Jacobus was the thin thread which stitched Shassa(Ts theory together. Like the slaying of Ryder, Jacobus also made little sense.
Shassad had reassigned two support teams of detectives. No longer did they shadow Thomas Daniels in hopes that the young attorney would lead them to the missin woman. Instead, Jacobus was now under twenty-four-hour surveillance by three different two-man detective teams. After three days, the accumulation of information on Jacobus had been a genuine team effort. No one had discovered anything.
Shassad and Hearn were plainly worried. jacobus's house in Astoria had been watched; no one unusual had come or gone. The night custodian had been followed to work as he drove his dented aging Ford from Queens to Manhattan and left it in a metered parking place on Thirtieth Street off Park Avenue South, a similar location each night. He'd been under intense scrutiny for several days and Shassad's theory of his link to the Ryder murder was fading quickly.
"Just another stiff in another crummy job," had been Shassad's recurrent thought after observing the man.
"Just like the rest of us' ' jacobus's thumbprint had been taken from his home mailbox and had been sent down to the crime laboratory for a fingerprint analysis. A police photographer, concealed in the office building across the street at 460 Park Avenue South, had taken thirty-some telephoto snapshots of the man. And Shassad had made arrangements to visitiacobus's bank to peer into his financial status.
But as the two detectives sat in Hearn's car on lower Park Avenue, surveying the entrance of 457 Park Avenue South for the third consecutive night, the possible involvement of Jacobus, as a homicide conspirator seemed less and less likely. By night, no one came or went from the building in which Jacobus worked. And the only occasional company the detective had in the nocturnally quiet section of Manhattan was that of the large white sanitation trucks which prowled the streets picking up refuse.
On the third night of their stakeout, three A.M. passed quietly.
Then three thirty.
Hearn nudged Shassad sharply, taken by surprise himself.
"Hey," he said excitedly "What's this?" He motioned with his head and indicated an activity halfway down Thirtieth Street. He raised the binoculars to his eyes.
The two detectives had been ignoring the side street. They'd become sleepy and their attention had lagged. They didn't even know where the dark green Chevy Nova on Thirtieth Street had come from. Nor did they know how long it had been there. What they could see was that the car had double-parked next to jacobus's battered old Ford. And the driver of the Nova was a busy man.
The man stood behind his own car aAd unlocked the trunk. He opened it slightly, but didn't raise the rear hood. He moved directly behind jacobus's car and seemed to fumble with something small.
"What is it? What is it?" asked Shassad.
"Keys" Hearn said.
"He's got keys to jacobus's car."
"What the hell…?" asked Shassad rhetorically. He was totally perplexed now, the odd scene on Thirtieth Street making no sense yet.
"Get his license number."
The rear hood of jacobus's car went up. Then the man left jacobus's trunk wide open and stepped quickly back to his own car.
He opened his own trunk. Then, with obvious effort, he reached in and picked up a large canvas bag, the size of a post-office mailbag or a sack of flour. He pulled it out, hoisted it over his shoulder, stepped with a slight wobble to jacobus's trunk, leaned forward, and as best he could eased the bag into the Ford.
Then with one hand he reached in and picked up another sack.
This one was much lighter, though the same size. It was bulky, but obviously not nearly as heavy.
The man hoisted the second bag over his shoulder, stepped back to his own car, and dumped the bag almost carelessly into his trunk.
He then slammed down both trunks, and hurried back to the wheel of his own car.
"I don't get it said Shassad.
"Not at all."
The lights of the Nova went on. The engine started. Hearn was still staring through glasses.
"You're going to love this part" he said.
"What?"
"It's a DPL license, New York State Shassad almost gawked at his partner. Diplomatic plates. The car was registered to an embassy or consulate within New York City. Since when did diplomats play musical trunks with janitors? The unmarked police car moved slowly to the corner.
"I can't stand it'" cursed Shassad.
"See whether he goes straight or turns.
Hearn leaned forward, barely able to keep the binoculars focused on the Nova. The car was moving now, approaching the red traffic light at the end of the block at Lexington and Thirtieth.
Hearn watched the car ease to the corner, never halt completely, and turn.
"He ran the light" said Hearn.
Shassad could stand it no longer.
"A red one?"
Knowing what his partner was thinking, Hearn nodded the leprechaun grin he saved for moments of special joy "Let's go fuck him" said Shassad.
The red beacon was still flashing on the dashboard of the unmarked police car. The Nova had been pulled to the curb on Lexington Avenue.
Shassad and Hearn approached it from different sides.
The driver of the Nova, sitting 'with his arms folded, looked through the window at Shassad.
"Lower that window or I'll punch it in!" snapped Shassad.
