Monica turned to stare at him.
"I said it was gorgeous.
Edward, what on earth is the matter?"
"No, no," he said impatiently.
"I mean when the flowers first arrived and I brought them into the kitchen. What did you say then?"
"Edward, what is this?"
"What did you say then?" he shouted at her.
"Tell me!"
"I said they were beautiful and wondered if they were for the girls. You said no, they were for us."
"And what else?"
"I asked if you wanted a buttonhole. You said you didn't."
"Right!" he said triumphantly.
"I asked if you had ever seen me wear a flower. You said no, not even at our wedding.
Then I asked what you'd think if I showed up wearing a rose in my lapel.
And what did you say then?"
"I said I'd suspect you had fallen in love with another woman.
He smacked his forehead with an open palm.
"Idiot!" he howled.
"I've been a goddamned idiot!"
He went rushing into the study and slammed the door.
Monica looked on in astonishment. After a few minutes she settled down to watch a Christmas Eve program on television.
She resisted the temptation to look in at him for almost an hour, then, maddened by curiosity, she opened the study door just a few inches and peeked inside. He was standing at the file cabinet, his back to her, flinging reports left and right. She decided not to interrupt.
An hour later, figuring this nonsense had gone on long enough, she marched resolutely into the study and confronted him. He was slumped wearily in his swivel chair behind the desk, wearing his horn-rimmed specs. He was holding a sheet of paper, staring at it.
"Edward," she said severely, "you've got to tell me what's going on."
"I've got it," he said, looking up at her wonderingly.
"The man was in love."
It was supposed to be a festive day. They all came downstairs in pajamas, bathrobes, and slippers and opened the tenderly wrapped packages stacked under the tree.
"Oh, you shouldn't have done it!"… "Just what I wanted!"
Delaney had given Monica a handsome choker of cultured pearls which she immediately put on.
Then they all sat around the kitchen table for a big breakfast: juice, eggs, ham, hashed-brown potatoes, buttermilk biscuits, lots of coffee, glazed doughnuts, and more coffee.
Delaney moved through all this jollity with a glassy smile, his thoughts far away. At 10:00 A.M. he ducked into his study.to call Carol Judd, Simon Ellerbee's receptionist. No answer.
He called every hour on the hour. Still no answer. Where the devil was the woman? He sighed. Spending Christmas Day with the boyfriend, he supposed. She was entitled.
There were calls to the girls from Peter and Jeffrey. took an hour-at least. And then all the Delaneys sallied forth for a stroll down Fifth Avenue. They admired Christmas decorations, the tree at Rockefeller Center, and ended up having lunch at Rumpelmayer's.
They walked home up Madison Avenue, the girls stopping every minute to Ooh and Ahh at the windows of the new boutiques. Back in the brownstone, Delaney got on the phone again to Carol Judd. Still no answer.
They spent a pleasant afternoon hearing about the girls' lives at school, but although Delaney listened, he was in a fever of impatience and hoped it didn't show.
After dinner he dived back into his study and continued to call Carol Judd, without success. Trying to control his anger, he went to the files and pulled out certain notes that now had a significance he hadn't recognized before.
Finally, at 10:00 P.m he reached her.
"Edward X. Delaney here. I spoke to you a few weeks ago in connection with the police investigation into the death of Doctor Simon Ellerbee."
"Oh, yes. Merry Christmas, Mr. Delaney."
"Thank you. And a Happy Holiday to you."
He was forcing himself to slow down, play it cool. He didn't want to alert this young woman.
"Miss Judd, a few questions have come up that I think only you can answer. I was wondering if you'd be kind enough to give me a few minutes of your time."
"Well, I can't right now."
That probably meant the boyfriend was there.
"At your convenience," Delaney said.
"Umm… well, I'm working now."
"Glad to hear it," he said.
"With another psychiatrist?"
"No, I'm with a dentist on West Fifty-seventh Street."
"I'll bet I know the building," he said.
