“A moral problem for you, isn’t it, Captain?” he asked softly.
“Call it what you like,” Delaney shrugged. “I just feel what I have is strong enough to follow up on, and Chief Pauley is-”
“Impossible,” Thorsen said.
“Why impossible?” Delaney cried angrily. “If you-”
“Calm down, Edward,” Inspector Johnson said quietly. He was on his third sandwich. “That’s why we wanted to talk to you tonight. You obviously haven’t been listening to radio or TV in the last few hours. You can’t turn over what you have to Chief Pauley. Broughton canned him a few hours ago.”
“Canned him?”
“Whatever you want to call it. Relieved him of command. Kicked him off Operation Lombard.”
“Jesus Christ!” Delaney said furiously. “He can’t do that.”
“He did it,” Thorsen nodded. “And in a particularly-in a particularly brutal way. Didn’t even tell the Chief. Just called a press conference and announced he was relieving Pauley of all command responsibilities relating to Operation Lombard. He said Pauley was inefficient and getting nowhere.”
“But who the hell is-”
“And Broughton is going to take over personal supervision of all the detectives assigned to Operation Lombard.”
“Oh God,” Delaney groaned. “That tears it.”
“You haven’t heard the,worst,” Thorsen went on, staring at him without expression. “About an hour ago Pauley filed for retirement. After what Broughton said, Pauley knows his career is finished, and he wants out.”
Delaney sat down heavily in an armchair, looked down at his drink, swirling the ice cubes.
“Son of a bitch,” he said bitterly. “Pauley was a good man. You have no idea how good. He was right behind me. Only because I had the breaks, and he didn’t. But he would have been on to this ice ax thing in another week or so. I know he would; I could tell it by the reports. God damn it! The Department can’t afford to lose men like Pauley. Jesus! A good brain and thirty years’ experience down the drain. It just makes me sick!”
None of them said anything, giving him time to calm down. Alinski rose from his chair to go over to the food tray again, take a few radishes and olives. Then he came over to stand before Delaney’s chair, popping food.
“You know, Captain,” he said gently, “this development really doesn’t affect your moral problem, does it? I mean, you can still take what you have to Broughton.”
“I suppose so,” Delaney said morosely. “Canning Pauley, for God’s sake. Broughton’s out of his mind. He just wanted a goat to protect his own reputation.”
“That’s what we think,” Inspector Johnson said.
Delaney looked up at Deputy Mayor Alinski, still standing over him.
“What’s it all about?” he demanded. “Will you please tell me what the hell this is all about?”
“Do you really want to know, Captain?”
“Yeah, I want to know,” Delaney grunted. “But I don’t want you to tell me. I’ll find out for myself.”
“I think you will,” Alinski nodded. “I think you are a very smart man.”
“Smart? Shit! I can’t even find one kill-crazy psychopath in my own precinct.”
“It’s important to you, isn’t it, Captain, to find the killer? It’s the most important thing.”
“Of course it’s the most important thing. This nut is going to keep killing, over and over and over. There will be shorter intervals between murders. Maybe he’ll hit in the daytime. Who the hell knows? But I can guarantee one thing: he won’t stop now. It’s a fever in his blood. He can’t stop. Wait’ll the newspapers get hold of this. And they will. Then the shit will hit the fan.”
“Going to take what you have to Broughton?” Thorsen asked, almost idly.
“I don’t know. I don’t know what I’ll do. I have to think about it.”
“That’s wise,” Alinski said unexpectedly. “Think about it. There’s nothing like thought-long, deep thought.”
“I just want all of you to know one thing,” Delaney said angrily, not understanding why he was angry. “The decision is mine. Only mine. What I decide to do, I’ll do.”
They would have offered him something, but they knew better.
Johnson came over to put a heavy hand on Delaney’s shoulder. The big black was grinning. “We know that, Edward. We knew you were a hard-nose from the start. We’re not going to lean on you.”
Delaney drained his drink, rose, put the empty glass on the cocktail table. He repacked his paper shopping bag with hammers and the can of oil.
“Thank you,” he said to Thorsen. “Thank Karen for me for the food. I can find my own way out.”
“Will you call and tell me what you’ve decided, Edward?”
“Sure. If I decide to go to Broughton, I’ll call you first.”
“Thank you.”
“Gentlemen,” Delaney nodded around, and marched out. They watched him go, all of them standing.
He had to walk five blocks and lost two dimes before he found a public phone that worked. He finally got through to Thomas Handry.
“Yes?”
“Captain Edward X. Delaney here. Am I interrupting you?”
“Yes.”
“Working?”
“Trying to.”
“How’s it coming?”
“It’s never as good as you want it to be.”
“That’s true,” Delaney said, without irony and without malice. “True for poets and true for cops. I was hoping you could give me some help.”
“That photo of the ice ax that killed Trotsky? I haven’t been able to find it.”
“No, this is something else.”
“You’re something else too, Captain-you know that? All for you and none for me. When are you going to open up?”
“In a day or so.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
“All right. What do you want?”
“What do you know about Broughton?”
“Who?”
“Broughton, Timothy A., Deputy Commissioner.”
“That prick? Did you see him on TV tonight?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“He fired Chief Pauley. For inefficiency and, he hinted, dereliction of duty. A sweet man.”
“What does he want?”
“Broughton? He wants to be commissioner, then mayor, then governor, then President of these here You- nited States. He’s got ambition and drive you wouldn’t believe.”
“I gather you don’t approve of him.”
“You gather right. I’ve had one personal interview with him. You know how most men carry pictures of their wives and children in their wallets? Broughton carries pictures of himself.”
“Nice. Does he have any clout? Political clout?”
“Very heavy indeed. Queens and Staten Island for starters. The talk is that he’s aiming for the primary next year. On a ‘law and order’ platform. You know, ‘We must clamp down on crime in the streets, no matter what it costs.”’
“You think he’ll make it?”
“He might. If he can bring off his Operation Lombard thing, it’s bound to help. And if Lombard’s killer turns out to be a black heroin addict on welfare who’s living with a white fifteen-year-old hippie with long blonde hair, there’ll be no stopping Broughton.”
“You think the mayor’s worried?”
