Dead Cat Bounce

By E W Farnsworth

A Consulting Detective with the Brilliance of Holmes...and An Insanity All His Own!

D. L. Champion’s twisted, yet genius investigator, Inspector Allhoff makes a dark, exciting return in DEAD CAT BOUNCE, an all new novel by E. W. Farnsworth. Originally appearing in Dime Detective Magazine in the 1930s and 40s,

Allhoff was a detective like no other. Mangled and left without legs after leading a failed police raid, Allhoff found himself an unofficial consultant to the New York Police Department. Kept in a rundown tenement across from headquarters, Allhoff is assisted by two men, both of which he tortures with his aggressive nature and abrasive words. One, the rookie responsible for bungling the raid which left the great detective an invalid and the other, a career cop going through hell just to get to his retirement. Three men who stew in a cesspool of hate, self doubt, and anger, and yet, led by Allhoff, they solve the strangest cases the NYPD has ever faced! In DEAD CAT BOUNCE, wealthy collectors of weapons are dying in locked rooms and the NYPD cannot stop the rash of murders. That means that Inspector Allhoff and his assistants are on the case. But can they stop the phantomlike killer before more noted citizens die or is this the case that will put an end to their careers? And will Allhoff’s men rise to meet the challenge of the mystery while being beaten by his acerbic attitude and caustic attacks or will they simply leave the broken man to twist in the proverbial wind?

DEAD CAT BOUNCE. From Pro Se Productions. Licensed from Steeger Properties, LLC

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pro Se Press
• Release date: Nov 30, 2016

E W Farnsworth

E. W. Farnsworth lives and writes in Arizona. Over two hundred fifty of his short stories were published at a variety of venues from London to Hong Kong in the period 2014 through 2018. Published in 2015 were his collected Arizona westerns Desert Sun, Red Blood, his thriller about cryptocurrency crimes Bitcoin Fandango, his John Fulghum Mysteries, Volume I, and Engaging Rachel, an Anderson romance/thriller, the latter two by Zimbell House Publishing. Published by Zimbell House in 2016 and 2017 were Farnsworth’s Pirate Tales, John Fulghum Mysteries, Volumes II, III, IV and V, Baro Xaimos: A Novel of the Gypsy Holocaust, The Black Marble Griffon and Other Disturbing Tales, Among Waterfowl and Other Entertainments and Fantasy, Myth and Fairy Tales. Published by Audio Arcadia in 2016 were DarkFire at the Edge of Time, Farnsworth’s collection of visionary science fiction stories, Nightworld, A Novel of Virtual Reality, and two collections of stories, The Black Arts and Black Secrets. Also published by Audio Arcadia in 2017 were Odd Angles on the 1950s, The Otio in Negotio: The Comical Accidence of Business and DarkFire Continuum: Science Fiction Stories of the Apocalypse. In 2018 Audio Arcadia released A Selection of Stories by E. W. Farnsworth. Farnsworth’s Dead Cat Bounce, an Inspector Allhoff novel, appeared in 2016 from Pro Se Productions, which will also publish his Desert Sun, Red Blood, Volume II, The Secret Adventures of Agents Salamander and Crow and a series of three Al Katana superhero novels in 2017 and 2018. E. W. Farnsworth is now working on an epic poem, The Voyage of the Spaceship Arcturus, about the future of humankind when humans, avatars and artificial intelligence must work together to instantiate a second Eden after the Chaos Wars bring an end to life on Earth. For updates, please see www.ewfarnsworth.com.

Book preview

Chapter 1.

Kadesh for Ely Jacobvits

I knew the first murder spelled trouble right from the start. The New York Police Department had experienced nothing like it, and I thought that its mishandling rocked the foundations of what we stood for. The unknown and unknowable are beyond the purview of the NYPD. We have no charter to go there any more than we have the charter to pursue ghosts, demons, dragons, legends and will-o-the-wisps.

Our three-person team headed down a path designed by fate and the inimitable Inspector Allhoff. We got what we deserved, or at least I thought so in hindsight. In any event the rookie Battersly arrived late on the scene on that first, most informative day. I had been to the Armory weapons show to look at the sword blades as Allhoff had unaccountably directed, and I stood waiting like the guardian of the gates of Hell for the little man on the landing of the stairwell to the decrepit dump where Allhoff prowled and we all worked. And why not? I had nothing else to do and hazarded to lose everything I valued by doing anything but what Allhoff ordered me to do.

