Fourth Deadly Sin

by Lawrence Sanders

  “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 nice-nice. The only thing that sticks me is why? The doc had the most beautiful wife in the world—wealthy 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.”

  24

  THEY ALL WORKED AS fast as they could, but it was no good. By the evening of December 27th, Delaney had learned little more.

  Helen Venable said she’d swear on a stack of Bibles yea high that Joan Yesell was not pregnant and never had been—but she couldn’t prove it one way or the other. Jason had no luck with Yesell’s physician. The doctor wouldn’t talk and ordered the cop out of his office. Boone’s men got nothing from St. Vincent’s or the other emergency room that had handled Yesell’s suicide attempts.

  The canvassing of hardware stores yielded no better results. No one remembered selling a ball peen hammer to anyone resembling Joan Yesell. The super at her brownstone was questioned, but he didn’t even know what a ball peen was, let alone own one. So that was that.

  “All right,” Delaney said, sighing, “let’s go talk to the lady. The funny thing is, about a week ago, I suggested to Deputy Thorsen that maybe Mama Yesell had lied to cover up her daughter’s affair with a boyfriend. That was on the mark, but who the hell could have guessed the boyfriend was the victim?”

  They drove downtown in Jason’s car and met Venable in front of Joan’s brownstone.

  “You going to take her in?” Helen demanded.

  “Let’s wait and see,” Delaney said. “We’ve got no warrant, and right now we can’t show probable cause. If she confesses—that’s something else again. She’s home?”

  “She and Blanche both.”

  “Fine. You buzz her on the intercom and talk. Then we’ll all go up.”

  When they marched into that overstuffed apartment, the two plump cats looked up at them sleepily but didn’t bother rising. Blanche Yesell’s reaction was more electric.

  “What is the meaning of this intrusion?” she said sharply, her beehive hairdo bobbing with fury. “Haven’t we suffered enough? This is harassment, pure and simple, and I assure you the police department will be hearing from my lawyer.”

  Delaney decided to set the tone of the interrogation right then and there.

  “Madam,” he thundered, “you lied to us. Do you wish to be arrested for obstruction of justice? If not, just sit down and keep your mouth shut!”

  It stunned her into silence. Mother and daughter sat down abruptly on the ornate settee. After a few seconds they clasped hands and looked fearfully up at the four cops.

  “You,” Delaney said harshly, addressing Mrs. Blanche Yesell. “You said you were here with your daughter on the night Doctor Ellerbee was killed. A deliberate falsehood. Do you wish to revise your statement now, madam?”

  “Well, uh …” she s
aid, “I might have stepped out for a few minutes.”

  “A few minutes,” he repeated scornfully, then turned to the three officers. “Did you hear that? A few minutes! Isn’t that beautiful?” He turned back to the mother. “More like three hours and probably four. And we have the statements of your bridge club members to prove it. Three respectable women testifying to your perjury. Do you dare deny it?”

  He had her intimidated, but she wasn’t willing to give up yet.

  “My Joan is innocent!” she cried in an anguished voice.

  “Is she?” Delaney said contemptuously. “Is she really? And that’s why you found it necessary to lie to us, was it?” He moved to confront the daughter, whose face had become ashen. “And now you, Miss Yesell. Were you aware that in his will Doctor Ellerbee canceled his patients’ outstanding bills?”

  The unexpected question startled her. She shook her head dumbly.

  “How much did you owe him?” he said sternly.

  “I don’t remember,” she faltered, “exactly.”

  “Sergeant Boone,” Delaney said, “how much did Joan Yesell owe Doctor Ellerbee?”

  “About ten thousand dollars,” Boone said promptly.

  “Ten thousand dollars,” Delaney repeated, glaring at the young woman. “Much, much more than any other patient. And Doctor Ellerbee was making no effort to collect this debt. Why do you suppose that was, Miss Yesell?”

  “He was a very kind man,” her mother said in a low voice. “And we didn’t have—”

  “You had enough,” Delaney interrupted roughly. “Your daughter had a good-paying, job. You had enough to pay him if you had wanted to or he had dunned you for it. Boone, how do you see it?”

  “I figure their affair started about a year ago,” the Sergeant said glibly. “Then, around April, it got really serious. That was when he stopped noting her late Friday night visits in his appointment book.”

  “Friday nights,” Delaney said, nodding. “Every Friday night he could make it. His wife would take off for Brewster, and you,” he said, staring at the mother, “you would take off for your bridge game. A sweet setup. Did he promise to divorce his wife and marry you?” he shouted at Joan Yesell.

  She began weeping, burying her face in her palms. Detective Venable took one step toward her, then stopped. She knew better than to interfere.

  “We know, Joan,” Delaney said, suddenly gentle. “We know all about your affair with Doctor Simon. Did he tell you he loved you?”

  Her bowed head moved up and down.

  “Sure he did,” Delaney said in a soft voice. “Said he was going to divorce his wife and marry you. But he kept stalling, didn’t he? So you … Jason, where do you suppose she got the hammer?”

  “That’s easy,” the officer said. “Buy one in any hardware store in town. Then throw it in a trash can when you’re finished with it.”

  “No, no, no!” Joan Yesell screamed, raising a tear-streaked face. “It wasn’t like that at all.”

  “You stop this!” Mrs. Blanche Yesell said indignantly. “You stop it this instant. You’re upsetting my Joan.”

  “No, madam, I will not stop,” Delaney said stonily. “Your Joan was having an affair with a married man who was found murdered. We’re going to get the truth if it takes all night.” He whirled on the daughter. “You were there, weren’t you? The night he was killed?”

