Third Deadly Sin

by Lawrence Sanders

  “We’ve got to,” Thorsen said desperately.

  “Sure,” Delaney said.

  July 13; Sunday …

  She was weary of gnarled thoughts and knotted dreams. There came a time when only surrender seemed feasible. Peace at any price.

  She could endure no more. Those attractive, smartly dressed, happy women she saw on the streets … The men who whispered dreadful things or just glanced at her derisively … It was a city of enemies, a foreign place. Sickened by her own substance, she wanted to be gone.

  “You look so solemn,” Ernest Mittle said. “I feel so good, and you look so sad.”

  “Do I?” she said, squeezing his hand. “I’m sorry. Just thinking.”

  “When you called me the other night, you sounded so down. Is something wrong, darling?”

  “Not a thing,” she said brightly. “I’m just fine. Where are we going?”

  “It’s a secret,” he said. “Do you like secrets?”

  “I love secrets,” she said.

  He had met her in the lobby of her apartment house. She saw at once that he was jangling with nervous excitement, almost dancing with eagerness. And he was dressed in his best summer suit, a light blue, pin-striped seersucker. He wore a dark blue polka-dotted bowtie and, in his buttonhole, a small cornflower.

  He insisted on taking a taxi, showing the driver an address scrawled on a slip of paper. In the back seat of the cab, he held her hand and chattered about the weather, his job, the plans he was making for their vacation together.

  The cab headed downtown and then across Manhattan Bridge. Laughing delightedly, Ernie confessed that they were going for Sunday brunch at a restaurant built on a barge moored on the Brooklyn waterfront.

  “The food is supposed to be good,” he said, “and the view of the Manhattan skyline is fantastic. Okay?”

  “Of course,” she said. “I just hope it isn’t too expensive.”

  “Oh well,” he said, bowing his head, “it’s sort of, uh, you know, an occasion.”

  They weren’t able to get a window table in the restaurant, but from where they sat they had a good view of the East River, the sweep of the Brooklyn Bridge and, in the background, the swords of Manhattan slashing the pellucid sky.

  They had Bloody Marys to start, and then scrambled eggs with ham steaks, toasted English muffins with guava marmalade, and a small green salad. Black coffee and raspberry sherbet for dessert.

  The food was good, and the service efficient but too swift; they were finished and handed their check in less than an hour. On their way out, they passed a growing crowd of customers waiting hopefully behind a chain.

  “A popular place,” Ernie said when they were outside. “Well, the food is all right, and the prices are reasonable. First time I’ve ever eaten on a boat.”

  “It’s different,” Zoe said, “and I enjoyed it. Thank you, dear.”

  The restaurant had set up a number of park benches facing the Manhattan shore. Zoe and Ernie sat on the bench closest to the water. They watched a red tugboat push a string of barges upriver against the current.

  The sun was bright and hot, but a salt-tanged breeze washed the air. A few small clouds, scoops of vanilla ice cream, drifted lazily. Smoke-colored gulls perched atop wharf pilings, preening their feathers.

  And there in the distance, shimmering, were the golden spires of Manhattan. They gave back the sun in a million gleams. The city burned, prancing, a painted backdrop for a giant theater, a cosmic play.

  “Oh, Zoe,” Ernest Mittle breathed, “isn’t it lovely?”

  “Yes,” she said, but she lowered her eyes. She didn’t want to admit that the city could have beauty and grace.

  He turned on the bench so he could face her. He took both her hands between his. She raised her eyes to look at him. His vivacity had vanished. Now he seemed solemn, almost grave.

  “Uh,” he said in a low voice, “there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  “What is it, dear?” she said anxiously. “Is something the matter? Is it something I did?”

  “Oh no, no,” he protested. “No, nothing’s the matter. Uh, darling, I’ve been thinking about you a lot. Every minute. I mean, at work and walking down the street and when I’m home alone and before I go to sleep. I think about you all the time. And, uh, well, I’ve decided I want to be with you all the time. Forever.” He finished with a rush: “Because I love you so much, and I want to marry you, Zoe. Darling … Please?”