Hi, kid. You’re late, but go right on up. The inspector’s in a lovely mood today.

The shopkeeper who came to see us yesterday has been murdered, Sergeant. Someone cut his head right off in his antiques store. The kid was clearly upset with the news.

So what does that have to do with the price of peas? I asked superciliously. As a rookie, Battersly had precious little experience with investigations. You never knew what the rookie policeman was going to find interesting. The odds were that he’d find a lot of extraneous information that led nowhere in particular.

At first I had no idea why Battersly had been assigned to help the man who had been crippled and nearly killed by a gangster’s machine gun because of his cowardice. Then I deduced that the police commissioner must have a morbid sense of humor. That was also the only way I could explain my having been selected to work with the inspector I hated, but I’m not laughing at the joke. Instead, some days I think I am the laughing stock of the force and an endless butt for jokes aimed at me by my mandated boss, who just happens to hold my future in his brutish hands. The fact was that Allhoff himself had asked for Battersly to be assigned to work with him and I had been assigned to Allhoff by the police commissioner to keep the man from killing the kid. We were a dysfunctional team in the same way that most families were. It was a miracle that we survived from day to day. Yet the more I thought about it, the more I became convinced that our exemplary performance was due not to our perfect coordination of efforts but rather to our imperfect wrangling with each other.

He was here yesterday morning to see the inspector. They had tea. You weren’t here, but I told you about it later. You remember that, don’t you, Simmonds?

So? I asked petulantly. Battersly was repetitive and tedious, and I was easily bored. I was also sick and tired of his attempts to atone for what he had done to Allhoff. He was always looking for some heroic action that would redeem his almost fatal spinelessness that had cost the inspector both his legs below the knees.

So the inspector sent him across the street to the station. Now the old man’s dead. He was murdered.

You said that before. I still don’t see why that matters to us.

We might have helped. If we had helped, the old man might not have been killed. The kid was dejected and he looked downright mournful.

That’s pure nonsense. We’re not responsible for protecting every citizen of this city who claims to be threatened. Anyhow you’d better tell the master investigator about the murder. He’ll bite your head off whether you tell him or not. I only hope you have something of substance to show him.

The kid stuck his chin out defiantly. He said, Listen, I checked the murder out as far as I could under the circumstances. You know those orthodox people: If something important happens, they all clam up in bearded silence and nod with their whole bodies from the waist up.

I knew exactly what he meant. I had been stonewalled more than once while trying to solve a case involving the Hassidic Jews. Because of their obstruction, their one important case I handled was never solved. They did not care. It meant more to them to stonewall the authorities than to see justice done. I could never figure out why they thought that way.

I brought one of their newspapers in the Hebrew language. I can’t make heads or tails of it, but my contact in their community circled the pertinent article in red. He wrote the words ‘Kadesh for Ely Jacobvits’ above it. See? He was holding the paper at arm’s length in my face so I could see it and pointing at the red marks with his index finger jabbing. His doe’s eyes pled earnestly for me to acknowledge that he had brought something that Inspector Allhoff could use.

I nodded. Go back to the kitchen and show the paper to Allhoff. Be wary though because he’s in a very foul mood. At such times, you know he can be dangerous.

The kid marched right up to the door and then into the main room where all our desks stood at attention against the wall. He froze in his tracks when he saw what Allhoff was doing. I could see the rookie through the doorway. He went pale and looked around frantically. Then he went through the filthy bedroom to the bathroom sink and threw up. I heard him violently retch his breakfast up. After that I heard him dry heaving his guts out.

Battersly, you squeamish lout! Clean up your mess right now. Allhoff did not raise his voice. His look of disgust was palpable.

Good morning, sir, the rookie said sheepishly as he stuck his head out of the bathroom door. From where I stood I saw Battersly wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.

And what, may I ask is good about this morning? I’ll tell you, you moron: nothing is good about this morning. My stumps hurt where my legs used to be. Your cowardice caused them to be shot to bloody pieces; the surgeons cut them off badly as you can see. Just eyeing your pimply face makes me want to shout out loud, ‘Cassius, where are my legions?’ Wait where you are. I’ll show you just how I feel today.

