"I don' remember."

Delaney sighed. He stood up, but he left the photographs lying there.

"All right, Mama," he said. "But we weren't the only ones looking for you."

She stared at him blankly.

"The killer is looking for you, too," Delaney said. "He must have seen the newspaper stories and the TV, just like you did. He's afraid you saw him and will recognize him. So he's looking for you. He doesn't know we have Officer Jason there, who actually saw you and Dolores on Monday morning. So we found you first. But he'll keep looking. The killer."

"So?" she said, shrugging. "How he's going to find me?"

Delaney looked at her with admiration. She hadn't yet lost her nerve.

"I'm going to tell him," he said.

He watched her face pull tight under the thick makeup. Eyes widened. Lips stretched back to show sharp, cutting teeth. The gold incisor gleamed.

"You?" she gasped.

"Oh, not directly," Delaney said. "But the newspapers have been after us. And the TV stations. They're interested. They want to know: Have you found the woman and girl? We ran the drawings for you; have you found them? So now I'll have to tell them, yes, we found the woman and the girl, thanks to you. And this is their address."

She understood. He didn't have to spell it out for her.

"You do that?" she asked tentatively.

"Oh yes," he said. "I would."

"You are not a nice man," she said.

"No," he agreed. "I'm not."

She flared suddenly into a screamed stream of Spanish that he could only guess was curses, a flood of invective spat at him.

"I don' care!" she yelled in English. "I don' care! Let heem come! Let heem keel me!"

He waited until she was screamed out, until she calmed, sank back in her chair, glaring at him, still muttering. He could afford to wait; he had the key to her.

"Not you," he said. "Not only you. Dolores, too. He'll hurt Dolores."

She stared fiercely at him a moment longer before she crumpled. She never did weep. But the hand that went out was trembling, the finger wavering that pointed to the newspaper photograph of Saul Geltman.

"Thees wan," she said in a low voice. "On the stairs. Me and Dolores, we were coming down. He was going up. We saw heem. He saw us. Thees ess the man."

They were back in Boone's car, watching Orchard Street fill up with street vendors and the Saturday afternoon shopping crowd, streaming down from all over New York for bargains. Delaney sat in the back seat again, an unlighted cigar in his fingers.

"Can I ask you a question, Chief?" Jason T. Jason said, without turning around.

"Ask away," Delaney said expansively. "Any time."

"If she hadn't identified anyone in the photos, would you have given her address to the papers? Like you told her you would?"

"Sure. After putting a twenty-four-hour guard on her. Use her as bait. Smoke him out."

"Wow," Jason Two said. "I learn something new every day. Well, anyway, we got him."

Abner Boone made a sound.

"Something, sarge?" Jason asked innocently.

"We haven't got him."

"Haven't got him?" the black cop said indignantly. "She fingered him as being on the scene of the crime at the right time. I can testify to that."

"Oh sure," Boone said. "That and half a buck gets you on the subway."

"It's no good, Jason," Delaney amplified. "Suppose we take that to the DA's office and ask them to seek an indictment of Saul Geltman for Murder One. Okay, they say, what have you got on him? We say, we got an old Puerto Rican whore who saw him near the scene of the crime about the time it was committed. Okay, they say, what else have you got? That's all, we say. Then they fall on the floor holding their ribs and laughing before they kick our ass out of their office. Jason, we have no case. You can't convict a man of homicide because he was in the neighborhood about the time the killing took place. Where's the weapon? What's the motive? Where's the legal proof? The sergeant's right; we've got nothing."

Jason looked back and forth, Delaney to Boone, frowning.

"You mean this dude is going to walk?"

"Oh no," Delaney said. "I didn't say that. He's not going to walk. He probably thinks he is, but he's wrong."

"Still," Abner Boone said, turning sideways in the driver's seat to look at Delaney, "he must be having some wet moments. Here's how I see it: "Geltman goes down to Mott Street on Friday morning to burn Maitland. On the stairs, going up to the studio, he meets Mama and Dolores. He sees them, they see him. Maybe Mama even hustles him right there; she's got the balls for it. But the important thing is that he's got no way of knowing they just came down from Victor Maitland's studio. Right, Chief?"

"Right."

"Okay. So Saul baby goes up, ices Maitland, and skins out. He goes through his little scam as the anxious agent and then, on Sunday, he returns to the studio, allegedly discovers the body, and calls the cops. Now it gets cute. When the blues come, they find the three drawings Maitland did of Dolores. Geltman is there and recognizes the girl he met on the stairs on Friday. He wants the drawings, but we won't give them to him. I know; I was there. So he goes home sweating, hoping nothing will come of those damned drawings because he's afraid the girl may identify him, not knowing she's a wet-brain."

"Then you and I come around asking questions about the girl," the Chief said.

"Right!" Boone said. "Now he's really shitting. Those fucking sketches could cook him if we found the girl. So he thinks fast-hand it to him-and invites us to his show. You particularly, Chief."

"Sure," Delaney nodded. "To get me out of the house so he can lift the drawings."

"Which he does," Boone continued. "Hell, he could be missing from that mob scene for an hour, and no one would realize he was gone."

"Or he could have hired a smash-and-grab lad," Delaney suggested.

"Easily," Boone nodded. "Maybe one of his golden boys. Anyway, now he's got the sketches and he figures he's home free and can relax. But then, a couple of days later, he picks up the paper and lo! there's the police drawings of Mama and Dolores. He must have had a cardiac arrest right them. Imagine how he felt! Thought it was a piece of cake, and now he finds out the cops know about Mama and Dolores. And that's the mood he's in right now. Is that about the way you see it, Chief?"

