The 1st Deadly Sin

4

The following evening, as he was preparing to leave for the hospital, an envelope was delivered to his home by commercial messenger. The envelope contained a letter signed by the Commissioner, authorizing Captain Edward X. Delaney to undertake a “discreet inquiry” into the homicide of Frank Lombard. There was also a letter signed by the Chief of Patrol granting Captain Delaney an indefinite leave of absence “for personal reasons.” Delaney began to appreciate the clout swung by Thorsen, Johnson, and their friends.

He was about to call Ivar Thorsen from his home, but after dialing two digits he hung up and sat a moment, staring at the phone. He remembered the Deputy Inspector had stressed that the number he had been given was “clean.” He pulled on his overcoat, walked two blocks to a public phone booth and called from there? The “clean” number proved to be an answering service. He gave only his last name and the number of the phone he was calling from. Then he hung up and waited patiently. Thorsen was back to him within three minutes.

“I got the papers,” Delaney said. “Quick work.”

“Yes. Where are you calling from.”

“A public phone booth two blocks from my house.”

“Good. Keep doing that. Use different booths.”

“All right. Have you made any decision on an Acting Captain?”

“Not yet. Any suggestions?”

“I have a lieutenant. Dorfman. Know him?”

“No. But a lieutenant? I’m not sure we can swing it. That’s a boss precinct, Edward. It should have a captain or deputy inspector. I don’t believe there’s any precedent for a lieutenant commanding a precinct.”

“Consider it, will you? Look up Dorfman’s file. Four commendations. A good administrator. A fine lawyer.”

“Can he hack it?”

“We’ll never know until he gets the chance, will we? There’s another thing.”

“What’s that?”

“He trusts me. More than that, he likes me. He’d make a perfect contact. The man to handle the requests I’ll have for records, print identification, research, lab analysis, things like that. It could be shuffled in with the usual precinct paper. No one could spot it.”

“How much would you tell him?”

“As little as possible.”

There was a silence.

“There’s another factor,” Delaney said quickly. “I gave Broughton the idea for Operation Lombard and the homicide was in my precinct. It would be natural for him to think I was pissed-off and jealous. He’ll be suspicious of any possible interference from me. I’m guessing how his mind works from what you and Johnson told me about him.”

“You guess right.”

“Well, he’ll hear I’ve gone on leave of absence, and he’ll relax. He’ll relax even more if he hears Dorfman has been appointed Acting Captain. A lieutenant? And a man with no detective experience? Broughton will cross off my old Precinct as a potential trouble spot, and I’ll be able to use Dorfman as a contact with little possibility of discovery.”

“It’s a thought,” Thorsen said. “And a good one. Let me discuss it with-with others. Maybe we can swing it. I’ll get back to you. Anything else?”

“Yes. I know Broughton came out of patrol. Who’s straw-boss of his detectives on Operation Lombard?”

“Chief Purley.”

“Oh God. He’s good.”

“You’re better.”

“Keep telling me that. I need all the reassurance I can get.”

“When are you starting?”

“As of now.”

“Good. You’ll have the Xerox tomorrow. You understand?”

“Yes.”

“Keep me informed.”

The two men hung up without saying goodby.

Delaney took a cab to the hospital, pressed back into a corner of the rear seat, biting at his thumbnail. He was beginning to feel the old, familiar excitement. Forget his reasoning and emotions about police work His gut reaction was obvious: the chase was on and he was the hunter.

He came into her room smiling determinedly, taking from his pocket a silly little thing he had bought her: a cheap, brilliant brooch, a rhinestoned penguin she could pin to her hospital gown. She held her arms out to him; he bent to embrace her. “I was hoping you’d come.”

“I told you I would. Better?”

She smiled brightly and nodded.

“Here.” He handed her the penguin. “From Tiffany’s. A little over a hundred thousand.”

“Beautiful,” she laughed. “What I’ve always wanted.”

He helped her pin it to the shoulder of her gown. Then he took off his overcoat, pulled a chair over to the bed, sat down and took one of her hands in his.