Please don’t do that!

I heard a distinct slapping sound like a hand repeatedly hitting the table. I thought Allhoff might be swatting silverfish again. Then I heard more retching from Battersly.

I crept into the living room and saw that Allhoff was busy running one hand over his desktop while with the other hand he rearranged the stumps that once led to his legs. He stopped when he sensed my presence and his look bored right through me.

Sergeant Simmonds, tell me again how many months you must serve in the police force until you lock in your pension?

‘You bastard! You know I have another sixty months to go."

I figured you for keeping the count. Now that I have your full attention, tell me what you’ve discovered about the swords in the Armory show.

Allhoff drank some of his ever present, strong coffee and picked up his still active cigarette and took a long drag. As I started speaking, he looked at the stub of his smoke and chain lit another cigarette from it before putting the spent one out in his overflowing glass ashtray.

They’re Japanese katana. They’re ceremonial as well as martial weapons. Some are extremely rare. Some are priceless. I had done a lot of research on this, and I felt proud of my achievement.

That’s not good enough. Allhoff’s eyes narrowed like a lizard’s. He hit the table with the flat of his hand hard and lifted it to see what stuck to it. I must have looked shaken because he stared as if he were looking straight through me to see something just behind my skull. I knew it was time to give him something he could use.

Some of the swords are on display for the rest of the month at the Armory. I made a list of all the six owners who donated their swords for the display. I drew my penciled list from my coat pocket and laid it on his desktop as an offering.

That’s better. Allhoff picked up the list and read the names aloud: Aceland, Van Der Streep, Ho, Hoshidi, Lister, and Bannerman. You’re sure this list is complete?

Like Old Saint Nick, I made my list and checked it twice. Allhoff scowled. He clearly did not appreciate my irony. Or perhaps it was the Christmas reference. He always fulminated at the mention of Christmas for which he was the Krampus.

Allhoff’s agate eyes then shifted from mine to focus like a searchlight on Battersly. He sneered at the kid who had been responsible for his double amputations below the knees. I felt relieved to be off the hook for the moment. I wondered what was going through the deranged cripple’s mind as he surveyed the man he both hated and needed above all others.

Did I hear you mention the word ‘kadesh’ to our would-be pensioner outside on the landing before you entered my sacred abode? The inspector uttered these last words ironically as with his grimy thumb he stabbed at three silverfish that were flitting across his kitchen table.

Yes, sir. I brought you the newspaper with the obit of the Jew who came to ask for our help. Battersly handed over the marked newspaper.

Allhoff snatched the paper and ran his eyes over it as if he could read the Hebrew.

I thought maybe he could read the language, and then maybe he couldn’t. Neither Battersly nor I would challenge him in either case.

Then Allhoff glared at the rookie again and asked, So what did your snitch tell you? Don’t be bashful. Tell me now. I want it all.

The murder happened around midnight. The old man was in his shop doing his accounts by candlelight. His daughter had gone to sleep already at eleven fifteen. When I questioned her, she told me that she neither heard nor saw anything through the night. She found her father’s headless body slumped over his desk at daybreak. His severed, bearded head had rolled down under his desk. His blood was everywhere.

Were there any signs of breaking and entering? Allhoff was thinking along standard lines here. It was the first question I would have asked at this stage, and I was glad he asked it.

No, there were not. The daughter told me she latched and locked the front door from the inside just before she went to bed. It was still locked when she checked it in the morning. She doesn’t think the murderer came in through the front door. Behind the kid’s answer lay a whole unvoiced conversation between him and the victim’s surviving daughter.

What did she do when she discovered her father’s body?

She had the cool presence of mind to phone her rabbi. He told her to touch nothing and wait for him to arrive. He came at once with a local newspaperman and a community fixer in tow.

Allhoff nodded and shrugged as if to say, What else would you expect? He raised a hand and with two fingers circling over each other encouraged the kid to continue his story.

Anyway, this morning the man’s obit was published in their Hebrew newspaper as you can see. He pointed at the newspaper.

They must be moving fast now to prepare for the body’s burial. Allhoff realized, as I did, that time was of the essence for the community and for the police.

Yes, sir, they have to hurry. The body must be buried before sundown according to Jewish law. The daughter told me they were discussing how to bury the corpse upright. That was going to be a problem because the victim’s head is detached from his body.

