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children.”
    :”Good.”
    “What would you like for Christmas?”
    “Me? I’m the man who’s got everything.”
    “That’s what you think, buster. How about a nice cigar case from Dunhill?”
    He considered that. “Not bad,” he admitted. “That old one I’ve got is falling apart. A dark morocco would be nice. What would you like?”
    “Please,” she said, “no more drugstore perfume. Surprise me. Are you going shopping?”
    “No, I’ll hang around awhile. Suarez said he’d call, and I want to be here.”
    “What would you like for dinner?”
    “You know what we haven’t had for a long time? Creamed chicken on buttermilk biscuits with–2’
    “With mashed potatoes and peas,” she finished, laughing.
    “A real goyish meal. A good Jew wouldn’t be caught dead eating that stuff.”
    “Force yourself,” he told her. “I just suffered through a Jewish breakfast, didn’t IT’ “Some suffering,” she jeered. “You gobbled that-” But then the phone rang, and he rose to answer it.
    “Edward X. Delaney here,” he said. “Yes, Chief … Good morning … You did? And what was his reaction? Fine. Fine.
    I thought he’d go for it. Yes, I’ll wait for them. Thank you, Chief * I’ll be in touch.”
    He hung up and turned to Monica.
    “Thorsen okayed everything. I’m getting the car, and Boone and Jason T. Jason will be delegated to me, through Suarez, on temporary assignment. They’re copying the files now and will probably be here before noon.”
    “Can I tell Rebecca about Abner?”
    “Sure. He’s probably told her already.”
    “Are you happy about this, Edward?”
    “Happy?” he said, surprised at the word. “Well, I’m satisfied. Yes, I guess I’m happy. It’s nice to be asked to do a job.”
    “They need you,” she said stoutly.
    “No guarantees. I warned Thorsen and I warned Suarez.”
    “But the challenge really excites you.”
    He shrugged.
    “You’ll crack it,” she assured him.
    “Crack it?” he said, smiling. “You’re showing your age, dear. Cops don’t crack cases anymore, and reporters don’t get scoops. That was all long ago.”
    “Goodbye then,” she said, “if I’m so dated. You clean up.
    I’m going shopping.”
    “Spend money,” he said. “Enjoy.”
    He did clean up, scraps and dishes and coffeemaker. He shouted a farewell to Monica when she departed, then went into the study to read the morning Times and smoke a cigar.
    But then he put the paper aside a moment to reflect.
    You just couldn’t call it a challenge -as Monica had; there was more to it than that.
    Every day hundreds -thousands-of people were dying in wars, revolutions, terrorist bombings, religious feuds; on highways, in their homes, walking down the street, in their beds. Unavoidable deaths, some of them-just accidents. But too many the result of deliberate violence.
    So why be so concerned with the killing of a single human being? Just another cipher in a long parade of ciphers. Not so.
    Edward X. Delaney could do little about wars; he could not end mass slaughter. His particular talent was individual homicide. Event and avenger were evenly matched.
    A life should not be stopped before its time by murder.
    That’s what it came down to.
    He took up his newspaper again, wondering if he was spinning fantastical reasons that had no relation to the truth. His motives might be as complex as those of Michael Ramon Suarez in seeking his help.
    Finally, common sense made him mistrust all these soft philosophical musings and he came back to essentials: A guy had been chilled, Delaney was a cop, his job was to find the killer. That defined his role as something of value: hard, simple, and understandable. He could be content with that.
    He finished his newspaper and cigar at about the same time, and put both aside. The Times carried a one-column story on the Ellerbee homicide in the Metropolitan Section. It was mostly indignant tirades from Henry Ellerbee and Dr. Diane Ellerbee, denouncing the