  She nodded, tears starting up again.

  “What time did you get there?”

  “A little before nine o’clock.”

  “Why so late?”

  “It was raining so hard I couldn’t get a cab. They were all on radio call. So I had to take a bus.”

  “What bus?”

  “Across town to First Avenue. Then up First.”

  “Did you call Ellerbee to tell him you’d be late?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said he’d wait.”

  “You got up to East Eighty-fourth Street and got off the bus. You walked over to his office?”

  “Yes.”

  “What were you wearing?”

  “A raincoat.”

  “Boots?”

  “Yes, I was wearing rubber boots. And I had an umbrella.”

  “All right, now you’re at the townhouse. Then what?”

  “The downstairs door was open.”

  “Which door? Outer? Inner?”

  “Both. The outer door is always open. But this time the inner door was open, too.”

  “How far? Wide open? A few inches?”

  “A few inches.”

  “Then what did you do?”

  “Before I went in, I rang his bell. He always told his late patients to give three short rings. So that’s what I did. But he didn’t buzz back.”

  “And you went in anyway? Through the opened door?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you see tracks on the carpet? Wet footprints?”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  “Then what?”

  “I went upstairs, calling his name. No one answered.”

  “And when you got to his office?”

  Her head sank down again. She shuddered. Her mother slid an arm around her shoulders.

  “Then what?” Delaney insisted. “When you got to his office?”

  “I found him. He was dead.”

  “Where was he?”

  “In the outer office. Where the receptionist sat.”

  “What was his position?”

  “I beg your pardon?” she said.

  “Was he in a chair, lying on the floor, or what?”

  “Don’t you know?” Blanche Yesell said.

  “Shut up!” Delaney snarled at her.

  “He was on the floor,” Joan said, trembling. “Face up. All bloody.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “I screamed.”

  “And then?”

  “I turned and ran.”

  “Did you touch anything in the room?”

  “No.”

  “Did you bend over him, feel for his pulse?”

  “No, no, no!”

  “Then how did you know he was dead?”

  “I just knew it. His eyes were all …”

  “Why didn’t you call the police?” Sergeant Boone asked.

  “I don’t know. I panicked. I wanted to get out of there.”

  “Where’s the book?” Delaney said.

  “What book?”

  “The billing ledger. That you took from the top drawer of the receptionist’s desk.”

  “I didn’t! I swear I didn’t! I didn’t touch a thing.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “I ran out of the office, down the stairs, out of the building.”

  “Did you see anyone in the townhouse?”

  “No.”

  “Hear anything—like someone might be in one of the other offices?”

  “No.”

  “Smell anything—any unusual odors?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  “I ran over to York Avenue. It was still raining. I finally got a cab and came home.”

  “What kind of a cab?” Jason asked. “What color?”

  “One of the big ones with those fold-up seats.”

  “A Checker?”

  “Yes, a Checker cab.”

  “What time did you get home?” Delaney asked.

  “A little before ten o’clock. I think.”

  “And you, madam,” Delaney said, turning to Mrs. Yesell. “When did you get home? Let’s have the truth this time.”

  She lifted her wattled chin. “About eleven-fifteen.”

  “And your daughter told you what had happened?”

  “Yes. My Joan was crying. Almost hysterical. I thought I’d have to call a doctor for her.”

  “Did you?”

  “No. I gave her some aspirin and a nice cup of hot tea.”

  “And then you concocted the fake alibi to lead us astray.”

 
“I didn’t think we should get involved. Joan had nothing to do with the death of that man.”

  Delaney groaned and looked at the officers with a hopeless shrug. “She didn’t think they should get involved. How do you like that?” He turned back to Joan Yesell. “All right,” he said, “let’s go through it again.”

  This time he was even more demanding, pressing her ferociously for details. Were there other passengers on the buses she took uptown on the murder night? Could she describe the drivers? Did she see anyone when she walked over to the townhouse from First Avenue? What time had she called Ellerbee to tell him she would be delayed? Could she describe the driver of the cab she took home?

  Then: When, precisely, had her affair with Ellerbee started? (In March.) How often did they meet? (As often as they could—two or three times a month.) Did he say he wanted to divorce his wife and marry her? (Yes.) When did he first speak about getting a divorce? (About three months ago.) Did he give her money? (No, but he gave her gifts.) Like what? (Jewelry, occasionally. A silk scarf. Things like that.)

  Did Mrs. Yesell know of her daughter’s liaison? (Yes.) Did you object, madam? (Uh … not exactly.) Did Ellerbee say his wife was aware of his infidelity? (He didn’t say.) But he did say he was going to ask her for a divorce? (Yes.) But you don’t know if he ever did? (No.)

  During the whole interrogation, Delaney was at his ruthless best, alternately threatening and conciliatory, roaring and then speaking in the gentlest of tones. He would bully both women to tears, then slack off to give them time to recover. When Joan came close to hysteria, he would switch to the mother, keeping them both off-balance with unexpected questions.

  Finally, when it had gone on more than two hours, and neither Delaney nor the three officers had sat down or removed their coats, he said suddenly: “All right, that’s enough for now. Keep yourself available, Miss Yesell. There will be more questions. Don’t even think of leaving town; you’ll be watched.”

  He began to lead the procession from the apartment.

  Detective Venable said hesitantly, “May I stay awhile?”

  Delaney looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. “Yes,” he said, “you do that. Have a nice cup of tea.”

  Jason drove them uptown. Boone and Delaney sat in the back seat.