentrates all his energies toward this end. Obviously, all the deductions of Messrs. Lecocq and Sherlock Holmes would be futile. But through shrewd questioning of the servants in the house he ascertains that the husband was taken violently ill after supper and that no guests were present at the meal.

An analysis of the sediment in the husband's coffee cup establishes the presence of arsenic. It must be inferred that the wife's cup contained none of the poison, for she developed no symptoms of poisoning after the meal.

The servants declare that the wife invariably made the after-dinner coffee in a percolator that stood on the sideboard. On the night in question, she had boiled the coffee, but none of the servants had seen her draw it from the percolator or serve it in the cups. But all of them assert that for a year or more it had been the wife's custom to do the serving, so it is a fair inference that the husband did not leave his seat at the table to help himself to coffee, on the occasion of his fatal illness. No one but the wife being in the room with him, and it having been ascertained that she purchased the arsenic, hers was the exclusive opportunity to drop it into the cup--and the evidence against her is complete.

A case of this nature is not established by the deductive methods of a Lecocq, but by the patient labor of a score or a half score of detectives intelligently guided by their chief. The druggist who sold the poison was found after a canvas of perhaps three or four hundred apothecaries. The domestic strife in the victim's home was disclosed to the police by relatives of the husband, whose interests naturally conflicted with those of the wife. Other evidence was furnished reluctantly by the servants, and, through the collective efforts of all the detectives, the woman's crime has been reconstructed in a way calculated to convince the ordinary juror.

It was because Detective-Lieutenant Britz was endowed with a rare combination of talents that enabled him to direct the work of others, even while participating actively in the physical search for evidence, that he ranked as the foremost detective of the Central Office. Had he been merely a shrewd, capable, resourceful investigator, he could never have attained to his present eminence.

Britz occupied a position subordinate to Manning, but his reputation far exceeded that of the latter. And Manning, conscious of the value of his lieutenant, reserved his services for the more baffling mysteries which the Central Office from time to time was called upon to solve.

He was not jealous of Britz's reputation, for he was aware that the lieutenant did not aspire to the head of the bureau, would not have accepted the promotion had it been offered. As a subordinate Britz was relieved of all the routine which occupied so much of the chief's time, so that he could devote all his energies to the single case to which he was assigned.

Moreover, Manning by purely voluntary renunciation, exercised none of the supervision over Britz which his higher rank authorized. So that Britz having been given command of the Whitmore case, was at liberty to proceed with the investigation along his own lines.

On the morning following the escape of the butler with the documents which the detective had gathered in Beard's home, Britz was at his desk in Police Headquarters at eight o'clock. He had not troubled to search for the vanished servant, arguing that the man would be easily traced through his loyalty to Beard.

The first thing Britz did was to call up Dr. Henderson, the Coroner's physician.

"I am sending the police photographer to the autopsy on Whitmore," he said. "Please don't cut the body or probe the wound until he has taken a picture of the bullet hole. It is most important. Also, let me have a copy of your report on the autopsy as soon as possible."

Britz devoted the next hour to instructing his assistants in the work he required of them. To each man was assigned a definite object to achieve and he was sent forth to exercise all his resourcefulness toward a single end. The cleverest "shadows" in the department were set to watch the movements of those involved innocently or guiltily, in the merchant's death. Collins, the detective also favored with a "roper."

"Fanwell," said Britz to the man he assigned to "rope" Collins, "ingratiate yourself with him as quickly as possible. The subject is an easy mark for a convivial companion. You'll probably find him around the restaurants at night. Get an introduction and spend money freely. The gloom of tragedy doesn't cling long to a man like Collins, and even if it does, he'll try to dispel it with drink. Don't push him for information, but lead him on gently. Cunningham and O'Malley will be trailing him while you're roping."

Having set the secret machinery of the law in motion, Britz donned his coat and hat and entered Chief Manning's room.

"Chief," he said, disposing himself in a chair, "I've ordered the men to report to you on the Whitmore case."

The chief made no effort to hide his surprise.

"Not laying down on it, are you?" he asked.

"Not much," laughed Britz. "But I may be out of town a day or two."

"What is the status of the case?" inquired the chief.

"Chaotic," responded Britz. "But there are conflicting interests, and pretty soon I expect to bring them into violent conflict."

Chief Manning's eyes traveled down the front page of the newspaper lying open on his desk.

"I see the Coroner has sent Beard to the Tombs," he said. "There is no doubt in my mind that the woman, Julia Strong, committed suicide. And for the life of me I don't see just how you're going to connect Beard with the murder of his employer."

"I'm not responsible for Beard's arrest," declared Britz. "The Coroner ordered it on his own initiative."

