The third Deadly Sin exd-3

by Lawrence Sanders

  "She's fine, thanks," Thorsen said. "When are you and Monica coming over for one of her herring smorgasbords?"

  "Whenever you say."

  They sat in silence, looking at each other. Finally…

  "You first or me first?" Thorsen asked.

  "You," Delaney said.

  "We've got problems downtown," the Admiral announced.

  "So what else is new? You've always got problems downtown."

  "I know, but this Hotel Ripper thing is something else. It's as bad as Son of Sam. Maybe worse. The Governor's office called today. The Department is taking a lot of flak. From the politicians and the business community."

  "You know how I feel about the Department."

  "I know how you say you feel, Edward. But don't tell me a man who gave as many years as you did would stand idly by and not do what he could to help the Department."

  "Fiddle music," Delaney said. '"Hearts and Flowers.'"

  Thorsen laughed. "Iron Balls," he said. "No wonder they called you that. But forget about the Department's problems for a moment. Let's talk about your problems."

  Delaney looked up in surprise. "I've got no problems."

  "You say. I know better. I've seen a lot of old bulls retire and I've watched what happens to them after they get out of harness A few of them can handle it, but not many."

  "I can handle it."

  "You'd be surprised how many drop dead a year or two after putting in their papers. Heart attack or stroke, cancer or bleeding ulcers. I don't know the medical or psychological reasons for it, but studies show it's a phenomenon that exists. When the pressure is suddenly removed, and stress vanishes, and there are no problems to solve, and drive and ambition disappear, the body just collapses."

  "Hasn't happened to me," Delaney said stoutly. "I'm in good health."

  "Or other things happen," the Admiral went on relentlessly.; "They can't handle the freedom. No office to go to. No beat to pound. No shop talk. Their lives revolved around the Department and now suddenly they're out. It's like they were excommunicated."

  "Bullshit."

  "Some of them find a neighborhood bar that becomes their office or squad room or precinct. They keep half-bagged all day and bore their new friends silly with lies about what great cops they were."

  "Not me."

  "Or maybe they decide to read books, visit museums, go to shows-all the things they never had time for before. Fishing and hunting. Gardening. Hockey games. And so forth. But it's just postponing the inevitable. How many books can you read? How many good plays or movies are there? How many hockey games? The day arrives when they wake up with the realization that they've got nothing to do, nowhere to go. They may as well stay in bed. Some of them do."

  "I don't."

  "Or become drunks or hypochondriacs. Or start following their wives around, walking up their heels. Or start resenting their wives because the poor women don't spend every waking minute with them."

  Delaney said nothing.

  Thorsen looked at him narrowly. "Don't tell me you haven't felt any of those things, Edward. You've never lied to me in your life; don't start now. Why do you think you were so willing to help Boone? So eager to get his reports on the Hotel Ripper case? To make out those dossiers I saw on your desk? Oh yes, I peeked, and I make no apology for it. Maybe you're not yet in the acute stage, but admit it's starting."

  "What's starting?"

  "The feeling that you're not wanted, not needed. No reason to your life. No aims, no desires. Worst of all is the boredom. It saps the spirit, turns the brain to mush. You're a wise man, Edward; I'd never deny it. But you're not smart enough to handle an empty life."

  Delaney rose slowly to his feet, with an effort. He poured more whiskey. Glenlivet for Thorsen, rye for himself. He sat down heavily again in the swivel chair behind the desk. He regarded the Deputy Commissioner reflectively.

  "You're a pisser, you are," he said. "You want something from me. You know you've got to convince me. So you try the loyalty-to-the-Department ploy. When that doesn't work, you switch without the loss of a single breath to the self-interest approach. Now I've got to do as you want if I hope to avoid dropping dead, becoming a lush, annoying my wife, or having my brain turn to mush."

  "Right!" the Admiral cried, slapping his knee. "You're exactly right. It's in your own self-interest, man. That's the strongest motive of them all."

  "You admit you're manipulating me-or trying to?"

  "Of course. But it's in your own best interest; can't you see that?"

