The Fourth Deadly Sin exd-4

by Lawrence Sanders

  That would be something to remember when he was playing shuffleboard in Florida.

  If Edward Delaney had known what Calazo was planning, he'd have understood how the detective felt and sympathized.

  But that wouldn't have prevented him from yanking Calazo off the case.

  Personal hatreds had a way of fogging a man's judgment, and the downfall of Ronald Bellsey was small potatoes compared to finding Ellerbee's killer.

  At the moment, Delaney had concerns of his own. Chief Suarez called and, in almost despairing tones, asked if there had been any progress.

  Delaney told him there had been a few minor developments, no breakthroughs, and suggested the two of them get together and review the entire investigation.

  They agreed to meet at Delaney's home at nine o'clock on Wednesday night.

  "I wish Mrs. Suarez could come with you," Delaney said.

  "I know my wife would like to meet her."

  "That is most kind of you, sir," Suarez said.

  "I shall certainly ask her, and if we are able to arrange for the children, I am sure she will be delighted to visit your charming home."

  Delaney repeated this conversation to Monica.

  "The guy talks like a grandee," he said.

  "He must drive those micks at headquarters right up the wall."

  "Well, we got an invitation, too," Monica said.

  "Diane Ellerbee called and asked if we'd like to come up to her Brewster place with the Boones this Saturday. I told her I'd check with you first, then call her back. I spoke to Rebecca and she said she and Abner would love to go. Shall I tell Diane it's okay for Saturday?"

  "Oh-ho," he said.

  "Now it's "Diane,' is it? What happened to "Doctor Ellerbee'?"

  "I have a lot in common with her," Monica said loftily, "and it's silly not to be on a first-name basis."

  "Oh? What do you have in common with her?"

  "She's a very intelligent woman."

  "You win," he said, laughing.

  "Sure, call and tell her we'll be there on Saturday. Is she going to feed us?"

  "Of course. She said she's thinking about a buffet dinner for early evening."

  "A buffet," he said grumpily.

  "That's as bad as a cafeteria."

  Promptly at nine o'clock on Wednesday evening, Michael and Rosa Suarez arrived at the brownstone, both wearing what Delaney later described as Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes. Introductions were made and the two couples settled down in the big living room, close to the fireplace, where a modest blaze warmed and mesmerized.

  They talked of the current cold snap, of the problems of raising children, of the high cost of ground beef. Mrs. Suarez spoke little, at first, but Delaney had prepared hot rum toddies (with lemon and nutmeg), and after two small cups of that, Rosa's shyness thawed and she began to sparkle.

  Monica brought out a plate of her special Christmas treats: pitted dates stuffed with almond paste, covered with a flaky pastry crust and then rolled in shredded coconut before baking. Rosa tried one, rolled her eyes ecstatically.

  "Please," she begged, "the recipe!"

  Monica laughed and held out her hand.

  "Come into the kitchen with me, Rosa. We'll trade secrets and let these two grouches talk business."

  Delaney took Suarez into the study and provided cigars.

  "First of all," the Chief said, "I must tell you that I have been forced to cut the number of men assigned to the Ellerbee homicide. We were getting no results, nada, and the murder was a month ago. More than a month. Since then there have been many, many things that demand attention. What I wish to say is that you and the people assigned to you are now our only hope. You understand why it was necessary to pull men off this case?"

  "Sure," Delaney said genially.

  "What are you averaging four or five homicides a day? I know you have a full plate and can't give any one case the coverage it needs. Believe me, Chief, it's always been that way. The problem comes with the territory."

  "On the phone you spoke of some developments. But nothing important?"

  "No," Delaney said, "not yet."

  He then told Suarez how Isaac Kane and Sylvia Mae Otherton had been eliminated as suspects.

  "That leaves us with four possibly violent patients, one of whom has confessed. I don't think that confession is worth a tinker's dam-but still, it's got to be checked out. The alibis of the other three are being investigated. At the moment, I'd say that Joan Yesell is the most interesting. It seems likely her mother lied when she told us Joan was home at the time of the killing. I've got two people working on that."

