had already discovered two more stores in Manhattan that sold ice axes, neither of which had mailing lists or kept a record of customers’ purchases.
“That’s all right,” Delaney said grimly. “We can’t be lucky all the time. We’ll do what we can with what we have.” Langley would continue to look for stores in Manhattan where the ice ax was sold, then broadening his search to the other boroughs. Then he would check tool and outdoor equipment jobbers and wholesalers. Then he would try to assemble a list of American manufacturers of ice axes. Then he would assemble a list of names and addresses of foreign manufacturers of mountaineering gear who exported their products to the U.S., starting with West Germany, then Austria, then Switzerland.
“It’s a tremendous job,” Delaney told him.
Langley smiled, seemingly not at all daunted by the dimensions of his task.
“More crumbcake?” the Widow Zimmerman asked brightly. “It’s homemade.”
Langley had told the truth; she was a lousy cook.
Delaney had another meeting with Calvin Case, who announced proudly that he was now refraining from taking his first drink of the day until his bedside radio began the noon news broadcast.
“I have it prepared,” Case said, “but I don’t touch it until I hear that chime. Then…”
Delaney congratulated him, and when Case repeated his offer of help, they began to figure out how to handle the Outside Life sales checks.
“We got a problem,” Case told him. “If it’ll be easy enough to pull every sales slip that shows a purchase of an ice ax during the past seven years. But what if your man bought it ten years ago?”
“Then his name should show up on the mailing list. I’ll have someone working on that.”
“Okay, but what if he bought the ice ax some place else but maybe bought some other mountain gear at Outside Life?”
“Well, couldn’t you pull every slip that shows a purchase of mountain climbing gear of any type?”
“That’s the problem,” Case said. “A lot of stuff used in mountaineering is used by campers, back-packers, and a lot of people who never go near a mountain. I mean stuff like rucksacks, lanterns, freeze-dried foods, gloves, web belts and harnesses. Hell, ice fishermen buy crampons, and yachtsmen buy the same kind of line mountaineers use. So where does that leave us?”
Delaney thought a few minutes. Case took another drink. “Look,” Delaney said, “I’m not going to ask you to go through a hundred thousand sales checks more than once. Why don’t you do this: why don’t you pull every check that has anything at all to do with mountain climbing? I mean
“Jesus Christ. And if that doesn’t work, I suppose you’ll investigate every one of those hundred thousand customers in the big file?”
“There won’t be that many. There have got to be people who bought things at Outside Life several times over the past seven years. Notice that Sol Appel estimates a hundred thousand sales checks in storage, but only thirty thousand on his mailing list. I’ll check with him, or you can, but I’d guess he’s got someone winnowing out repeat buyers, and only
“That makes sense. All right, suppose there are thirty thousand individual customers. If you don’t get anywhere with the sales checks I pull, you’ll investigate all thirty thousand?”
“If I have to,” Delaney nodded. “But I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Meanwhile, how does the plan sound to you-I mean your making two files: one of ice ax purchases, one of general mountaineering equipment purchases?”
“It sounds okay.”
“Then can I make arrangements with Sol Appel to have the sales checks sent up here?”
“Sure. You’re a nut-you know that, Captain?”
“I know.”
The meeting with Monica Gilbert called for more caution and deliberation. He walked past her house twice, on the other side of the street, and could see no signs of surveillance, no uniformed patrolmen, no unmarked police cars. But even if the guards had been called off, it was probably that her phone was still tapped. Remembering Broughton’s threat to “stomp” him, he had no desire to risk a contact that the Deputy Commissioner would learn about.
Then he remembered her two little girls. One of them, the older, was surely of school age-perhaps both of them. Monica Gilbert, if she was sending her children to a public school, and from what Delaney had learned of her circumstances she probably was, would surely walk the children to the nearest elementary school, three blocks away, and call for them in the afternoon.
So, the next morning, he stationed himself down the block, across the street, and waited, stamping his feet against the cold and wishing he had worn his earmuffs. But, within half an hour, he was rewarded by the sight of Mrs. Gilbert and her two little girls, bundled up in snowsuits, exiting from the brownstone. He followed them, across the street and at a distance, until she left her daughters at the door of the school. She started back, apparently heading home, and he crossed the street, approached her, raised his hat.
“Mrs. Gilbert.”
“Why, it’s Captain…Delaney?”
“Yes. How are you?”
“Well, thank you. And thank you for your letter of condolence. It was very kind of you.”
“Yes, well…Mrs. Gilbert, I was wondering if I could talk to you for a few minutes. Would you like a cup of coffee? We could go to a luncheonette.”
She looked at him a moment, debating. “Well…I’m on my way home. Why don’t you come back with me? I always have my second cup after the girls are in school.”
“Thank you. I’d like that.”
He had carefully brought along the Xerox copy of the Outside Life mailing list, three packs of 3x5 filing cards, and a small, hand-drawn map of the 251st Precinct, showing only its boundaries.
“Good coffee,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“Mrs. Gilbert, you told me you wanted to help. Do you still feel that way?”
“Yes. More than ever. Now…”
“It’s just routine work. Boring.”
“I don’t care.”
“All right.”
He told her what he wanted. She was to go through the 30,000 names and addresses on the mailing list, and when she found one within the 251st Precinct, she was to make out a typed file card for each person. When she had finished the list, she was then to type out her own list, with two carbons, of her cards of the Precinct residents.
“Do you have any questions?” he asked her.
“Do they have to live strictly within the boundaries of this Precinct?”
“Well…use your own judgment on that. If it’s only a few blocks outside, include them.”
“Will this help find my husband’s killer?”
“I think it will, Mrs. Gilbert.”
She nodded. “All right. I’ll get started on it right away. Besides, I think it’s best if I have something to keep me busy right now.”
He looked at her admiringly.
Later, he wondered why he felt so pleased with himself after his meetings with Calvin Case and Mrs. Gilbert. He realized it was because he had been discussing names and addresses. Names! Up to now it had all been steel tools and cans of oil. But now he had names-a reservoir, a Niagara of names! And addresses! Perhaps nothing would come of it. He was prepared for that. But meanwhile he was investigating
