A half hour later Fenton was still trailing the coupe at a cautious distance and he was still alone. No wail of a police siren had arisen behind him and he was now grateful for that.
It had taken him a few minutes to make up his mind and decide that he was justified in feeling that way, and even now he had misgivings. He did not regret the instructions he'd given the owner of the sedan. The phone call had been routine, a necessary safeguard. He owed Hansen that much, at least.
And if police cars started converging around him he'd accept what came. But the kind of instructions he'd have liked to give the startled car owner only a policeman could have sent in to headquarters. Keep me in view, but don't give the game away. Don't interfere unless you see I'm in trouble. A chance like this may never come again. The payoff could be: two murders and a disappearance solved.
It wasn't what a policeman would ordinarily do. It was against all precedent and could cost him his badge. In one way he had increased the risks for Hansen, by not whipping out a gun and forcing a showdown in front of the building.
It would have been a risky showdown and Hansen might have ended up dead. Fenton also—but it was to Fenton's credit that he hadn't given that a thought. His decision—and he'd made up his mind about it only after a few minutes of driving—had been influenced chiefly by two considerations. The missing editor was in great danger, if he was still alive. It could almost be taken for granted that the murderer had kidnapped Gerstle, precisely as Hansen had been kidnapped. Not to force an instant showdown might lead to Gerstle's rescue and to force a showdown to Hansen's death. To forgo that and trail the car might be increasing the risks for Hansen in one way, but not in the most dangerous possible way. If given the choice—would Hansen prefer to be trailed or dropped to the floor of the car with a bullet in the head?
One other consideration weighed a little. The murderer had slain twice and might slay again. He was no ordinary murderer, but the most dangerous kind of killer. This had become one of the big, nation-arousing series of crimes. To catch that kind of killer justified unusual measures, the taking of exceptional risks.
Or did it? Even now, he wasn't completely sure. When a policeman sees a crime taking place in his presence, he's supposed to draw a gun and start shooting, if the crime can be prevented in no other way. Immediately, without stopping to speculate as to what some of the possible repercussions might be.
Still ... still ... a man had to have the courage of his convictions, even if it meant bending the rules a little more than the Manual told young rookies they had a right to do. He wasn't a young rookie; and a cop who had been on the Force thirty years, and worked his way up to a Detective Lieutenancy the hard, patient way, had a right, surely, to exercise his own judgment in a situation like this.
He wouldn't be breaking the backbone of the rules, cracking the spinal column in a completely demoralizing way. The backbone would snap back, and a vicious killer would be started on his way to the chair ... and all he really had to do was to make absolutely certain that the coupe did not get away.
If he should lose it in the traffic....