Were there any witnesses at all?

None that I’ve found yet.

Does anyone have any ideas about a motive for the murder?

Everyone had a motive to kill the old man. The people in the community uniformly hated him, including particularly his daughter. He treated Judith like his personal slave and beat her frequently for no good reason.

Did she tell you this?

Yes. I didn’t force her; she volunteered the information freely. She also told me her father had driven away all her suitors. From her looks, I’d guess that if they existed at all, her suitors were few and far between. She’s a frumpy, bitter, barren, and badly broken spinster.

So in summary, what do we know about the deceased?

Sir, Ely Jacobvits was a total miser, stingy and mean. Still he stored things in his shop that people wanted, like the katana that he told us about when he dropped by here yesterday to ask for our protection.

Does anyone know where he finds what he sells?

No one knows where he got any of the goods he sold. Some people think he was a fence for stolen goods.

Battersly stopped there and held the inspector’s intense gaze until Allhoff was satisfied that he had heard enough for now. The sadist shook his head and focused his beady eyes again on me.

Simmonds, he suddenly ordered in a gruff voice, dig around and find out what our cohorts at the station are going to do about this case. In the mean time, Battersly, go back to your snitch and talk with the daughter again too. Get me a complete inventory of the contents of the old merchant’s shop. Ask the daughter whether anything is missing. Find out where the burial is going to be held and plan to go there yourself.

So you think robbery may have been a motive? Battersly was valiantly trying to learn as much as he could about our master’s thoughts.

Did I say anything of the kind? No, of course I didn’t. Don’t try to get ahead of me. You’ll break your paltry brain. Just do what I tell you to do. Why are you standing there like a cigar-store Indian?

Sir, two silverfish are examining the rag that you used to clean yourself. Battersly pointed his index finger at the insects in Allhoff’s pan, but the inspector wasn’t looking.

Yes, they are. I’ll bet at least one broad-winged flying cockroach is examining your half digested breakfast back there in the sink. The inspector sighed audibly.

I watched Battersly’s gaze drift back to examine the sink. He walked back through the bedroom with the unmade bed and the inspector’s scattered, soiled clothing. I thought he was going to start eructing all over again. Instead he froze, fascinated by what he saw.

How did you know about the giant cockroach? he asked the inspector, genuinely surprised.

So she’s come up from the drain to check out your gift to her? How do you like the length of her feelers?

Battersly grabbed a filthy rag and quickly began to clean up his slop from the sink. When he had pushed the former contents of his guts to one side and cleared the drain area, he turned on the tap and let the water run for a while. Rinsing the rag in the stream of tap water, he wrung it out and tried to sop up the sticky matter. While Allhoff craned his neck to observe with wicked glee, Battersly fetched the garbage container from under the sink and began to fill it with his throw up.

The snit was about to start cleaning the sink in earnest when Allhoff held up one hand as a sign for the man to desist.

Why are you cleaning up your mess?

You asked me to do it, sir.

I ordered you to do it, yes, but I also ordered you to check on a few things in the neighborhood of our lately deceased Jewish friend. Which of those two orders do you suppose is more important to me right now?

Battersly dropped the rag and moved away from the sink. He wiped his wet hands on the pant legs of his uniform.

I’m going now.

Turn off the water first. Yes, it’s high time you were gone. That goes for you, too, Simmonds! I’ll take care of my tenement, thank you. Make sure you both bring me something I can use. Why I’m plagued with you in my own house, I sincerely don’t know.

The commissioner, that’s why, Inspector. He assigned us to work with you. The kid was, as always, trying to be helpful but sounding dumb doing it.

You’re half right, Sherlock Holmes. I asked for you to be assigned to assist me and the commissioner made it so. The commissioner appointed Simmonds to round out the team by assuring I didn’t kill you in revenge for losing my legs. Now scram. I’ve got some real work to do. If only I had legs to get around. This was my signal to get the kid out on the street before the inspector hammered him about why his legs had been lost. For once, though, Allhoff was preoccupied with something else and decided not to pick on Battersly.

The legless man maneuvered his swivel chair to the opposite side of his table where he had spread a large piece of construction paper beside his ancient typewriter. I looked back from the front door to see him hunched over that paper with a pen poised to strike at the paper.

Allhoff had a