  "So you are making progress."

  "I don't know if you can call it progress," Delaney said cautiously.

  "But we are eliminating the possibles and getting down to the probables.

  Yes, I guess that's progress."

  Suarez was silent, puffing on a cigar. Then he said, "But what if-"

  Delaney held up a palm to stop him.

  "What if! Chief, the what-ifs can kill you if you let them. I think we've cleared Kane and Otherton. I believe it on the basis of good detective work and a little bit of luck. But what if Kane offed Ellerbee and then cabbed back to the Beeles' apartment on West Eighty-third Street? They might remember him being there on the murder night, but couldn't swear to the time he arrived.

  And what if Otherton called the lobby clerk from outside on the night of the murder? What if she clubbed Ellerbee and then used his office phone to call the clerk just to set up an alibi? All I'm saying is that you can drown yourself in whatifs. A detective has got to be imaginative, but if you let yourself get too imaginative, you're lost."

  Michael Ramon Suarez gave him a warm smile.

  "That is very true-and a lesson I am still learning. It is a danger to assume that all criminals are possessed of super intelligence.

  Most of them are quite stupid."

  "Exactly," Delaney agreed.

  "But some of them are also quite shrewd. After all, it's their ass that's on the line. What I believe is that all detectives have to walk a very thin line between the cold, hard facts and the what-ifs. Sometimes you have to go on a wing and a prayer."

  "But in spite of all this, Edward, you are still confident the Ellerbee case can be cleared?"

  "If I didn't believe that, I'd have told you and Thorsen and cleared out. I have a sense the pace is quickening. We've already eliminated two possible suspects. I think we're going to eliminate more."

  Suarez sighed.

  "And what if you eliminate all six suspects?

  Where do you go from there?"

  Delaney smiled grimly.

  "There you go with a what-if again. If all six are cleared, I can't tell you what I'll do next.

  Someone killed Ellerbee; we know that. If all six patients are eliminated, then we'll look around for other directions to take."

  The other man looked at him curiously.

  "You do not give up easily, do you?"

  "No, I do not. From all accounts, Doctor Ellerbee was a decent man living a good, worthwhile life. I don't like the idea of someone chilling him and walking away scot-free."

  "Time," the Chief said, groaning.

  "How much time can we give this thing?"

  "As long as it takes," Delaney said stonily.

  "I worked a murder-rape for almost two years and finally got the perp. I know your career depends on this being cleared up as soon as possible.

  But I've got to tell you now that if it isn't, and the detectives you've given me are withdrawn, I'll keep working it myself."

  "Forever?"

  "No, not forever. I may be an obstinate son of a bitch, but I'm not a romantic. At least I don't think I am. The time may come when I'll have to admit defeat. I've done that before; it won't kill me. Shall we see what the ladies are up to?"

  The ladies were back in the living room, sitting close together on the couch and obviously enjoying each other's company.

  "We must do this
again," Monica said.

  "Our children will be home for Christmas, but perhaps after the holiday…"

  "Then you must visit our home," Chief Suarez said.

  "For dinner. Rosa makes a paella that is a hint of what heaven must be like."

  "I have a feeling," Delaney said, "that this friendship is going to prove fattening. Tell me, how did you two meet?"

  "Rosa's parents owned a bodega in East Harlem," Suarez said.

  "It was ripped off, and I was a detective third at the time and sent to investigate. The first thing I said to her was, "I shall marry you." Is that not so, Rosa?" She nodded happily.

  "And you?" she asked Monica.

  "My first husband was murdered. Edward had charge of the case, and that's how we met."

  Rosa was shocked.

  "And did-she faltered-'was the killer caught?"

  "Oh, yes," Monica said.

  "Edward never gives up. He is a very stubborn man."

  "That is what I believe also," Suarez said.

  "It is very encouraging."

