Delaney walked resolutely up the driveway, turned right and walked down a short flight of steps to the underground garage. A light blue Jaguar came roaring by him, the garage man at the wheel. Delaney waited patiently at the entrance until the black attendant came trotting back.
“Good morning,” he said proffering his business card. “My name is Ames, of Cross-Country Insurance.”
The attendant glanced at the card. “You picked a bad time to sell insurance, man.”
“No, no,” Delaney said quickly, smiling. “I’m not selling anything. One of the cars we cover was involved in an accident with a nineteen-seventy-one Chevy Corvette. The Corvette took off. The car we cover was trashed. The driver’s in the hospital. Happened over on Third Avenue. We think the Corvette might be from the neighborhood, so I’m checking all the garages around here. Just routine.”
“A nineteen-seventy-one Corvette?”
“Yes.”
“What color?”
“Probably dark blue or black.”
“When did this happen?”
“Couple of days ago.”
“We got one Corvette. Mr. Blank. But it couldn’t be him. He hasn’t had his car out in weeks.”
“The police found glass at the scene and pieces of fiberglass from the left front fender.”
“I’m telling you it couldn’t be Mr. Blank’s Corvette. There’s not a scratch on it.”
“Mind if I take a look?”
“Help yourself,” the man shrugged. “It’s back there in the far corner, behind the white Caddy.”
“Thank you.”
The man took a phone call, hopped into a Ford station wagon, began to back out into the center of the garage so he could turn around. He was busy, which was why Delaney had picked this time. He walked slowly over to the black Corvette. The license number was Blank’s.
The door was unlocked. He opened it and looked in, sniffing. A musty, closed-window smell. There was an ice-scraper for the windshield, a can of defogger, a dusty rag, a pair of worn driving gloves. Between the two seats was tucked a gasoline station map that had been handled, unfolded and refolded several times. Delaney opened it far enough to look. New York State. With a route marked on it in heavy black pencil: from East 83rd Street, across town, up the West Side Highway to the George Washington Bridge, across to New Jersey, up through Mahwah into New York again, then north to the Catskill Mountains, ending at a town named Chilton. He reshuffled the map, put it back where he found it.
He closed the car door gently and started out. He met the attendant coming back.
“It sure wasn’t that car,” he smiled.
“I told you that, man.”
Delaney wondered if the attendant would mention the incident to Blank. He thought it likely, and he tried to guess what Blank’s reaction would be. It wouldn’t spook him but, if he was guilty, it might start him thinking. There was an idea there, Delaney acknowledged, but it wasn’t time for it…yet.
Back in his study, he looked up Chilton in his world atlas. All it said was “Chilton, N.Y. Pop.: 3,146.” He made a note about Chilton and added it to the Daniel Blank file. He looked at his watch. It wasn’t quite ten, but close enough. He called Handry at his office.
“Captain? Sorry. No soap.”
“Well…it was a long shot. Thank you very much for-”
“Hey, wait a minute. You give up too easily. We got other files of people. For instance, the sports desk keeps a file of living personalities and so does the theatre and arts section. Could your boy be in either?”
“Maybe in the sports file, but I doubt it.”
“Well, can you tell me
“Not much. He lives in an expensive apartment house and drives an expensive car, so he must be loaded.”
“Thanks a lot,” Handry sighed. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do. If I have something, I’ll call you. If you don’t hear from me, you’ll know I didn’t turn up a thing. Okay?”
“Yes. Sure. Fine,” Delaney said heavily, feeling this was just a polite kiss-off.
He got over to the hospital as Barbara’s noon meal was being served and he watched, beaming, as she ate almost all of it, feeding herself. She really was getting better, he told himself happily. Then he showed her the Christmas cards he had purchased, in three different price ranges; the most expensive for their “important” friends and acquaintances, the least expensive for-well, for people. And the twenty cards left over from last year, the list, the stamps.
Then he told her about Daniel Blank, stalking about the room, making wide gestures. He told her the man’s history, what he had been able to dig up, what he suspected.
“What do you think?” he asked finally, eager for her opinion.
“Yes,” she said thoughtfully. “Maybe. But you’ve really got nothing, Edward. You know that.”
“Of course.”
“Nothing definite. But certainly worth following up. I’d feel a lot better if you could tie him up with an ice ax purchase.”
“I would too. But right now he’s all I’ve got.”
“Where do you go from here?”
“Where? Checking out everything. Charles Lipsky. The Parrot, where he had that fight. Trying to find out who he is and what he is. Listen, dear, I won’t be over this evening. Too much to do. All right?”
“Of course,” she said. “Are you sticking to your diet?”
“Sure,” he said, patting his stomach. “I’m up only three pounds this week.”
They laughed, and he kissed her on the lips before he left. Then they kissed again. Soft, clinging, wanting kisses.
He clumped down to the lobby, dug out his pocket notebook, looked up the number. Then he called Calvin Case from the lobby booth.
“How you coming?”
“All right,” Case said. “I’m still working on the general mountaineering equipment sales checks, pulling those in the Two-five-one Precinct.”
Delaney was amused at Case’s “Two-five-one Precinct.” His amateur was talking officialese.
“Am I doing any good?” Case wanted to know.
“You are,” Delaney assured him. “I’ve got a lead. Name is Daniel Blank. Know him?”
“What’s it?”
“Blank. B-l-a-n-k. Daniel G. Ever hear of him?”
“Is he a climber?”
“I don’t know. Could be.”
“Hey, Captain, there’re two hundred thousand climbers in the country and more every year. No, I don’t know any Daniel G. Blank. What does the G. stand for?”
“Gideon. All right, let me try this one on you: Ever hear of Chilton? It’s a town in New York.”
“I know. Up in the Catskills. Sleepy little place.”
“Would a mountain climber go there?”
“Sure. Not Chilton itself, but about two miles out of town is a state park. A small one, but nice. Benches, tables, barbecues-crap like that.”
“What about climbing?”
“Mostly for hiking. There are some nice outcrops. There’s one good climb, a monolith. Devil’s Needle. It’s a chimney climb. As a matter of fact, I left two pitons up there to help whoever came after me to crawl out onto the top. I used to go up there to work out.”
“Is it an easy climb?”
“Easy? Well., it’s not for beginners. I’d say an intermediate climb. If you know what you’re doing, it’s easy. Does that help?”
“At this point everything helps.”
Back home, he added the information Calvin Case had given him about Chilton and the Devil’s Needle to the
