'Bingo,' he said softly. 'The security chief at the Granger bought the stuff. Four pocket-size spray dispensers and three grenades.'
Sergeant Broderick pushed his chair back with a clatter.
'Let's pick her up,' he said loudly.
Delaney whirled on him furiously.
'What are you going to do?' he demanded. 'Beat a confession out of her with a rubber hose? What kind of a garbage arrest would that be? She's got Addison's disease, she reads a hotel trade magazine, and the place where she works bought some tear gas. Take that to the DA and he'll throw your ass out the window.'
'What do you suggest, Edward?' Thorsen asked.
'Button her up. At least two men on her around the clock. Better include a policewoman in the tail, in case she goes into a John. Put an undercover man where she works. Broderick, where does she live?'
The sergeant consulted his file.
'Thirty-ninth Street, east. The address sounds like it would be near Lex.'
'Probably an apartment house. If it is, get an undercover man in there as a porter or something. Find a friendly judge and get a phone tap authorization. Around the clock. I mean, know exactly where she is every minute of the day and night. Where she goes. Who her friends are. It'll give us time to do more digging.'
'Like what, Chief?' Boone said.
'A lot of things. How did she get hold of the tear gas, for instance. Get a photo of her with a long-distance lens and show it to that waiter at the Tribunal and to the cocktail waitress out on the Coast.'
'I've got her doctor's name and address,' Sergeant Broderick offered.
'It's a possibility,' Delaney said. 'He probably won't talk, but it's worth a try. The important thing is to keep this woman covered until she proves out, one way or the other. Meanwhile, Broderick, I suggest you check the rest of your lists against Lieutenant Crane's. There may be more duplications.'
Deputy Thorsen, Delaney, and Boone left the conference room and went into the sergeant's office. The men in the corridor had heard the news and were talking excitedly.
'Sergeant,' the Chief said, 'you're going to have your hands full keeping a lid on this. If Zoe Kohler's name gets to reporters, and they print it, we're finished. She'll go back into the woodwork.'
'Wait a minute, Edward,' Thorsen said. 'What are you figuring-that she'll try another kill, and we catch her at it?'
'It may come to that,' Delaney said grimly. 'I hope not, but it may turn out to be the only way we can make a case. She's due again late this month.'
'Jesus,' Sergeant Boone breathed, 'that's a dangerous way to make a case. If we fuck it up, we'll have another stiff on our hands and we'll all be out on the street.'
'It may be the only way,' Delaney insisted stubbornly. 'I don't like it any more than you do, but we may have to let her try. Meanwhile, make sure your men keep their mouths shut.'
'Yeah,' Boone said, 'I better give them the word right now.'
'And while you're at it,' the Chief said, 'call Johnson again. Tell him not to send a man to check out that tear gas at the Hotel Granger until we figure out how to handle it and give him the word.'
'Right,' Boone said. 'I'll take care of it.'
He left the office.
'Edward,' Thorsen said nervously, 'are you serious about letting that woman try another killing?'
'Ivar,' Delaney said patiently, 'it may turn out to be the only way we can step on her. You better be prepared for it. Right now, at this moment, we haven't got enough for a clean arrest, let alone an indictment. Believe me, nothing makes a stronger case than 'caught in the act.''
'If we catch her in time,' the Deputy said mournfully.
Delaney shrugged. 'Sometimes you have to take the risk. But it may not come to that. We've got two weeks before she hits again. If she follows the pattern, that is. We can do a lot in two weeks. With the round-the-clock tail and the phone tap, we may be able to make a case before she tries again.'
'We've got to,' Thorsen said desperately.
'Sure,' Delaney said.
July 13; Sunday…
She was weary of gnarled thoughts and knotted dreams. There came a time when only surrender seemed feasible. Peace at any price.
She could endure no more. Those attractive, smartly dressed, happy women she saw on the streets… The men who whispered dreadful things or just glanced at her derisively… It was a city of enemies, a foreign place. Sickened by her own substance, she wanted to be gone.
'You look so solemn,' Ernest Mittle said. 'I feel so good, and you look so sad.'
'Do I?' she said, squeezing his hand. 'I'm sorry. Just thinking.'
'When you called me the other night, you sounded so down. Is something wrong, darling?'
'Not a thing,' she said brightly. 'I'm just fine. Where are we going?'
'It's a secret,' he said. 'Do you like secrets?'
'I love secrets,' she said.
He had met her in the lobby of her apartment house. She saw at once that he was jangling with nervous excitement, almost dancing with eagerness. And he was dressed in his best summer suit, a light blue, pin-striped seersucker. He wore a dark blue polka-dotted bowtie and, in his buttonhole, a small cornflower.
He insisted on taking a taxi, showing the driver an address scrawled on a slip of paper. In the back seat of the cab, he held her hand and chattered about the weather, his job, the plans he was making for their vacation together.
The cab headed downtown and then across Manhattan Bridge. Laughing delightedly, Ernie confessed that they were going for Sunday brunch at a restaurant built on a barge moored on the Brooklyn waterfront.
'The food is supposed to be good,' he said, 'and the view of the Manhattan skyline is fantastic. Okay?'
'Of course,' she said. 'I just hope it isn't too expensive.'
'Oh well,' he said, bowing his head, 'it's sort of, uh, you know, an occasion.'
They weren't able to get a window table in the restaurant, but from where they sat they had a good view of the East River, the sweep of the Brooklyn Bridge and, in the background, the swords of Manhattan slashing the pellucid sky.
They had Bloody Marys to start, and then scrambled eggs with ham steaks, toasted English muffins with guava marmalade, and a small green salad. Black coffee and raspberry sherbet for dessert.
The food was good, and the service efficient but too swift; they were finished and handed their check in less than an hour. On their way out, they passed a growing crowd of customers waiting hopefully behind a chain.
'A popular place,' Ernie said when they were outside. 'Well, the food is all right, and the prices are reasonable. First time I've ever eaten on a boat.'
'It's different,' Zoe said, 'and I enjoyed it. Thank you, dear.'
The restaurant had set up a number of park benches facing the Manhattan shore. Zoe and Ernie sat on the bench closest to the water. They watched a red tugboat push a string of barges upriver against the current.
The sun was bright and hot, but a salt-tanged breeze washed the air. A few small clouds, scoops of vanilla ice cream, drifted lazily. Smoke-colored gulls perched atop wharf pilings, preening their feathers.
And there in the distance, shimmering, were the golden spires of Manhattan. They gave back the sun in a million gleams. The city burned, prancing, a painted backdrop for a giant theater, a cosmic play.
'Oh, Zoe,' Ernest Mittle breathed, 'isn't it lovely?'
'Yes,' she said, but she lowered her eyes. She didn't want to admit that the city could have beauty and grace.
He turned on the bench so he could face her. He took both her hands between his. She raised her eyes to look at him. His vivacity had vanished. Now he seemed solemn, almost grave.
'Uh,' he said in a low voice, 'there's something I want to talk to you about.'
'What is it, dear?' she said anxiously. 'Is something the matter? Is it something I did?'
'Oh no, no,' he protested. 'No, nothing's the matter. Uh, darling, I've been thinking about you a lot. Every minute. I mean, at work and walking down the street and when I'm home alone and before I go to sleep. I think about you all the time. And, uh, well, I've decided I want to be with you all the time. Forever.' He finished with a
