The 1st Deadly Sin (53 page)

His mind was working so sluggishly that it was some time before he wondered why he hadn’t brought Monica Gilbert’s card file home with him, to keep in his own study. The computer printouts Thorsen would obtain would be delivered to him, Delaney. He could make handwritten notations on individual cards himself and attach the color-coded plastic tabs. It wasn’t necessary for him to run over to Mrs. Gilbert’s apartment to consult the file every time he needed to. So why…Still…She
was
efficient and he couldn’t do everything…Still…Had he angered her? If she…Barbara…

He dragged himself up to bed, took no shower and no sleeping pill, but lay awake for at least an hour, trying to understand himself. Not succeeding, he finally slid into a thin sleep.

3

I
T BEGAN TO
come together. Slowly. What he had set in motion. The first report on the 116 names came from the New York State Department of Motor Vehicles: a neatly folded computer printout, an original and six copies. Delaney took a quick look, noted there were 11 individuals listed, tore off a carbon for his own file, and took the report over to Monica Gilbert. He explained what he wanted:

“It’s easy to read once you get the hang of it. It’s computer printing—all capitals and no punctuation—but don’t let that throw you. Now the first one listed is AVERY JOHN H on East Seventy-ninth Street. You have Avery’s card?”

Obediently she flipped through her file and handed him the card.

“Good. Now Avery was charged with going through an unattended toll booth without tossing fifty cents in the hopper. Pleaded guilty, paid a fine. It’s printed here in a kind of official lingo, but I’m sure you can make it out. Now I’d like you to make a very brief notation on his card. If you write, ‘Toll booth—guilty—fine,’ it will be sufficient. I’d also like you to note his license number and make of car, in this case a blue Mercury. All clear?”

“I think so,” she nodded. “Let me try the next one myself. ‘BLANK DANIEL G on East Eighty-third Street; two arrests for speeding, guilty, fined. Black Corvette and then his license number. ’ Is that what you want on this card?”

“Right. In case you’re wondering, I’m not going to lean on these particular people. This report is just possible background stuff. The important returns will come from city and federal files. One more thing…”

He showed her the multicolored plastic tabs he had purchased in a stationery store, and explained the color code he had written out for her. She consulted it and clipped red tabs onto the top edges of the AVERY and BLANK cards. It looked very efficient, and he was satisfied.

Calvin Case called to report he had finished going through the Outside Life sales checks and had a file of 234 purchases of ice axes made in the past seven years. Delaney brought him a hand-drawn map of the 251st Precinct, and by the next day Case had separated those purchases made by residents of the Precinct. There were six of them. Delaney took the six sales checks, went home, and made two lists. One was for his file, one he delivered to Monica Gilbert so she could make notations on the appropriate cards and attach green plastic tabs. He had hardly returned home when she called. She was troubled because one of the six ice ax purchasers was not included in her master file of Outside Life customers. She gave him the name and address.

Delaney laughed. “Look,” he said, “don’t let it worry you. We can’t expect perfection. It was probably human error; it usually is. For some reason this particular customer wasn’t included on the mailing list. Who knows—maybe he said he didn’t want their catalogue; he doesn’t like junk mail. Just make out a card for him.”

“Yes, Edward.”

He was silent. It was the first time she had used his given name. She must have realized what she had done for suddenly she said, in a rush, “Yes, Captain.”

“Edward is better,” he told her, and they said goodby.

Now he could call her Monica.

Back to his records, remembering to start a new list for Thorsen headed by the single ax purchaser not included on the original list. Two days later Monica Gilbert had finished going through the new mailing list he had given her, and 34 more names were added to her master file and to the new list for Thorsen. And two days after that, Calvin Case had finished flipping through sales checks of the two additional New York stores that sold ice axes, and the names of three more purchasers in the 251st Precinct were added to Monica’s file, green plastic tabs attached, and the names also added to the new Thorsen list. Delaney had it delivered to the Deputy Inspector.