"Shall we keep him in jail?" asked Manning.

"Yes, let him stay there for the present. He's an obstacle to the progress of the investigation, if not the actual murderer."

Again Manning studied the newspaper account of the crime.

"Confound it!" he exploded, crumpling the paper. "I've read every line printed about the case. I've talked with the Coroner and discussed the case with Greig for half an hour this morning. If it meant a seat in heaven for me, I couldn't offer a guess as to how the assassin got to Whitmore. That man came down to his office yesterday morning, greeting his employés with a smile, distributing the most kindly remarks. It can't be that two or three hours later all those men would join in a conspiracy to shield his murderer. And yet, if they didn't see him enter or leave and didn't hear a shot, how the devil did the assassin get in and out?"

Britz smiled indulgently on his chief.

"When I have examined an enlarged photograph of Whitmore's wound and studied the report of the autopsy, I'll answer your question. That part of the mystery gives me no concern. It solves itself. Moreover, the solution is so simple, you'll kick yourself for not having thought of it immediately."

Manning looked annoyed.

"Your confounded habit of never revealing anything until you're absolutely sure you're right is a damned nuisance," he blurted. "But I suppose it's useless to urge you to tell. I've got a headache trying to figure it out, but now I'll leave it to you."

"You may," Britz accepted the responsibility. "What we've got to ascertain is who committed the murder."

"And when we've done that, he'll bring thirty clerks forward to swear that no one entered Whitmore's room," said the chief, a note of sarcasm in his voice. "How are we going to obtain legal evidence, not deductions against him?"

"By first making sure which of the persons intimately connected with the case did NOT commit the murder, and accusing him or her of the crime."

Manning eyed the lieutenant dubiously.

"In other words, you're going to prepare a lamb for slaughter in the hope that the wolf will come forward and confess?" drawled the chief.

"Yes," acknowledged Britz.

"It's an established characteristic of wolves--saving the innocent lamb from slaughter, isn't it?" mocked Manning.

"This wolf may be a domesticated animal--or perhaps not a wolf at all."

"Suppose you find that Beard is the murderer?" the chief shot at the detective.

"Then we'll release him and lock up someone that isn't."

"That's a new way of capturing criminals--ascertaining who didn't commit the crime," frowned Manning. "Suppose you lock up an innocent party and the guilty one doesn't come forward to confess?"

"Then the others who have knowledge of the crime will squeal," answered Britz. "Persons of refinement may shield a murderer through selfish motives. But they don't permit an innocent person, especially if he or she be one of themselves, to perish."

"Well, have your own way," growled Manning, his sullen demeanor only partly concealing the admiration and affection which he entertained for his lieutenant. "What do you wish me to do?"

"Take charge of the case while I'm away."

"Shall I take any decisive steps if the facts warrant?"

"Chief, no one has ever disputed that you know your business," said Britz in frank sincerity. "Our methods may differ, but in the end we usually reach the same goal. So go right ahead as though I were out of the case."

Before leaving Manning's office, Britz sent for Greig and inquired whether it was Officer Muldoon who had taken Beard to the Tombs.

"Yes," replied Greig. "The Coroner turned the commitment papers over to him."

"Did Beard make any statement on the way to jail?"

"Not to Muldoon. But he telephoned to a lawyer named Luckstone."

"Very well. Now come with me."

After leaving Manning's office, Britz and Greig proceeded to the Federal Building. The Criminal Branch of the United States Circuit Court was in session and they made their way to the clerk's desk immediately beneath the judge's platform. Producing a photograph from his pocket, Britz showed it to the clerk.

"Do you recognize it?" he inquired.

The clerk studied the picture a long while.

"The features are somewhat familiar, but I can't place them," he finally said.

"Pass it up to the judge and see whether he recognizes it," requested Britz.

The judge returned the photograph with a negative toss of his head.

"Do you recall Arthur Travis?" asked Britz of the clerk.

A wave of recollection instantly swept across the clerk's mind.

"Sure," he replied. "Pleaded guilty to attempted post office robbery. Was sent away for two years and half. He's in the Federal prison at Atlanta now. And, by George! that picture resembles him slightly. Only Travis was the ordinary, shabby specimen we invariably get here."

"Who defended Travis?" inquired the detective.

"Tom Luckstone was his lawyer. But no defense was offered. The prisoner simply pleaded guilty."

"Thanks!" Britz returned the photograph to his pocket and started for the door. In the corridor Greig laid a detaining hand on Britz's elbow.

"Why--lieutenant--" he gasped,--"that was a photograph of Herbert Whitmore."

"Precisely," said Britz. "And we're going to hop on board the next train for Atlanta."