“Hopefully,” Delaney nodded. “If not that, we’ll have another link with the Maitland kill at least. But I’m betting he’ll show with his trusty blade, all charged up to off her.”
“He won’t pay blackmail?” Jason said.
“He’s not that stupid,” Delaney said. “He’ll guess it’s just the first installment, and he’s got to silence her permanently. That’s how I’d figure if I was him.”
“You think he’s got the balls to take her?” Boone said.
“He did it twice,” Delaney said somberly. “It gets easier.”
The call was set for Thursday afternoon. The Chief had planned it that way so Monica would be absent on her weekly stint as a hospital volunteer; he preferred she not be aware of his use of Rosa Perez as bait. Jason T. Jason was assigned the task of chauffeuring Mama uptown in his car. Boone and Delaney met early in the brownstone to arrange chairs, and set up and test the small tape recorders.
Jason arrived on schedule a little after two o’clock. Delaney was touched to see that Mama Perez had dolled-up for the occasion. She was wearing a shiny purple dress with an embroidered bib of seed pearls, only a few of which were missing. She carried a white plastic handbag with a black poodle painted on one side. Her platform soles gave her an additional three inches of height; the straps wound about fat calves bulging under rose-tinted stockings or pantyhose. The makeup was thick and startling: green eyeshadow, patches of pink rouge, and puckered Cupid’s-bow lips.
“You look terrific,” Delaney assured her.
“You like?” she said delightedly, then shrugged casually. “Is nothing.”
She asked for a drink, and he promptly brought her a double whiskey with water on the side, having no doubts that she could handle it. Sergeant Boone and Jason went into the hall to man their equipment. Delaney had Rosa Perez sit in the swivel chair behind the study desk. He pulled a straight chair close to her where he could listen to the conversation by leaning forward, his ear pressed to the receiver. He was prepared the break the connection if she crossed him.
A few minutes before three o’clock, he dialed the number of Geltman Galleries and handed the phone to Mama Perez. She hitched forward on the padded chair, her back straight, looking very serious and intent.
“Geltman Galleries,” a woman’s voice said.
“Meester Geltman,” Mama Perez said.
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“He don’ know me. Tell heem eet’s about Victor Maitland.”
“Victor Maitland? Perhaps I can help you. What is it—”
“Meester Geltman,” Rosa repeated sternly. “Is important. You jus’ tell heem.”
“Just a moment, please.”
They waited. Delaney nodded encouragingly at Mama Perez and made an O sign with thumb and forefinger. She flashed her gold tooth in a surprisingly impish smile.
They heard clicks on the phone as the call was switched. Then …
“Saul Geltman speaking. Who is this, please?”
“You don’ know me,” Mama Perez said. “I seen your peecture een the paper. But I seen you before that.”
“Oh?” Geltman said easily. “What was that—”
“Sure I seen you,” she went on quickly. “On the stairs. Victor Maitland’s studio. On Friday morning. The day he was keeled.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Geltman said.
“You know,” Mama Perez said. “You know. I seen you there, an’ you seen me. Right, Meester Geltman?”
“I haven’t the slightest—”
“I tol’ the cops I taught it was you,” she continued. “I peeked your peecture out. But maybe eet wasn’t you. Maybe I make a meestake. Eet was a long time ago. I only seen you a meenute. So I could maybe make a meestake. You onnerstan’, Meester Geltman?”
There was silence a moment. They heard his breathing. Then he said, “Wait a minute; I’ll be right back.” Then they heard the scrape of a chair on the floor, footsteps, the sound of a door being closed, footsteps, the creak of the chair as he sat down again.
“Would you give me your name, please?” he asked pleasantly.
“No,” Mama Perez said. “You don’ need to know. I’m jus’ a poor woman, Meester Geltman. A poor woman. You onnerstan’?”
“I think I do,” he said, his voice still steady. “Did the cops put you up to this?”
“The cops?” Mama repeated. She laughed scornfully. “Focking cops! I speet on the cops!”
She spoke that rehearsed line with such genuine vehemence that even Delaney was convinced. He figured that either Geltman would believe, or the whole scam would die right there.