"Corner of Sixth Avenue?"
"That's right," she said.
"Don't tell me your dentist is there?"
"No," he said, "but my podiatrist is. I have great teeth but flat feet.
Miss Judd, you've been so cooperative that I'd like to take you to lunch. Do you get an hour?"
"Early. At twelve o'clock."
"There's a fine restaurant on Seventh Avenue just south of Fifty-seventh. The English Pub. Do you know it?"
"I've seen it but I've never been in."
"Good food, generous drinks. Could you meet me there for lunch tomorrow at, say, twelve-fifteen?"
"Sure," she said cheerfully.
"Sounds like fun."
He was at the English Pub promptly at noon on December 26th. He took a table for two, sitting where he could watch the door. Carol Judd came in at 12:20 and stood looking around.
He rose, waved at her. She came over laughing. He held the chair for her.
"Hey," she said, looking around at the restaurant, "this is keen.
He hadn't heard anyone use the word "keen" in twenty years, and he smiled.
"Nice place," he said.
"There's been a restaurant here as long as I can remember. It used to be called the Studio, I think. Would you like a drink?"
"What're you having?"' "Vodka gimlet."
"I think I'd like a strawberry daiquiri. Okay?"
She was wearing a denim smock that hid her limber body.
But her blond curls were still frizzy, and her manner as perky as before. She chatted easily about her new job and the funny things that happen in a dentist's office.
"Maybe we better order," he suggested, handing her a menu.
"We can talk while we eat."
"Sure," she said.
"What're you having?"
"I'm going for the club sandwich," he said.
"I'm a sandwich freak. You have whatever looks good to you."
"Cheeseburger," she said, "with a lot of fries. And another strawberry daiquiri. Hey, you know what happened? Doc Simon left me a thousand dollars in his will!"
"I heard that," Delaney said.
"Very nice of him."
"He was a sweetheart," Carol Judd said.
"Just a sweetheart. I don't have the check yet, but I got a letter from the lawyers. When the money comes, me and my boyfriend are going to take a great weekend in Bermuda or the Bahamas or someplace like that. I mean it's found money-right?"
"Right," Delaney said.
"Enjoy it."
"How you coming on the investigation? You find the guy who did it yet?"
"Not yet. But I think we're making progress."
Their food was served. She doused her cheeseburger and French fries with ketchup. Delaney slathered his wedges of club sandwich with mayonnaise.
"Carol," he said casually, "you told me you did the billing for Doctor Ellerbee. Is that correct?"
"Sure. I mailed out all the bills."
"How did you keep track of who owed what?"
"In a ledger. I logged in every patient's visit. We billed monthly."
"Uh-huh. Did you know the billing ledger is missing?"
She had her mouth open to take a bite of cheeseburger, but stopped.
"You're kidding," she said.
"First I heard of it. Who would want that "The killer," Delaney said.
"Maybe. Where did you keep it?"
/>
"In the top drawer of my desk."
"Everyone knew that? I mean patients and other people coming in and out of the office?"
"I suppose so. I didn't try to keep it hidden or anything like that. No point, was there?"
"I guess not. Carol, the last time I spoke to you, we talked about Doctor Simon's change of mood in the last year. You said he was up and down, happy one day, depressed the next."
"That's right. He became, you know, changeable."
"And also," Delaney said cheerfully, "you mentioned that he wore a flower in his buttonhole."
"Well, it really wasn't in his buttonhole because he didn't have one on his suit. But it was pinned to his lapel, yes."
"And it was the first time you had seen him wear a flower?"
"That's right. I kidded him about it, and we laughed. He was happy that day."
"Thank you," Delaney said gratefully.
"Now let's get back to that billing ledger for a minute. Were there patients who didn't pay or were slow on their payments?"
"Oh, sure. I guess every doctor has his share of slow payers and out-and-out deadbeats."
"And how did Doctor Ellerbee handle them?"
