The Black Hearts Murder by Ellery Queen Read Free Book Online

Officer Spera said. He had a surprisingly deep voice. “The Supreme Court never said anything about witnesses who aren’t charged with anything having the right to counsel. You want us to start giving their rights to every holdup witness we talk to?”
    â€œMrs. Franks isn’t a holdup witness. The D.A. undoubtedly wants to ask her where her brother is, and her answer might well be self-incriminating. So she definitely has a right to legal advice. Why are you withholding that right?”
    â€œBecause Art Volper would skin us alive if we didn’t,” Sergeant Dixon said with a grin. “Next question, Mr. McCall?”
    McCall heard the squadroom door open and glanced around. Two detectives, white, were bringing a black man into the room. One of the detectives was tall and lanky and had a sad look on his bony face. The other was short and burly and harried-looking. The man between them was a six-footer, lean, very black-skinned, with an Afro hair style. All three were thirtyish.
    It struck McCall that the black man answered the vague description of the messenger provided by BOKO’s station manager.
    The detectives led their man to the corner. The black man looked down at the black woman and said, “They got you, too, huh, Issy?”
    â€œHello, Roy,” she said. “They won’t let me call Mr. Prentiss Wade.”
    â€œMe, either.” LeRoy Rawlings looked around the circle of white faces. He added casually, “What do you expect of pigs?”
    He uttered the invective without venom, as if it were a ritual expected of him. It brought a glare from the blond Dixon, and Spera jumped to his feet.
    Neither of the detectives who had brought the prisoner in seemed disturbed. The lanky one with the mournful expression said in a bored tone, “Oh, sit down, Spera. Aren’t you used to this stuff yet?”
    Spera slowly reseated himself. The lanky detective looked at Isobel Franks. “Who’s she?”
    â€œHarlan James’s sister,” Sergeant Dixon said.
    The man stared. “Did Volper blow a fuse?”
    Dixon shrugged. “I just work here, Lieutenant. He said bring her in, we brought her in.”
    The lanky man shook his head and turned his attention to McCall. “The desk man said you wanted to see us, Mr. McCall. I’m Lieutenant Cox, my partner here is Sergeant Fenner.”
    He offered his hand; his stocky partner followed suit. The handshakes were friendly. So not all the Banbury police danced to Chief Condon’s tune. Or maybe, McCall thought, they hadn’t heard the music yet.
    McCall nodded toward LeRoy Rawlings. “What’s the story on this man, Lieutenant?”
    â€œMaybe we’d better discuss it in private, Mr. McCall. Dixon, keep an eye on him a minute, will you?” He led the way to the opposite corner. His partner came along, too. Lieutenant Cox eyed McCall with what seemed to be a chronic dyspepsia.
    â€œMind telling us your mission in Banbury, Mr. McCall? Or is it confidential?”
    McCall shook his head. “No secret. The governor is worried about possible race trouble. He sent me to try to head it off.”
    The lieutenant nodded. “I was hoping that was why you’re here. Maybe you can talk some sense into District Attorney Volper. This arrest of LeRoy Rawlings is stupid. The black community’s going to blow when they hear about James’s sister being pulled in.”
    â€œShe’s not under arrest, Dixon told me,” McCall said. “The D.A. merely wants to question her.”
    â€œThat’s something, anyway. Except Volper’d be quite capable of tossing her in the can if he decides she knows where her brother is.”
    â€œThen we get to see Chief Condon’s theories about riot control put into effect,” Sergeant Fenner grumbled. “Because the lid will shoot right off the west end.”
    â€œWest end, Sergeant? Is that the ghetto area?”
    Fenner