And plucking his business card back, Delaney trudged on. “Good morning. My name’s Barrett, of Acme Insurance. Here’s my card. But I don’t want to sell you anything. I’m looking for a man named Arnold K. Abel. He was listed as beneficiary on one of our policies and has some money coming to him. He-”
“Tough shit. He’s dead.”
“Dead?”
“Yeah. Remember that plane crash last year? It landed short and went into Jamaica Bay.”
“Yes, I remember that.”
“Well, Abel was on it.”
“Fm sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah, he was a nice guy. A lush but a nice guy. He always give me a tenner at Christmas.”
And then something happened he should have expected. “Good morning,” he started his spiel, “I’m-”
“Hell, I know you, Captain Delaney. I was on that owners’ protective committee you started. Don’t you remember me? The name’s Goldenberg.”
“Of course, Mr. Goldenberg. How are you?”
“Healthy, thank God. And you, Captain?”
“Can’t complain.”
“I was sorry to hear you retired.”
“Well…not retired exactly. Just temporary leave of absence. But things piled up and I’m spending a few hours a day helping out the new commander. You know?”
“Oh sure. Breaking him in-right?”
“Right. Now we’re looking for a man named Simmons. Walter J. Simmons. He’s not wanted or anything like that, but he was a witness to a robbery about a year ago, and now we got the guy we think pulled the job, and we hoped this Simmons could identify him.”
“Roosevelt Hospital, Captain. He’s been in there almost six months now. He’s one of these mountain climbers, and he fell and got all cracked up. From what I hear, he’ll never be the same again.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. But he still may be able to testify. I better get over there. Thank you for your trouble.”
“My pleasure, Captain. Tell me the truth, what do you think about this new man, this Dorfman?”
“Good man,” Delaney said promptly.
“With these three murders we’ve had in the last few months and the dingaling still running around free? What’s this Dorfman doing about that?”
“Well, it’s out of his hands, Mr. Goldenberg. The investigation is being handled personally by Deputy Commissioner Broughton.”
“I read, I read. But it’s Dorfman’s precinct-right?”
“Right,” Delaney said sadly.
So the day went. It was a disaster. Of the nine ice ax purchasers, three had moved out of the precinct, one had died, one was hospitalized, and one had been on a climbing tour in Europe for the past six months.
That left three possibles. Delaney made a hurried visit to Barbara, then spent the evening checking out the three, this time questioning them personally, giving his name and showing his shield and identification. He didn’t tell them the reason for his questions, and they didn’t ask. The efforts of Delaney, New York Police Department, were no more productive than those of Barrett, Acme Insurance.
One purchaser was an octogenarian who had bought the ax as a birthday present for a 12-year-old great- grandson.
One was a sprightly, almost maniacal young man who assured Delaney he had given up mountain climbing for skydiving. “Much more
The third was a young man who, when he answered Delaney’s ring, seemed at first sight to fit the profile: tall, slender, quick, strong. But behind him, eyeing the unexpected visitor nervously and curiously, was his obviously pregnant wife. Their apartment was a shambles of barrels and cartons; Delaney had interrupted their packing; they were moving in two days since, with the expected new arrival, they would need more room. When the Captain brought up the subject of the ice ax, they both laughed. Apparently, one of the conditions she had insisted on, before marrying him, was that he give up mountain climbing. So he had, and quite voluntarily he showed Delaney his ice ax. They had been using it as a general purpose hammer; the head was scarred and nicked. Also, they had tried to use the spike to pry open a painted-shut window and suddenly, without warning, the pick of the ice ax had just snapped off. And it was supposed to be steel. Wasn’t that the damndest thing? they asked. Delaney agreed despondently it was the damndest thing he ever heard.
He walked home slowly, thinking he had been a fool to believe it would be easy. Still, it was the obvious thing to trace weapon to source to buyer. It had to be done, and he had done it. Nothing. He knew how many other paths he could now take, but it was a disappointment; he admitted it. He had hoped-just hoped-that one of those cards with the green plastic tab would be the one.
His big worry was time. All this checking of sales receipts and list making and setting up of card files and questioning innocents-time! It all took days and weeks, and meanwhile this nut was wandering the streets and, as past histories of similar crimes indicated, the intervals between murders became shorter and shorter.
When he got home he found a package Mary had signed for. He recognized it as coming from Thorsen by commercial messenger. He tore it open and when he saw what it was, he didn’t look any further. It was a report from the Records Division, New York Police Department, including the Special Services Branch. That completed the check on criminal records of the original 116 names.
He had been doing a curious thing. As reports came in from federal, state, and local authorities, he had been tearing off a carbon for his files, then delivering the other copies to Monica Gilbert for notation and tabbing in her master file. He didn’t read the reports himself; he didn’t even glance at them. He told himself the reason for this was that he couldn’t move on individuals with criminal records until
He also told himself he was lying-to himself.
The real reason he was following this procedure was very involved, and he wasn’t quite sure he understood it. First of all, being a superstitious cop, he had the feeling that Monica Gilbert had brought him and would bring him luck. Somehow, through her efforts, solely or in part, he’d find the lead he needed. The second thing was that he hoped these computer printouts of criminal records would lead to the killer and thus prove to Monica he had merely been logical and professional when he had requested them. He had seen it in her eyes when he told her what he was about to do; she had thought him a brutal, callous-well, a
Unlacing his high shoes, peeling off his sweated socks, he paused a moment, sock in hand, and wondered why her good opinion of him was so important to him. He thought of her, of her heavy muscular haunches moving slowly under the thin black dress, and he realized to his shame that he was beginning to get an erection. He had had no sex since Barbara became ill, and his “sacrifice” seemed so much less than her pain that he couldn’t believe what he was dreaming: the recent widow of a murder victim…while Barbara…and he…He snorted with disgust at himself, took a tepid shower, donned fresh pajamas, and got out of bed an hour later, wide-eyed and frantic, to gulp two sleeping pills.
He delivered the new report to her the next morning and refused her offer to stay for coffee and Danish. Did she seem hurt? He thought so. Then, sighing, he spent a whole day-time! time! — doing what he had to do and what he knew would be of no value whatsoever: he checked those purchasers of ice axes who had moved, died, were abroad, or hospitalized. The results, as he knew they would, added up to zero. They really had moved, died, were abroad, or hospitalized.
Mary had left a note that Mrs. Gilbert had called, and would the Captain please call her back. So he did, immediately, and there was no coolness in her voice he could detect. She told him she had completed noting all the reported criminal records in her master file, and had attached appropriately colored plastic tabs. He asked her if she’d care to have lunch with him at 1:00 p.m. the following day, and she accepted promptly.
They ate at a local seafood restaurant and had identical luncheons: crabmeat salads with a glass of white