"I'd mail out second and third notices. You know-very polite reminders.
We had a forrn letter for it."
"And what if they didn't pay up, even after the notices?
What happened then? Did he drop them?"
"He never did," she said, laughing and wiping ketchup from her lips with her napkin.
"He was really such a sweet, easygoing guy. He'd say, "Well, maybe they're a little strapped,' and he'd keep treating them. A soft touch."
"Sounds like it," Delaney said. He had finished his club sandwich and the little container of cole slaw. Now he sat back, took a deep breath, and said, "Do you remember the name of the patient who owed Doctor Ellerbee the most money?"
"Sure," Carol Judd said promptly, popping the last French fry into her mouth with her fingers.
"Joan Yesell. She owed almost ten thousand dollars."
"Joan Yesell?" he repeated, not letting his exultation show.
"Ten thousand dollars?"
"About."
"That was more than any other patient owed?"
"A lot more."
"Did you send her second and third notices?"
"At first I did, but then the doctor told me to stop dunning her. He said she probably couldn't afford it. So he just carried her."
"Thank you," Delaney said.
"Thank you very much. Now, how about some dessert?"
"Well…" Carol.Judd said.
"Maybe."
He plodded home on a steely-gray afternoon, smoking a Cuesta-Rey 95 and thinking he owned the world. Well, he didn't have it all, but he had most of it. Enough that made sense. The problem was: Where did he go from here?
The brownstone was silent and empty. The women, he supposed, were out exchanging Christmas gifts. He went into the study and got on the horn.
It took almost an hour to locate Boone and Jason and summon them to a meeting at nine o'clock that night. He was ruthless about it: Be here.
But when they arrived and he had them seated, the study door closed against the chatter of the women in the living room, he wondered how he might communicate his own certainty. He knew it might sound thin, but to him it was sturdy enough to run on.
"Listen," he began.
"I'm convinced Simon Ellerbee was in love, or having an affair, or both, with Joan Yesell. Four women, including his wife, said that his personality changed recently. But they don't agree on how it changed. He was up, he was down, he was this, he was that: a good picture of a guy so mixed up he couldn't see straight. Also, Ellerbee was carrying Yesell on the books. She owed him about ten grand and he was making no effort to collect. I got that from Carol Judd, his receptionist, just-this afternoon."
The two officers were leaning forward, listening intently.
He saw he would have no problem convincing them; they wanted to believe.
"That would explain his will," Boone said slowly.
"Canceling his patients' debts. He put that in for Yesell's benefit.
Right, sir?"
"Right. She owed much more than any other patient. Also, I went through his appointment book again. She's down as a late patient eleven times this year, always on Friday nights.
But the interesting thing is that notation of those Friday night visits stopped in April. Only I don't think the sessions stopped. I believe they went on, but he didn't write them down in his book."
"You think he was screwing her?" Jason asked.
"Had to be," Delaney said.
"A healthy, good-looking guy like that. They weren't playing tiddledywinks up in his office."
"Doctor Diane and Samuelson swear he was faithful," Boone pointed out.
"Maybe they didn't know," Delaney said.
"Or maybe they were lying to protect his reputation. At the moment it's not important. What is important is that Yesell was meeting him late in his office on Friday nights while his wife was heading up to Brewster.
I'll bet my left nut that's what was happening.
Also I dug out a report from Konigsbacher that states Symington saw Ellerbee driving uptown alone on First Avenue at about nine o'clock on a Friday night. I figure he had just dropped off Yesell at her brownstone and was heading up to Brewster."
"The Yesell dame has no car," Jason said, nodding.
"So she probably took a cab or bus to Ellerbee's office. Then he drove her home. That listens."
"Another thing," Boone said.
"Right after we questioned her the first time, she tried to slit her wrists. That could mean guilty knowledge."
"And how about Mama lying to give her an alibi," Jason added.
"I think we got enough right there."
They looked at each other, smiling grimly as they realized they had no hard evidence at all.
