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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.”
    “Try,” he urged. “I have a feeling you and my wife would hit it off.”
    She looked at her husband. If a signal passed between them, Delaney didn’t catch it.
    At the door, she put a hand on his arm. “Thank you for helping,” she said in a low voice. “You are a good man.”
    “I’m not so sure about that,” he said.
    “I am,” she said softly.
    They were having a breakfast of eggs scrambled with onions and lox. Delaney was chomping a buttered bagel.
    “What are your plans for today?” he asked idly.
    “Shopping,” Monica said promptly. “With Rebecca. All day. We’ll have lunch somewhere. I’ll buy the Christmas cards and gifts for the