First Avenue for the things he liked.
Lombard didn’t drive his car over from Brooklyn because parking space was hard to find near his mother’s apartment. He would take the subway, and a bus or taxi from the subway station. He didn’t like to walk on the streets at nights. He always left for his Brooklyn home before midnight.
Did Mrs. Clara Lombard ever accompany her husband to his mother’s home for dinner?
“No,” Mrs. Sophia Lombard said shortly. And reading that reply, Delaney smiled, understanding the discord that must have existed in
Delaney replaced the reports in their folders, and put all the Operation Lombard file in a small safe in the corner of the study. As he well knew, an experienced “can man” could be into that in one minute flat. And two inexperienced thieves could carry it out between them to sledge it open later.
His eyes were sandy and his bones ached. It was almost seven a.m. He dumped the cold coffee, went upstairs, undressed and rolled into bed. Something was nagging at his mind, something he had read in the Operation Lombard reports. But that had happened to him frequently: a lead sensed but not recognized. It didn’t worry him; he tried not to think about it.
He knew from experience that it would come to him eventually, sliding into his mind like a remembered name or a tune recalled. He set the alarm for eight-thirty, closed his eyes and was instantly asleep.
He arrived at the precinct house a little after nine a.m. The Desk Sergeant was a policewoman, the second of her rank in New York to be assigned to such duty. He went over to the log with her, and asked questions. She was a tall, powerfully built woman with what he termed to himself, without knowing why, a
He climbed the creaking wooden steps to his office and, on the landing, met Detective Lieutenant Jeri Fernandez who was, or had been, in command of detectives assigned to the 251st. “Morning, Captain,” Fernandez said glumly.
“Good morning, lieutenant,” Delaney said. He looked at the man sympathetically. “Having a rough time, aren’t you?”
“Oh shit!” Fernandez burst out. “Half my men are gone already. The others will be gone within a week. Okay, that’s one thing. But the paper work! All our open cases have to be transferred to the proper unit covering this precinct. Jesus, it’s a mess.”
“What did you get?”
“I drew a Safe, Loft and Truck Division in midtown,” Fernandez said disgustedly. “It covers four precincts including the Garment Center. How does that grab you? I’m second in command, and we’ll be getting dicks from all over Manhattan. It’ll take us at least a year to set up our snitches. What great brain dreamed up this idea?”
Delaney knew how Fernandez felt. The man was a conscientious, efficient, but unimaginative detective. He had done a good job in the 251st, training his men, being hard when he had to be hard and soft when he had to be soft. Now they were breaking up his crew and farming them out to specialized divisions. And Fernandez himself would now be number two man under a detective captain. He had a right to his anger.
“I would have guessed Broughton would have grabbed you for Operation Lombard,” Delaney said.
“Not me,” Fernandez said with a sour grin. “I ain’t white enough.”
They nodded and separated. Delaney went on to his office, marveling how quickly a man’s prejudices and record spread throughout the Department. More fool Broughton, he thought; Fernandez could have been a big help. Unimaginative he might have been, but when it came to dull, foot-flattening routine, he was excellent. The important thing was to know how to use men, to take advantage of their particular talents and the best in them.
The moment he was at his desk he called the hospital. The head floor nurse told him his wife was down in the lab, having more X-ray plates taken, but she was doing “as well as can be expected.” Trying to conceal his distaste for that particular phrase, Delaney thanked her and said he’d call later.
Then he called Dr. Sanford Ferguson and, unexpectedly, was put through to him immediately at his office.
“That you, Edward?”
“Yes. Can we get together?”
“How’s Barbara?”
“Doing as well as can be expected.”
“I seem to recognize the words. Is it about Barbara you want to see me?”
“No. The Lombard homicide.”
“Oh? I was glad to hear you hadn’t retired. Now it’s an indefinite leave of absence.”
“News travels fast.”
“It was on the Telex about ten minutes ago. Edward, what’s this about Lombard? I thought Broughton was handling it.”
“He is. But I want to see you, to talk to you. Can you make it?”
“Well…” Ferguson was cautious, and Delaney didn’t blame him. “Look, I’ve got to go up to 34th Street today. It’s my sister’s birthday, and I want to get her something. At Macy’s. Any suggestions?”
“When in doubt, a gift certificate.”
“Won’t work. I know her. She wants something personal.”
“A silk scarf. That’s what I always buy for Barbara. She’s got enough silk scarves to make a parachute.”
“Good idea. Well then, how about lunch?”
“Fine.”
“I know a good chop house near Macy’s. Do you like mutton chops?”
“Hate them.”
“Idiot. That heavy, gamy taste…nothing like it.”
“Can I get a broiled kidney?”
“Of course.”
“Then let’s have lunch at your chop house.”
“Good. You get there at twelve-thirty. I’ll be finished shopping by then and will be there before you. Ask the head waiter for my table. He knows me. It will be in the bar, not the main dining room. All right?”
“Of course. Thank you.”
“For what? I haven’t done anything for you yet.”
“You will.”
“Will I? In that case you’re paying for the lunch.”
“Done,” Captain Edward X. Delaney said.
Ferguson gave him the address of the chop house and they hung up.
“Oysters!” Ferguson boomed happily. “I definitely recommend the oysters. The horse-radish is freshly ground. Then I’ll have the mutton chop.”
“Very good, sir,” the waiter said.
“Oysters for me also,” Delaney nodded. “Then I’ll have the broiled kidney. What comes with that?”
“Home-fries and salad, sir.”
“Skip the potatoes, please. Just the salad. Oil and vinegar.”
“I’ll have everything,” Ferguson cried, and drained half his martini.
“What did you buy your sister?” Delaney asked.
“A silk scarf. What else? Come on, Edward, what’s this all about? You’re on leave of absence.”
“Do you really want to know?”
Dr. Sanford Ferguson was suddenly sober and quiet. He stared at Delaney a long moment. “No,” he said finally. “I really don’t want to know. Except…will my name be brought into it?”
“I swear to you-no.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