  Delaney sighed. "Thank God you never went into politics. You'd end up owning the world. What is it, precisely, you want of me, Ivar?"

  The sprucely dressed deputy set his drink aside. He leaned forward earnestly, hands clasped.

  "Slavin has got to go," he said. "The man's a disaster. Releasing that black nylon wig story to the media was a blunder. We're beefing up the Hotel Ripper squad. Another hundred detectives and plainclothesmen for a start, and more available as needed. We'll put Slavin in charge of administration and scheduling of the task force. He's good at that."

  "And who's going to be in command?"

  Thorsen sat back, crossed his knees. He adjusted the sharp crease in his trouser leg. He picked up his drink, took a sip. He stared at Delaney over the rim of the glass.

  "That's what I was doing all morning," he said. "A meeting downtown. It started at about three a.m., and went through to eleven. I've never drunk so much black coffee in my life. Everyone agreed Slavin had to go. Then we started debating who the CO should be. It had to be someone high up in the Department, to send a signal to the politicians and businessmen and public that we're giving this case top priority."

  "Cosmetics," Delaney said disgustedly. "The image."

  "Correct," Thorsen said levelly. "When you don't know where you're going, you rush around busily. It gives the impression of action. What more could we have done? Any suggestions?"

  "No."

  "So we needed a top man in command. It couldn't be the Chief of Detectives. He's got a full plate even without the Hotel Ripper. He can't drop everything and concentrate on one case. Besides, we figured we needed higher brass. Someone close to the PC. No one was willing to volunteer."

  "Can't say I blame them," the Chief admitted. "Too much risk for the ambitious types. Failure could break them. End their careers."

  "Right. Well, we finally got one guy who was willing to stick out his neck."

  "Who's the idiot?"

  The Admiral looked at him steadily. "Me," he said. "I'm the idiot."

  "Ivar!" Delaney cried. "For God's sake, why? You haven't worked an active case in twenty years."

  "Don't you think I know that? I recognized the dangers of taking it on. If I flop, I might as well resign. Nothing left for me in the Department. I'd always be the guy who bungled the Hotel Ripper case. On the other hand, if I could possibly pull it off, I'd be the fair-haired boy, remembered when the Police Commissioner's chair became vacant."

  "And that's what you want?"

  "Yes."

  "Well…" Delaney said loyally, "the city could do a lot worse."

  "Thank you, Edward. But it wasn't just wishful thinking on my Part. When I agreed to take it on, I had an ace in the hole."

  "Oh? What was that?"

  "Who was that. You."

  Delaney banged his hand down on the desktop in disgust.

  "Jesus Christ, Ivar, you gambled on getting me to go along?"

  Thorsen nodded. "That's what I gambled on. That's why I'm here pulling out all the stops to persuade you to help me, help the Department, help yourself."

  Delaney was silent, staring at the composed man in the armchair, the small foot in the polished moccasin bobbing idly up and down. Thorsen endured his scrutiny with serenity, slowly sipping his drink.

  "There's one stop you didn't pull, Ivar."

  "What's that?"

  "Our friendship."

  The deputy frowned. "I don't want to put it on that basis, Ed
ward. You don't owe me. Turn me down and we'll still be friends."

  "Uh-huh. Tell me something, Ivar-did you instruct Sergeant Boone not to call me about that killing last night, figuring to give me a taste of what it would feel like to be shut out of this thing?"

  "My God, Edward, do you think I'd be capable of a Machiavellian move like that?"

  "Yes."

  "You're perfectly right," Thorsen said calmly. "That's exactly what I did for the reason you guessed. And it worked, didn't it?"

  "Yes, it worked."

  "You've got cops' blood," the Admiral said. "Retirement didn't change that. Well… how about it? Will you agree to work with me? Serve as an unofficial right-hand man? You won't be on active duty, of course, but you'll know everything that's going on, have access to all the papers-statements, photographs, evidence, autopsy reports, and so on. Boone will act as our liaison."

  "Ivar, what do you expect of me?" Delaney asked desperately, "I'm no miracle man."

