"Ah, no!" he protested. "No, no, no! I have obtained the names of the three best diagnosticians in New York. I will take our blood profile to these doctors and they will tell me what the illness is."

Delaney laughed. "You never give up, do you?"

Dr. Patrick Ho sobered. He looked at the Chief with eyes suddenly shrewd and piercing.

"No," he said, "I never give up. Do you?"

"No," Delaney said and stood to shake hands.

On the way out, Dr. Ho stopped at the kitchen and showed Monica how to slice raw carrots into attractive curls.

On June 25th, at the morning meeting of the Hotel Ripper task force in Midtown Precinct North, certain personnel changes were decided on.

Lieutenant Wilson T. Crane's squad was reduced to a minimum and most of his men assigned to the task of compiling and organizing the list of women who might have had access to the convention schedule. Lieutenant Crane was put in command of this group.

Detective Daniel Bentley's squad was also reduced, the men being switched to Detective Aaron Johnson's small army who were attempting to track down purchases of Chemical Mace and other tear gases in the New York area.

Detective Bentley was assigned to work with a police artist on sketches prepared from the scant description furnished by cocktail waitress Anne Rogovich.

Sergeant Thomas K. Broderick was given additional men to expedite the questioning of clerks in department stores and jewelry shops where the why not? bracelet was sold.

Everyone recognized that all these personnel shifts were merely paper changes and represented no significant breakthroughs. Still, progress was being made, and it was estimated that within a week, questioning of individual women on the convention schedule access list could begin.

And Detective Johnson reported that at the same time his men could start personal visits to the purchasers of tear gas. Every container, gun, and generator would be physically examined by Johnson's crew-or an explanation demanded for its absence.

It was decided that everyone in the task force-deskmen and street cops alike-would be on duty during the nights of June 29th through July 2nd. Midtown Manhattan would be flooded with uniformed and plainclothes officers from 8:00 p.m., to 2:00 A.M.

In addition, squad cars and unmarked vehicles would continually tour the streets of this section, and some would be parked in front of the larger hotels that were hosting conventions. The Crime Scene Unit was alerted and a command post established once again in Midtown Precinct South.

A larger number of policewomen in mufti were added to the stakeout crews in hotel bars and cocktail lounges. The reasoning here was that the women might be better able to spot suspicious behavior in another female.

It was debated whether or not an appeal should be issued asking the public to avoid the midtown area on the nights in question. It was decided the warning would be counterproductive.

"We'd have whackos flocking in from Boston to Philly," was the consensus.

When the meeting broke up, Delaney and Sergeant Boone walked out into the corridor to find a beaming Dr. Patrick Ho awaiting them. The sergeant gave the Chief a look of anguished entreaty.

"Please," he begged in a low voice, "you take him. Use my office." He hurried away.

After an exchange of polite pleasantries, during which the doctor inquired after the health of the Chief's wife, the two men went into Boone's office. Delaney closed the door to muffle the loud talk, laughter, and shouts in the hallway.

He took the swivel chair. Dr. Ho sat in a battered wooden armchair and crossed his short legs delicately, smoothing his trouser crease to avoid wrinkles.

"Well…" Delaney said, "I hope you have some good news to report."

"Ah, regrettably no," Dr. Ho said sadly, making his face into a theatrical mask of sorrow.

Then Delaney wondered if Boone might be right. Perhaps this busy little man was jerking them around and wanted nothing but a vacation from his regular job.

"You saw the diagnosticians?" he asked, more sharply than he had intended.

"I did indeed," the doctor said, nodding vigorously. "These are very big, important men, and they were exceedingly kind to lend their assistance."

"But no soap, eh?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"They couldn't say what the illness was?"

"Ah, no, they could not. All three agreed it is a most unusual blood profile, completely unique in their experience. Two of them refused to venture any opinion, or even a guess. They said that in the absence of an actual physical examination, they would require much more documentation: X rays, tissue samples, urinalysis, electrocardiograms, scans, sputum and feces tests, and so forth. The third man also would not offer an opinion solely on the basis of the blood profile. However, he suggested a hyperactive pituitary might be involved, but beyond that he would not go."

"Uh-huh," Delaney said. "Well, I can't really blame them. We didn't give them a whole hell of a lot to go on. So that's it? We've taken it as far as we can go?"

"Oh no!" Dr. Patrick Ho said. "No, no, no! I have more, ah, arrows in my quiver."

"I thought you might," the Chief said. "What now?"

Dr. Ho leaned forward, serious and intent.

"There are, in this marvelous country, several diagnostic computers. A fine one at the University of Pittsburgh, another at Stanford Medical, one at the National Library of Medicine, and so forth. Now these computers have stored in their memory banks many thousand symptoms and manifestations of disease. When a series of such manifestations is given to the machine, it is able, sometimes, to make a diagnosis, name the disease, and prescribe treatment."

Delaney sat upright.

"My God," he said, "I had no idea such computers existed. That's wonderful!"

"Ah, yes," the doctor said, gratified by the Chief's reaction, "I think so, too. If insufficient input is fed to the computers, they cannot always make a firm diagnosis, of course. But in such cases they can sometimes furnish several possibilities."

"And you want to send your blood profile to the computers?"

"Precisely," Dr. Ho said, blinking happily. "I would also include the sex of the subject and what physical description we have. I have prepared long telegrams telling the authorities the nature of the emergency and requesting computer time for a diagnosis."

"I don't see why not," Delaney said slowly. "Having started this, we might as well see it through."

"Ah, there is one small problem," the doctor said, almost shyly. "These telegrams will be costly. I would like official authorization."

"Sure," Delaney said, shrugging. "In for a penny, in for a pound. Send them from this phone right here. If you get any flak, say they were authorized by Deputy Commissioner Ivar Thorsen. I'll square it with him."

"Ah, thank you very much, sir. You are most understanding, and I am in your debt."

Dr. Ho rummaged through his scruffy briefcase and brought out several sheets of paper. Delaney let him have the swivel chair and the doctor prepared to phone.

"Tell me, Dr. Ho," the Chief said, "just as a matter of curiosity… If the computers don't come up with a diagnosis, what will you do then?"

"Oh," the little man said cheerfully, "I'll think of something."

Delaney stared at him.

"I'll bet you will," he said.

On July 1st, a Tuesday, at 10:14 a.m., a call was received at 911 reporting a violent death at the Tribunal Motor Inn on 49th Street west of Tenth Avenue. The caller identified himself as the Tribunal's chief of security.

The alert was forwarded to Midtown North. The precinct duty sergeant dispatched a foot patrolman in the vicinity via radio, two uniformed officers in a squad car, and two plainclothesmen in an unmarked car.