"I want a license and registration out of you!" He banged the window twice with his fist.
Hearn watched the driver and inspected the Nova from the other side.
With deliberateness that was meant to antagonize, the man at the wheel slowly rolled down the window.
"What seems to be the problem?" he asked calmly in foreign-accented English.
"You! License and registration."
Grudgingly the driver handed both documents to Shassad.
"I'm a member of the diplomatic corps" he said.
Hearn eyed the trunk of the car. Then he walked around to join Shassad.
Shassad glanced at the man's license. Andre Corescaneu, an attachi of the Romanian delegation to the United Nations. -Shassad knew he couldn't touch him with a motor-vehicle violation. He also knew he couldn't tip his hand and let Corescaneu know that Jacobus, whom the Romanian obviously knew, was the subject of surveillance. There was no other choice. The detectives would have to slip into their act. It called for a temper tantrum.
"You see?" said Corescaneu.
"Diplomat. You cannot-" "Get out "What?"
"Get out!" roared Shassad.
"Get out of that car before I haul you out!"
Apprehension showed on the diplomat's face.
"You can't-" "The rules are off, fella" barked Shassad, glaring into the car.
"I'm doing whatever I want tonight."
Corescaneu was flabbergasted, not knowing how to react.
"Come on, come on," Hearn said.
"Calm down." He put his hand on his partner's shoulder.
"No, fuck it!" screamed Shassad.
"I've had it with these frigging foreigners. I'm writing him up!"
Hearn looked at the man in the car. His expression was one of compromise.
"Look. My buddy's in a real bad mood. Step out and we can all calm down."
Corescaneu looked at Hearn carefully, then complied.
"I'm running him in'" said Shassad.
"Fuck his diplomatic immunity. I'm arresting himl" "You can'tar-" began Corescaneu.
"Don't tell me what I can't do!" snapped Shassad, his eyes raging.
"Don't you know what a red light means?"
The Romanian shook his head.
"Liar," snarled Shassad. He looked down at the license and registration.
"How do I know this is you?" he asked.
"Of course it's me," said Corescaneu defensively.
"Prove it Indignantly, Corescaneu did what Shassad wished. He produced a passport. Hearn noted the number.
Corescaneu was obviously concerned now. Not by any legal trouble that he'd be in, his diplomatic status would protect him. What he feared was harassment from an enraged local police officer. Shassad paced up and down beside the car, looking for something wrong.
"I say this is a hot car," he finally decided.
"Hot?"
"He means stolen" Hearn offered.
Corescaneu kept l'looking around, feeling trapped and in danger.
"Is not a stolen car," he said.
"Prove it."
He pointed to the registration.
"That don't mean nothing," sneered Shassad.
"Hey, Aram, take it easy," said Hearn.
"I want this fucker fingerprinted. I want the car searched' He looked back to the diplomat.
"What's in the trunk?" he asked.
"Nothing" "Bullshit," Shassad said.
"I'm having you towed in' Shassad went back to his car, as if to use a radio, which he didn't have. Corescaneu protested heatedly.
"Why don't you let him look in the trunk" suggested Hearn.
That'll cool him down. If he's convinced you haven't got anything, he'll let you go."
The diplomat looked back and forth between the two cops.
"All right," he finally said.
"There is nothing" With amazing eagerness, convinced that the detectives would never understand the implication of what they were looking at, Corescaneu opened the burlap sack and pulled out one dozen empty film cans, cans used to store movie film, the size of reels used for a standard professional projector.
"What's all this for?" Shassad asked.
Corescaneu explained. He pointed to a name tag on the sack. He had a friend who worked for a Romanian film company, Rota Films, located on Vaiick Street. The friend didn't own a car. So Corescaneu, good Samaritan that he was, was helping his friend move the dozen empty film cans.
"I just picked up the bag down on Varick Street," the diplomat offered.
"Is that a fact?" mumbled Shassad, apparently appeased.
"See?" said Hearn to his partner, appearing to grow bored with their captive.
"He's just a wild foreign driver. But there's nothing in his car."
Corescaneu nodded eagerly.
"Is nothing' he said.
"Come on, Aram," said Hearn.
"Let's have some coffee and forget about it" Shassad shot Corescaneu a withering look.
"Get those cans together and get out of here" he said.
"And if I ever see you run a light again, I'll run you in for reckless endangerment" "You can't" said Corescaneu without thinking. Shassad's eyes blazed. The diplomat quickly turned, fumbled the loose cans together, closed the trunk and hopped back into his car before Shassad could change his mind.
Shassad and Hearn sat in the warmth of their car.
"I got a hunch," said Shassad, perfectly calm, lighting a cigarette.
"I say we scored. I say now we snoop around Rota Films."