“Now then,” he said, handing a paper over to Delaney, “here is a list of all stores and shops in the New York area selling the ice ax. Some call it ‘ice ax’ and some call it ‘ice hammer.’ I don’t think that’s important, do you?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Of the five, the three I had checked in red itemize their sales checks, so that the purchase of an ice ax would be on record. Of these three, one does no mail order business and hence has no mailing list. The other two do have mailing lists and send out catalogues.”
“Good,” Delaney nodded. “I’ll try to get copies of the mailing lists and their sales checks.”
“I should warn you,” Langley said, “not all these stores carry the same ax I found at Outside Life. The axes are similar in design, but they are not identical. I found one from Austria, one from Switzerland, and one made in America. The other two were identical to the Outside Life ax made in West Germany. I’ve marked all this on the list.”
“Fine. Thank you. Well…where do we go from here?”
“I think,” Christopher Langley said thoughtfully, “I should first concentrate on the West German ax, the one Outside Life sells. They’re by far the largest outlet for mountaineering equipment in this area-and the least expensive, incidentally. I’ll try to identify the manufacturer, the importer, and all retail outlets in this country that handle that particular ax. How does that sound?”
“Excellent. Just right. You’re doing a marvelous job on this, Mr. Langley.”
“Oh well, you know…”
When he left them, the Widow Zimmerman was washing dishes, and Christopher Langley was drying.
Delaney spent the next two days checking on Langley’s list of stores in the New York area that sold ice axes and kept itemized sales checks. The one that did no mail order business and had no mailing list was willing to cooperate and lend Delaney the sales slips. He made arrangements to have them delivered to Calvin Case. The Captain wasn’t optimistic about results; this particular store kept the checks for only six months.
Of the other two stores, Delaney was able to obtain checks and mailing lists from only one. The owner of the other simply refused to cooperate, claiming his mailing list was a carefully guarded business secret, of value to competitors, and Delaney couldn’t have it without a court order. The Captain didn’t push it; he could always come back to it later.
So he now had two more shipments of itemized sales checks for Calvin Case and another mailing list for Monica Gilbert. He decided to tackle Case first. He called, then subwayed down about noon.
The change in Calvin Case was a delight. He was clean, his hair cut and combed, his beard trimmed. He sat in pajamas in his aluminum and plastic wheelchair at his desk, flipping through Outside Life sales checks. Delaney had brought him a bottle, the same brand of whiskey Case had been drinking when Delaney first met him. The crippled mountaineer looked at the bottle and laughed.
“Thanks a lot,” he said, “but I never touch the stuff now until the sun goes down. You?”
“No. Thanks. It’s a bribe. I’ve got bad news for you.”
“Oh?”
“We’ve found two more stores that sell ice axes. Ice hammers, I guess you’d say. Anyway, these stores have itemized sales checks.”
Unexpectedly, Calvin Case smiled. “So?” he asked.
“Will you be willing to go through them?”
“Is it going to help?”
“Damned right,” Delaney said fervently.
“Pile it on,” Case grinned. “I ain’t going no place. The more the merrier.”
“Very few receipts,” Delaney assured him. “I mean,” he added hastily, “compared to Outside Life. One store keeps them for six months, and the other store for a year. How you coming?”
“Okay. Another three days, I figure. Then what happens?”
“Then you’ll have a file of all ice ax purchases made at Outside Life in the past seven years. Right? Then I’ll give you a map of the Two-five-one Precinct, and you’ll go through your file and pull every sales check for an ice ax in the precinct.”
Case stared at him a long moment, then shook his head.
“Delaney,” he said, “you’re not a detective; you’re a fucking bookkeeper. You know that?”
“That’s right,” the Captain agreed readily. “No doubt about it.”
He was going down the stairs when he met Evelyn Case coming up. He took off his hat, nodded, and smiled. She put down her shopping bag to grab him in her arms, hug him, kiss his cheek.
“He’s wonderful,” she said breathlessly. “Just the way he used to be. And it’s all your doing.”
“Is it?” Delaney asked wonderingly.
His next meet had to be with Monica Gilbert, for he now had another mailing list for her to check. But she called him first and told him she had completed the Outside Life mailing list, had made out a file card for every resident of the 251st Precinct on the list, and had a typed record of those residents, a master and two carbon copies, just as he had instructed.
He was amazed and delighted she had completed her job so quickly…and a little worried that she had not been as meticulous as he wanted her to be. But he had to work with what he had, and he arranged to meet her at her home the following evening. She asked him if he would care to come for dinner but he declined, with thanks; he would dine early (he lied) before he visited his wife at the hospital, and then be over later. Though why he had accepted Christopher Langley’s dinner invitation and not Monica Gilbert’s, he could not have said.
He bought two stuffed toys for the young daughters: a black and a white poodle. When you pressed their stomachs, they made a funny barking, squeaking sound. When he arrived, Mary and Sylvia were already in their little nightgowns, but Mrs. Gilbert allowed them out of their bedroom to say hello to the visitor. They were delighted with their presents and finally retired (pushed) to their bedroom, arguing about which poodle had the more ferocious expression. For a half-hour afterwards the adults heard the squeal of pressed toys. But the sounds gradually grew more infrequent, then ceased, and then Monica Gilbert and Edward Delaney were alone, in silence.
Finally: “Thank you for thinking of the girls,” she said warmly.
“My pleasure. They’re lovely kids.”
“It was very kind of you. You like children?”
“Oh yes. Very much. I have a son and a daughter.”
“Married?”
“My daughter is. She’s expecting. Any day now.”
“Her first?”
“Yes.”
“How wonderful. You’ll be a grandfather.”
“Yes,” he laughed with delight. “So I will.”
She served coffee and almond-flavored cookies, so buttery he knew immediately they were homemade. His mother had made cookies like that. He put on his heavy glasses to inspect what she had done, while he sipped black coffee and nibbled cookies.
He saw immediately he needn’t have doubted her swift efficiency. There had been 116 residents of the 251st Precinct on the Outside Life mailing list. She had made out a file card for each one: last name first in capital letters, followed by the given name and middle initial. Beneath the name was typed the address, in two lines. Then she had made a master list and two carbons from the cards, now neatly filed alphabetically in a wooden box.
“Very good,” he nodded approvingly. “Excellent. Now I have some bad news for you; I have another mailing list from another store.” He smiled at her. “Willing?”
She smiled in return. “Yes. How many names?”
“I estimate about a third of the number of the Outside Life list; maybe less. And you’ll probably find duplications. If you do, don’t make out a separate card, just note on the Outside Life card that the individual is also on this list. Okay?”
“Yes. What happens now?”
“To your typed list, you mean? You keep one carbon. Just stick it away somewhere as insurance. I’ll keep the other carbon. The original will go to friends in the Department. They’ll check the names with city, state, and federal files to see if anyone listed has a criminal record.”