Meanwhile computer printouts were coming in on the original 116, and Monica Gilbert was making notations on her cards, and attaching colored tabs to indicate the source of the information. Meanwhile Calvin Case was breaking down his big file of Outside Life receipts of sales of any type of mountaineering equipment, to extract those of residents of the 251st Precinct. Meanwhile Christopher Langley was visiting official German agencies in New York to determine the manufacturer, importer, jobbers and retail outlets that handled the ice ax in the U.S. Meanwhile, Captain Edward X. Delaney was personally checking out the six people who had purchased ice axes at the other two stores. And reading “Honey Bunch” to his wife.

Ever since he had been promoted from uniformed patrolman to detective third grade, Delaney, following the advice of his first partner—an old, experienced, and alcoholic detective who called him “Buddy Boy”—had collected business cards. If he was given a card by a banker, shoe salesman, mortician, insurance agent, private investigator—whatever—he hung onto it, and it went into a little rubber-banded pack. Just as his mentor had promised, the business cards proved valuable. They provided temporary “cover.” People were impressed by them; often they were all the identification he needed to be banker, shoe salesman, mortician, insurance agent, private investigator—whatever. That little bit of pasteboard was a passport; few people investigated his identity further. When he passed printing shops advertising “100 Business Cards for $5.00” he could understand how easily conmen and swindlers operated.

Now he made a selection of his collected cards and set out to investigate personally the nine residents of the 251st Precinct who had purchased ice axes in the past seven years. He had arranged the nine names and addresses according to location, so he wouldn’t have to retrace his steps or end the day at the other end of the Precinct. This was strictly a walking job, and he dug out an old pair of shoes he had worn on similar jobs in the past. They were soft, comfortable kangaroo leather with high laced cuffs that came up over his ankles.

He waited until 9:00 a.m., then began his rounds, speaking only to doormen, supers, landlords, neighbors…

“Good morning. My name’s Barrett, of Acme Insurance. Here’s my card. But I don’t want to sell you anything. I’m looking for a man named David Sharpe. He was listed as beneficiary on one of our policies and has some money coming to him. He live here?”

“Who?”

“David Sharpe.”

“I don’t know him.”

“This is the address we have for him.”

“Nah, I never—wait…What’s his name?”

“David Sharpe.”

“Oh yeah. Chris’, he move away almost two years ago.”

“Oh. I don’t suppose you have any forwarding address?”

“Nah. Try the post office.”

“That’s a good idea. I’ll try them.”

And plucking his business card back, Delaney trudged on. “Good morning. My name’s Barrett, of Acme Insurance. Here’s my card. But I don’t want to sell you anything. I’m looking for a man named Arnold K. Abel. He was listed as beneficiary on one of our policies and has some money coming to him. He—”

“Tough shit. He’s dead.”

“Dead?”

“Yeah. Remember that plane crash last year? It landed short and went into Jamaica Bay.”

“Yes, I remember that.”

“Well, Abel was on it.”

“Fm sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, he was a nice guy. A lush but a nice guy. He always give me a tenner at Christmas.”

And then something happened he should have expected. “Good morning,” he started his spiel, “I’m—”

“Hell, I know you, Captain Delaney. I was on that owners’ protective committee you started. Don’t you remember me? The name’s Goldenberg.”

“Of course, Mr. Goldenberg. How are you?”

“Healthy, thank God. And you, Captain?”

“Can’t complain.”

“I was sorry to hear you retired.”

“Well…not retired exactly. Just temporary leave of absence. But things piled up and I’m spending a few hours a day helping out the new commander. You know?”

“Oh sure. Breaking him in—right?”

“Right. Now we’re looking for a man named Simmons. Walter J. Simmons. He’s not wanted or anything like that, but he was a witness to a robbery about a year ago, and now we got the guy we think pulled the job, and we hoped this Simmons could identify him.”

“Roosevelt Hospital, Captain. He’s been in there almost six months now. He’s one of these mountain climbers, and he fell and got all cracked up. From what I hear, he’ll never be the same again.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. But he still may be able to testify. I better get over there. Thank you for your trouble.”

“My pleasure, Captain. Tell me the truth, what do you think about this new man, this Dorfman?”

