"I do understand that, doctor, and agree with you. But even with that disclaimer, can you state definitely that Diane was not aware of her husband's infidelity?"
"No, I cannot say that."
"Then, from your observations of her during the past year, can you say she may have been aware?"
"Possibly," Dr. Samuelson said cautiously.
Delaney sighed, knowing he was not going to get any more than that.
"Doctor, Diane strikes me as being a very controlled woman, always in command of herself. Do you agree?"
"Oh, yes."
"Did you ever see her when she was not in control?"
"Only once," Samuelson said with a rueful smile.
"And then it was over such a stupid thing. It happened last year. I was out at their Brewster home for the weekend. It was in the fall, and quite cool. Simon liked to have dinner on the patio, and planned to grill steaks on the barbecue. Diane insisted it was too cold to eat out-of-doors, and wanted us to stay inside.
A furious argument erupted. I stayed out of it, of course. They really went at it, hammer and tongs, and said a lot of things I'm sure they were sorry for later. Finally Diane grabbed the package of steaks-they were beautiful sirloins-ran out of the house, and threw them in the stream. That was the end of our steak dinner. But at least it had the effect of clearing the air, and after a while we were laughing about it, We opened two cans of tuna and had a salad and baked potatoes."
"Indoors?" Delaney said.
"Indoors," Samuelson said.
"That was the only time I ever saw Diane lose her temper. But I admit her anger was frightening."
"I recall," Delaney said, "that when I was speaking to her of the possibility of patients assaulting their psychiatrists, I asked her if she had ever been attacked. She said most of her patients were children, but when they struck her, she hit back.
Is this the usual treatment in situations like that?"
Dr. Samuelson shrugged.
"It is not a technique that I myself would use, but whatever works…
Psychotherapy is not an exact science."
"So I have learned. One final question, doctor-a very personal one: Have you asked Diane Ellerbee to marry you?"
Samuelson looked at him strangely.
"I think you are in the wrong business, Mr. Delaney. Perhaps you should be sitting behind this desk."
"You haven't answered my question."
"The answer is -yes, I asked Diane to marry me. She said no.
"A very independent woman," Delaney remarked.
Samuelson nodded.
Schlepping home in the cold, Delaney pondered the interview and what it had yielded. Not a hell of a lot. He liked that story about Diane throwing the sirloins in the stream. Last year, steaks; this year, a ball peen hammer.
The one question he hadn't been able to ask still gnawed at him: Doctor Samuelson, do you think Diane Ellerbee murdered her husband? Samuelson would have been outraged, and, considering his infatuation, would have been on the phone, warning her, the moment Delaney left his office.
Better that Diane should believe herself unsuspected and safe.
The shock would be that much greater.
He suddenly acknowledged they had all they were going to get. It was time for him to make his move. Not because of Thorsen's end-of-the-year deadline, although that was a consideration, but because the investigation had come up against a blank wall.
There was not going to be a sudden, neat denouement, the killer nabbed and proven guilty. He would have to settle for a half-loaf. But it would not be the first time that had happened to him, he reflected grimly, and he could live with it. All was best, but something was better than nothing.
He worked out the way he was going to handle it, manipulating people by appealing to their self-interest. It wouldn't be perfect justice -but when had justice ever been perfect?
He stopped at a couple of shops on the way home, and when he entered his empty brownstone-the women out shopping again, he supposed-he headed directly for the kitchen. There he made himself two toasted bagel sandwiches layered with cream cheese, sliced red onion, and capers. One sandwich got a thick slab of lox, the other smoked sturgeon.
He spent almost an hour on the phone, tracking down Thorsen and Suarez.
He finally got everything coordinated, and both men promised to be at the brownstone at 9:30 P.m.
Then he tried calling Dr. Diane Ellerbee at her office and at her Brewster home, but got no answer.
He worked all afternoon putting his files in order, holding out only those documents he might need. He then made notes of the presentation he intended to deliver to Thorsen and Suarez. He was confident he would succeed; he couldn't see that they had any choice but to go along with him.
He leaned back in his swivel chair, realizing it was all winding down.
End of the trail. There was a certain satisfaction in that, and a certain sadness, too. It had been a nice chase, an excitement, but now it was done.
He reviewed the way he had handled it and couldn't see how he might have worked it differently with better results. If he had made any error, it was in looking for complexities in a homicide that was essentially simple: The Case of the Betrayed Wife. A detective couldn't go far wrong if he stuck to the obvious.
That night Delaney began by throwing them a curve ball.
"Chief," he said to Suarez, "I want you to arrest Doctor Diane Ellerbee for the murder of her husband."
Thorsen was the first to recover.
"My God, Edward," he said, "the last time we spoke, you said you thought it was the patient-what's her name?"
"Joan Yesell. No, she's clean. She was there on the night Ellerbee was killed, but she didn't do it."
"So it was the wife?" Suarez said wonderingly.
"All the time it was the wife while we were chasing the patients?"
"That's right," Delaney said.
"This is a long story, so bear with me."
He stood and began pacing back and forth behind his desk, occasionally glancing at the notes he had prepared.