  "I don't expect miracles. Just handle it as if you were on active duty, assigned to the Hotel Ripper case. If you fail, it's my cock that's on the block, not yours. What do you say?"

  "Give me a little time to-"

  "No," Thorsen said sharply. "I haven't got time. I need to know now."

  Delaney leaned back, laced his hands behind his head. He stared at the ceiling. Maybe, he thought, the reason for Ivar Thorsen's success in threading his way through the booby-trapped upper echelons of the New York Police Department was his ability to use people by persuading them that they had everything to gain from his manipulation.

  Knowing that, the Chief still had to admit that Thorsen's sales pitch wasn't all con. There was enough truth in what he had said to consider his proposal seriously.

  But not once had he mentioned a motive that cut more ice with Delaney than all the dire warnings of how retirement would flab his fiber and muddle his brain. It was a basic motive, almost simple, that would have sounded mawkish if spoken.

  Edward X. Delaney wanted to stop the Hotel Ripper because killing was wrong. Not just immoral, antisocial, or irreligious. But wrong.

  "All right, Ivar," he said. "I'm in."

  Thorsen nodded, drained his glass. But when Delaney started to rise, to pour him more Glenlivet, the deputy held his hand over his glass.

  "No more, thank you, Edward. I've got to go back downtown again."

  "Tell me about the killing last night."

  "I don't know too much about it. You'll have to get the details from Boone. But I gather it was pretty much like the others, with a few minor differences. The victim was naked, but his body was found on the floor between the bed and the bathroom. The bed hadn't been used."

  "Throat slashed?"

  "Yes."

  "Genitals stabbed?"

  "Yes."

  "How old was he?"

  "Middle forties. One odd thing-or rather two odd things. The body was discovered by a gang of pals who barged in for a drink. They said there was a sweet odor in the bedroom where the body was found."

  "A sweet odor? Perfume?"

  "Not exactly. One of the guys said it smelled to him like apple blossoms. The other odd thing was that the victim's face was burned. First-degree burns. Reddening but no blistering or charring."

  "Tear gas," Delaney said. "It smells like apple blossoms in low concentrations and it can cause burns if applied close to the skin."

  "Tear gas?" Thorsen said. "How do you figure that?"

  "I don't. Unless the killer couldn't get behind the victim, like the others were slashed, and gassing was the only way to handle him."

  "Well, they'll find out what it was in the PM. We've been promised the report tomorrow morning. Now… let's get back to my original question: How the hell did you know there'd be a killing last night?"

  "I didn't know. I guessed. And I didn't specify last night; I warned Boone about May seventh to ninth. Did you put on more men?"

  "Yeah," Thorsen said sourly. "As a matter of fact, we had a decoy in the Cameron Arms Hotel last night while it was going down."

  "Shit," Delaney said.

  "He was in a disco, figuring that would be the logical place for the killer to make contact. It didn't work out that way. Edward, we can't cover every bar, cocktail lounge, disco, dining room, and hotel lobby in midtown Manhattan. That would take an army."

  "I know. Still, it burns my ass to be so close and miss it."

  "You still haven't told me how you figured it might happen last night."

  "It's a long story. You better have another drink."

  The Admiral hesitated just a moment.

  "All right," he said finally. "After what I've gone through in the last twelve hours, I've earned it."

  Delaney repeated everything he had previously related to Monica: how he had slowly come to believe the Hotel Ripper might be a woman; the research he had done; and how some of it substantiated his theory.

  And how the implied circumstances of the murders lent further credence: the absence of any signs of struggles; the heterosexual victims found naked; the attacks (except for the last) all made from the rear, the victims apparently not expecting sudden violence.

  Midway through his recital, Delaney took two cigars from his desk humidor. Still talking, he rose and leaned forward to hand one to the Admiral, then held a match for him. He sat down again and, puffing, resumed his discourse.

  He argued that only presuming the perpetrator was a woman wearing a wig-not a prostitute, but a psychopath-could all the anomalies of the murders be explained.

  "She kills at regular intervals," he concluded. "In, say, twenty-five to twenty-seven-day cycles."

  "During her periods?"

  "Probably. Maybe a few days before or a few days after. But every month."

