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“Six Eleven, okay.”
Officer Molyneux turned on his flashing lights, but not the siren, and held his hand down on the horn button to clear the traffic in front of him.
At just about this time, the ringing of the alarm bell had attracted the attention of Police Officer Johnson V. Collins, Badge Number 2662, who was then on foot patrol (Beat Two) on South Street between 10th and llth Streets.
Officer Collins was equipped with a portable radio, and heard Mrs. Grosse’s call to RFC 611. He took his radio from its holster and spoke into it.
“Six Beat Two,” he said. “That’s on me. I’ve got it.”
Mrs. Grosse immediately replied, “Okay, Six Beat Two. Six Eleven, resume patrol.”
Officer Molyneux, without responding, turned off his flashing lights, but, having nothing better to do, continued driving down South Street toward Goldblatt & Sons Credit Furniture & Appliances, Inc.
Officer Collins walked purposefully (but did not run or even trot; audible alarms went off all the time) down South Street to the Goldblatt Building. It was only when he found the doors closed and the Venetian blinds closed that he suspected that anything might be out of the ordinary. Business was slow, but Goldblatt’s shouldn’t be closed.
He glanced up the street and saw RFC 611 coming in his direction. Now trotting, he went to the corner of South and South Ninth Streets, stepped into the street, and raised his arm to attract the attention of the driver of 611. He recognized Officer Molyneux.
He made a signal for Molyneux to cover the front of the building, and when he was sure that Molyneux understood what was being asked of him, Collins trotted down South Ninth Street to Rodman Street, which was more of an alley than a street, and then to the rear of the Goldblatt Building.
The fire door had an automatic closing device, but it had not completely closed the door. Collins was able to get his fingers behind the inch-wide strip of steel welded to the end of the door to shield the crack between door and jamb and pull the door open.
He took several steps inside the building, and then saw the body lying in the freight elevator and the blood on the elevator’s wall.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” he breathed, and reached for his radio.
“Six Beat Two, Six Beat Two, give me some backup here, I think I’ve got a robbery in progress! Give me a wagon too. I’ve got a shooting victim!”
Then, suddenly remembering that portable radios often fail to work inside a building, he went back into the alley and repeated his call.
“What’s your location, Six Beat Two?” Police Radio replied.
“800 South Street. Goldblatt Furniture.”
The first response was from Officer Molyneux.
“Six Eleven, I’m on the scene. In front.”
He was drowned out by the Police Radio transmission. First there were three beeps, and then Mrs. Grosse announced, “800 South Street. Assist officer. Holdup in progress. Report of shooting and hospital case.”
Then there came a brief pause, and the entire message, including the three beeps, was repeated.
The response was immediate:
“Six A, in.” Six A was one of the two 9th District sergeants on duty. He was responsible for covering the lower end of the district, from Vine Street to South Street. The other sergeant (Six B) covered the upper end of the district from Vine to Poplar Streets.
“Six Oh One, in.” Six Oh One was one of the 9th District’s two-man vans.
“Highway Twenty-Two, in on that.”
“Six Ten, in,” came from another 6th District RPC.
“Six Command, in,” came from the car of the 6th District lieutenant on duty, who was responsible for covering the entire district.
Officer Collins replace his radio in its holster, drew his service revolver, and, with his mouth dry and his heart beating almost audibly, went, very carefully, back into the building.
FIVE
Officers Gerald Quinn and Charles McFadden had spent all of the morning hanging around the sixth-floor hallway outside Courtroom 636 in City Hall waiting to be called to testify. The assistant DA sent word, however, that they probably would be, and asked them not to leave the building until he gave them permission or until the court broke for lunch.
