Which Way to Die? by Ellery Queen Page B

to a door with FIRE EXIT over it. There was no handle on the roof side of the door. Corrigan used a packet of paper matches as a wedge so they could get back in.
    The first thing Corrigan did on the roof was glance across the street and up. At the parapet of the other rooftop he could see the glitter of the opera glasses focused his way. He waved to Baer, and only then did he walk over to inspect the object of his hunt.
    He had never seen anything quite like it before. There were three small metal tanks attached to what looked like a fiberglass corset. Two short metal tubes hung out of it, downward and at a slight outward angle from the middle tank. Two thicker metal tubes, about the diameter of motorcycle handlebars, curved upward and forward and ended in grips.
    â€œAny idea what this is?” Corrigan asked the uniformed man.
    Kent shook his head. “Some kind of diving equipment, maybe?”
    Corrigan grunted. There was some stenciling on the fiberglass corset; he directed his pencil flashlight at it. It said: BELL AEROSYSTEMS CO., INC. He produced a handkerchief, covered his palm, took hold of one of the handlebar-like tubes, and turned the device over. He pushed aside the straps, evidently used to buckle the corset into place, in order to inspect the inner side of the corset.
    There was something stenciled there, too: 305TH AIR NAT. GUARD.
    Patrolman Kent, craning, exclaimed, “That’s the National Guard Air Force unit out on Long Island, Captain. I know what this thing is now!”
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œA Buck Rogers belt!”
    Corrigan rose from his stoop and looked the young officer over. “Come again?”
    â€œThe Air Force has been experimenting with this thing for some time, sir. They’ve put on demonstrations at air shows all over the country. It’s a one-man rocket belt that allows a man to jump the length of a football field, or even over buildings. I’ve seen it on TV a couple of times.”
    Corrigan glanced over at the apartment building across the street. The distance from rooftop to rooftop was about three hundred feet. The length of a football field.
    So that’s how it was done, he thought. The killer had actually flown over and back!
    â€œWe won’t move this till the lab crew has a chance to look at it. You stay here and guard it, Kent I’m going back across the street.”
    â€œYes, sir,” Kent said.
    Maybe Chuck and I were lucky they didn’t let us arrange the security, Corrigan thought as he left. Who’d figure a stunt like this? He felt his spine crawl. It took real dedication for a man to launch himself into empty space with nothing but some tanks and a nozzle, or however the thing worked. Real dedication.
    Only revenge explained it.

13.
    Corrigan found the penthouse crowded. Sergeant Hooker had stationed himself in the foyer to let people in and out. In the living room Norma was serving coffee and sandwiches to the Grants, Andy Betz, and her father. And Baer stood gabbing with Sergeant Dave Bender and his partner, Marty Kinn, of Homicide.
    The burly Bender greeted Corrigan in his usual dour manner, lanky Kinn with his usual friendly grin. “You sure give us doozies, Tim,” Kinn said. “But I’ve got it solved. The killer was Captain Nice.”
    Bender frowned at Kinn’s levity. “Chuck’s given us the rundown, Tim,” Bender said. “What was that contraption across the street?”
    â€œThe killer got in and out of here,” Corrigan said, “with a Buck Rogers belt.”
    Everyone looked at him. Bender said curtly, “Cut the comedy.”
    â€œI’m serious, Dave. It’s a device the Air Force has been experimenting with. The killer jumped three hundred feet from the roof across the way, then escaped by the same route. I left a cop guarding the thing.”
    Young Grant, still clutching his snifter, had been listening with an avid air. He ran over, slopping the