The Copper Frame by Ellery Queen Page A

know what was happening if Cutter opened a casino at Fourth and Main.”
    Tony Spijak took a sip of his beer. “Yeah, I saw by the paper they appointed Art Marks. He was walking a beat when we were kids.”
    Ted said, “You’re still in the bookie business, aren’t you, Tony?”
    â€œOh, I’ve got a couple of spots around. I’m not gonna tell you where, because the Buffalo cops are getting almost as tough as your old man used to be.”
    â€œI don’t care where they are, so long as they aren’t in Iroquois. All I’m interested in is that you’re still on the inside of things. You must know the scoop on Larry Cutter.”
    â€œI keep my ear pretty close to the grapevine,” Spijak admitted. “You have to in this business. What you want to know?”
    â€œFirst, have you heard any rumors of Cutter planning to move in on Iroquois?”
    â€œNot with any illegal operations. Everybody on the inside knows he’s behind this harness-racing business, but that’s on the up-and-up. It would make sense, though. He’s a got a pretty big organization sitting idle, and he can’t open up here. The Buffalo cops are just waiting for him to make a move, and he knows it.”
    â€œEver hear of a man named Edward Coombs?”
    After taking another thoughtful sip of his beer, the bookmaker shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
    â€œHe’s an accountant for the Upstate Harness Racing Association.” Taking his small notebook from his pocket, Saxon read off the man’s home address.
    Spijak shook his head again. “Still never heard of him.”
    â€œI doubted that you would have. He was in jail in Iroquois the same night Grace Emmet was. He was one of the witnesses to the supposed rape, and Cutter wouldn’t have picked a witness with any underworld connections.” He glanced at the notebook again. “How about a John Simmons?”
    Spijak gave him a peculiar look. “Hardnose Simmons?”
    â€œI wouldn’t know of any nickname he had.” From the notebook Saxon read aloud the man’s home address.
    â€œThat’s Hardnose,” Spijak said. “What about him?”
    â€œHe was the man who posted Edward Coombs’s bail.”
    The bookie grunted. “I guess you were framed by Larry Cutter, then. Simmons is one of Cutter’s guns.”
    Saxon felt a surge of elation. Here was the first actual evidence to support Ben Foley’s theory. Larry Cutter had made one stupid mistake in his carefully worked out plan to get Saxon out of office. He had wisely chosen a witness whose connection to him couldn’t be traced, then had allowed one of his gunmen to post the man’s bail.
    He said, “One more question. Do you know a Sergeant Harry Morrison of Homicide and Arson?”
    â€œThat creep?”
    â€œYou do know him, huh? Is he tied in with Cutter?”
    Tony Spijak looked surprised. “Cutter doesn’t have any cops on his payroll that I know of. Buffalo’s got a pretty clean force. Except for a few two-bit chiselers like Morrison who shoot angles on their own. Every police force has a few bad apples.”
    â€œWhat’s Morrison’s angle?”
    â€œOne that’ll get him kicked off the force if they ever catch up with him. He’s running protection for a call girl.”
    â€œOh?” Saxon said.
    â€œThe rumor is that he steers customers to her, then takes away most of what she knocks down. He’s a real nice guy.”
    â€œYou know this girl’s name?” Saxon asked.
    â€œAnn something-or-other. I don’t know her personally. I could steer you to somebody who does, if it’s important.”
    â€œI’d appreciate it.”
    Draining his beer glass and setting it on the floor next to the can, Spijak rose and crossed the room to a small writing desk. He wrote on a scratch pad, tore off the sheet and carried it over