"Right," Boone said. "I'll take care of it."

He left the office.

"Edward," Thorsen said nervously, "are you serious about letting that woman try another killing?"

"Ivar," Delaney said patiently, "it may turn out to be the only way we can step on her. You better be prepared for it. Right now, at this moment, we haven't got enough for a clean arrest, let alone an indictment. Believe me, nothing makes a stronger case than 'caught in the act.'"

"If we catch her in time," the Deputy said mournfully.

Delaney shrugged. "Sometimes you have to take the risk. But it may not come to that. We've got two weeks before she hits again. If she follows the pattern, that is. We can do a lot in two weeks. With the round-the-clock tail and the phone tap, we may be able to make a case before she tries again."

"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-"