throat. Just that she was there. And another thing is-'
The phone rang then.
'That'll be Boone,' Delaney said, rising. 'I'll take it in the study.'
But it wasn't the sergeant; it was Deputy Commissioner Ivar Thorsen, and he couldn't keep the excitement out of his voice.
'Thank you, Edward,' he said. 'Thank you, thank you. We got a perfect match on the prints. I had a long talk with the DA's man and he thinks we've got enough now to go for an indictment. So we're bringing her in. It'll take all day tomorrow to get the paperwork set and plan the arrest. We'll probably take he Saturday morning at her apartment. Want to come along?'
Delaney paused. 'All right, Ivar,' he said finally. 'If that's what you want to do. I'd like a favor: will you ask Dr. Patrick Ho if he wants to be in on it? That man contributed a lot; he should be in at the end.'
'Yes, Edward, I'll contact him.'
'One more thing… I'd like Thomas Handry to be there.'
'Who's Thomas Handry?'
'He's on the Times.'
'You want a reporter to be there?'
'I owe him.'
Thorsen sighed. 'All right, Edward, if you say so. And thank you again; you did a splendid job.'
'Yeah,' Delaney said dispiritedly, but Thorsen had already hung up.
He went back into the living room and repeated the phone conversation to Monica.
'So that's that,' he concluded. 'If she keeps her nerve and doesn't say a goddamn word until she gets a smart lawyer, I think she'll beat it.'
'But the murders will end?'
'Yes. Probably.'
She looked at him narrowly.
'But that's not enough for you, is it? You want her punished.'
'Don't you?'
'Of course-if it can be done legally. But most of all I want the killings to stop. Edward, don't you think you're being vindictive?'
He rose suddenly. 'Think I'll pour myself a brandy. Get you one?'
'All right. A small one.'
He brought their cognacs from the study, then settled back again into his worn armchair.
'Why do you think I'm being vindictive?'
'Your whole attitude. You want to catch this woman in the act, even if it means risking a man's life. You want, above all, to see her punished for what she's done. You want her to suffer. It's really become an obsession with you. I don't think you'd feel that strongly if the Hotel Ripper was a man. Then you'd be satisfied just to get him off the streets.'
'Come on, Monica, what kind of bullshit is that? The next thing you'll be saying is that I hate women.'
'No, I'd never say that because I know it's not true. Just the opposite. I think you have some very old- fashioned, romantic ideas about women. And because this particular woman has flouted those beliefs, those cherished ideals, you feel very vengeful toward her.'
He took a swig of brandy. 'Nonsense. I've dealt with female criminals before. Some of them killers.'
'But none like Zoe Kohler-right? All the female murderers in your experience killed from passion or greed or because they were drunk or something like that. Am I correct?'
'Well…' he said grudgingly, 'maybe.'
'You told me so yourself. But now you find a female killer who's intelligent, plans well, kills coldly with no apparent motive, and it shatters all your preconceptions about women. And not only does it destroy your romantic fancies, but I think it scares you-in a way.'
He was silent.
'Because if a woman can act in this way, then you don't know anything at all about women. Isn't that what scares you? Now you've discovered that women are as capable as men. Capable of evil, in this case. But if that's true, then they must also be as capable of good, of creativity, of invention and art. It's upsetting all the prejudices you have and maybe even weren't aware of. Suddenly you have to revise your thinking about women, all your old, ingrained opinions, and that can be a painful process. I think that's why you want more than the killings ended. You want revenge against this woman who has caused such an upheaval in all your notions of what women are and how they should act.'
'Thank you, doctor, for the fifty-cent analysis,' he said. 'I'm not saying you're completely wrong, but you are mistaken if you think I would have felt any differently if the Hotel Ripper was a man. You have to pay for your sins in this world, regardless of your sex.'
'Edward, how long has it been since you've been to church.'
'You mean for mass or confession? About thirty-five years.'
'Well, you haven't lost your faith.'
'The good sisters beat it into me. But my faith, as you call it, has nothing to do with the church.'
'No?'
'No. I'm for civilization and against the swamp. It's as simple as that.'
'And that is simple. You believe in God, don't you?'
'I believe in a Supreme Being, whatever you want to call him, her, or it.'
'You probably call it the Top Cop.'
He laughed. 'You're not too far wrong. Well, the Top Cop has given us the word in a body of works called the law. Don't tell me how rickety, inefficient, and leaky the law is; I know better than you. But it's the best we've been able to come up with so far. Let's hope it'll be improved as the human race stumbles along. But even in the way it exists today, it's the only thing that stands between civilization and the swamp. It's a wall, a dike. And anyone who knocks a hole in the wall should be punished.'
'And what about understanding? Compassion? Justice?'
'The law and justice are not always identical, my dear. Any street cop can tell you that. In this case, I think both the law and justice would be best served if Zoe Kohler was put away for the rest of her life.'
'And if New York still had the death penalty, you'd want her electrocuted, or hanged, or gassed, or shot?'
'Yes.'
July 25; Friday…
Her pubic hair had almost totally disappeared; only a few weak wisps survived. And the hair on her legs and in her armpits had apparently ceased to grow. She had the feeling of being peeled, to end up as a skinless grape, a quivering jelly. Clothing rasped her tender skin.
She took a cab to work that morning, not certain she had the strength to walk or push her way aboard a crowded bus. In the office, she was afraid she might drop the tray of coffee and pastries. Every movement was an effort, every breath a pain.
'Did you bring it in, Zoe?' Everett Pinckney asked.
She looked at him blankly. 'What?'
'The tear gas dispenser,' he said.
She felt a sudden anguish in her groin. A needle. She knew her period was due in a day, but this was something different: a steel sliver. But she did not wince. She endured, expressionless.
'I lost it,' she said in a low voice. 'Or misplaced it. I can't find it.'
He was bewildered.
'Zoe,' he said, 'a thing like that-how could you lose it or misplace it?'
She didn't answer.
'What am I going to do?' he asked helplessly. 'The cop will come back. He'll want to know. He'll want to talk to you.'
'All right,' she said, 'I'll talk to him. I just don't have it.'
He was not a man to bluster. He just stood, wavering…
'Well…' he said, 'all right,' and left her alone.
