“Delicious,” he pronounced after his first cup. “Chicory, Mrs. Suarez?”
“A little,” she said faintly, lowering her eyes and blushing at his praise.
“And these,” he said, raising one of the sweetmeats aloft. “Homemade?”
She nodded.
“I love them,” he said. “You know, the Italians and French and Polish make things very similar.”
“Just fried dough,” Suarez said. “But Rosa makes the best.”
“I concur,” Delaney said, reaching for another.
He got the kids talking about their schools, and while they chattered away he had a chance to look around.
Not a luxurious apartment—but spotless. Walls a tenement green. A large crucifix. One hanging of black velvet painted with what appeared to be a view of Waikiki Beach. Patterned linoleum on the floor. Furniture of orange maple that had obviously been purchased as a five-piece set.
None of it to Delaney’s taste, but that was neither here nor there. Any honest cop with six children wasn’t about to buy Louis Quatorze chairs or Aubusson carpets. The important thing was that the home was warm and clean, the kids were well fed and well dressed. Delaney’s initial impression was of a happy family with love enough to go around.
The kids begged to watch an hour of TV—a comedy special—and then promised to go to their rooms, the younger to sleep, the older to do their homework. Suarez gave his permission, then led his visitor to the large kitchen at the rear of the apartment and closed the door.
“We shall have a little peace and quiet in here,” he said.
“Kids don’t bother me,” Delaney said. “I have two of my own and two stepdaughters. I like kids.”
“Yes,” the Chief said, “I could see that. Please sit here.”
The kitchen was large enough to accommodate a long trestle table that could seat the entire family. Delaney noted a big gas range and microwave oven, a food processor, and enough pots, pans, and utensils to handle a company of Marines. He figured good food ranked high on the Suarez family’s priority list.
He sat on one of the sturdy wooden chairs. The Chief suddenly turned.
“I called you Mr. Delaney,” he said. “Did I offend?”
“Of course not. That’s what I am—a mister. No title.”
“Well … you know,” Suarez said with his wry smile, “some retired cops prefer to be addressed by their former rank—captain, chief, deputy … whatever.”
“Mister will do me fine,” Delaney said cheerfully. “I’m just another civilian.”
“Not quite.”
They sat across the table from each other. Delaney saw a long-faced man with coarse black hair combed back from a high forehead. A thick mustache drooped. Olive skin and eyes as dark and shiny as washed coal. A mouthful of strong white teeth.
He also saw the sad, troubled smile and the signs of stress: an occasional tic at the left of the mouth, bagged shadows under the eyes, furrows etched in the brow. Suarez was a man under pressure—and beginning to show it. Delaney wondered how he was sleeping—or if he was sleeping.
“Chief,” he said, “when I was on active duty, they used to call me Iron Balls. I never could figure out exactly what that meant, except maybe I was a hard-nosed, blunt-talking bastard. I insisted on doing things my way. I made a lot of enemies.”
“So I have heard,” Suarez said softly.
“But I always tried to be up-front in what I said and what I did. So now I want to tell you this: On the Ellerbee case, forget what Deputy Commissioner Thorsen told you. I don’t know how heavily he’s been leaning on you, but if you don’t want me in, just say so right now. I won’t be offended. I won’t be insulted. Just tell me you want to work the case yourself, and I’ll thank you for a pleasant evening and the chance to meet you and your beautiful family. Then I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Deputy Thorsen has been very kind to me,” he said. “Kinder than you can ever know.”
“Bullshit!” Delaney said angrily. “Thorsen is trying to save his own ass and you know it.”
“Yes,” Suarez said earnestly, “that is true. But there is more to it than that. How long has it been since you turned in your tin, Mr. Delaney—five years?”
“A little more than that.”
“Then you cannot be completely aware of the changes that have taken place in the Department, and are taking place. A third of all the cops on duty have less than five years’ experience. The old height requirement has been junked. Now we have short cops, black cops, female cops, Hispanic cops, Oriental cops, gay cops. At the same time we have more and more cops with a college education. And men and women who speak foreign languages. It is a revolution, and I am all for it.”