“Truly better?”

“Truly. I think I should start seeing people. Some close friends.”

“Good,” he said, being careful to avoid false heartiness. “Eddie will be up next week. What about Liza?”

“No, Edward. Not in her condition. Not yet.”

“All right. Shall I call your friends?”

“I’ll do it. Most of them I want to see call me every day. I’ll tell them I’d like to see them. You know-two or three a day. Not everyone at once.”

He nodded approvingly and looked down at her smiling. But her appearance shocked him. She was so thin! The tubes and jars were gone, her face was flushed with the familiar fever, but the frailty was what tore his heart. She who had always been so active, strong, vibrant…Now she lay flaccid and seemed to strain for breath. The hand he was not holding picked weakly at blanket fluff.

“Edward, are you eating all right?”

“Fine.”

“Sticking to your diet?”

“I swear.”

“What about sleep?”

He held out a hand, palm down, then turned it over, then flipped it back and forth a few times.

“So-so. Listen, Barbara, there’s something I must tell you. I want to-”

“Has something happened? Are the children all right?”

“The children are fine. This doesn’t concern them. But I want to talk to you for about an hour. Maybe more. It won’t tire you, will it?”

“Of course not, silly. I’ve been sleeping all day. I can tell you’re excited. What is it?”

“Well…four days ago-actually early in the morning following your operation-there was a homicide in my precinct.” He described to her, as concisely and completely as he could, the discovery and appearance of Frank Lombard’s body. Then he went on to tell her how important it was to solve Lombard’s murder in view of the man’s public criticism of the Department, and how the current reorganization of the Detective Division hampered efficient handling of the case. Then he described his private talk with Deputy Commissioner Broughton.

“He sounds like a horrible man!” she interrupted.

“Yes…Anyway, the next day I filed for retirement.”

She came up from the bed in shock, then fell back, her eyes filling with tears.

“Edward! You didn’t?”

“Yes. I wanted to spend more time with you. I thought it was the right decision at the time. But it didn’t go through. This is what happened…”

He recounted his meeting with Deputy Inspector Thorsen and Inspector Johnson. He detailed their plan for Delaney to make an independent investigation of the Lombard homicide, in an effort to humiliate Broughton. As he spoke, he could see Barbara come alive. She propped herself on one elbow and leaned forward, eyes shining. She was the politician of the family and dearly loved hearing accounts and gossip of intra-Departmental feuding, the intrigues and squabbles of ambitious men and factions.

Delaney told her how he had demanded a letter of authorization from a superior officer before he would agree to the Lombard investigation.

“Barbara, do you think I did the wise thing?”

“You did exactly right,” she said promptly. “I’m proud of you. In that jungle, the first law is ‘Save yourself.’”

Then he told her about receiving the Commissioner’s letter, the authorization of indefinite leave of absence, and his most recent conversation with Thorsen.

“I’m glad you recommended Dorfman,” she nodded happily. “I like him. And I think he deserves a chance.”

“Yes. The problem is making a lieutenant even an acting commander of a precinct. And of course they can’t suddenly promote him without possibly alerting Broughton. Well…we’ll see what happens. Meanwhile, I’ll be getting copies of all the Operation Lombard reports tomorrow.”

“Edward, it doesn’t sound like you have much to go on.”

“No, not much. Thorsen says that so far Operation Lombard has drawn a blank. They don’t have any description of a possible suspect, how he killed, or why he, killed.”

“You say ‘he.’ Couldn’t it have been a woman?”

“Possibly, but the probability percentages are against it. Women murder with gun, knife, and pistol. They rarely bludgeon. And when they do, it’s usually when the victim is asleep.”

“Then you’re really starting from scratch?”