  She looked into his eyes and blinked to keep from weeping.

  “Oh, Ernie—” she started.

  “Listen a minute,” he said hoarsely. He released her hands, swung back to face the river, hunched over on the bench. “I know I’m not so much. I mean, I have a good job and all, and I’m not afraid of hard work, and I think I’ll do better. But I’m not much to look at, I know—not exactly every woman’s dream. But I do love you, Zoe. More than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I’ve thought this over very carefully, and I’m sure this is what I want to do. You’re in my mind all the time, and I love you so much that sometimes it almost hurts, and I feel like crying. I know that’s silly, but that’s the way I feel.”

  “Oh, Ernie,” she said again. She took him by the shoulders, turned him to her. She hugged him close, his face pressed into her neck. She held him tightly, stroking his fine, flaxen hair. She moved him away, saw tears in his eyes.

  She kissed his soft lips tenderly and put her palm to his cheek.

  “Thank you, darling,” she said. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. You don’t know how much that means to me, knowing how much you care. It’s the nicest, sweetest thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m so proud.”

  “We could make a go of it, Zoe,” he pleaded. “Really we could. We’d have to work at it, of course, but I know we could do it. When I finish my computer course, I’ll get a better job. And I have some money in the bank. Not a lot, but some. So we wouldn’t starve or anything like that. And you could move into my place. For the time being, I mean, until we can find a bigger place. And I have—”

  “Shh, shh,” she whispered, putting a finger on his lips. “Let me catch my breath for a minute. It isn’t every day a girl …”

  They sat immobile. She held his face between her palms and stared into his brimming eyes.

  “You love me that much, darling?” she said in a low voice.

  “I do, I do!” he declared. “I’d do anything for you, Zoe, I swear it. Except leave you. Don’t ask me to do that.”

  “No,” she said, smiling sadly. “I won’t ask you to do that.”

  “There’s no one else, is there?” he asked anxiously.

  “Oh no. There’s no one else.”

  “Zoe, I can understand that you might feel … Well, you know, having been married once and it didn’t work out, you might feel, uh, very careful before you marry again. But I’d try very hard, darling, really I would. As hard as I can to be a good husband and make you happy.”

  “I know you would, Ernie. You’re a dear, sweet man, and I love you.”

  “Then … ?”

  “Oh, darling, I can’t answer right now, this minute. I’m in a whirl. You’ll have to give me time to think about—”

  “Of course,” he said hastily, “I understand. I didn’t expect to sweep you off your feet or anything like that. But you will think about it, won’t you?”

  “Oh sweetheart, of course I will.”

  “Well …” he said, giggling nervously, “just to keep reminding you, I bought you this …”

  He fumbled in the side pocket of his jacket, brought out a little velvet-covered ring box. He opened it.

  “World’s smallest diamond,” he said, laughing. “But it’s pretty, isn’t it, Zoe? Isn’t it pretty?”

  “It’s beautiful,” she said, looking down at the twinkling stone set in a silver band. “Just beautiful.”

  “Try it on,” he urged. “I didn’t know your size
, so it may be too tight or too large. But the man said it can be adjusted or even exchanged for a different size.”

  She slipped the ring onto her bony finger. It hung loosely.

  “Too large,” she said regretfully. She took off the ring and placed it carefully back into the box.

  “It can be fixed,” he assured her. “Zoe, your fingers are so thin. And what’s this brown stain here?”

  “I burned myself,” she said swiftly. “On a hot pan. It’ll clear up.”

  “Better see about it. Does it hurt?”

  “Oh no. It’s nothing. It’ll go away.”

  She tried to return the ring box to him, but he wouldn’t take it.

  “You keep it, dear,” he said. “Put it someplace where you’ll see it every day and think about what I asked you. Will you do that, Zoe?”

  “I don’t need the ring to remind me,” she said, smiling. “Oh, Ernie, it was so kind of you. And the ring is lovely. It truly is.”

  “You like it? Really?”

  “It’s the most beautiful ring in the world, and you’re the most beautiful man.”

