Blackstone and the New World Read Online Free Page A

police force must have hundreds of detectives on its strength.’
    ‘It does, and I’m one of them,’ the young man said, finally releasing his grip. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Alexander Meade.’
    ‘Then I don’t see what you meant,’ Blackstone confessed. ‘If you’re a police detective . . .’
    ‘I said a real police detective, sir,’ Meade said. ‘Not just a man who carries a badge, but one who solves real crimes.’
    ‘But don’t the—?’
    ‘Oh, things are a little better since the Lexow Committee completed its investigation,’ Meade interrupted, ‘but not that much better. The problem is Tammany Hall, you see. Always was. And until we can get rid of it, there’ll never be a major improvement.’
    ‘Is that right?’ Blackstone asked, and he was thinking that while they were undoubtedly talking the same language, the young sergeant might as well have been speaking Hindustani for all the sense he was making.
    Blackstone had always thought the traffic on London’s streets was bad enough. But compared to Manhattan, those streets were country lanes. Carriage fought against carriage to gain the advantage. Long, single-decker horse-drawn buses – which Meade informed him were called ‘streetcars’ in New York – moved at a ponderous pace most of the time, yet seemed to put on a malicious burst of speed when they saw the opportunity of blocking the progress of other vehicles. Electric taxi cabs hooted their horns in frustration as the drivers fretted that their batteries would be drained before they reached their destination. And, overhead, the elevated railway – the ‘El’, Meade called it – thundered along, pushing clouds of smoke into the sky and filling the air beneath it with small, glowing cinders.
    ‘You have an underground railway in London, don’t you?’ Meade asked, across the carriage which was taking the two of them to the Mulberry Street police headquarters.
    ‘Yes, we do,’ Blackstone agreed.
    ‘A well-established underground railway.’
    ‘It’s certainly been around for quite some time.’
    ‘We could have had one for “quite some time”, too,’ Meade said gloomily. ‘The mayor was talking about building one twelve years ago. But Tammany Hall didn’t like the idea, you see, because most of the guys who work for Tammany have got shares in the streetcars and the El.’
    ‘That’s the second time you’ve mentioned Tammany Hall,’ Blackstone pointed out. ‘What exactly is it?’
    ‘It’s complicated,’ Meade said, in a tone which suggested that he really didn’t want to talk about it. ‘And, hell, I didn’t volunteer for this assignment in order to tell you about New York’s problems. I want to hear what it’s like to work in the famous Scotland Yard, so give me some of the juice.’
    It was complicated to talk about the workings of the Metropolitan Police, too, but Blackstone did his best, and all the time he was speaking, Meade listened with rapt attention.
    ‘It’s like I always imagined,’ Meade said, almost dreamily, when Blackstone had finished. ‘ You don’t rely almost entirely on the words of crooked informers to make your cases. You don’t beat a confession out of the nearest available suspect. You conduct investigations. You follow clues.’
    ‘Well, yes, I suppose we do,’ Blackstone admitted. ‘But then, don’t all police forces—?’
    ‘Gee, I’d love to work with you,’ Meade interrupted him. ‘I’d learn so much from the experience.’
    Was Meade doing no more than serving up a dish of gently warmed flattery seasoned with faux-admiration? Blackstone wondered.
    Or was it merely that he hated his own job so much that he simply refused to see any of the virtues of the New York Police Department?
    Whichever it was, the young man’s attitude was making him feel distinctly uncomfortable.
    ‘I’m sure your own police department is, in its own way, just as good, and just as bad, as the Met,’ he said.
    Meade’s face darkened,