"I know what you're thinking, sergeant-that I've got nothing to lose, but you have. I understand all that. But I don't think you can afford to do nothing. Look, suppose we do this… I'll call Thorsen and tell him the doctor came to see me, but you sat in on the meet. I'll recommend he gets Dr. Ho what he wants and I'll tell him you'll go along. That way the blame is on me if it turns sour. I couldn't care less. If it turns out to be something, you'll be on record as having been on it from the start."
Abner Boone thought it over.
"Yeah," he said finally. "Let's do it that way. Thanks, Chief."
Delaney tried to call Thorsen from Boone's office, but the Deputy Commissioner was in a meeting. The Chief said he'd try him later from home.
He waved so-long to the sergeant and walked home slowly through Central Park. It was a hot, steamy day, but he didn't take off his hat or doff his jacket. He rarely complained about the weather. He was constantly amazed at people who never seemed to learn that in the summer it was hot and in the winter it was cold.
As usual, Monica was out somewhere. He went upstairs to take off jacket, vest, and tie. Then he peeled off his sodden shirt and undershirt and wiped his torso cool with a soaked washcloth. He pulled on a knitted polo shirt of Sea Island cotton.
He inspected the contents of the refrigerator. On the previous night, they had had veal cutlets dredged in seasoned flour (with paprika) and then sauteed in butter with onion flakes and garlic chips. There was enough cold veal left over to make a decent sandwich.
He used white bread spread thinly with Russian dressing. He added slices of red onion and a light dusting of freshly ground pepper. He carried the sandwich and a cold can of Ballantine Ale into the study.
While he ate and drank, he searched through his home medical encyclopedia and found the section on potassium. All it said was that potassium was a chemical element present in the human body, usually in combination with sodium salts.
The section on blood was longer and more detailed. Among other things, it said that the red fluid was a very complex substance, and plasma (the liquid part of the blood) carried organic and inorganic elements that had to be transported from one part of the body to another.
The blood also carried gases and secretions from the endocrine glands (hormones) as well as enzymes, proteins, etc. Serious imbalance in blood chemistry, the encyclopedia said, was usually indicative of physiological malfunction.
He put the book aside and finished his sandwich and beer. He called Thorsen again, and this time he got through. He told the Deputy Commissioner about the visit of Dr. Patrick Ho, from the Lab Services Section.
He made it sound like the doctor had come to see him, and that Sergeant Boone was present at the meeting. He explained what it was Dr. Ho wanted and urged that they cooperate. He said Sergeant Boone agreed. Ivar Thorsen was dubious.
"Pretty thin stuff, Edward," he said. "As I understand it, he hasn't got a clue as to why there's so much potassium in the blood or what it means."
"That's correct. That's what he wants to find out."
"Well, suppose he does find out, and the killer is popping potassium pills for some medical reason-how does that help us? My God, Edward, maybe the Hotel Ripper is a banana freak. She wolfs down bananas like mad. That would account for the potassium. So what? Are we going to arrest every woman in New York who eats bananas?"
"Ivar, I think we ought to give this guy a chance. It may turn up zilch. Granted. But we haven't got so goddamned much that we can afford to ignore anything."
"You really think it might amount to something?"
"We'll never know until we try, will we?"
Thorsen groaned. "Well… all right. The Lab Services Unit will be no problem. I can get this Ho assigned to us on temporary duty. The Medical Examiner's office is something else again. I don't swing much clout there, but I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you, Ivar."
"Edward," Thorsen said, almost pleading, "are we going to get her?"
Delaney was astounded. "Of course," he said.
Newspapermen and television commentators reported no progress was being made in the investigation, search for ripper stalled, one headline announced. The public seemed to take a ghoulish pleasure in reading how many summer conventions, hotel reservations, and tours had been canceled.
The Mayor's office took the flak from the business community and passed it along to the Police Commissioner. The PC, in turn, leaned on Deputy Commissioner Thorsen. And he, being a decent man, refused to scream at the men in his command, knowing they were doing everything that could be done, and working their asses off.
"But give me something," he begged. "Anything! A bone we can throw to the media."
Actually, progress was being made, but it was slow, tedious, foot-flattening labor, and didn't yield the kind of results that make headlines. The list of women who had access to the convention schedule was growing, and Detective Aaron Johnson's men were checking out every can of Chemical Mace and other tear gas delivered to the New York area.
Dr. Patrick Ho had been given what he wanted, and three days later he reported back to Sergeant Boone and Delaney. He was flushed and breathless.
"Ah, it is looking good," he said in his musical voice. "Very, very good."
"What?" Boone demanded. "What did you find out?"
"Listen to this," Ho said triumphantly. "In addition to the high potassium content, the sodium, chloride, and bicarbonate levels are very low. Isn't that wonderful!"
Boone made a sound of disgust.
"What does that mean, doctor?" Delaney asked.
"Ah, it is much too early to say," Dr. Ho said judiciously. "Bud definite abnormalities exist. Also, we have isolated two substances we cannot identify. Is that not exciting?"
"Maybe it would be," the sergeant said, "if you knew what they were."
"Where do you go from here?" the Chief asked.
"There are, in this marvelous city, two excellent hospitals with splendid hematology departments. They have beautiful hardware. I shall take our slides and samples to these hospitals, and they will tell me what these unidentified substances are."
"Listen," Sergeant Boone said hoarsely, "are we going to have to pay for this?"
"Oh no," Dr. Patrick Ho said, shocked. "It is their civic duty. I shall convince them."
Delaney looked at the little man with admiration.
"You know, doctor," he said, "I think you will."
Later, Boone said, "We're getting scammed. The guy's a loser."
On June 16th, Detective Daniel Bentley arrived late for the morning meeting at Mid town Precinct North. He came striding into the room, glowing.
"Bingo!" he shouted. "We got something."
"Oh Lord," Ivar Thorsen intoned, "let it be something good."
"Twice a day," Bentley said, "we been checking with the mother of that cocktail waitress who worked the New Orleans Room at the Hotel Coolidge the night Jerome Ashley got washed. The girl went out to the Coast and she hasn't called her mother yet. So we started checking out her pals. We found a boyfriend who's on probation after doing eighteen months for B-and-E. So we could lean on him-right? He gets a call last night from this chick…" Here Bentley consulted his notebook. "Her name is Anne Rogovich. Anyway, she calls her old boyfriend, they talk, and she gives him her number out there. Then he calls us like he's been told. I called the girl an hour ago. It's early in the morning on the Coast and I woke her up-but what the hell."
"Get to it," Boone said.
"Yeah, she worked the New Orleans Room the night Ashley was offed. Yeah, she remembers serving a guy with badly scarred hands. She says he was sitting with a woman. Not much of a physical description: tall, slender, darkish, heavy on the makeup. Strawberry blond wig. But she remembers the clothes better. Very flashy. A green silk dress, skimpy as a slip. Skinny shoulder straps. This Anne Rogovich remembers because she really dug that dress and wondered what it cost. Also, the woman with Ashley was wearing a bracelet. Gold links. With big gold letters that spelled out why not?"