worked this way on all his investigations for many years, and frequently found it valuable to put his own instinctive reactions and questions into words. In happier times Barbara had typed put his notes on her electric portable, and that was a big help. But he had never solved the mysteries of the electric, and now would have to be content with handwritten reports.
He started with the long-delayed directory of all the people involved, their addresses and telephone numbers, if he had them or could find them in the book. Then he wrote out reports of his meeting with Thorsen and Johnson, of his interviews with Lombard’s widow, mother, and associates, his talks with Dorfman, with Ferguson. He wrote as rapidly as he could, transcribing scribbles he had made in his pocket notebook, on envelopes of letters, on scraps of paper torn from magazines and newspaper margins.
He wrote of his meeting with Thomas Handry, with Christopher Langley, with Calvin Case. He described the bricklayers’ hammer, the rock hounds’ hammer, and Case’s ice ax-where they had been purchased, when, what they cost, and what they were used for. He wrote a report of his interrogation of Monica Gilbert, his purchase of the can of light machine oil, his filing of a missing driver’s license report.
He should have done all this weeks ago, and he was anxious to catch up and then to keep his file current with daily additions. It might mean nothing, it probably meant nothing, but it seemed important to him to have a written record of what he had done, and the growing mass of paper was, somehow, reassuring. At the rear of the second file drawer he placed the bricklayers’ hammer, the rock hounds’ hammer, and the can of oil: physical evidence.
He worked steadily, stopping twice just long enough to get bottles of cold beer from the kitchen. Mary was upstairs, cleaning, but she had turned the light out under the stew. He lifted the lid and sniffed experimentally. The steam smelled great.
He wrote as clearly and as swiftly as he could, but he admitted his handwriting was miserable. Barbara could read it, but who else could? Still, his neat manila file folders grew: “The Suspect,” Weapon, Motive, Interrogations, Timing, Autopsies, etc. It all looked very official and impressive.
Late in the afternoon, still writing as fast as he could, Mary departed, with a firm command to eat the stew before he collapsed from malnutrition. He locked the door behind her, went back to his reports and then, a few minutes later, the front door bell chimed. He threw his pen down in anger, thought, then said aloud, “Please, God, let it be Langley. With the ax.”
He peered through the narrow glass side panels, and it was Langley. Bearing a paper-wrapped parcel. And beaming. Delaney threw open the door.
“Got it!” Langley cried.
The Captain could not tell him he had held the same thing in his hands a few hours previously; he would not rob this wonderful little man of his moment of triumph.
In the study they inspected the ice ax together. It was a duplicate of the one Calvin Case owned. They went over it, pointing out to each other the required features: the tapering pick, the downward curve, the sharp point, the all-steel construction.
“Oh yes,” Delaney nodded. “Mr. Langley, I think this is it. Congratulations.”
“Oh…” Langley said, waving in the air. “You gave me the lead. Who told you about Outside Life?”
“A man I happened to meet,” Delaney said vaguely. “He was interested in mountain climbing and happened to mention that store. Pure luck. But you’d have gotten there eventually.”
“Excellent balance,” Langley said, hefting the tool. “Very well made indeed. Well…”
“Yes?” Delaney said.
“Well, I suppose my job is finished,” the old man said. “I mean, we’ve found the weapon, haven’t we?”
“What we think is the weapon.”
“Yes. Of course. But here it is, isn’t it? I mean, I don’t suppose you have anything more for me to do. So I’ll…” His voice died away, and he turned the ice ax over and over in his hands, staring at it.
“Nothing more for you to do?” Delaney said incredulously. “Mr. Langley, I have a great deal more I’d like you to do. But you’ve done so much already, I hesitate to ask.”
“What?” Langley interrupted eagerly. “What? Tell me what. I don’t want to stop now. Really I don’t. What’s to be done? Please tell me.”
“Well…” Delaney said, “we don’t know that Outside Life is the only store in New York that sells this type of ice ax. You have other stores on your list you haven’t visited yet, don’t you?”
“Oh my yes.”
“Well, we must investigate and make a hard list of every place in New York that sells this ice ax. This one or one like it. That involves finding out how many American companies manufacture this type of ax and who they wholesale to and who the wholesalers retail to in the New York area. Then-you see here? On the side of the head? It says ‘Made in West Germany. ’ Imported. And maybe from Austria and Switzerland as well. So we must find out who the exporters are and who, over here, they sell to. Mr. Langley, that’s a hell of a lot of work, and I hesitate to ask-”
“I’ll do it!” Christopher Langley cried. “My goodness, I had no idea detective work was so-so involved. But I can understand why it’s necessary. You want the source of every ice ax like this sold in the New York area. Am I correct?”
“Exactly,” Delaney nodded. “We’ll start with the New York area, and then we’ll branch out. But it’s so much work. I can’t-”
Christopher Langley held up a little hand.
“Please,” he said. “Captain, I
Delaney looked at him admiringly. “Mr. Langley, I wish I had had you working with me on some of my cases in the past. You’re a wonder, you are.”
“Oh…” Langley said, blushing with pleasure, “you know…”
“I think your plan is excellent, and if you’re willing to work at it-and it’s going to be a lot of hard, grinding work-all I can say is ‘Thank you’ because what you’ll be doing is important.”
Key word.
“Important,” Langley repeated. “Yes. Thank you.”
They agreed Delaney could retain possession of the Outside Life ice ax. He placed it carefully in the rear of the second file cabinet drawer. His “exhibits” were growing. Then he walked Langley to the door.
“And how is the Widow Zimmerman?” he asked.
“What? Oh. Very well, thank you. She’s been very kind to me. You know…”
“Of course. My wife thought very well of her.”
“Did she!”
“Oh yes. Liked her very much. Thought she was a very warm hearted, sincere, out-going woman.”
“Oh yes. Oh yes. She is all that. Did you eat any of the gefilte fish, Captain?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“It grows on you. An acquired taste, I suspect. Well…” The little man started out. But the Captain called, “Oh, Mr. Langley, just one more thing,” and he turned back.
“Did you get a sales check when you bought the ice ax at Outside Life?”
“A sales check? Oh, yes. Here it is.”
He pulled it from his overcoat pocket and handed it to Delaney. The Captain inspected it eagerly. It bore Langley’s name and address, the time (“Mountain ax-4B54C”) and the price, $18.95, with the city sales tax added, and the total.
“The clerk asked for my name and address because they send out free catalogues twice a year and want to add to their mailing list. I gave my right name. That was all right, wasn’t it, Captain?”
“Of course.”
“And I thought their catalogue might be interesting. They do carry some fascinating items.”
“May I keep this sales check?”
“Naturally.”
