Read Online River City by John Farrow - Free Book Online Page B

guy’s head. What sentence would he get for murdering a man on the ice? Or would you recommend that he be let off for that, too, that we just call it hockey?”
    “That’s different.”
    “Sloan,” Touton hissed.
    “Why is it different?” Campbell pressed on. “If people go to a hockey game, or sit in a tavern, they don’t expect to see one man try to hack another man to bits.”
    “It’s the Stanley Cup!”
    “Sloan, out the door and shut up!” Touton burst out, rather more loudly than he had intended. The detective looked at his superior, then broke off and angrily strode back to the corridor. Touton was stepping around the women to join him when he turned to face Clarence Campbell. “Sorry about that. Like everybody else—”
    “No problem, Captain. I understand it’s not a popular decision.”
    “It’s your job, I suppose,” Touton sympathized. Then he shook his head, and added, “But I don’t know … the playoffs,” as he went out the door.
    In the corridor, Touton shot Sloan a glance, but chose to speak to Miron first. “Come with us. Bring the shotgun.”
    Sloan said, “What? Is the shotgun for me? Look, Armand, sorry about that in there. It just rots my socks, you know?”
    “If you were investigating a murder scene, and you knew who the murder weapon belonged to, who would you suspect for the crime?”
    Being older, Sloan was not usually put in the position of being tested, and he felt momentarily flummoxed. He particularly did not enjoy being dressed down in front of a uniform. “The guy whose weapon it was, of course, but—”
    “So what’s different about this case?”
    Sloan was still confused, even as he pushed the call button for the elevator.
    “No, wait, you don’t think—”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    “Clarence Campbell … he’s—”
    “What? A Nuremberg prosecutor? A big-shot? League president? Therefore beyond suspicion? Okay. That’s fine. But it’s still his knife in the heart of the victim.”
    “My God,” Sloan whispered as the elevator doors opened and the three men stepped in. “You don’t think—”
    “I don’t, actually. I think his alibi is airtight. He’s been busy. Fourteen thousand people were trying to kick his butt. They were joined by another fifty thousand. I don’t see him getting here fast enough, although it would have been possible. I also don’t see him breaking through upper-storey windows or climbing down to the street by rope. That’s pretty funny, actually, when you think about it. On the other hand, he is under attack. Who knows how nimblethat makes him? But my point has nothing to do with Clarence Campbell being a suspect or not.”
    “What’s your point?”
    “Your head’s not in the game. We have a pretty daring robbery here, don’t you think? Well planned, well executed, from what I’ve seen so far. All this to acquire a weapon that was then used to kill a man. Wake up, for God’s sake. You can’t be going off half-cocked about some dumb-assed suspension.”
    Contrite, Sloan put his hands in his pants pockets and hung his head most of the way down. As they reached the main floor, he asked, “So you agree?”
    “About what?”
    “It was a dumb-assed suspension.”
    “Totally.” Touton smiled as they headed outside. “Officer Miron.”
    “Yes, sir?”
    “If Detective Sloan brings up the Richard suspension again, or even mentions the name Rocket Richard—”
    “Yes, sir?”
    “Load two shells into the shotgun, peel his overcoat off his back and shoot it full of holes.”
    “Ah, shoot his back, sir, or his coat?”
    “His coat, for crying out loud. I’m not asking you to commit murder.” “Yes, sir,” Miron agreed.
    They were on their way down the outside stairs when Sloan thought to say, “Miron?”
    “Yes, sir?” the young cop asked.
    “You know he’s kidding, right?”
    “It doesn’t matter,” the officer in uniform deadpanned. “Whether he’s kidding or not, I’ll do it anyway.”
    Touton