"Just right," Edward X. Delaney approved. "I figure that's about the way it happened. But I don't think he's all that spooked. Listen, this is one cool monkey. When I went up to his apartment unexpectedly, he didn't turn a hair. My God, those Maitland drawings were probably right there, in one of his beautiful cabinets."

"Wouldn't he keep them in the office safe?" Boone asked.

"Oh no," Delaney said. "Too many people in and out of the place. Too dangerous. That marvelous apartment is his secret place, his dream. He'll have them there. And won't destroy them, as he should, any more than Mama Perez would spit on her velvet hanging of Jesus on the Cross. They're beautiful things, holy things."

"Search warrant?" Boone asked.

"Mmm ... maybe," the Chief said slowly. "But not yet."

Jason T. Jason had listened closely to this exchange, had followed most of it.

"How we going to nail him?" he asked.

"I don't know," Delaney confessed. "He's got an alibi we've got to break. And I'd like to see a motive. You can convict without establishing motive-but it helps. Especially when you've got damned little else."

"Funny," Abner Boone said, shaking his head. "Saul Geltman. You know, I like the little guy."

"I do, too," Chief Delaney said. "So?"

Boone had no answer to that.

"Sergeant," Delaney said, "think you can stay awake for a few more hours?"

"Sure, Chief. No sweat."

"I'm going to call Deputy Commissioner Thorsen and ask for more men. Round-the-clock surveillance of Mama Perez."

"Could we pull her in as a material witness?" Boone asked him.

"Maybe," Delaney said. "But it won't tip our hand, and she's no good to us in the slammer. A loose tail should be enough. Just to make sure she doesn't skip."

"What about Geltman, sir? Want him covered, too?"

"No. He's not going to run. Unless he spots a tail, and that might panic him. Surveillance of Mama will be enough for starters. You brief the new men when they show up. I'll try to have the first one down here in an hour or so."

"What do you want me to do, sir?" Jason T. Jason asked anxiously, fearing his brief career as a detective was drawing to a close.

"Go home and get some sleep," Delaney told him. And then when he saw the man's expression, he said, "Report to Sergeant Boone on Monday morning. In plainclothes. That means a business suit, not that Superfly outfit."

Jason T. Jason smiled happily.

19.

HE HAD PREPARED A "Things to do" list, and even a time-sequence chart, but on Monday morning all his carefully plotted plans went awry.

He got through to Bernie Wolfe on the first call, but the lieutenant was unable to help him.

"I'm due in court in an hour, Chief," he explained. "Testimony on a Chagall-forgery case. One of my men is out sick, and my other guy is in Brooklyn, digging into the cutting of some Winslow Homer etchings from a library's file copies of the old Harper's Weekly. It's happening more and more."

"Look, lieutenant," Delaney said desperately, "what I need is poop on how the loss of income from Maitland's work will affect the Geltman Galleries. Can Saul continue in business with the other artists he handles, or will he go broke? I figure the best answer to that would come from his competitors on Madison Avenue."

"Or Fifty-seventh Street," Wolfe added.

"Right. Could we do this: if I send Sergeant Boone and another guy to meet you in court, could you give them the names of, oh say a dozen art dealers they could check today and try to get a rundown on Geltman's financial problems?"

"Of course," Wolfe assured him. "That's easy."

"Good. I'll have Boone call you and set up a meet."

"By the way, Chief, I've been mooching around a little. I got nothing hard, but there's some vague talk that you could buy a Maitland painting without going through Geltman Galleries."

"Uh-huh," Delaney said. "Now that's interesting. Many thanks, lieutenant. I'll have Boone call you. And don't forget to call when you can make dinner."

Then he had to wait for the sergeant's hourly report.

"We still got Mama Perez in sight," Boone said cheerfully. "She tumbled to the stakeout and blew her cork. But one of the new men speaks Spanish, and we got her calmed down. Told her the cover was for her protection, and for Dolores'."

"Good," Delaney said promptly. "That could be a plus. How's Jason working out?"

"Fine," Boone said. "Very eager. Chief, he's faster than he said he was. He and I were coming back to his car from breakfast, and there was a punk working on the front window with a bent coat hanger. He saw us and took off, Jason Two pounding along right behind him. Must have chased the kid two blocks, but he caught him. That Jason can run."

"What did he do to the punk?"

"Frisked him, then kicked his ass and turned him loose."

"Sound judgment," Delaney said. "Got good men on Mama Perez today?"

"Oh sure. Old-timers. Not too fast, but they know the job."

"Then here's what I want you and Jason to do ..."

He instructed Abner Boone to call Lieutenant Wolfe and arrange to meet him in court. To get a list of art dealers and to check them out on the finances of Geltman Galleries.

"Competitors are usually happy to gossip about a rival," he told Boone. "Take Jason with you, and the two of you divide up the list. Cover as many dealers as you can. Brief Jason on the case so he knows what's going on. I'll be out most of the day, but you'll be able to get me here later this afternoon. If I'm not in, Monica probably will be, so you and Jason come over and wait for me."

"Yes, sir," the sergeant said. "You think we'll nail him, Chief?"

"Sure we will," Delaney said, with more confidence than he felt.

Then, going down his list, he called the office of J. Julian Simon. Susan Hemley answered, and he forced himself to chat casually with her for a few minutes. Finally ...

"Think I could see the big man this morning, Susan?" he asked.

"Oh no, Chief," she said. "He didn't come in. He's due in court this morning."

"My God," he groaned. "Is everyone going to court this morning?"

"Beg pardon?"