“Good man,” Delaney said promptly.

“With these three murders we’ve had in the last few months and the dingaling still running around free? What’s this Dorfman doing about that?”

“Well, it’s out of his hands, Mr. Goldenberg. The investigation is being handled personally by Deputy Commissioner Broughton.”

“I read, I read. But it’s Dorfman’s precinct—right?”

“Right,” Delaney said sadly.

So the day went. It was a disaster. Of the nine ice ax purchasers, three had moved out of the precinct, one had died, one was hospitalized, and one had been on a climbing tour in Europe for the past six months.

That left three possibles. Delaney made a hurried visit to Barbara, then spent the evening checking out the three, this time questioning them personally, giving his name and showing his shield and identification. He didn’t tell them the reason for his questions, and they didn’t ask. The efforts of Delaney, New York Police Department, were no more productive than those of Barrett, Acme Insurance.

One purchaser was an octogenarian who had bought the ax as a birthday present for a 12-year-old great-grandson.

One was a sprightly, almost maniacal young man who assured Delaney he had given up mountain climbing for skydiving. “Much more
machismo
, man!” At Delaney’s urging, he dug his ax out of a back closet. It was dusty, stained, pitted with rust, and the Captain wondered if it had ever been used, for anything.

The third was a young man who, when he answered Delaney’s ring, seemed at first sight to fit the profile: tall, slender, quick, strong. But behind him, eyeing the unexpected visitor nervously and curiously, was his obviously pregnant wife. Their apartment was a shambles of barrels and cartons; Delaney had interrupted their packing; they were moving in two days since, with the expected new arrival, they would need more room. When the Captain brought up the subject of the ice ax, they both laughed. Apparently, one of the conditions she had insisted on, before marrying him, was that he give up mountain climbing. So he had, and quite voluntarily he showed Delaney his ice ax. They had been using it as a general purpose hammer; the head was scarred and nicked. Also, they had tried to use the spike to pry open a painted-shut window and suddenly, without warning, the pick of the ice ax had just snapped off. And it was supposed to be steel. Wasn’t that the damndest thing? they asked. Delaney agreed despondently it was the damndest thing he ever heard.

He walked home slowly, thinking he had been a fool to believe it would be easy. Still, it was the obvious thing to trace weapon to source to buyer. It had to be done, and he had done it. Nothing. He knew how many other paths he could now take, but it was a disappointment; he admitted it. He had hoped—just hoped—that one of those cards with the green plastic tab would be the one.

His big worry was time. All this checking of sales receipts and list making and setting up of card files and questioning innocents—time! It all took days and weeks, and meanwhile this nut was wandering the streets and, as past histories of similar crimes indicated, the intervals between murders became shorter and shorter.

When he got home he found a package Mary had signed for. He recognized it as coming from Thorsen by commercial messenger. He tore it open and when he saw what it was, he didn’t look any further. It was a report from the Records Division, New York Police Department, including the Special Services Branch. That completed the check on criminal records of the original 116 names.

He had been doing a curious thing. As reports came in from federal, state, and local authorities, he had been tearing off a carbon for his files, then delivering the other copies to Monica Gilbert for notation and tabbing in her master file. He didn’t read the reports himself; he didn’t even glance at them. He told himself the reason for this was that he couldn’t move on individuals with criminal records until
all
the reports were in and recorded on Monica’s file cards. Then he’d be able to see at a glance how many men had committed how many offenses. That’s what he told himself.

He also told himself he was lying—to himself.

The real reason he was following this procedure was very involved, and he wasn’t quite sure he understood it. First of all, being a superstitious cop, he had the feeling that Monica Gilbert had brought him and would bring him luck. Somehow, through her efforts, solely or in part, he’d find the lead he needed. The second thing was that he hoped these computer printouts of criminal records would lead to the killer and thus prove to Monica he had merely been logical and professional when he had requested them. He had seen it in her eyes when he told her what he was about to do; she had thought him a brutal, callous—well, a
cop
, who had no feeling or sympathy for human frailty. That was, he assured himself, simply not true.