'You admit you're manipulating me-or trying to?'
'Of course. But it's in your own best interest; can't you see that?'
Delaney sighed. 'Thank God you never went into politics. You'd end up owning the world. What is it, precisely, you want of me, Ivar?'
The sprucely dressed deputy set his drink aside. He leaned forward earnestly, hands clasped.
'Slavin has got to go,' he said. 'The man's a disaster. Releasing that black nylon wig story to the media was a blunder. We're beefing up the Hotel Ripper squad. Another hundred detectives and plainclothesmen for a start, and more available as needed. We'll put Slavin in charge of administration and scheduling of the task force. He's good at that.'
'And who's going to be in command?'
Thorsen sat back, crossed his knees. He adjusted the sharp crease in his trouser leg. He picked up his drink, took a sip. He stared at Delaney over the rim of the glass.
'That's what I was doing all morning,' he said. 'A meeting downtown. It started at about three a.m., and went through to eleven. I've never drunk so much black coffee in my life. Everyone agreed Slavin had to go. Then we started debating who the CO should be. It had to be someone high up in the Department, to send a signal to the politicians and businessmen and public that we're giving this case top priority.'
'Cosmetics,' Delaney said disgustedly. 'The image.'
'Correct,' Thorsen said levelly. 'When you don't know where you're going, you rush around busily. It gives the impression of action. What more could we have done? Any suggestions?'
'No.'
'So we needed a top man in command. It couldn't be the Chief of Detectives. He's got a full plate even without the Hotel Ripper. He can't drop everything and concentrate on one case. Besides, we figured we needed higher brass. Someone close to the PC. No one was willing to volunteer.'
'Can't say I blame them,' the Chief admitted. 'Too much risk for the ambitious types. Failure could break them. End their careers.'
'Right. Well, we finally got one guy who was willing to stick out his neck.'
'Who's the idiot?'
The Admiral looked at him steadily. 'Me,' he said. 'I'm the idiot.'
'Ivar!' Delaney cried. 'For God's sake, why? You haven't worked an active case in twenty years.'
'Don't you think I know that? I recognized the dangers of taking it on. If I flop, I might as well resign. Nothing left for me in the Department. I'd always be the guy who bungled the Hotel Ripper case. On the other hand, if I could possibly pull it off, I'd be the fair-haired boy, remembered when the Police Commissioner's chair became vacant.'
'And that's what you want?'
'Yes.'
'Well…' Delaney said loyally, 'the city could do a lot worse.'
'Thank you, Edward. But it wasn't just wishful thinking on my Part. When I agreed to take it on, I had an ace in the hole.'
'Oh? What was that?'
'Who was that. You.'
Delaney banged his hand down on the desktop in disgust.
'Jesus Christ, Ivar, you gambled on getting me to go along?'
Thorsen nodded. 'That's what I gambled on. That's why I'm here pulling out all the stops to persuade you to help me, help the Department, help yourself.'
Delaney was silent, staring at the composed man in the armchair, the small foot in the polished moccasin bobbing idly up and down. Thorsen endured his scrutiny with serenity, slowly sipping his drink.
'There's one stop you didn't pull, Ivar.'
'What's that?'
'Our friendship.'
The deputy frowned. 'I don't want to put it on that basis, Edward. You don't owe me. Turn me down and we'll still be friends.'
'Uh-huh. Tell me something, Ivar-did you instruct Sergeant Boone not to call me about that killing last night, figuring to give me a taste of what it would feel like to be shut out of this thing?'
'My God, Edward, do you think I'd be capable of a Machiavellian move like that?'
'Yes.'
'You're perfectly right,' Thorsen said calmly. 'That's exactly what I did for the reason you guessed. And it worked, didn't it?'
'Yes, it worked.'
'You've got cops' blood,' the Admiral said. 'Retirement didn't change that. Well… how about it? Will you agree to work with me? Serve as an unofficial right-hand man? You won't be on active duty, of course, but you'll know everything that's going on, have access to all the papers-statements, photographs, evidence, autopsy reports, and so on. Boone will act as our liaison.'
'Ivar, what do you expect of me?' Delaney asked desperately, 'I'm no miracle man.'
'I don't expect miracles. Just handle it as if you were on active duty, assigned to the Hotel Ripper case. If you fail, it's my cock that's on the block, not yours. What do you say?'
'Give me a little time to-'
'No,' Thorsen said sharply. 'I haven't got time. I need to know now.'
Delaney leaned back, laced his hands behind his head. He stared at the ceiling. Maybe, he thought, the reason for Ivar Thorsen's success in threading his way through the booby-trapped upper echelons of the New York Police Department was his ability to use people by persuading them that they had everything to gain from his manipulation.
Knowing that, the Chief still had to admit that Thorsen's sales pitch wasn't all con. There was enough truth in what he had said to consider his proposal seriously.
But not once had he mentioned a motive that cut more ice with Delaney than all the dire warnings of how retirement would flab his fiber and muddle his brain. It was a basic motive, almost simple, that would have sounded mawkish if spoken.
Edward X. Delaney wanted to stop the Hotel Ripper because killing was wrong. Not just immoral, antisocial, or irreligious. But wrong.
'All right, Ivar,' he said. 'I'm in.'
Thorsen nodded, drained his glass. But when Delaney started to rise, to pour him more Glenlivet, the deputy held his hand over his glass.
'No more, thank you, Edward. I've got to go back downtown again.'
'Tell me about the killing last night.'
'I don't know too much about it. You'll have to get the details from Boone. But I gather it was pretty much like the others, with a few minor differences. The victim was naked, but his body was found on the floor between the bed and the bathroom. The bed hadn't been used.'
'Throat slashed?'
'Yes.'
'Genitals stabbed?'
'Yes.'
'How old was he?'
'Middle forties. One odd thing-or rather two odd things. The body was discovered by a gang of pals who barged in for a drink. They said there was a sweet odor in the bedroom where the body was found.'
'A sweet odor? Perfume?'
'Not exactly. One of the guys said it smelled to him like apple blossoms. The other odd thing was that the victim's face was burned. First-degree burns. Reddening but no blistering or charring.'
'Tear gas,' Delaney said. 'It smells like apple blossoms in low concentrations and it can cause burns if applied close to the skin.'
'Tear gas?' Thorsen said. 'How do you figure that?'
