blue streak…
“Go up to the store. Pick out anything you like. Have them call me before you pay. You’ll get a nice discount, believe me. You know, you Irish and us Jews are much alike. We’re both poets-am I right? And who can talk these days? The Irish and the Jews only. You need a cop, you find an Irishman. You need a lawyer, you find a Jew. This stuff I sell, you think I understand it? Hah! For me, I go camping on Miami Beach or Nassau. You float on the pool there in this- plastic couch with a nice, tall drink and all around these girlies in their little bitty bikinis. That, to me, is outside life. Captain, I like you. Delaney-right? You in the book? Sure, you’re in the book. Next month, a Bar- Mitzvah for my nephew. I’ll call you. Bring nothing, you understand? Nothing! I’ll go see Calvin Case. I swear I’ll go. You’ve got to work. Sarah! Sarah!”
Delaney finally got out of there, laughing aloud and shaking his head, so that people he passed on the stairway looked at him strangely. He didn’t think Appel would remember to invite him to the Bar-Mitzvah. But if he did, Delaney decided he would go. How often do you meet a
Well, he had found out what he wanted to know-and, as usual, it wasn’t as bad as he had feared or as good as he had hoped. He walked west on Spring Street and, suddenly, pierced by the odor of frying sausage and peppers, he joined a throng of Puerto Ricans and blacks at an open luncheonette counter and had a slice of sausage pizza and a glass of sweet cola, resolutely forgetting about his diet. Sometimes…
He took two subways and a bus back to his home. Mary was having coffee in the kitchen, and he joined her for a cup, telling her he had already eaten lunch, but not saying what it was.
“Whatever it was, it had garlic in it,” she sniffed, and he laughed.
He worked in his study until 3:00 p.m., bringing his reports up to date. The file of his own investigation was becoming pleasingly plump. It was nowhere near as extensive as the Operation Lombard reports, of course, but still, it had width to it now, it had width.
At 3:00 p.m., he called Deputy Inspector Thorsen. This time the answering service operator asked him to hold while she checked. She was back on again in a few minutes and told him Thorsen asked him to call again at seven in the evening. Delaney hung up, now convinced that something was happening, something was awry.
He put the worry away from him and went back to his notes and reports. If “The Suspect” was indeed a mountain climber-and Delaney believed he was-weren’t there other possible leads to his identity other than the mailing list of Outside Life? For instance, was there a local or national club or association of mountain climbers whose membership list could be culled for residents of the 251st Precinct? Was there a newsletter or magazine devoted to mountaineering with a subscription list that could be used for the same purpose? What about books on mountain climbing? Should Delaney inquire at the library that served the 251st Precinct and try to determine who had withdrawn books on the subject?
He jotted down notes on these questions as fast as they occurred to him. Mountain climbing was, after all, a minor sport. But could you call it a
Finally, almost as a casual afterthought, he came back to the problem that had been nagging him for the past few days, and he resolved to turn over everything he had to Broughton and Chief Pauley. They could follow through much faster than he could, and their investigation might, just might, prevent another death. He would have liked to stick to it on his own, but that was egotism, just egotism.
He was writing out a detailed report of his meeting with Sol Appel when the desk phone rang. He lifted the receiver and said absently, “Hello.”
“‘Hello’?” Dr. Sanford Ferguson laughed. “What the hell kind of a greeting is that-‘Hello?’ Whatever happened to ‘Captain Edward X. Delaney here’?”
“All right. Captain Edward X. Delaney here. Are you bombed?”
“On my way, m’lad. Congratulations.”
“You mean the drawing was accurate?”
“Right on. The outside wound-I’m talking about the skull now-was a rough square, about an inch on each side. For the probe I used glass fiber. You know what that is?”
“A slender bundle of glass threads, flexible and transmitting light from a battery-powered source.”
“You know everything, don’t you, Edward? Yes, that’s what I used. Tapering, curving downward to a sharp point, and I even found some evidence of heavier abrasions on the lower surface, a tearing. That could be accounted for by those little saw teeth. Not definite enough to put in my official report, but a possible, Captain, a possible.”
“Thank you, doctor. And the oil?”
“No obvious sign of it. But I sent your rag and a specimen of tissue to the lab. I told you, it’ll take time.”
“They won’t talk?”
“The lab boys? Only to merit’s just a job. They know from nothing. Happy, Edward?”
“Yes. Very. Why are you getting drunk?”
“He was so small. So small, so frail, so wasted and his heart wasn’t worth a damn and he had a prick about the size of a thimble. So I’m getting drunk. Any objections?”
“No. None.”
“Get the bastard, Edward.”
“I will.”
“Promise?”
“I promise,” Captain Edward X. Delaney said.
He got to the hospital shortly after 5:30, but the visit was a disaster. Barbara immediately started talking of a cousin of hers who had died twenty years ago, and then began speaking of “this terrible war.” He thought she was talking about Vietnam, but then she spoke of Tom Hendricks, a lieutenant of Marines, and he realized she was talking about the Korean War, in which Tom Hendricks had been killed. Then she sang a verse of “Black is the color of my true love’s hair,” and he didn’t know what to do.
He sat beside her, tried to soothe her. But she would not be still. She gabbled of Mary, of the drapes in the third-floor bedrooms, Thorsen, violets, a dead dog-and who had taken her children away? He was frightened and close to weeping. He pushed the bell for the nurse, but when no one came, he rushed into the corridor and almost dragged in the first nurse he saw.
Barbara was still babbling, eyes closed, an almost-smile on her lips, and he waited anxiously, alone, while the nurse left for a moment to consult her medication chart. He listened to a never-ending stream of meaningless chatter: Lombard and Honey Bunch and suddenly, “I need a hundred dollars,” and Eddie and Liza, and then she was at the carousel in the park, describing it and laughing, and the painted horses went round and round, and then the nurse came back with a covered tray, removed a hypodermic, gave Barbara a shot in the arm, near the wrist. In a few moments she was calm, then sleeping.
“Jesus Christ,” Delaney breathed, “what happened to her? What was that?”
“Just upset,” the nurse smiled mechanically. “She’s all right now. She’s sleeping peaceably.”
“Peacefully,” the Captain said.
“Peacefully,” the nurse repeated obediently. “If you have any questions, please contact your doctor in the morning.” She marched out. Delaney stared after her, wondering if there was any end to the madness in the world. He turned back to the bed. Barbara was, apparently, sleeping peacefully. He felt so goddamned frightened, helpless, furious.
It wasn’t 7:00 p.m., so he couldn’t call Thorsen. He walked home, hoping, just hoping, he might be attacked. He was not armed, but he didn’t care. He would kick them in the balls, bite their throats-he was in that mood. He looked around at the shadowed streets. “Try me,” he wanted to shout. “Come on! I’m here.”
He got inside, took off his hat and coat, treated himself to two straight whiskies. He calmed down, gradually. What a thing that had been. He was home now, unhurt, thinking clearly. But Barbara…
He sat stolidly sipping his whiskey until 7:00 p.m. Then he called Thorsen’s number, not really caring. Thorsen called him back almost immediately.
“Edward?”
“Yes.”
“Something important?”
