consulted a typewritten list of the home phone numbers of all the detectives in South Detectives, found Cronin’s number, and called it.
“Patty? Dan Justice. Harry asked me to call. He’s on the job and can’t tell right now when he’ll get home.”
There was a pause as Mrs. Cronin replied.
“Patty, I wouldn’t do that. When I tell you Harry’s on the job, he’s on the job. As soon as he can find a minute, I’ll have him call you himself.”
Danny the Judge replaced the telephone in its cradle and looked at Detective Cronin.
“Okay, Harry. Tell me how you’re really on the job.”
“I think it would be best if you came with me, Lieutenant,” Cronin said.
Danny the Judge rose from behind his desk—it was rumored that when he was seated behind the desk, his feet did not quite reach the floor—and followed Harry Cronin down to the parking lot and to Harry’s Chevrolet.
In the backseat was a man wearing a too-small overcoat and handcuffs.
And what looked like nothing else.
Danny the Judge looked closer to confirm the nothing else.
“Who’s this?”
“You have absolutely no reason to hold me against my will,” the man wearing handcuffs and a too-small overcoat said without much conviction in his voice.
“His name is Ketcham, Ronald R.”
“Really? Didn’t you think that the Locate, Do Not Detain meant ‘Do Not Detain’?”
“Sir?” Cronin asked. It was the first he’d heard of the Locate, Do Not Detain.
“Where’re Mr. Ketcham’s clothes?”
“I left them back there,” Harry said.
“Where’s ‘there,’ Harry?” Danny the Judge asked, a tone of impatience entering his voice.
“In the NIKE site,” Harry said. “I found this guy, wearing nothing but the overcoat, locked up in one room, and his clothes in another.”
“In the NIKE site? What the hell were you doing in the NIKE site?”
“I had a gut feeling that there was something wrong in there,” Harry said. “So I went and had a look, and there he was.”
Danny the Judge looked at Mr. Ketcham.
“Mr. Ketcham, what were you doing in the NIKE site?”
“I’m not going to say a word until I have a chance to consult with my attorney.”
“Yes, sir,” Danny the Judge said and turned to Harry. “You left his clothes there?”
“Yes, sir. I went through them until I found his wallet. But I thought . . .”
“We’ll be with you in just a minute, Mr. Ketcham,” Danny the Judge said and closed the door of Harry’s Chevrolet.
He signaled Harry to follow him back into the building.
“You know, Harry, right, that we have no authority inside that fence? It’s federal property?”
“Yes, sir.”
They entered the building, and Lieutenant Justice signaled to the trainee behind the glass window to open the door.
“Wait,” he said to Harry, then went through the door, where he removed the clipboard from its peg and read the Locate, Do Not Detain on Ketcham, Ronald R. again.
He first thought he should call his brother-in-law the deputy commissioner. There was no question that what he had in his hands was shortly going to come to the attention of the upper echelons of the Philadelphia Police Department.
But the Locate, Do Not Detain—more than a little unusually—specifically ordered that ChInsp. Coughlin, Insp. Wohl and/or Sgt. Washington be notified immediately.
It had been Lieutenant Justice’s experience that one got one’s ass a little less deep in a crack if one followed one’s orders to the letter, rather than doing what seemed like the logical thing to do.
He turned to the sergeant on duty.
“You know what kind of a car Cronin drives?”
“Yes, sir.”
“There’s a man in the backseat. Get him out of there. Put him, alone, in a detention cell. A clean detention cell. Take the cuffs off him and get him a couple of blankets. Don’t talk to him, and don’t let him near a telephone.”
“Yes, sir.”
Taking the Locate, Do Not Detain with him, Danny the Judge left the office and motioned for Detective Cronin to follow him up the stairs.
He took a copy of the Philadelphia Daily News from the sergeant’s desk, handed it to Cronin, and ushered him into the captain’s office.
“Read the newspaper, Harry,” he ordered. “And stay in here. And don’t talk to anybody.”
“Yes, sir,” Detective Cronin said. By now he had come to deeply regret having taken a look around the NIKE site.
Danny the Judge went back to the lieutenant’s office, consulted the Locate, Do Not Detain, and dialed a number.
“Dan Justice at South, Chief,” he said. “I hope I didn’t wake you up?”
“How are you, Danny? How’s Margaret?” Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin replied.