'All night?'
'Yeah. I got home around seven and didn't go out of the house until Saturday. Ask my wife; she'll tell you.'
'Did you have any visitors Friday evening? See any neighbors? Make or receive any phone calls?'
'No.
'Do you have a police record, Mr. Bellsey?' Delaney asked.
'We'll check, of course, but it would be smart if you told us first.'
Bellsey opened his mouth to speak, then shut it with a click of teeth.
He hesitated, then tried again.
I was never really arrested,' he said grudgingly.
'Not formally, I mean. But I got into trouble a few times. I don't know what's on my record.'
'What kind of trouble?' Jason asked.
'Fights. I was defending myself.'
'How many times?'
'Once. Or twice.'
'Or maybe more?'
'Maybe. I don't remember.'
'Ever get in a fight with Doctor Ellerbee?' Boone asked.
'Ever attack him?'
'Shit, no! He was my doctor. A decent guy. I liked him.'
'How long had you been seeing him?'
'About two years.'
'You own a car?' Delaney asked suddenly.
Bellsey looked at him, puzzled.
'Sure.'
'What kind?'
'Last year's Cadillac.'
'Where do you keep it?'
'In the basement. We have an underground garage.'
'You ever do any repairs on it yourself?'
'Sometimes. Minor stuff.'
'You own tools?'
'Some.
'Where do you keep those?'
'In the trunk of the car.'
Delaney glanced at Boone.
'Mr. Bellsey,' the Sergeant said, 'did Ellerbee ever mention to you that he had been attacked or threatened by a patient?'
'No.
'Did you know any of his other patients?'
'No' 'Did you notice any change recently in his manner or personality?'
'No, he was just the same.'
'What's 'the same'?' Jason asked.
'What kind of a man was he?'
'Calm, cool, and collected. Never blew his stack. Never raised his voice.
A real put-together guy. I cursed him out once, and he never held it against me.'
'Why did you curse him out?'
'I don't remember.'
'When you went -out shopping today,' Boone said, 'what did you wear?'
'What did I wear?' Bellsey said, bewildered.
'I wore a rainhat and a lined trenchcoat.'
'Galoshes? Boots?'
'No. A pair of rubbers.'
'You work for a wholesale butcher?' Delaney said.
'That's right.'
'What do you do-slice salami?'
'Christ, no! I'm the manager. Production manager.'
'You oversee the butchers, loaders, drivers-is that it?'
'Yes.
'YOU must deal with some rough guys.'
'They think they are,' Bellsey said grimly.
'But they shape up or ship out.'
'You ever do any boxing?' Jason Two asked.
'Some. When I was in the navy. Middleweight.'
'Never professionally?'
'NO.'
'You keep in shape?'
'I sure do,' Bellsey boasted.
'Jog five miles twice a week.
Lift iron. Go to a health club once a week for a three-hour workout on the machines. What the hell has all this got to do with Ellerbee's murder?'
'Just asking,' Jason said equably.
'You're wasting my time,' Bellsey said.
'Anything else?'
'I think that's all,' Delaney said.
'For now. Have a nice dinner, Mr. Bellsey.'
There were other people in the elevator; they didn't talk.
But when they got into Jason's car, Sergeant Boone said, 'A real sweetheart. How did you pick up on the boxing, Jose?'
'He looks like a pug. The way he stands and moves.'
'We'll have to get into the trunk of that Cadillac,' Delaney said.
'The ball peen. And let's try to talk to the wife when he's not around.'
'You think he could be it?' Boone asked.
'Our best bet yet,' Delaney said.
'A guy with a sheet, a short fuse, and he's a brawler. I think we better take a very close look at Mr. Bellsey.'
That night, after dinner, he wanted to write out reports of the questioning of L. Vincent Symington and Ronald J. Bellsey. But Monica said firmly that she had to make a start on addressing Christmas cards, so he deferred to her wishes.
She sat in his swivel chair behind his desk in the study. As she worked, adding a short personal note to each card, he slumped in one of the worn club chairs, nursing a small Rum.
He told her about Symington and Bellsey.
When he finished, she said definitely, 'It was Bellsey. He's the one who did it.'
Delaney laughed softly.
'Why do you say that?'
