patrolman watched Shassad as the detective walked across the street to Minnie Yankovich.
Minnie was a bent-over little woman with gray hair, a suspicious wrinkled face, and a prominent aquiline nose. She was also an occasional insomniac, given to sitting up all night watching the streets. Mrs. Yankovich had seen everything. She had been sitting in her window for an hour in the darkened bedroom. One of the cats was on her lap. She'd seen two men, apparently waiting for something or someone. They had, in fact, seemed ordinary enough as she described them for Aram Shassad.
Shassad went back up to the woman's apartment with her and, still somewhat shaky, she insisted on brewing them both a cup of tea as they spoke. Routinely and accurately, and without contradicting herself at any time, she was able to describe what she'd seen.
The two men had been standing on the block for thirty minutes before attacking their victim. One had stayed in a shadow near 246 East 73rd Street. The other twice walked to the corner of Third Avenue, where there was a telephone booth. But both men were near 246 when the door opened and a young man stepped out.
'I thought he was what they were waiting for,' Minnie Yankovich said as Shassad sipped tea from an antique blue-porcelain cup. The apartment was small and faded, but comfortable and warm.
'They went toward him right away. I thought they knew him.' She scowled and shuddered slightly.
'But they turned out to be robbers, officer.
They surrounded him, one to each side. They talked. Then they shoved him and he tried to run back into the building.'
'But you couldn't hear anything?' he asked.
'No' 'Or see their faces?'
She shook her head.
'The next thing I saw was a knife. It was big. Like a butcher's.' She nodded.
'What happened next?'
The victim struggled, said Minnie. He fought and clutched his wounds as the two slashed at him. The man went down onto the sidewalk. The last thing Minnie saw, before she moved to her telephone and called the police, was one of the pair leaning over the fallen body.
'That's when they took his wallet,' she said.
'From his inside pocket' 'I see ' 'He should have just given them his money.' She frowned.
'Money isn't worth such.
'Some people feel otherwise' he said gently.
'It's unfortunate' 'And they didn't look bad, either,' she said hopelessly.
'Excuse me?'
She set aside her cup.
'They weren't badly dressed at all. Nice raincoats. And white' She laughed sourly. 'I guess thaes unusual, Mr. Shadash. White muggers.' 't He took his notes carefully and was still writing when she added her postscript.
'Officer, I don't mean to complain.
He looked up.
'Something simply must be done. You tell your commander. It took your policemen seven minutes to drive here' She shook her head contemptuously, indicating that this would'd never do.
'It wasn't like this when La Guardia was mayor.'
Shassad crossed Seventy-third again. The rain continued. He approached Hearn, who saw him and spoke first.
'What'd the old lady say? Any help?'
'Some' he said. He looked toward the body. A night unit from the Mehical Examiner's office was there to make official what everyone already knew. The anonymous man on the sidewalk was dead. Shassad and Hearn watched the body being placed in a police van.
'Looks like a standard cash-and-carry street job,' said Hearn.
'No?'
Shassad surveyed the doorway of 246 and the shadows in which the killers had lurked for half an hour. Then he looked toward Second Avenue, though he was partially blinded by vehicle lights.
'I wonder, Patty. We got to think about this.'
By Six A.M. Corrigan was gone. Two city fire detectives had arrived. A uniformed police officer had cordoned off sections of the fifth floor. Ropes and signs reading 'CRIME SCENE' separated the Zenger and Daniels offices from the rest of the building.
The managements of the offices on the floors above and below were asked to give their employees the day off, pending an assessment of any structural damage.
By seven thirty a few maintenance workers began arriving. They were perplexed and intrigued by the investigatory activity on the fifth floor. just before eight o'clock Thomas Daniels was allowed into a neighboring office by Jacobus. He borrowed a telephone and began calling his two associates.
Gerald Derham, a friend of many years who'd been a year behind Thomas in law school, lived in Mamaroneck with his wife and year-old daughter.
He had already left for work.
The other attorney, Sam Leverman, lived in the city.
'Why didn't you call me sooner? I've been up since five' Leverman sighed. As was often his habit when faced with despairing news, he changed the subject completely.
'See the Times yet this morning?'
'Are you kidding? All I've seen is smoke and ashes' ' 'Your beautiful friend Andrea has an article in section two, page one. A woman with brains. That's like a fine watch that actually tells the correct time.
Good article. How did she know about-?'
'I haven't seen her all week,' Thomas answered.
'I'll see you when you get here' Thomas next telephoned a secretary and two clerical employees, telling them what had happened and advising them not to come in for at least that day. They asked if they'd be paid. Thomas assured them they would, though when he hung up he wast quite sure how. There simply wasn't much money. And, given the suspicious nature of the fire, the insurance company could be counted on to delay payment indefinitely.
For a moment Thomas stood up from the borrowed desk and stared out the window, watching people coming to work in the steady January drizzle.
He wondered what it would be like to be in another line of work. Such as? He didn't know. He was aware of someone at the door.
'Mr. Daniels?' It was Jacobus.
'Yes?'
'The detectives want you. I think they found something.'
'Paraffin' said Frank Bianco, a dark, heavy-set Fire Department detective. 'and celluloid. An old technique' but reliable' The fire investigator stood at an impromptu work area that he'd established on a damaged desk in Thomas's office. On the desk he'd spread a clean drape. On the drape, beside a cardboard container of coffee, he'd spread various items which had been found in the debris of the filing room. Another detective, Jack Shoenbaum, had photographed the area extensively and was still sifting through the wet rubble.
In the ashes of the filing room, Schoenbaum had found seven separate puddles of molten paraffin, blackened by fire but easily recognizable.
'Seven paraffin candles, strategically set,fwhere they'd pick up crosscurrents of air,' explained Bianco.
'The perpetrator used the candles as his timers. Once he'd lit them he had about an hour before they burned down' Thomas looked at the amorphous black substances. He felt a slight tremble of fear looking at the instruments of the knowledgeable but faceless man who had intentionally burned him out.
Thomas examined one of those paraffin deposits, then wiped his fingers on a towel.
'See this?' asked Bianco, holding up a four-inch black strip with his rubber surgical gloves. The strip looked like a negative from a roll of film. Thomas held up his hand to examine it, but Bianco pulled it away.
'Don't touch! I want it treated for fingerprints.
Know what it is?'