  “Say Yes, darling. Think it over, remember how much I love you, and say Yes.”

  That night, alone in her apartment, Zoe Kohler put the ring on her finger again, making a fist so it wouldn’t slip off. Staring down at that shining circlet, she became aware of happiness as a conscious choice, hers for the taking.

  She would call Dr. Stark and agree to enter a hospital. She would do whatever was necessary, endure any mortification to regain her health. She would throw out all her unnecessary pills and capsules. She would stop drinking, eat only good, nutritious food.

  She would fill out, and her skin would become smooth and pure. She would make her body beautiful, slender and willowy. Her breath would be sweet and her monthly cramps would vanish as she grew content.

  She would end her adventures because there would no longer be a need for them. The police would grow tired of the search, and the Hotel Ripper would fade from the headlines. In a few weeks or months the whole thing would be forgotten.

  She would marry Ernest Mittle. Yes, and send an announcement to her ex-husband! Ernie would move in with her because her apartment was larger. She would keep her job at the Hotel Granger until Ernie was launched on a successful career in computers.

  They would take turns cooking, and hurry home each night just to be together and talk to each other. They would go on wonderful vacations together, walk deserted beaches and swim in an endless sea.

  They would make love gently, tenderly, and find bliss. Then they would sleep in each other’s arms and wake to make love again, with smiles. They would find joy in each other’s body, in their shared passion. They would not do anything ugly.

  Their closeness would keep the brutal city at bay, would defend against the world’s cruelty. They would be the world, a world of two, and nothing would daunt or defeat them.

  Then they would have a child. Perhaps two. They would create a family of their own. With their clean, bright children, they would defy the darkness.

  She replaced the ring in its box and hid it far back in the bureau drawer, next to the WHY NOT? bracelet. She went to sleep smiling, still living her dream.

  It all seemed possible.

  July 15-18; Tuesday to Friday …

  Detective Daniel (“Dapper Dan”) Bentley was given responsibility for the physical surveillance of Zoe Kohler. He used three crews, each on duty for eight hours. Each team consisted of two male and one female police officers.

  Most of their time was spent in an unmarked police vehicle parked outside the subject’s apartment house on East 39th Street or the Hotel Granger on Madison Avenue. The car was changed every day in an effort to prevent easy recognition by the suspect.

  When Zoe Kohler walked to work, went to lunch, or just went shopping or on an innocent errand, one of the surveillance team tailed her on foot, keeping in touch with the stakeout car by walkie-talkie.

  In addition to this close physical watch, a court order for a wiretap was obtained. With the cooperation of the owner of Zoe’s apartment house, a tap and tape recorder were installed in the basement, hooked up to her telephone terminal. Two-man crews were on duty around the clock.

  Gradually, a description of the subject and a time-habit pattern were assembled in the command post at Midtown Precinct North. The existence of Ernest Mittle and Madeline Kurnitz was established by phone call traces, and investigation begun of their relationship with the suspect.

  Also, by means of a collect call made by the subject, the names and address of her parents were obtained. Following Zoe when she visited her bank resulted in an examination of her bank account and credit rating.

  Slowly, the profile of the subject was filled in, with a complete physical description, personal history, her present job, employment record, friends, habits, etc. None of this, of course, added to or subtracted from her validity as a suspect, but it did give substance to the woman. In Midtown North, they began to speak familiarly of her as “Zoe.” A friend of the family.

  Photographs were taken from the surveillance car by a police photographer using a telephoto lens. Blowups of the best pictures were flown to the Coast by a New York detective and shown to Anne Rogovich, the former cocktail waitress. The result was negative; she could not identify the suspect as the woman she had seen with the late Jerome Ashley.

  The same disappointment resulted when the photos were shown to Anthony Pizzi, the waiter at the Tribunal Motor Inn. So Mr. Pizzi was installed in the surveillance car and given an actual look at the subject. He still could not provide positive identification.

  But not all inquiries were fruitless …

  A long, involved discussion was held on how best to determine the disposition of tear gas purchased by Everett Pinckney, security chief of the Hotel Granger.