"We're going to have to brace her," Delaney said.
"Sooner or later. Her and her mother, too. Really lean on them. But there are a few things I'd like to learn first. If she killed Ellerbee, what was the motive? Maybe he had promised to divorce his wife and marry her and then reneged or kept stalling. That's one possibility. Another is that he knocked her UP."
"Jesus Christ," the Sergeant said.
"Her?"
"It's possible," Delaney argued.
"That woman detective, Helen Venable, she's close to Yesell, isn't she?
See if she can find out if Yesell is pregnant or if she had an abortion.
And while Venable is doing that, Jason, you find out who her personal physician is, and see what he can tell you. Probably not a goddamned thing, but try. Meanwhile, Boone, you get a man to St. Vincent's Emergency and wherever else she was taken after those suicide attempts.
Try to get a look at the records and talk to the doctors and nurses. See if anyone noted pregnancy on her chart."
"A long shot," Boone said dubiously.
"Sure it is, but it's got to be done. Also, cover all the hardware stores in her neighborhood and in the area where she works. See if any clerk remembers selling a ball peen hammer to a woman answering her description."
"You really think she chilled Ellerbee, sir?" Jason asked curiously.
" I really think she was there that night and knows more than she's telling us. Anyway, see what you can find out, and tomorrow night let's all three of us confront her. Maybe we'll take Detective Venable along so Yesell won't be so frightened.
But I want to wring that young lady dry."
"We could take her in," Boone suggested.
"For what?" Delaney demanded.
"Unless we can tie her to the purchase of a hammer, we've got zilch. Our only hope is to break her down. I don't like doing it-she seems like a mousy little thing-but we can't let that influence us. I busted a woman once who stood four-nine and weighed about ninety pounds, soaking wet.
She bashed in her boyfriend's skull
with a brick while he was sleeping.
Sometimes the mousy little things can surprise you. Well, Sergeant,"
Delaney concluded, looking directly at Boone.
"What do you think?"
"As Jason said, it listens," Boone said cautiously.
"I mean it all comes together and makes sense. So Joan Yesell and Ellerbee were making nicenice.
The only thing that sticks me is why? The doc had the most beautiful wife in the world and smart, too. Why in God's name would he risk all that for a fling with someone like Yesell? Compared to Diane, she's a shadow."
"Right," Delaney said, nodding.
"I've been thinking about that. I don't want to get too heavy, but here's how I figure it.
We know Diane was Ellerbee's student. He sees this absolutely beautiful girl who doesn't want to be anything but beautiful… a princess. So he decides to convince her to use her brain. She follows his advice and goes on to make a great career. Sergeant, remember Samuelson talking about the Pygmalion-Galatea syndrome? That's what it was. Now, years later, Ellerbee meets Joan Yesell. He sees something there, too, and tries to bring it out. You know what his problem was?
He had to improve his women. There are guys like that. They can't love a woman for what she is. They have to remake her to conform to some vision of their own. Does any of that make sense?"
"I've got a brother-in-law like that," Jason said.
"Always nudging my sister to do this, do that, wear this, wear that. He just won't let her be. I give them another year or two. Then they'll split."
"That's it exactly," Delaney said gratefully.
"And I think that was part of the attraction Ellerbee felt for Joan Yesell. He wanted to create her. Another thing-everyone kept telling Ellerbee how lucky he was. Remember?
Man, are you ever lucky being married to a real goddess with all those bucks!
Now I ask you: How long could you take that? Wouldn't it begin to wear after a while? Isn't it possible you'd prefer a plain little shadow who thinks you're God Almighty? Or maybe Ellerbee was just bored. Or Yesell was the greatest lay since Cleopatra-or at least better than Diane. In any case there are enough reasons to account for Ellerbee's infidelity.
The poor guy," Delaney added, shaking his head.
"He needed professional help."
They all worked as fast as they could, but it was no good. By the evening of December 27th, Delaney had learned little more.
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