  "Well…" Thorsen said with a rueful smile, "that gives us an age approximation: twelve to fifty!"

  "What do you think, Ivar? About the whole idea?"

  Thorsen looked down at his drink, swirling the whiskey around slowly in the glass. "Not exactly what I'd call hard evidence. A lot of shrewd guesses. And a lot of smoke."

  "Oh hell yes. I admit it. But have you got any better ideas?"

  "I haven't got any ideas. But on the basis of what you've told me, you want us to-"

  "I don't want you to do a goddamned thing," Delaney said furiously. "You asked me for my ideas and I gave them to you. If you think it's all bullshit, then I-"

  "Whoa, whoa!" the deputy said, holding up a hand. "My God, Edward, you've got the shortest fuse of any man I know. I don't think it's all bullshit. I think you've come up with the first new idea anyone has offered on this mess. But I'm trying to figure out what to do about it. Assuming you're right, where do we go from here?"

  "Start all over again," Delaney said promptly. "They've been checking out escaped mental patients and psychos, haven't they?"

  "Of course. All over the country."

  "Sure they have-male crazies, and probably just homosexual male crazies. We've got to go back and do it all over again, looking for psychopathic women, escaped or recently released. And pull out all the decoys from gay bars and send them to straight places. These killings have nothing to do with homosexuals. And go back through our records again, looking for women with a sheet including violent crimes. There's a hell of a lot that can be done once you're convinced the killer is female. It turns the whole investigation around."

  "You think this should be released to the media?"

  Delaney pondered that a long time.

  "I don't know," he admitted finally. "They're going to find out sooner or later. But publicity might frighten the killer off."

  "Or spur her on to more."

  "That's true. Ivar, I'd suggest keeping this under wraps as long as possible. Just to give us a little time to get things organized. But it's not my decision to make."

  "I know," the Admiral said mournfully, "it's mine."

  "You volunteered," the Chief said, shrugging. "You're now the commanding officer.
So command."

  "I'd feel a lot better about this, Edward, if you could be more positive about it. If you could tell me that, yes, you absolutely believe that the killer is definitely a woman."

  "My gut instinct tells me so," Delaney said solemnly, and both men burst out laughing.

  "Well," Thorsen said, rising, "I've got to get going. I'll spread the news-at least to the people who count."

  "Ivar, there's no need for the media to know I'm working with you."

  "I agree. But some of the brass will have to know, and some of the politicos. And Sergeant Boone, of course. Call him tomorrow morning. I'll have a system set up by then on how he's to liaise with you."

  "Fine."

  "Edward, I want to tell you how happy I am that you've decided to help out."

  "You're a supersalesman."

  "Not really. You can't sell something to someone who really doesn't want to buy. Not to someone as stubborn as you, anyway. But having you with me makes all the difference in the world. May I use your phone?"

  "Of course. Want me to step outside?"

  "No, no. I want you to hear this."

  Thorsen dialed a number, waited a moment.

  "Mary?" he said. "It's Ivar Thorsen. Put himself on, will you? He's expecting my call."

  While he waited, the Deputy Commissioner winked at Delaney. Then…

  "Timothy?" he said. "Ivar Thorsen here. All right, Timmy, I'll take the job."

  He hung up and turned to the Chief.

  "You bastard!" Delaney gasped. "You've got to be the biggest son of a bitch who ever came down the pike."

  "So I've been told," the Admiral said.

  After he had shown Thorsen out, Delaney wandered back into the kitchen. Monica was readying a veal roast for the oven, laying on thin strips of fat salt pork. The Chief took a celery stalk from the refrigerator crisper. He leaned against the sink, chomping, watching Monica work.

  "I told Ivar I'd help him out on the Hotel Ripper case," he offered.

  She nodded. "I thought that was probably what he wanted."

  "He's in command now. I'll be working through Abner Boone."

  "Good," she said unexpectedly. "I'm glad you'll be busy on something important."

  "Have I been getting in your hair?"

  She gave him a quick, mischevious grin. "Not any more than usual. You told Ivar you think it's a woman?"