and investigation begun of their relationship with the suspect.
Also, by means of a collect call made by the subject, the names and address of her parents were obtained. Following Zoe when she visited her bank resulted in an examination of her bank account and credit rating.
Slowly, the profile of the subject was filled in, with a complete physical description, personal history, her present job, employment record, friends, habits, etc. None of this, of course, added to or subtracted from her validity as a suspect, but it did give substance to the woman. In Midtown North, they began to speak familiarly of her as 'Zoe.' A friend of the family.
Photographs were taken from the surveillance car by a police photographer using a telephoto lens. Blowups of the best pictures were flown to the Coast by a New York detective and shown to Anne Rogovich, the former cocktail waitress. The result was negative; she could not identify the suspect as the woman she had seen with the late Jerome Ashley.
The same disappointment resulted when the photos were shown to Anthony Pizzi, the waiter at the Tribunal Motor Inn. So Mr. Pizzi was installed in the surveillance car and given an actual look at the subject. He still could not provide positive identification.
But not all inquiries were fruitless…
A long, involved discussion was held on how best to determine the disposition of tear gas purchased by Everett Pinckney, security chief of the Hotel Granger.
'The problem here,' Delaney said, 'is that if he gave her a can of the stuff, or she pinched it, then questions about it are sure to spook her. If she still has the can-maybe it's half-full-she's sure to dump it. And if she's already gotten rid of it, the questions will give her a chance to frame a story.'
'Maybe we can tell this Pinckney to keep his trap shut,' Sergeant Boone said.
'You can tell him,' the Chief said, 'but don't take it to the bank.' He thought a moment, then: 'Look, let's handle this in a conventional way. Just go in, verify the purchase with Pinckney, and say we'll be back in a week or so for a physical count of the containers he bought. Treat it very casually. If he mentions it to her, it may scare her into doing something foolish. Johnson, can you handle it?'
'I'll do it personally,' the detective said. 'No sweat. I want to get a look at the lady anyway.'
So Detective Aaron Johnson visited Security Chief Everett Pinckney at the Hotel Granger. His cover story was that he was investigating a wholesale burglary of Chemical Mace and was tracing the serial numbers of every can sold in the New York area.
'The good news,' he reported later, 'is that this Pinckney admits the purchase, and says he handed out the spray dispensers to his assistants, including Zoe. He's got the grenades right there in his office and says he'll collect the spray cans from the others for examination. The bad news is that I didn't get to see her; she was out to lunch or some such.'
That, at least, proved Zoe's access to a can of tear gas. It was a plus but, as Sergeant Boone said, 'a little bitty plus.'
More important was the result of a search of Zoe Kohler's apartment, a completely illegal enterprise. It was planned at a meeting attended only by Delaney, Boone, and Detective Bentley. Deputy Commissioner Ivar Thorsen was deliberately not informed of the plan; the Chief wanted to shield him from guilty knowledge.
'We can get a man in there easy,' Abner Boone explained to Bentley. 'The owner will go along. Our guy will be a maintenance man, porter, repairman, or whatever-in case any of the tenants spot him and ask questions. He'll go in when she's at work; we'll verify that with the tails.'
'The problem,' Delaney said, 'is that he'll have to pick the lock. We don't want to ask the owner for a passkey. The fewer people who know about this, the better. Also, we need a fast guy, someone who'll get in, toss the place, and be out in, say, an hour or less.'
'Got just the guy,' Bentley said promptly. 'Ramon Gonzales, a PR. Naturally, we call him 'Speedy.' He's a fast man on locks and he'll be in and out of there so quick and so slick no one will notice a thing. What does he look for?'
'A spray dispenser of tear gas,' Boone said. 'A pocket knife, or jackknife, switchblade-anything like that. Also, a gold link bracelet with the words why not? on it. And clothes, flashy clothes. A dark green dress with skinny straps. High-heeled shoes. She wore those to the Ashley kill. And a white turtleneck sweater and a denim thing with shoulder straps. The stuff she was wearing when she wasted the LaBranche boy. Anything else, Chief?'
'Yes,' Delaney said. 'Tell him to look for nylon wigs. Black and strawberry blond. Tell this Speedy Gonzales to wear gloves and to touch as little as possible, move things as little as possible. And don't, for God's sake, bring anything out with him. Leave everything exactly where it is.'
'She'll never know she had a visitor,' Bentley assured them.
Two days later, he was back with a report. He consulted a notebook, flipping the pages as he talked…
'No problems,' he said. 'Speedy didn't see anyone except the guy on the lobby desk who talked a minute or two but didn't ask any questions. The owner had told him to expect a guy who was going to make an estimate on cleaning the hallway rugs. Speedy got into Zoe's apartment with no trouble. He says the locks were a joke. He was inside less than an hour, gave the place a complete toss. He found that why not? bracelet and the dark green dress with thin shoulder straps. Her clothes are mostly plain and dull, but the fancy stuff is hidden in the back of a closet. A lot of hooker's dresses there, Speedy says. He didn't find any knife or can of tear gas.'
'The wigs?' Delaney asked.
'Oh yeah. Black and blond. Both nylon. In the same closet with the whore's duds. High-heeled shoes in there, too. And in a dresser drawer, way in the back, black lace underwear and fancy shit like that.'
'Did he say anything about what the apartment was like?' the Chief said.
'Very neat,' Bentley reported. 'Very clean. Spotless.'
'That figures,' Delaney said.
Late on Friday afternoon, July 18th, the Chief met with Deputy Commissioner Thorsen at a back table in a seedy tavern on Eighth Avenue. There were only a few solitary drinkers at the bar. The waitress, wearing a leotard and black net hose, brought their Scotch-and-waters and left them alone.
'How's it going, Edward?' Thorsen asked.
Delaney flipped a palm back and forth. 'Some good, some bad,' he said.
'But is it her?' the Deputy said.
'No doubt about that. It's her, all right.'
'But you still don't want to pick her up?'
'Not yet.'
'We've got about a week, Edward. Then she's due to hit again.'
'I'm aware of that, Ivar.'
The Admiral sat back, sighing. He lifted his glass around on the Formica tabletop, making damp interlocking circles.
'You're a hard man, Edward.'
'Not so hard,' Delaney said. 'I'm just trying to make a case for you.'
'Since when has any case been airtight?'
'I didn't say an airtight case. Just a strong case that has a chance in the courts.'
Thorsen stared at him reflectively.
'Sometimes I think you and I are-well, maybe not on opposing sides, but we see this thing from different viewpoints. All I want to do is stop these killings. And you-'
'That's all I want,' Delaney said stolidly.
'No, that's not all you want. You want to squash the woman.'
'And what do you want-to let her walk away whistling? That's exactly what will happen if we pull her in now.'
'Look,' Thorsen said, 'let's get our priorities straight. You're convinced she's the killer?'
'Yes.'
'All right, now suppose we pull her in, even charge her, and eventually she walks. But she's not going to kill again, is she? She's going to behave, knowing we'll keep an eye on her. So the killings will end, won't they? Even if she walks?'
'And what about George Puller, Frederick Wolheim, Jerome Ashley, and all the rest? Just tough titty for them- right?'