Delaney was silent.
“These kids are motivated,” Suarez went on. “They study law and take courses in sociology and psychology and human relations. It has to help the Department—don’t you think?”
“It can’t hurt,” Delaney said. “The city is changing. If the Department doesn’t change along with it, the Department will go down the tube.”
“Yes,” the Chief said, leaning back. “Exactly. Thorsen realizes that also. So he has been doing whatever he can whenever he can to remake the Department so that it reflects the new city. He has been pushing for more minority cops on the street and for advancement of minorities to higher ranks. Especially appointive ranks. You think I would have two stars today if it was not for Thorsen’s clout? No way! So when you tell me he is trying to save his own ass by bringing you in on the Ellerbee case, I say yes, that is true. But it is also to protect something in which he believes deeply.”
“Thorsen is a survivor,” Delaney said harshly. “And a shrewd infighter. Don’t worry about Thorsen. I owe him as much as you do. I know damned well what he’s up against. He’s fighting the Irish Mafia every day he goes downtown. Those guys remember the way the Department was thirty years ago, and that’s the way they want it to be today—an Irish kingdom. I can say that because I’m a mick myself, but I had my own fights with harps in high places. I agree with everything you’ve said. I’m just telling you to be your own man. Screw Thorsen and screw me. If you want to work on the Ellerbee case on your own, say so. You’ll break it or you won’t. Either way, it’ll be your way. And God knows if I do come in, there’s absolutely no guarantee that I can do a damned bit of good—for you, for Thorsen, or for the Department.”
There was silence, then Suarez said in a low voice, “I admit that when Deputy Thorsen first suggested that he bring you into the investigation, I was insulted. I know your reputation, of course. Your record of closed files. Still, I thought Thorsen was saying, in effect, that he did not trust me. I almost told him right off that I wanted no help from you or anyone else; I would handle the Ellerbee homicide by myself. Fortunately, I held my tongue, came home, thought about it, and talked it over with Rosa.”
“That was smart,” Delaney said. “Women may know shit-all about Department politics, but they sure know a hell of a lot about people—and that’s what the Department is.”
“Well …” Suarez said, sighing, “Rosa made me see that it was an ego thing for me. She said that if I failed on the Ellerbee case, everyone in the city would say, ‘See, the spic can’t cut the mustard.’ She said I should accept help anywhere I could get it. Also, there is another thing. If the Ellerbee crime is solved, Thorsen will try to get me a third star and permanent appointment as Chief of Detectives when Murphy retires. Did you know that?”
“Yes. Thorsen told me.”
“So there are a lot of motives involved—political, ethnic, personal. I cannot honestly tell you which is the strongest. So I gave the whole matter many hours of very heavy thought.”
“I’ll bet you did,” Delaney said. “It’s a tough decision to make.”
“Another factor …” Suarez said. “I have some very good men in my bureau.”
“I trained a lot of them myself.”
“I know that. But none have your tale
nt and experience. I don’t say that to butter you up; it is the truth. I spoke to several detectives who worked with you on various cases. They all said the same thing: If you can get Delaney, get him! So that finally made up my mind. If you would be willing to help me on the Ellerbee homicide, I will welcome your help with deep gratitude and give you all the cooperation I possibly can.”
Delaney leaned forward to look at him. “You’re sure about this?”
“Absolutely sure.”
“You realize I might strike out? Believe me, it wouldn’t be the first time I failed. Far from it.”
“I realize that.”
“All right, let’s get down to nuts and bolts. I’ve been following the case in the papers. Reading between the lines, I’d say you haven’t got much.”
“Much?” Suarez cried. “We have nothing!”
“Let me tell you what I know about it. Then you tell me what I’ve got wrong.”