  “The problem here,” Delaney said, “is that if he gave her a can of the stuff, or she pinched it, then questions about it are sure to spook her. If she still has the can—maybe it’s half-full—she’s sure to dump it. And if she’s already gotten rid of it, the questions will give her a chance to frame a story.”

  “Maybe we can tell this Pinckney to keep his trap shut,” Sergeant Boone said.

  “You can tell him,” the Chief said, “but don’t take it to the bank.” He thought a moment, then: “Look, let’s handle this in a conventional way. Just go in, verify the purchase with Pinckney, and say we’ll be back in a week or so for a physical count of the containers he bought. Treat it very casually. If he mentions it to her, it may scare her into doing something foolish. Johnson, can you handle it?”

  “I’ll do it personally,” the detective said. “No sweat. I want to get a look at the lady anyway.”

  So Detective Aaron Johnson visited Security Chief Everett Pinckney at the Hotel Granger. His cover story was that he was investigating a wholesale burglary of Chemical Mace and was tracing the serial numbers of every can sold in the New York area.

  “The good news,” he reported later, “is that this Pinckney admits the purchase, and says he handed out the spray dispensers to his assistants, including Zoe. He’s got the grenades right there in his office and says he’ll collect the spray cans from the others for examination. The bad news is that I didn’t get to see her; she was out to lunch or some such.”

  That, at least, proved Zoe’s access to a can of tear gas. It was a plus but, as Sergeant Boone said, “a little bitty plus.”

  More important was the result of a search of Zoe Kohler’s apartment, a completely illegal enterprise. It was planned at a meeting attended only by Delaney, Boone, and Detective Bentley. Deputy Commissioner Ivar Thorsen was deliberately not informed of the plan; the Chief wanted to shield him from guilty knowledge.

  “We can get a man in there easy,” Abner Boone explained to Bentley. “The owner will go along. Our guy will be a maintenance man, porter, repairman, or whatever—in case any of the tenants spot him and ask questions. He’ll go in when
she’s at work; we’ll verify that with the tails.”

  “The problem,” Delaney said, “is that he’ll have to pick the lock. We don’t want to ask the owner for a passkey. The fewer people who know about this, the better. Also, we need a fast guy, someone who’ll get in, toss the place, and be out in, say, an hour or less.”

  “Got just the guy,” Bentley said promptly. “Ramon Gonzales, a PR. Naturally, we call him ‘Speedy.’ He’s a fast man on locks and he’ll be in and out of there so quick and so slick no one will notice a thing. What does he look for?”

  “A spray dispenser of tear gas,” Boone said. “A pocket knife, or jackknife, switchblade—anything like that. Also, a gold link bracelet with the words WHY NOT? on it. And clothes, flashy clothes. A dark green dress with skinny straps. High-heeled shoes. She wore those to the Ashley kill. And a white turtleneck sweater and a denim thing with shoulder straps. The stuff she was wearing when she wasted the LaBranche boy. Anything else, Chief?”

  “Yes,” Delaney said. “Tell him to look for nylon wigs. Black and strawberry blond. Tell this Speedy Gonzales to wear gloves and to touch as little as possible, move things as little as possible. And don’t, for God’s sake, bring anything out with him. Leave everything exactly where it is.”

  “She’ll never know she had a visitor,” Bentley assured them.

  Two days later, he was back with a report. He consulted a notebook, flipping the pages as he talked …

  “No problems,” he said. “Speedy didn’t see anyone except the guy on the lobby desk who talked a minute or two but didn’t ask any questions. The owner had told him to expect a guy who was going to make an estimate on cleaning the hallway rugs. Speedy got into Zoe’s apartment with no trouble. He says the locks were a joke. He was inside less than an hour, gave the place a complete toss. He found that WHY NOT? bracelet and the dark green dress with thin shoulder straps. Her clothes are mostly plain and dull, but the fancy stuff is hidden in the back of a closet. A lot of hooker’s dresses there, Speedy says. He didn’t find any knife or can of tear gas.”