He started with the affair between Simon and Joan Yesell, and how it had gone on for almost a year. Diane had probably been aware of it soon after it started, but it was only three weeks prior to his death that Simon had asked for a divorce.
"There's motive enough for you," Delaney said.
"The scorned woman."
He analyzed the personality of Diane: a beautiful woman who had lived a fortunate and sheltered life and never suffered a disappointment. Then her husband says he wants to leave her for a Plain Jane and her whole world collapses.
He described Joan Yesell, a woman energized by love for the first time in her life. She would, Delaney said, have been willing to let the affair continue indefinitely, but he promised her marriage.
"So," Delaney said, "that's our triangle: three passionate and very flummoxed people."
Then Delaney reviewed the murder night, starting with the victim's announced intention of seeing a late patient: Diane's unproven statement that she had left Manhattan for Brewster; Joan Yesell's inability to get a cab, and her late arrival at the townhouse to find Dr. Simon dead.
"Diane had the motive," Delaney argued.
"She had the opportunity, and here's how she got the means…"
He told them about the ball peen hammer stolen from the Brewster garage where the Ellerbees' cars were serviced. He described the stream running through the Ellerbees' property, and stated firmly that he believed the hammer had been thrown into that stream.
He began to pile on supporting evidence: the clause in Simon's will canceling his patients' outstanding bills, Joan Yesell's debt of nearly ten thousand dollars, Diane's erroneous statement that suicide-prone patients often become homicidal…
"All right," Delaney said at last, "let's have your questions. I'm sure you've got them."
"In the absence of the billing ledger," Suarez said, "how do you know Joan Yesell would benefit most f
rom the doctor's canceling of patients' debts?"
Delaney explained that Simon's receptionist, Carol Judd, had provided that information.
Thorsen asked why Delaney was so certain of the intensity of the Ellerbee-Joan Yesell affair.
Delaney told them about the last interrogation of Yesell, her mother's attempt to alibi her, and Samuelson's acknowledgment that he had suspected for some time that Simon was involved with another woman.
Delaney did not mention the flower that Simon wore in his lapel; he doubted they would consider that firm evidence of a romantic passion.
"Why would Ellerbee want to start an affair with such a dull woman," the Chief asked, "if his wife is as lovely as you say?"
Delaney repeated what he had told Boone and Jason-that Simon wanted to improve his women and had tired of being married to a paragon, with his friends constantly telling him how lucky he was.
"Maybe," Delaney added, "he wanted a relationship in which he was the paragon. It must be difficult being married to a work of art."
"Let's get back to that missing billing ledger," the Deputy said.
"Who do you figure took it-Diane or Joan Yesell?"
"Diane," Delaney said promptly.
"Look, Diane wants to implicate Yesell. That's why she gave us Joan's name in the first place. But at the same time, she doesn't want us to find out about Simon's affair. Diane is a very complex woman, torn between a need for vengeance and a need to protect her own self-esteem."
"Why did she put out his eyes?" Ivar asked-and with that question Delaney knew he had convinced them.
Again he repeated what he had told Boone and Jason-that Simon had persuaded Diane that her beauty meant little, but then had begun to look at another woman. She couldn't stand that.
There was silence.
"That's all?" Delaney said.
"No more questions?"
Then, thinking it might be discreet to leave them alone for a few moments, he went into the kitchen and mixed himself a tall rye highball.
He drank half of it off immediately, standing at the sink, then brought the remainder back into the study along with drinks for the others.
"All right," he said.
"Did she or didn't she? Chief, what do you think?"
"I think she did it," Suarez said mournfully, his sad face sagging.
"A beautiful woman like that-it is a true tragedy."
"Ivar?"
"Oh, she's guilty as hell," the Admiral said.
"No doubt about it. But you know what you've got, Edward. Zero, zip, and zilch."
"Hard evidence, you mean?" Delaney said.
"Of course I know that. And we're not -going to get it. Continuing this investigation would be just spinning our wheels. But I want Diane Ellerbee charged for the murder of her husband."
"What good would that do?" Thorsen demanded, looking at him narrowly.
"She'd be out in two hours, and that would be the end of that. And the DA will call us assholes for arresting her."
"I'll tell you what it'll do for me, " Delaney said coldly.
"It'll ruin her. The arrest will be headlined in every newspaper in town, and featured on every TV news program. She's going to walk anyway, isn't she? You know it and I know it. But we can drag her through the mud first. Even when she goes free, everyone will be saying, "Where there's smoke, there's fire." You think her reputation can take that? Or her career? I know we'll never get a conviction on what I've got-probably not even an indictment-but by God, we can make her suffer.
That's what I want.
"As for you two, what you get out of this hyped-up circus is what you want: headlines of an important arrest, with statements by you, Chief, that you're convinced the Ellerbee homicide is cleared. Statements by you, Ivar, congratulating Suarez on his exceptional detective work in solving this extremely difficult case. Don't you think the PC is going to read the papers and watch TV?"
The two men turned and stared at each other. I do not know…" Suarez said hesitantly.
"I am not sure… The law…"
Delaney whirled on him.
"The law?" he said, snorting.
