Ed uniforms and hard hats, and worked slowly on the hole they dug in the pavement. It played hell with traffic, but the van was filled with communication gear and weapons, and served as Fernandez’ command post. Delaney was delighted. Fuck the traffic jams.
For “Mr. Inside,” the Captain requisitioned Detective first grade Ronald Blankenship, the man who had handled the two original beefs on Daniel Blank. Working together closely, Delaney and Blankenship transferred the command post of Operation Lombard from the 251st Precinct house to the living room of Delaney’s home, next door. It wasn’t as spacious as they would have liked, but it had its advantages; the communications men could run wires out the window, up to Delaney’s roof, then across to tie in with the antennae on the precinct house roof.
Detective sergeant Thomas MacDonald, “Pops,” was Delaney’s choice to head up the research squad, and MacDonald was happy. He got as much pleasure from an afternoon of sifting through dusty documents as another man might get in an Eighth Avenue massage parlor. Within 24 hours his men had compiled a growing dossier on Daniel G. Blank, taking him apart, piece by piece.
Captain Delaney appreciated the unpaid labors of his amateurs, but he couldn’t deny the advantages and privileges of being on active duty, in official command, with all the resources of the Department behind him, and a promise of unlimited men, equipment, funds.
Item: A tap was put on the home telephone of Daniel Blank. It was installed in the central telephone office servicing his number.
Item: The next day’s call to Charles Lipsky had resulted in the time of departure and license number of a cab picking up Blank’s dark-haired girl friend at his apartment house. Delaney told Blankenship what he wanted. Within three hours the license number had been traced, the fleet identified, and a dick was waiting in the garage for the driver to return. His trip sheet was checked, and the Captain had the address where the cab had dropped her off. One of Fernandez’ boys went over to check it; it turned out to be a townhouse on East End Avenue. After consultation with the lieutenant, Delaney decided to establish surveillance: one plainclothesman around-the-clock. Fernandez suggested detailing a two-man team to comb the neighborhood, to learn what they could about that house.
“It’s an expensive section,” Delaney said thoughtfully. “Lots of VIP’s around there. Tell them to walk softly.”
“Sure, Captain.”
“And lots of servants. You got a good-looking black who could cuddle up to some of the maids and cooks on the street?”
“Just the man!” Fernandez said triumphantly. “A big, handsome stud. He don’ walk, he glides. And smart as a whip. We call him ‘Mr. Clean.’”
“Sounds good,” the Captain nodded. “Turn him loose and see what he can come up with.”
He then put on his civilian clothes, went over to Blank’s apartment house to slip Lipsky his twenty dollars. The doorman thanked him gratefully.
Item: An hour later, Blankenship handed him the trace on Charles Lipsky. As Delaney had suspected, the man had a sheet. As a matter of fact, he was on probation, having been found guilty of committing a public nuisance, in that he did “with deliberate and malicious intent,” urinate on the hood of a parked Bentley on East 59th Street.
Item: Christopher Langley called to report he had completed a list of all retail outlets of the West German ice ax in the U.S. With his new authority, Delaney was able to dispatch a squad car to go up to Langley’s, pick up the list, bring it back to the command post. The list was assigned to one of Detective sergeant MacDonald’s research men and, on the phone, he struck gold with his first call. Daniel G. Blank had purchased such an ax five years ago from Alpine Haven, a mail order house in Stamford, Conn., that specialized in mountaineering gear. A man was immediately sent to Stamford to bring back a photostatic copy of the sales check made out to Daniel G. Blank.
Item: Fernandez’ men, particularly “Mr. Clean,” made progress on that East End Avenue townhouse. At least, they now had the names of the residents: Celia Montfort, Blank’s dark, thin girl friend; her young brother Anthony; a houseman named Valenter; and a middle-aged housekeeper. The names were turned over to MacDonald; the professor set up a separate staff to check them out.
During these days and nights of frantic activity, in the week before Christmas, Captain Delaney took time out to perform several personal chores. He gave Mary her Christmas gift early and, in addition, two weeks’ vacation. Then he brought in an old uniformed patrolman, on limited duty, waiting for retirement, and told him to buy a 20- cup coffee urn and keep it going 24 hours a day in the kitchen; to keep the refrigerator filled with beer, cold cuts, cheese; and have enough bread and rolls on hand so anyone in Operation Lombard coming off a cold night’s watch, or just stopping by during the day to report, would be assured of a sandwich and a drink.
He ordered folding cots, pillows and blankets brought in, and they were set up in the living room, hallway, kitchen, dining room-any place except in his study. They were in use almost constantly. Men who lived out on Long Island or up in Westchester sometimes preferred to sleep in, rather than make the long trip home, eat, sleep a few hours, turn around and come right back again.
He also found time to call his amateurs, wish them a Merry Christmas, thank them, for their help and support and tell them as gently as he could, that their efforts were no longer needed. He assured them their aid had been of invaluable assistance in developing a “very promising lead.”
He did this on the phone to Christopher Langley and Calvin Case. He took Monica Gilbert to lunch and told her as much as he felt she should know: that partly through her efforts, he had a good chance to nail the killer but, because of the press of work, he wouldn’t be able to call her or see her as often as he’d like. She was understanding and sympathetic.
“But take care of yourself,” she entreated. “You look so tired.”
“I feel great,” he protested. “Sleep like a baby.”
“How many hours?”
“Well…as much as I can.”
“And you have regular, nourishing meals, I’m sure,” she said sardonically.
He laughed. “I’m not starving,” he assured her. “With luck, this may be over soon. One way or another. Are you still visiting Barbara?”
“Almost every day. You know, we’re so dissimilar, but we have so much in common.”
“Do you? That’s good. I feel so guilty about Barbara. I dash in and dash out. Just stay long enough to say hello. But she’s been through this before. She’s a cop’s wife.”
“Yes. She told me.”
Her sad voice gave him a sudden, vague ache, of something he should have done but did not do. But he couldn’t think about it now.
“Thank you for visiting Barbara and liking her,” he said. “Did I tell you we’re now grandparents?”
“Barbara did.
“Thank you. An ugly little boy.”
“Barbara told me,” she repeated. “But don’t worry; within six months he’ll be a beautiful little boy.”
“Sure.”
“Did you send a gift?”
“Well…I really didn’t have time. But I did talk to Liza and her husband on the phone.”
“It’s all right. Barbara sent things. I picked them out for her and had them sent.”
“That was very kind of you.” He rubbed his chin, felt the bristle, realized he had neglected to shave that morning. That was no good. He had to present the image of a well-groomed, crisply uniformed, confident commander to his men. It was important.
“Edward,” she said, in a low voice, with real concern, “are you all right?”
“Of course I’m all right,” he said stonily. “I’ve been through things like this before.”
“Please don’t be angry with me.”
“I’m not angry. Monica. I’m all right. I swear it. I could be sleeping more and eating better, but it’s not going to kill me.
“You seem so-so wound up. This is important to you, isn’t it?”
“Important? That I nail this guy? Of course it’s important to me. Isn’t it to you? He killed your husband.”
She flinched at his brutality. “Yes,” she said faintly, “it’s important to me. But I don’t like what it’s doing to you.”
He wouldn’t think of what she had said, or what she had meant. First things first.