Speaking rapidly, Delaney summarized what he had read in newspaper accounts and heard on TV newscasts. Suarez listened intently, not interrupting. When Delaney finished, the Chief said, “Yes, that is about it. Some of the times you mentioned are a little off, but not enough to make any big difference.”
Delaney nodded. “Now tell me what you didn’t give to the reporters.”
“Several things,” Suarez said. “They may or may not mean anything. First of all, the victim told his wife he was staying in Manhattan because he was expecting a patient late on Friday evening. We found his appointment book on his desk. The last patient listed was for five P.M. No one listed after five. The receptionist says that was not unusual. Sometimes the doctor got what they called ‘crisis screams.’ A patient who is really disturbed phones and says he must see the shrink immediately. The doctor makes the appointment and neglects to tell the receptionist. She left at five o’clock anyway, right after the last patient listed in the appointment book arrived.”
“Uh-huh,” Delaney said. “Could happen …”
“The second thing is this. The Medical Examiner thinks the murder weapon was a ball peen hammer. You know what that is?”
“A ball peen? Sure. It’s got a little rounded knob on one side of the head.”
“Correct. I asked, and found that such a hammer is used to shape metal—like taking a dent out of a fender. Ellerbee was struck multiple blows on the top and back of his skull with the ball peen. They found many round wounds, like punctures.”
“Multiple blows? Someone hammering away even after he was a clunk?”
“Yes. The ME calls the attack ‘frenzied.’ Many more blows than were needed to kill him. But that is not all. After Ellerbee was dead, the killer apparently rolled him over onto his back and struck him two more times. In his eyes. One blow to each eye.”
“That’s nice,” Delaney said. “Was the rounded knob of the ball peen used on the eyes?”
“It was. When Dr. Samuelson found the corpse, it was on its back, the eyes a mess.”
“All right,” Delaney said. “Anything else you didn’t give the press?”
“Yes. When Samuelson discovered the body, he called nine-eleven, then went back downstairs to wait for the cops. A car with two uniforms responded. Here is where we got a little lucky—I think. Because those two blues, first on the scene, did everything by the book. One of them hung on to Samuelson and his cabdriver, making sure they would not take off. Meanwhile, he called in for backup, saying they had a reported homicide. The second blue went upstairs to confirm the kill. You remember how hard it was raining Friday night? Well, the uniform who went upstairs saw soaked tracks on the carpet of the hall and the staircase leading to the third floor. So he was careful to step as close to the wall as he could to preserve the prints.”
“That was smart,” Delaney said. “Who was he?”
“A big, big black,” Suarez said. “I talked with him, and he made me feel like a midget.”
“My God!” Delaney said, astonished. “Don’t tell me his name is Jason T. Jason?”
It was Suarez’s turn to be astonished. “That is who it was. You know him?”
“Oh, hell yes. We worked together. They call him Jason Two. A brainy lad. There’s detective material if ever I saw it. He’d never go trampling over everything.”
“Well, he did not. So when the Crime Scene Unit arrived, they were able to eliminate his wet prints on the carpet of the staircase and in the receptionist’s office where the body was found. A day later, they had also eliminated Dr. Samuelson’s footprints. He was wearing street shoes and has very small feet. The kicker is this: That left two sets of unidentified wet prints on the carpet.”
“Two sets?”
“Absolutely. The photos prove it. Ellerbee had two visitors that night. Both were wearing rubbers or galoshes. Indistinct blots, but there is no doubt they were made by two different people.”
“Son of a bitch,” Delaney said. “Male or female?”
Suarez shrugged. “With rubbers or boots, who knows? But there were two sets of prints left after Samuelson’s and Jason’s were eliminated.”
“Two sets of prints,” Delaney repeated thoughtfully. “How do you figure that?”
“I do not. Do you?”
“No.”
“Well,” Suarez said, “that’s all the information that has not yet been released. Now let us discuss how we are going to manage your assistance in this investigation. You tell me what you would like and I will make every effort to provide what I can.”
They talked for another half-hour. They agreed it would be counterproductive to run two separate investigations of the same crime.