  "Chief," Delaney said, "if the Ellerbee killing isn't cleared, and you don't get permanent appointment, I suppose you'll be returned to precinct duty. Can you take that?"

  Suarez shrugged, spreading his hands helplessly.

  "It would be a disappointment. I would not be honest if I said I did not care – I could endure it, but still it would be a defeat. I think I would be more sorry for Thorsen than for myself. He has worked very hard to bring minorities into appointive ranks.

  My failure would be his failure as well."

  "Don't worry too much about Ivar," Delaney advised.

  "He'll land on his feet. He's learned how to survive in the political jungle. Something I never did. But you're a young man with your career ahead of you. Do you have any contacts with the Hispanic political structure in the city?"

  "I know some of the people, of course," Suarez said cautiously.

  "But I am not close to them, no."

  "Get close to them," Delaney urged.

  "They have a lot of clout now, and are going to have more as voting patterns change. Let them know you're around.

  Invite them to your home for dinner. All politicians like the personal touch. That's their business. If Rosa's paella is as good as you say, you may have a secret weapon there."

  Her hands flew to her face to hide her blush, and she giggled.

  "I'm serious about this," Delaney continued.

  "You're getting up in ranks where you'll have to pay as much attention to politics as you do to police work. Think of it as another part of your job. I wasn't able to hack it, but don't make my mistakes. This is a big, brawling, confused city, and politics is the glue that holds it together. I admit that sometimes the glue smells Re something the cat dragged in-but can you think of a better, more human system? I can't.

  I'm willing to see us go blundering along, making horrendous mistakes.

  It can be discouraging, but it's a hell of a lot better than a storm trooper shouting, "You vill obey orders!" So get into politics, Chief.

  Or at least touch bases with the heavies. It could do you a lot of good."

  "Yes," Suarez said thoughtfully, "I think you are correct. I have been so busy with the nuts and bolts of my job that I have neglected the personal relations that might have made my job easier. Thank you for your advice, Edward."

  "Don't just thank me-do it!"

  Later that night, preparing for bed, Delaney said, "Nice, nice people."

  "Aren't they," Monica agreed.

  "That Rosa is a doll. Were you really serious about him cultivating the politicos?"

  "Absolutely. If he wants to protect his ass. Thorsen can do just so much.

  But Suarez would be wise to build up some political muscle with the power brokers."

  "Well, if he's going to do that, I better take Rosa in hand.

  She dresses like a frump. She's really a very attractive woman and could do a lot more with herself than she does."

  "You mean," he said solemnly, "you want to convert her into a sex object?"

  "And you can go to hell," his wife said, but Delaney was still pursuing Suarez's career.

  "I don't know the man too well," Delaney said.

  "A couple of meetings, a couple of phone calls… But I have the feeling his strong suit is administration. I really don't think he's got the basic drive to be a good detective. He's a little too cool, too detached – There's no obsession there."

  "Is that what a good detective needs-an obsession?"

  "You better believe it. Abner Boone has it and I'm betting Jason has it, too."

  "Do you have it?"

  "I suppose," he said shortly. He turned to stare at her.

  "You're a beautiful woman. Did I ever tell you that?"

  "Not recently."

  "Well, I'm telling you now."

  "And what, pray, is the reason for this sudden romantic frenzy?"

  "I thought you might be properly appreciative," he said, winking at her.

  "I am," she said, crooking a finger at him.

  Detectives Helen Venable and Brian Estrella had never worked together before, but they found to their pleased surprise that they made a good team. He thought her a bright, vigorous woman willing to take on her share of the donkeywork. She thought him a bit stodgy, but smart and understanding. Best of all, he didn't pull any of that macho bullshit she was used to from other cops.

  She told him everything she had learned about Joan Yesell, and especially the business of Mrs. Blanche Yesell and her Friday night bridge club.

  "The old bitch was lying to us," she said bitterly.

  "Maybe and maybe not," Estrella said.

  "?"here was a bad storm that night; the bridge game could have been called off.

  In that case she was probably home like she says. What's your take on Joan?"