“What do you want?” Saul Geltman asked, and the Chief took a deep breath, guessing the art dealer was hooked.
“I wan’ fiv tousan’,” she said. “I wanna go back to Puerto Rico. I wanna get out of thees steenking seety an’ nevair come back.”
“Five thousand dollars?” Saul Geltman said. “That’s a lot of money.”
“Not so much moaney. Not eef I go away an’ nevair come back. You onnerstan’, Meester Geltman?”
“I think I do. What about the young girl who was with you?”
“My daughter. She goes back weeth me. We nevair come back. Nevair.”
“And what happens if the cops find you in Puerto Rico?”
Mama Perez laughed again. “In Puerto Rico? Nevair, Meester Geltman. But eef they do, then we don’ remember. We don’ remember who we seen near Victor Maitland’s studio that Friday morning he was keeled. We forget; For five tousan’ we forget.”
“Well … uh …” Geltman said cautiously, “maybe we could discuss it. Come to some arrangement to our mutual benefit.”
“Five tousan’,” Rosa Perez said definitely. “Een cash. No check. Cash money. Small beels.”
“You’ve figured this out very carefully, haven’t you?”
“Oh sure.”
“And have you figured out how the money is to be delivered to you?”
Delaney put a finger to his lips, shook his head. Mama nodded and said nothing on the phone.
“I asked how the money was to be delivered,” Geltman repeated. “Have you thought of that?”
“N-n-no,” Rosa Perez stammered. “You mail eet to me?”
“Mail five thousand cash?” Geltman said. “I don’t think that would be smart, do you?”
“No. Maybe not so smart.”
“Of course not,” he said smoothly. “I can see you’re an intelligent woman. Why don’t we meet somewhere, and I’ll hand over the package in person?”
“Where we meet?” she said suspiciously.
“Oh, I can think of half a dozen places,” he said. “Central Park, Grand Central Station, and so forth. But the problem is privacy. We really want privacy for our little transaction, don’t we? You live in Manhattan?”
“Oh sure. Downtown.”
“You live alone?”
“Oh sure. Jus’ me an’ my daughter.”
“Not your husband?”
“My hosbon’ he don’ leeve weeth us. He’s gone.”
“I see. Well, why don’t I deliver the package to you where you live? You give me your name and address, and I’ll bring it to you. How’s that?”
“Well … I don’ know …”
“It’s the best way,” he assured her. “Then we’ll have privacy—right?”
“I don’ like eet,” she said. “Maybe I come to where you leeve?”
“No,” he said. “Definitely not. It’s got to be at your place or the deal is off.”
“Well,” she said dubiously, “all ri’. But no mahnkey beesness.”
“It’s the best way,” he repeated. “I’ll just drop off the package and be on my way. And you’ll be on your way to Puerto Rico. How does that sound?”
“All ri’, I guess,” she said. “Today?”
“Not today,” he said. “I can’t get the money today. It’s after three; the banks are closed. How about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow I work,” she told him. “Saturday?”
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll have it by then. Noon on Saturday? How’s that?”
“Hokay,” she said. “Eet sounds hokay. Five tousan’ een small beels.”
“You’ll get it,” he said confidently. “Now what’s your name and where do you live?”
She gave him the address on Orchard Street, and told him to come to Apartment 6-D. Rosa Perez.
“Fine,” he said heartily. “Your daughter will be there?”
“Oh sure.”
“Good. Thank you for calling. I’ll see you at noon Saturday.”
He hung up. Mama Perez replaced the receiver gently. Edward X. Delaney leaned forward and kissed her cheek.
“You’re beautiful, Mama,” he said.
Sergeant Boone and Jason T. Jason came in beaming from the hallway, carrying their tape recorders.
“Got every blessed word,” Boone said happily.
22
CHIEF DELANEY HAD THEM all wait around until he got through to Ivar Thorsen. He played the tape over the phone and then, at the Deputy Commissioner’s request, ran it through again.
“All right, Edward,” Thorsen said, after the second hearing, “you can have what you want. Let’s get this over with.”