“We’d be walking up each other’s heels,” Delaney said.
So they would try to coordinate their efforts, with Suarez in command and Delaney offering suggestions and consulting with Suarez as frequently as developments warranted.
“Here’s what I’ll need,” Delaney said. “First of all, a Department car, unmarked. Then I want Sergeant Abner Boone as an assistant to serve as liaison officer with you and your crew. Right now he’s heading a Major Crime Unit in Manhattan North. I want him.”
“No problem,” Suarez said. “I know Boone. Good man. But he …”
His voice trailed away. Delaney looked at him steadily.
“Yes,” he said, “Boone was on the sauce. But he straightened himself out. Getting married helped. He hasn’t had a drink in more than two years. My wife and I see him and his wife two or three times a month, and believe me, I know: the man is clean.”
“If you say so,” Suarez said apologetically. “Then by all means let us have Sergeant Boone.”
“And Jason Two,” Delaney said. “I want to give that guy a chance; he deserves it.”
“In uniform?”
Delaney thought a moment. “No. Plainclothes. I need Boone and Jason because they’ve got shields. They can flash their potzies and get me in places I couldn’t go as a civilian. Also, I’ll want to see copies of everything you’ve got on the case—reports, memos, photos, the PM, fake confessions, tips, the whole schmear.”
“It can be done,” Suarez said, nodding. “But you realize of course I will have to clear all this with Deputy Thorsen.”
“Sure. Keep him in the picture. That’ll keep him off my back.”
“Yes,” Suarez said sadly, “and on mine.”
Delaney laughed. “It comes with the territory,” he said.
They sat back and relaxed.
“Tell me, Chief, what have you done so far?”
“At first,” Suarez said, “we thought it was a junkie looking to score. So we leaned on all our snitches. No results. We searched every garbage can and sewer basin in a ten-block area for the murder weapon. Nothing. We canvassed every house on the street, and then spread out to the whole area. No one had seen anything—they said. We checked out the license plates of all parked cars near the scene of the crime and contacted the owners. Again, nothing. We have more or less eliminated the wife and Dr. Samuelson; their alibis hold up. Now
we are attempting to question every one of his patients. And former patients. Almost a hundred of them. It is a long, hard job.”
“It’s got to be done,” Delaney said grimly. “And his friends and professional associates?”
“Yes, them also. So far we have drawn a blank. You will see all this from the reports. Sometimes I think it is hopeless.”
“No,” Delaney said, “it’s never hopeless. Occasionally you get a break when you least expect it. I remember a case I worked when I was a dick two. This young woman got offed in Central Park. The crazy thing was that she was almost bald. We couldn’t figure it until we talked to her friends and found out she had cancer and was on chemotherapy. The friends said she usually wore a blond wig. We were nowhere on this case, but three weeks later the One-oh Precinct raided an after-hours joint and picked up a transvestite wearing a blond wig. One of the arresting cops remembered the Central Park killing and called up. Same wig. It had the maker’s name on a tiny label inside. So we leaned on the transvestite. He hadn’t chilled the woman, but he told us who he had bought the wig from, and eventually we got the perp. It was luck—just dumb luck. All I’m saying is that the same thing could happen on this Ellerbee kill.”
“Let us pray,” Michael Ramon Suarez said mournfully.
After a while Delaney rose to leave. The two men shook hands. Suarez said he would check everything with Deputy Thorsen immediately and call Delaney the following morning.
“I thank you,” he said solemnly. “For your honesty and for your kindness. I believe we can work well together.”
“Sure we can,” Delaney said heartily. “We may scream at one another now and then, but we both want the same thing.”
In the living room, Mrs. Rosa Suarez was seated before the darkened television set, placidly knitting. Delaney thanked her for her hospitality, and suggested that she and her husband might like to visit his home.
“That would be nice,” she said, smiling shyly. “But with the children and the baby … Well, perhaps we can arrange it.”
Fourth Deadly Sin Page 3
