Crane: 'Was the Mace can found?'
Boone: 'No. The killer probably took it along. What's the law on Mace? Anyone know?'
Slavin: 'Illegal to buy, sell, own, carry, or use in the State of New York. Except for bona fide security and law enforcement officers.'
Bentley: 'Black market? Johnson?'
Johnson: 'You asking me 'cause I'm black?' (Laughter) Johnson: 'There's some of it around. In those little purse containers for women to carry. There's not what you'd call a thriving market on the street.'
Boone: 'Well, at the moment, the Mace and the knife blade tip are all we've got that's new. Before we start talking about what to do with them, I'd like you to listen to ex-Chief of Detectives Edward X. Delaney for a few minutes. The Chief is not on active duty. At the urging of Deputy Commissioner Ivar Thorsen and myself, he has agreed to serve as, uh, a consultant on this investigation. Chief?'
Delaney stood, leaning on his knuckles on the battered table. He loomed forward. He looked around slowly, staring at every man.
'I'm not here to give you orders,' he said tonelessly. 'I'm not here to ride herd on you. I've got no official status at all. I'm here because Thorsen and Boone are old friends, and because I want to crack this thing as much as you do. If I have any suggestions on how to run this case, I'll make them to Thorsen or Boone. They can pick up on them or not-that's their business. I just want to make sure you know what the situation is. I'd like my presence here to be kept under wraps as long as possible. I know it'll probably get out eventually, but I don't need the publicity. I've already got my pension.'
They smiled at that, and relaxed.
'All right,' he said, 'now I want to tell you who I think the Hotel Ripper is…'
That jolted them and brought them leaning forward, waiting to hear.
He told them why he thought the killer was a woman. Not a prostitute, but a psychopathic female. He went over all the evidence he had presented to Monica and to Thorsen. But this time he remembered to include the additional detail that the person who tipped off the Times could have been a woman.
He said nothing about Thomas Handry's research, nothing about the statistics showing the increased evidence of alcoholism, drug addiction, and mental disturbance among women.
These men were professional policemen; they weren't interested in sociological change or psychological motivation. Their sole concern was evidence that could be brought into court.
So he came down heavily on the known facts about the murders, facts that could be accounted for only by the theory he proposed. They were facts already known to everyone in that room, except for his suggestion that the timing of the killings was equivalent to a woman's menstrual period.
But it was the first time they had heard these disparate items fitted into a coherent hypothesis. He could see their doubt turn to dawning realization that the theory he offered was a fresh approach, a new way of looking at old puzzles.
'So what we're looking for,' Delaney concluded, 'is a female crazy. I'd guess young-late twenties to middle thirties. Five-five to five-seven. Short hair, because she has no trouble wearing wigs. Strong. Very, very smart. Not a street bum. Probably a woman of some education and breeding. Chances are she's on pills or booze or both, but that's pure conjecture. She probably lives a reasonably normal life when she's not out slashing throats. Holds down a job, or maybe she's a housewife. That's all I've got.'
He sat down suddenly. The men looked at one another, waiting for someone to speak.
BOONE: 'Any reactions?'
SLAVIN: 'There's not a goddamned thing there we can take to the DA.'
BOONE: 'Granted. But it's an approach. A place to start.'
JOHNSON: 'I'll buy it.'
BENTLEY: 'It listens to me. It's got to be a twist-all those straight guys stripping off their pants.'
CRANE: 'It doesn't fit the probabilities for this type of crime.'
DELANEY: 'I agree. In this case, I think the probabilities are wrong. Not wrong, but outdated.'
BRODERICK: 'I'll go along with you, Chief. Let's suppose the killer is a woman. So what? Where do we go from there?'
BOONE: 'First, go back and check the records again. For women with a sheet that includes violent crimes. Check the prisons for recent releases. Check the booby hatches for ditto, and for escapees. Go through all our nut files and see if anything shows up.'
CRANE: 'My crew can handle that.'
BOONE: 'Second, the knife blade… Broderick, see if you can trace the knife by analysis of the metal in the blade.'
DELANEY: 'Or the shape. Ever notice how pocket knife blades have different shapes? Some are straight, some turn up at the point, some are sharpened on both edges.'
BRODERICK: 'That's nice. There must be a zillion different makes of pocket knives for sale in the New York area.'
BOONE: 'Find out. Third, Johnson you take the business with the Mace. Who makes it, how it gets into New York. Is it sold by mail order? Can you get a license to buy it? Anyone pushing it on the street? And so forth.'
BENTLEY: 'And me?'
BOONE: 'Pull your decoys out of the gay bars. Concentrate on the straight places, and mostly the bars and cocktail lounges in mid town hotels. And show photos of the victims to bartenders and waitresses. See if you can pick up a trail.'
BENTLEY: 'We've already done that, sarge.'
BOONE: 'So? Do it again.'
DELANEY: 'Wait a minute…'
They all turned to look at him but the Chief was silent. Then he spoke to Detective Bentley.
DELANEY: 'Your squad showed photos of all the victims around in hotel bars and cocktail lounges?'
BENTLEY: 'That's right, Chief.'
DELANEY: 'And you came up with zilch?'
BENTLEY: 'Correct. That's understandable; most of the places were mobbed. What waitress would remember one customer's face?'
DELANEY: 'Uh-huh. Boone, who was the victim with the badly scarred hands?'
BOONE: 'The third. Jerome Ashley, at the Hotel Coolidge.'
DELANEY: 'Go back to the Coolidge. Don't show Ashley's photo. At first. Ask if any waitress or bartender remembers a customer with badly scarred hands. If they do, then show his photo.'
BENTLEY: 'Got it. Beautiful.'
BOONE: 'Any more questions?'
CRANE: 'Are we releasing this to the media? About the Ripper being a woman?'
BOONE: 'Thorsen says no, not at the moment. They'll decide on it downtown.'
BRODERICK: 'No way we can keep it quiet. Too many people involved.'
BOONE: 'I agree, but it's not our decision to make. Anything else?'
BENTLEY: 'What color wig are my decoys looking for?'
BOONE: 'Probably strawberry blond. But it could be any color.'
BENTLEY: 'Thank you. That narrows it down.'
Laughing, the men rose, the meeting broke up. Delaney watched them go. He was satisfied with them; he thought they knew their jobs.
More than that, he was gratified by the way they had accepted, more or less, his theory as a working hypothesis. He knew how comforting it was in any criminal case to have a framework, no matter how bare. The outline, hopefully, would be filled in as the investigation proceeded.
But to start out with absolutely nothing, and still have nothing three months later, was not only discouraging, it was enervating; it drained the will, weakened resolve, and made men question their professional ability.
Now, at least, he had given them an aim, a direction. Policemen, in many ways, are like priests. No experienced cop believes injustice; the law is his bible. And Delaney had given them hope that, in this case at least, the law would not be flouted.
'Want to stay around, Chief?' Sergeant Boone asked. 'Maybe you can suggest some improvements on how