“Sure,” Delaney said. “I’ll keep you informed on what’s happening. I think you better plan to be in your office on Saturday so I—”
“I always am,” Thorsen said ruefully.
“—so I can reach you afterward,” Delaney went on. “You might be thinking about a press statement.”
“You’re awfully confident,” the Deputy Commissioner said.
“That’s right,” the Chief acknowledged, “I am. I think it would be best if you kept me out of it. The publicity I mean. Let the Department take the credit. You know—‘A cooperative effort of all concerned.’ That kind of shit.”
“I understand.”
“Can we get a search warrant for his home and office? To look for the Maitland sketches and the weapon?”
“I don’t see why not—with that tape.”
“We won’t use it until noon on Saturday. Also—say on Friday night—you might call J. Barnes Chapin and give him the bad news about his sister’s tax scam.”
“I’m not looking forward to that.”
“Take my word for it, Ivar, he’ll thank you for the advance notice and owe you one.”
“When are you tipping the IRS?”
“I’m not; you are. Goodwill for the Department. I suggest you hold off until Saturday morning. That’ll give Chapin time to find a lawyer for Dora and Emily Maitland. Let’s see, what else … ? Well, I guess that about covers it. If there’s anything more I need, I’ll let you know.”
“I’m sure you will,” Thorsen said. “Congratulations, Edward.”
“Jesus!” Delaney cried. “Not so soon! You’ll put the whammy on it.”
He hung up and turned to the others.
“It’s going down,” he told them. “Let’s get organized …”
The first thing he ordered was closer surveillance of Rosa Perez.
“This monkey may get an attack of the smarts,” he said, “and decide to show up a few hours or even a day early. I wouldn’t like that.”
So they moved the plainclothesman inside Mama’s building, and sat him on a milk crate in the back of the ground-floor lobby, where he could observe anyone entering from the front or the rear door from the concrete courtyard. And they made certain the trap to the roof in the sixth-floor ceiling was bolted from the inside.
Rosa was a problem; she refused to stay put in her own apartment. So Jason Two was assigned as her personal bodyguard. He accompanied her on shopping trips to drugstore and bodega, and even went drinking beer with her on Thursday night. The other cops started calling him Papa Perez, which he didn’t think was so funny.
Arrangements were made for Dolores and Maria Ruiz to stay with relatives on Friday and Saturday, and Maria agreed to let her apartment be used temporarily by the police. She gave her permission after a long, sparkling argument with Mama Perez. Chief Delaney could understand a few words and phrases in Spanish, but he couldn’t follow that loud, fiery exchange. It sounded to him mostly like threats and curses, but Jason told him later it was really a friendly business discussion; they were deciding how to divide Mama’s hundred-dollar bounty.
The tech man selected by Sergeant Abner Boone arrived early Friday morning, and Delaney told him what was needed. The electronics specialist made a survey of the Perez and Ruiz apartments, took some measurements, and departed. He was back by noon with a van loaded with equipment. Boone helped him upstairs with his gear, and they set to work.
It was decided to leave the cloth curtain of the narrow closet pulled aside. It revealed a rod of hanging dresses and coats, shoes on the floor, a shelf above with odds and ends: a carroty wig on a plastic form, a cigar box of sewing materials, a small overnight bag, three hats, some assorted junk. To this collection they added a small, round vanity mirror held upright on a brass easel. But the mirror was two-way glass, and behind it they concealed a miniature TV camera with wide-angle lens and a sensitive omnidirectional microphone. The tech figured they’d be able to pick up all of the one-room apartment except for the bathroom and the near corner of the kitchenette.
The flat cable was run down the inside of the closet and out a hole drilled through the base close to the floor. The linoleum was then lifted to conceal the cable between floor covering and baseboard. It continued in similar manner across one end of the bathroom and through a hole drilled in the far wall at the floor.
Inside the Ruiz apartment, the cable was connected to both a videotape machine and a small black-and-white TV monitor with an eight-inch screen. A transmitter provided backup protection by sending a simultaneous signal to another monitor and videotape recorder in the electronics van parked across Orchard Street. The van, with antennae on the roof, was painted white with blue signs on both sides: BIG APPLE TELEVISION REPAIR & SERVICE: YOUR SATISFACTION IS OUR REWARD.