“Well…I have two things. They don’t amount to much and I expect Chief Pauley has them too. Lombard was a tall man. I’d guess about six feet. Now look…” Delaney rose to his feet and looked around the hospital room. He found a magazine, rolled it up tightly, and gripped one end. “Now I’m the killer with a hammer, a pipe, or maybe a long spike. I’m striking down at the victim’s skull.” He raised the magazine above his head and brought it down viciously. “See that? I’ll do it again. Watch the position of my right arm.” Again he raised the magazine and brought it down in a feigned crushing blow. “What did you see?”

“Your arm wasn’t extended. Your right arm was bent. The top of the magazine was only about six inches above your head.”

“Correct. That’s the way a man would normally strike. When you’re hammering in a nail, you don’t raise your arm to its full length above your head; you keep your elbow bent the better to control the accuracy of the blow. You raise your arm just high enough to provide what you estimate to be sufficient force. It’s an unconscious skill, based on experience. To drive a carpet tack, you might raise a hammer only an inch or two. To drive a spike, you’d raise the hammer to your head level or higher.”

“Was Lombard killed with a hammer?”

“Ferguson says no. But it was obviously something swung with sufficient force to penetrate his brain to a depth of three to four inches. I haven’t seen Ferguson’s report yet.”

“Could the killer be lefthanded?”

“Could be. But probability is against it, unless the nature and position of the wound indicate otherwise, and then it might be due to the position of the victim at the moment of impact.”

“There are so many possibilities.”

“There surely are. Barbara, are you getting tired?”

“Oh no. You can’t stop now. Edward, I don’t understand the significance of what you just showed me-how a man strikes with his elbow bent.”

“Just that Lombard was about six feet tall. If the killer raised the weapon about six inches above his own head-which is about the limit any man would raise a tool or weapon before striking downward-and the puncture was low on Lombard’s skull (not so far down as to be in that hollow where the spine joins the skull, but up from that toward the crown of the skull), then I’d guess the killer to be approximately of Lombard’s height or maybe a few inches taller. Yes, it’s a guess. But based, it seems to me, on what little physical evidence is available. And I’ve got to start guessing somewhere.”

“You said you had two things, Edward. What’s the other?”

“Well…I worked this out the morning of the murder. While I was on the scene. Just to satisfy my own curiosity, I guess. What bothered me most about the murder was why a man of Lombard’s size and strength, with his awareness of street crime, alone on a deserted street at midnight, why he would let an assailant come up behind him and chop him down without making any apparent effort to defend himself. Here’s how I think it was done…”

He acted it out for her. First he was Lombard, in his overcoat, walking briskly around the hospital room, head turning side to side as he inspected entrances and outside lobbies. “Then I see a man coming toward me from York Avenue. Coming toward me.” Delaney-Lombard, explaining as he performed, peeked ahead, watching the approaching figure. He slowed his steps, ready to defend himself or run to safety if danger threatened. But then he smiled, reassured by the stranger’s appearance. He moved aside to let the smiling stranger pass, and then…

“Now I’m the killer,” Delaney told a wide-eyed Barbara. He took off his overcoat and folded it over his left arm. Beneath the coat, hidden, the rolled up magazine was grasped in his left hand. His right arm swung free as he marched briskly around the hospital room. “I see the man I want to kill. I smile and continue to walk quickly like a resident of the block anxious to get home.”

Delaney-killer turned his head as he passed Lombard. Then his right hand swooped under the coat. The rolled-up magazine was transferred. At the same time Delaney-killer whirled and went up on his toes. Now he was behind the victim. The magazine whistled down. The entire action took a few seconds, no longer.

“Then I bend over-”

“Get him!” Barbara cried. “Edward, get him! Get him!”

He straightened in astonishment, riven by the hatred and venom in her voice. He rushed to the bed, tried to take her in his arms, but she would not be comforted.

“Get him!” she repeated, and it was a curse. “You can do it, Edward. You’re the only one who can do it. Get him! Promise me? It’s not right. Life is too precious. Get him! Get him!”

And even after he calmed her, a nurse had been summoned, a sedative had been administered, Barbara was sleeping, and he left the hospital, still he heard that virulent “Get him! Get him!” and vowed he would.