That was what he felt now-joy! He worked at his new file-BLANK, Daniel G.-adding to it everything Detective Blankenship had reported, and not a thing, not one single thing, varied in any significant aspect from his original “The Suspect” outline. He gained surety as he amplified his notes. It was beautiful, beautiful, all so beautiful. And, just as he had written in his unpublished article, there was sensuous pleasure-was it sexual? — in the chase. So intent was he on his rapid writing, his reports, his new, beautiful file, that the phone rang five times before he picked it up. As a matter of fact, he kept writing as he answered it.
“Captain Edward X. Delaney here.”
“Dorfman. There’s been another one.”
“Captain-what?”
“Lieutenant Dorfman, Captain. Sorry to wake you up. There’s been another killing. Same type, with extras.”
“Where?”
“Eighty-fifth. Between First and York.”
“A man?”
“Yes ”
“Tall?”
“Tall? I’d guess five-ten or eleven.”
“Weight?”
There was silence, then Dorfman’s dull voice: “I don’t know what he weighed, Captain. Is it important?”
“Extras? You said ‘Extras.’ What extras?”
“He was struck at least three times. Maybe more. There are signs of a struggle. Christmas packages, three of them, thrown around. Scuff marks on the sidewalk. His coat was tom. Looks like he put up a fight.”
“Identified?”
“A man named Feinberg. Albert Feinberg.”
“Anything missing? Identification of any kind?”
“We don’t know,” Dorfman said wearily. “They’re checking with his wife now. His wallet wasn’t out like in the Lombard kill. We just don’t know.”
“All right,” Delaney said softly. “Thank you for calling. Sounds like you could use some sleep, lieutenant.”
“Yes, I could. If I could sleep.”
“Where was it again?”
“Eighty-fifth, between First and York.”
“Thank you. Good-night.”
He looked at his desk calendar and counted carefully. It had been eleven days since the murder of Detective Kope. His research was proving out; the intervals between killings were becoming shorter and shorter.
He got out his Precinct map with the plastic overlay and, with a red grease pencil, carefully marked in the murder of Albert Feinberg, noting victim’s name, date of killing, and place. The locations of the four murders formed a rough square on the map. On impulse, he used his grease pencil and a ruler to connect opposite corners of the square, making an X. It intersected at 84th Street and Second Avenue, right in the middle of the crossing of the two streets. He checked Daniel Blank’s address. It was on 83rd Street, about a block and a half away. The map didn’t say yes and it didn’t say no.
He was staring at the map, nodding, and awoke fifteen minutes later, startled, shocked that he had been sleeping. He pulled himself to his feet, drained the watery remains of his final highball, and made his rounds, checking window locks and outside doors.
Then the bed, groaning with weariness. What he really wanted to do…what he wanted to do…so foolish…was to go to Daniel Blank…go to him right now…introduce himself and say, “Tell me all about it.”
Yes, that was foolish…idiotic…but he was sure…well, maybe not sure, but it was a chance, and the best…and just before he fell asleep he acknowledged, with a sad smile, that all this shitty thinking about patterns and percentages and psychological profile was just that-a lot of shit. He was following up on Daniel Blank because he had no other lead. It was as simple and obvious as that. Occam’s Razor. So he fell asleep.
4
His bedside alarm went off at 8:00 a.m. He slapped it silent, swung his legs out from under the blankets, donned his glasses, consulted a slip of paper he had left under the phone. He called Thomas Handry at home. The phone rang eight times. He was about to give up when Handry answered.
“Hello?” he asked sleepily.
“Captain Edward X. Delaney here. Did I wake you up?”
“Why no,” Handry yawned. “I’ve been up for hours. Jogged around the reservoir, wrote two deathless sonnets, and seduced my landlady. All right, what do you want, Captain?”
“Got a pencil handy?”
“A minute…okay, what is it?”
“I want you to check a man in your morgue file.”
“Who is he?”
“Blank, Daniel G. That last name is Blank, B-l-a-n-k.”
“Why should he be in our morgue?”
“I don’t know why. It’s just a chance.”
“Well, what has he done? I mean, has he been in the news for any reason?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Then why the hell should we have him in the morgue?”
“I told you,” Delaney said patiently, “it’s just a chance. But I’ve got to cover every possibility.”
“Oh Jesus. All right. I’ll try. I’ll call you around ten, either way.”
“No, don’t do that,” the Captain said quickly. “I may be out. I’ll call you at the paper around ten.”
Handry grunted and hung up.
After breakfast he went into the study. He wanted to check the dates of the four murders and the intervals between them. Lombard to Gilbert: 22 days. Gilbert to Kope: 17 days. Kope to Feinberg: 11 days. By projection, the next murder should occur during the week between after Christmas and New Year’s Day, and probably a few days after Christmas. He sat suddenly upright. Christmas! Oh God.
He called Barbara immediately. She reported she was feeling well, had had a good night’s sleep, and ate ail her breakfast. She always said that.
“Listen,” he said breathlessly, “it’s about Christmas…I’m sorry, dear. I forgot all about gifts and cards. What are we to do?”
She laughed. “I knew you were too busy. I’ve mailed things to the children. I saw ads in the newspapers and ordered by phone. Liza and John are getting a nice crystal ice bucket from Tiffany’s, and I sent Eddie a terribly expensive sweater from Saks. How does that sound?”
“You’re a wonder,” he told her.
“So you keep saying,” she teased, “but do you really mean it? Give Mary some money, as usual, and maybe you can get her something personal, just some little thing, like a scarf or handkerchief or something like that. And put the check in the package.”
“All right. What about the cards?”
“Well, we have some left over from last year-about twenty, I think-and they’re in the bottom drawer of the secretary in the living room. Now if you buy another three boxes, I’m sure it’ll be enough. Are you coming over today?”
“Yes. Definitely. At noon.”
“Well, bring the cards and the list. You know where the list is, don’t you?”
“Bottom drawer of the secretary in the living room.”
“Detective!” she giggled. “Yes, that’s where it is. Bring the list and cards over at noon. I feel very good today. I’ll start writing them. I won’t try to do them all today, but I should have them finished up in two or three days, and they’ll get there in time.”
“Stamps?”
“Yes, I’ll need stamps. Get a roll of a hundred. A roll is easier to handle. I make such a mess of a sheet. Oh Edward, I’m sorry…I forgot to ask. Did you find anything in the old files?”
“I’ll tell you all about it when I see you at noon.”
“Does it look good?”
“Well…maybe.”
She was silent, then sighed. “I hope so,” she said. “Oh, how I hope so.”