“If I have to.”
“You have to,” Delaney said. He drew Blank’s photo from his pocket, handed it to MacDonald. “This is the man,” he said tonelessly. “His address is on the back. You don’t have to know his name-now. It’s a block-size apartment building. Entrance and exit through a lobby on east Eighty-third. One doorman this time of night. I want three men, plain, covering the lobby. If this man comes out, I want them close to him.”
“How close?”
“Close enough.”
“So if he farts, they can smell it?”
“Not that close. But don’t let this guy out of their sight. Not for a second. If he spots them, all right. But I wouldn’t like it.”
“I understand, Captain. A crazy?”
“Something like that. Just don’t play him for laughs. He’s not a nice boy.”
The sergeant nodded.
“And two cars. Two men each, in plain. At both ends of the block. In case he takes off. He’s got a black Chevy Stingray in the underground garage, or he might take a cab. Got all that?”
“Sure, Captain.”
“You know Shakespeare and Lauder?”
“The ‘Gold Dust Twins?’ I know Lauder.”
“I’d like them in one of the cars. If they’re not on duty, any good men will do. That makes seven men. You pick six more, three in plain and three in uniform, and have them stand by here until eight tomorrow morning. Everyone else can go home. But everyone back by eight tomorrow, and anyone else you can reach by phone or who calls in. Got it?”
“Where do you want me, Captain?”
“Right here. I’ve got to go out for an hour or so, but I’ll be back. We’ll have some coffee together and talk about that extra crease in your ass.”
“Sounds like a jolly night.”
Delaney looked at him a long time. They had started in the Department the same year, had been in the same Academy class. Now Delaney was a captain, and MacDonald was a sergeant. It wasn’t a question of ability. Delaney wouldn’t mention what it was, and MacDonald never would either.
“What’s Broughton had you on?” he asked the sergeant finally.
“Rousting street freaks,” MacDonald said.
“Shit,” Delaney said disgustedly.
“My sentiments exactly, Captain,” the sergeant said.
“Well, lay it all on,” the Captain said. “I’ll be back in an hour or so. Your men should be in position by then. The sooner, the better. Show them that photo, but you hang onto it. It’s the only one I’ve got. I’ll have copies run off tomorrow.”
“Is he it, Captain?” Detective sergeant MacDonald asked.
Delaney shrugged. “Who knows?” he said.
He turned, walked away. He was at the staircase when the sergeant called softly: “Captain.” He turned around.
“Good to be working with you again, sir,” MacDonald said.
Delaney smiled faintly but didn’t answer. He walked down the stairway thinking of Broughton’s stupidity in using MacDonald to pull in street freaks. MacDonald! One of the best professors in the Department. No wonder those forty men had been sour and grumbling. It wasn’t that Broughton hadn’t kept them busy, but he had misused their individual abilities and talents. No one could take that for long without losing drive, ambition, even interest in what he was doing. And what was he, Delaney? What were his abilities and talents? He waved a hand in answer to the desk sergeant’s salute as he walked out. He’knew what he was. He was a cop.
He would have commandeered a squad car, but there was none around. So he walked over to Second Avenue, got a cab heading downtown. He walked into the hospital and, for once, the white tiled walls and the smell couldn’t depress him. Wait until Barbara heard!
Then he pushed open the door of her room. There was a nurses’ aide sitting alongside the bed. Barbara appeared to be sleeping. The aide motioned to him, beckoning him outside into the corridor.
“She’s had a bad evening,” she whispered. “Earlier it took two of us to hold her down, and we had to give her something. Doctor said it would be all right.”
“Why?” the Captain demanded. “What is it? Is it the new drug?”
“You’ll have to ask doctor,” the aide said primly. Delaney wondered again, in despair, why they always just said “doctor.” Never “the doctor.”
“You have to consult engineer.”
“You’ll have to talk to architect.”
“You’ll have to discuss that with lawyer.” It made the same sense, and it all made no sense whatever.
“I’ll sit with her awhile,” Delaney told the aide. She was so young; he couldn’t blame her. Who could he blame?
She nodded brightly. “Tell me when you leave. Unless she’s asleep by then.”
“She’s not asleep now?”
“No. Her eyes are closed, but she’s awake. If you need any help, ring the bell or call.”
She walked away quickly, leaving him wondering what help he might need. He went softly back into the hospital room, still wearing his uniform cap. He pulled a chair over to Barbara’s bedside, sat looking at her. She did seem to be sleeping; her eyes were shut tight, she was breathing deeply and regularly. But, while he watched, her eyelids flicked open, she stared at the ceiling.
“Barbara?” he called gently. “Darling?”
Her eyes moved, but her head didn’t turn. Her eyes moved to look at him, into him, through him, not seeing him.
“Barbara, it’s Edward. I’m here. I have so much to tell you, dear. So much has happened.”
“Honey Bunch?” she said.
“It’s Edward, dear. I have a lot to tell you. A lot has happened.”
“Honey Bunch?” she said.
He found the books in the metal taboret alongside her bed. He took the top one, not even glancing at the title, and opened it at random. Not having his glasses, he had to hold the book almost at arm’s length. But the type was large, there was good white space between the lines.
Sitting upright in his Number One uniform, gleaming cap squarely atop his head, the commander of Operation Lombard began reading:
“Honey Bunch picked her nasturtiums that morning and she gave away her first bouquet. That is always a lovely garden experience-to give away your first bouquet. Of course Honey Bunch gave hers to Mrs. Lancaster and the little old lady said that she would take the flowers home and put them in water and make them last as long as possible.
“ ‘Haven’t you any garden at all?’ asked Honey Bunch. ‘Just a little one?’
“ ‘No garden at all,’ replied the old lady sadly. ‘This is the first year I can remember that I haven’t had a piece of ground to do with as…’ ”
5
He slept when he could, but it wasn’t much: perhaps four or five hours a night. But, to his surprise and pleasure, it didn’t slow him down. Within three days he had it all organized. It was functioning.
He took Lt. Jeri Fernandez out of the Garment Center division he hated, put him in command of the squad shadowing Daniel Blank. Delaney let him select his own spooks; the “Invisible Man” almost wept with gratitude. It was exactly the kind of job he loved, that he did best. It was his idea to borrow a Consolidated Edison van and tear up a section of East 83rd Street near the driveway leading to Blank’s apartment house. Fernandez’ men wore Con
