There was silence in the radio room after the tape was stopped. Then someone laughed. “That Stryker,” someone said softly, “all he thinks about is pussy.”
“Maybe,” Captain Delaney said coldly, speaking to no one man, speaking to them all, “but he’s doing a good job.” He turned to Blankenship. “Call Stryker. Tell him to cozy up to the Cleek woman and keep us informed-of anything.”
“Will do, Captain.”
Delaney walked slowly back into his study, heavy head bowed, hands shoved into his hip pockets. The altered Time-Habit Pattern and Danny Boy’s strange behavior in his office: the best news he’d had all day. It might be working. It just might be working.
He searched for the sheet of yellow paper on which he had jotted his nine-point plan. It wasn’t in his locked top desk drawer. It wasn’t in the file. Where was it? His memory was really getting bad. He finally found the plan under his desk blotter, alongside the plus-minus list he used to evaluate the performance of men under his command. Before looking at the plan, he added the name of Stryker to the plus column of the performance list.
Peering at the plan closely through his reading glasses, he checked off the first six items: Garage attendant, Parrot bartender, Lipsky, the Mortons at Erotica, Visit to Factory, Lombard Christmas Eve call to Blank. The seventh item was: “Monica’s call to Blank.” He sat back in his swivel chair, stared at the ceiling, tried to think out the best way to handle that.
He was still pondering his options-what he would say and what she would say-when the outside guard knocked on his study door and didn’t enter until he heard Delaney’s shouted, “Come in!” The officer said a reporter named Thomas Handry was on the sidewalk and claimed he had an appointment with the Captain.
“Sure,” Delaney nodded. “Let him in. Tell the man at the desk to make certain he’s logged in and out.”
He went into the kitchen for some ice cubes. When he came back Handry was standing in front of the desk.
“Thanks for coming,” Delaney smiled genially. “I had it marked down: ‘Day after Christmas, Handry interviews Blank.’”
Handry sat in the leather club chair, then rose immediately, took two folded sheets from his inside breast pocket, tossed them onto Delaney’s desk.
“Background stuff on this guy,” he said, slumping back into his soft chair. “His job, views on the importance of the computer in industry, biography, personal life. But I imagine you’ve got all this by now.”
The Captain took a quick look at the two typed pages. “Got most of it,” he acknowledged. “But you’ve got a few things here we’ll follow up on-a few leads.”
“So my interview was just wasted time?”
“Oh Handry,” Delaney sighed. “At the time I asked you to do this, I was on my own. I had no idea I’d be back on active duty with enough dicks to run all this down. Besides, all this background shit isn’t so important. I told you that at the restaurant. I wanted your personal impressions of the man. You’re sensitive, intelligent. Since I couldn’t interview him myself, I wanted you to meet him and tell me what your reactions were. That is important. Now give me the whole thing, how it went, what you said and what he said.”
Thomas Handry took a deep breath, blew it out. Then he began talking. Delaney never interrupted once, but leaned forward, cupping one ear, the better to hear Handry’s low-voiced recital.
The newspaperman’s report was fluid and concise. He had arrived precisely at 1:30 p.m., the time previously arranged for the interview by Javis-Bircham’s Director of Public Relations. But Blank had kept him waiting almost a half-hour. It was only after two requests to Blank’s secretary that Handry had been allowed into the inner office.
Daniel G. Blank had been polite, but cold and withdrawn. Also, somewhat suspicious. He had asked to inspect Handry’s press card-an odd act for a business executive giving an interview arranged by his own PR man. But Blank had spoken lucidly and at length about the role played by AMROK II in the activities of Javis-Bircham. About his personal background, he had been cautious, uncommunicative, and frequently asked Handry what his questions had to do with the interview in progress. As far as the reporter could determine, Blank was divorced, had no children, had no plans to marry again. He lived a bachelor’s life, found it enjoyable, had no ambitions other than to serve J-B as best he might.
“Very pretty,” Delaney nodded. “You said he was ‘withdrawn.’ Your word. What did you mean by that?”
“Were you in the military, Captain?”
“Yes. Five years U.S. Army.”
“I did four with the Marines. You know the expression ‘a thousand-yard stare’?”
“Oh yes. On the range. For an unfocused vision.”
“Right. That’s what Blank has. Or had a few hours ago during the interview. He was looking at me, in me, through me, and somewhere beyond. I don’t know what the hell he was focusing on. Most of these high-pressure business executives are all teeth, hearty handshake, sincere smile, focusing between your eyes, over the bridge of your nose, so it looks like they’re returning your stare frankly, without blinking. But this guy was gone somewhere, off somewhere. I don’t know where the hell he was.”
“Good, good,” Delaney muttered, taking quick notes. “Anything else? Physical peculiarities? Habits? Bite his nails?”
“No…But he wears a wig. Did you know that?”
“No,” the Captain said in apparent astonishment. “A wig? He’s only in his middle-thirties. Are you sure?”
“Positive,” Handry said, enjoying the surprise. “It wasn’t even on straight. And he didn’t give a goddamn if I knew. He kept poking a finger up under the edge of the rug and scratching his scalp. Anything?”
“Mmm. Maybe. How was he dressed?”
“‘Conservative elegance’ is the phrase. Black suit well-cut. White shirt, starched collar. Striped tie. Black shoes with a dull gloss, not shiny.”
“You’d make a hell of a detective.”
“You told me that before.”
“Smell any booze on his breath?”
“No. But a high-powered cologne or after-shave lotion.”
“That figures. Scratch his balls?”
“What?”
“Did he play with himself?”
“Jesus, no! Captain, you’re wild.”
“Yes. Did he look drawn, thin, emaciated? Like he hasn’t been eating well lately?”
“Not that I could see. Well…”
“What?” Delaney demanded quickly.
“Shadows under his eyes. Puffy bags. Like he hasn’t been sleeping so well lately. But all the rest of his face was tight. He’s really a good-looking guy. And his handshake was firm and dry. He looked to be in good physical shape. Just before I left, when we were both standing, he handed me a promotion booklet Javis-Bircham got out on AMROK II. It slipped out of my hand. It was my fault; I dropped it. But Blank stooped and caught it before it hit the floor. The guy’s quick.”
“Oh yes,” Delaney nodded grimly, “he’s quick. All right, this is all interesting and valuable. Now tell me what you think about him, what you feel about him.”