"What the hell has the law got to do with this? We're talking about justice here. She's got to be made to pay. But this can't be decided on the basis of either law or justice. This is strictly a political decision."
"Welcome to the club," Thorsen said with a small smile.
"But what if she sues for false arrest?"
"I wish she would," Delaney cried, "but she's too smart for that.
Because that would bring her into a courtroom, and the carnival would continue. And the whole business of her late husband's affair would be dragged through the press. You think she'd enjoy that? Her lawyers won't let her sue the city after they look over what we've got. No way!
They're going to tell her to forget it, lay low, and don't make waves."
"It's a gamble," the Deputy said thoughtfully.
"Charging someone when we know we don't have an icicle's chance in hell!,of getting a conviction."
I told you it was a political decision," Delaney said.
"It's two days until the end of the year. You can still pull this out if you've got the balls for it."
"I do not like it," Suarez said.
"It is somehow shameful.
But still, the woman is guilty-no?"
"When would you want to do this?" Thorsen asked.
"Take her?" Delaney said.
"Tomorrow night if I can set up a meet."
"Do you want the Chief and me there?"
"No, I don't think that would be wise. You keep your distance until it's done. But have your statements ready, and schedule a press conference.
My God, Ivar, you know how to use the media; you've been doing it long enough.
I'll take Boone and Jason. They've worked hard on this thing and should be in on the kill. And, by the way, Chief-I've got a list of people, including Boone and Jason, who deserve recognition for a hard job well done."
"Of course," Suarez said with a wave of his hand.
"It is understood."
"Good. I'll hold you to that. Now let's get to the nittygritty and figure how this is going down."
He finally got through to Diane Ellerbee late on Monday morning, December 30th.
"Edward X. Delaney here," he said briskly.
"Doctor, there's been a major development in the investigation of your husband's death-something I think you should know about."
"You've found the killer?"
"I'd rather not talk about it on the phone. Could we meet sometime this evening?"
They finally agreed on 8:30 P.m. at the East 84th Street townhouse.
Delaney hung up, satisfied, then immediately called Boone, asking him to pick him up at the brownstone at eight o'clock.
"And bring Jason with you," he told the Sergeant.
"I'd like both of you to be in uniform."
"My God, sir, my blues need cleaning and pressing!"
"Try to get it done this afternoon. If you can't, wear them the way they are. Full equipment for both of you."
A short pause, then: "We're busting her?"
"Tell you tonight at eight," Delaney said, enjoying the suspense game as much as anyone.
He had promised his ladies a fine lunch, and put the Eller bee case from his mind for a few hours while he acted the expansive host. He took them to Prunelle's on East 54th Street, where the women were suitably impressed with the Art Deco decor and hurled maple walls.
"On the first day of the new year," Delaney vowed as they finished, "I am going to start my six thousand four hundred and fifty-eighth diet."
"Another of your one-day diets?" Monica said cruelly.
"You like me massive," he told her.
"More of me to love."
"Hah!" she said.
Their luncheon took almost two hours, and after, the women shared their intention of checking out the post christmas sales in Fifth Avenue stores. Delaney left them o
utside the restaurant determined to walk home and work off some of those calories.
The temperature hovered around the freezing mark, but it was a bright, pleasant day with a washed blue sky dotted with puffy clouds. He tramped north on Madison Avenue, marveling at the proliferation of art galleries, antique shops, and boutiques.
It was a long walk, almost thirty blocks, and he was happy to get in the warm brownstone, unlace his shoes, and treat himself to a cigar. He sat heavily in his swivel chair in the study and began plotting the confrontation with Diane Ellerbee.
He would dress somberly with white shirt and black tie.
Something like a mortician, he thought, amused. The only prop he'd need, he decided, would be a clipboard holding a heavy sheaf of papers. It meant nothing, of course, but it would impress.
He was confident of his ability to wing it, adjusting his attitude and manner to counter her responses. Never for a moment did he expect her to admit anything; she would deny, deny, deny. But, being a civilian, he could badger her in ways a police officer on duty could not. He would not let her off the hook.
What he needed to do, he determined, was to rattle her from the start, knock her off balance, and keep her confused.
She was an intelligent woman with an enormous ego. His best course would be to dent that self-esteem and then keep her disturbed and witless.
He wanted her to say to herself, "Can this be happening to me?"
So sure was he of her guilt that he designed her downfall coldly and without mercy. He never questioned his own motives. If Monica had said to him, "What right do you have to do this?" he would have looked at her in astonishment. For it wasn't his right; it was society's right-or perhaps God's.
Boone and Jason arrived promptly at eight o'clock, both in full uniform.
He called them into the study for a few minutes to give them a quick rundown.
"We're going to take her tonight," he said.
"Let me do the talking, but if you think I've missed something, don't be afraid to chime in. And don't be surprised to hear me state suppositions as facts; I want her to believe we've got a lot more than we actually have."
"One thing we haven't got is a warrant," Boone reminded him.
"True," Delaney said, "but we have probable cause. This is not a minor offense she's being charged with, and I think the courts will hold that a warrantless arrest was justified in this case by the gravity of the crime."
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