It took most of Friday to install the equipment in the Perez and Ruiz apartments, and it was almost midnight before it was working to the satisfaction of the specialist. Men observing the monitors in the Ruiz apartment and in the parked van had a reasonably clear TV picture of activity in Mama Perez’ apartment, and the sound was loud and clear. The videotape recorders picked up both.
Chief Delaney treated everyone to coffee when the task was completed. They discussed job assignments, and the electronics specialist promised to bring along a buddy on Saturday to handle the equipment in the van while he took care of the hardware in the Ruiz apartment. The Chief said he wanted Boone and Jason upstairs. The plainclothesmen who had been on surveillance would cover the entrance of the tenement from across the street and warn by walkie-talkie when Saul Geltman arrived. Delaney asked everyone to show up by eight A.M. for final tests and run-throughs.
Then Sergeant Boone drove him home. During the ride they discussed how they would handle it:
The door of the bathroom on the Perez side would be left open, so Geltman could glance in there if he was suspicious of being mouse-trapped. The bathroom door on the Ruiz side would be locked. If Geltman asked about it, Mama Perez would explain that it led to the adjoining apartment, but no one was home there. After Geltman was settled in the Perez apartment, the Ruiz door would be quietly unlocked. The turn-bolt had already been oiled, and Delaney was satisfied it could be opened slowly and quietly without alerting Geltman.
In case of emergency—and both Delaney and the sergeant knew that “emergency” meant a Geltman assault on Mama Perez—Jason T. Jason would go in first, fast, followed by Boone and Delaney, all armed. In addition, the surveillance men across the street would move over to take backup positions on the sixth-floor landing and on the stairs.
They went over it two or three times, trying “what ifs” on each other, and planning their response to a variety of possible situations. By
the time Boone pulled up in front of the Delaney brownstone, they figured they had done as much plotting as they could. The rest depended on chance and luck.
Before they parted, the Chief offered his hand to a surprised Sergeant Boone. They shook once, a hard up-and-down pump.
He knew Monica would still be awake, and called upstairs to let her know he was home. Then he made his security rounds before he turned off the downstairs lights and tramped up to the bedroom. Monica had been reading in bed, covered only with a sheet, but her glasses were pushed up and her novel was face down when he entered the room. He went over to kiss her cheek.
“You smell like a goat,” she smiled.
“Don’t I though?” he said. “I’m tired and dusty and grumpy. A hot shower for me.”
“Did you eat, dear?”
“Sure I did.”
“What did you have?”
“Pizza for lunch and chili for supper.”
“My God,” she said, “your stomach will be rumbling all night.”
“I suppose so,” he agreed. “But I really enjoyed it.”
“Edward, do you realize that I’ve hardly seen you for the past two days?”
“I realize,” he said.
“Well … tell me: what’s going on? What have you been doing? The Geltman thing?”
“Let me get my shower first.”
They kept a bottle of brandy and two small snifters on the shelf of his clothes closet. When he came from the shower, tying the drawstring of his pajama pants, he saw that Monica had left the bed long enough to pour each of them a good snort. She was back under the sheet, but sitting up, her heavy, tight breasts exposed. She was warming her glass between her palms. His drink was on the bedside table.
“Oh my,” he said happily. “Oh my, oh my, oh my.”
He sat on the edge of the bed and touched the brandy to his lips, taking a sip so small the liquid seemed to evaporate on his tongue. He realized, almost with a shock, that he was content. He put a hand on the sheet covering his wife’s hard thigh.
“I love you,” he said.
“No romance, buster,” she said sternly. “Just talk. What have you been doing?”
He hadn’t wanted to tell her, hoped he wouldn’t have to, knowing it might diminish him in her eyes. But he could not plead “top secret” or “official business.” Not to her. So he sighed and spelled it out, going through it rapidly but making no effort to conceal the fact that he was using Mama Perez as bait, and no matter how detailed and careful their plans, there was still a good possibility the woman would be hurt. Or worse …
Second Deadly Sin Page 40