  I can't believe she's the perp. I swear to God, Brian, she wouldn't hurt a fly."

  "But she'll hurt herself. She's suicidal, isn't she?"

  "Suicidal, yes; homicidal, no."

  He went through the. slow routine of packing his pipe, tamping down the tobacco, lighting up, puffing.

  "Helen, sounds to me like you've already made up your mind about this woman. You like her?"

  "Very much. We're even talking about sharing an apartment."

  "Take it easy," he advised.

  "Wait'll we clear her first."

  "Brian, she's such a little mouse. She hasn't got a mean bone in her body.

  I tell you she's just incapable of snuffing Ellerbee-or anyone else. She cries when she sees a stray dog."

  "Uh-huh," he said.

  "The meanest killer I ever scragged raised gerbils."

  "You want to talk to Joan and see for yourself?"

  "Not yet," he said.

  "You keep up the buddy-buddy routine with her, but don't tell her I'm working with you."

  Without making it obvious, he spent all week double checking Venable's investigation- and couldn't fault it. He talked to doctors at St.

  Vincent's, with fellow employees at Yesell's law office, with neighbors, storekeepers, even the postman who delivered mail to the Yesells' brownstone.

  Everything he heard substantiated what Helen had told him: Joan Yesell was a timid, withdrawn woman. The only gossip Estrella picked up was that Blanche Yesell was a real battle-ax who treated her daughter like a cretin without the brains or will to make her own decisions.

  On Friday night the two detectives were slouched in Venable's Honda parked a few doors down from the Yesells' home.

  "With my luck," Helen said gloomily, "Mama Blanche will have the bridge club meeting at her apartment tonight."

  "Doesn't make any difference," Estrella said.

  "If she does, you and I will tail two of the women after the game breaks up.

  Brace them, get their names and addresses, and we'll take it from there.

  But if Mrs. Yesell comes out-" And, while he was talking, she di
d come out. She turned eastward and crossed the street.

  "That's her," Venable said tensely.

  "Okay," Estrella said, "you go after her and get the number of the building she goes into. I'm going to make a phone call.

  Meet you back here." elen took off after the scurrying Mrs. Yesell. Brian headed for Eighth Avenue and used a wall phone in an all night deli. He called the Yesells' apartment.

  A faint voice, "Hello?"

  "Mrs. Blanche Yesell, please," Estrella said.

  "She's not here right now. Who's calling?" -This is Detective Brian Estrella of the New York Police Department. To whom am I speaking?"

  "This is Joan Yesell, Mrs. Blanche Yesell's daughter."

  "Miss Yesell, it is important that I contact your mother tonight.

  There's a document wed like her to sign. It's just routine, but we do have to go by the rules and regulations, you know."

  "A document? About Doctor Ellerbee's death?"

  "Yes. Just her statement that she was home with you on that night. Could you tell me where I might reach her?"

  "She's at her bridge club."

  "Could you give me the phone number so I can contact her?"

  "Well, she's at Mrs. Ferguson's tonight."

  "Do you have the phone number?" he persisted.

  She hesitated a moment, then gave him the number. Using a ballpoint pen, he jotted it down on the back of his hand.

  "Thank you very much, Miss Yesell."

  A few minutes later he was back at the Honda. Helen was waiting for him.

  "I got the address," Venable said.

  "And I got the name and phone number. We're in business." The next morning Delaney felt equally optimistic as he and Monica set out with the Boones for Diane Ellerbee's country home.

  "Looks like a splendid day," Delaney gloated.

  And so it was. A blue sky shimmered like a butterfly's wing. The sun was a hot plate and there, to the east, one could see a faint smudge of white moon. The sharp air bit like ether, and the whole world seemed scrubbed and polished.

  Traffic was heavy, but they made surprisingly good time, stopping only once at a Brewster gas station to ask directions, use the rest rooms, and buy five gallons of gas in gratitude.

  They drove. slowly along a country road, commenting on the mailboxes: a windmill, a miniature house, a model plane.