'I'll just go on wallowing in my pigsty.','Do, you own a ball peen hammer?' Boone asked abruptly.
'No, I do not own a ball peen hammer. Okay? I'm going to have a beer.
Anyone want one?'
They both declined.. Gerber popped the tab on a can of Pabst and settled back on the cot, leaning against the clammy wall.
'How often did you see Ellerbee?' Delaney said.
'Twice a week. I'd have gone more often if I could have afforded it. He was helping me.'
'When was the last time you got in trouble?'
'Ah-ha,' Gerber said, showing his teeth.
'You know about that, do you?
Well, I haven't acted up in the last six months or so. Doc Simon told me if I got the urge-felt real out, you know -I could call him any hour of the day or night. I never did, but just knowing he was there was a big help.'
'Where were you the Friday night he got killed?'
'Bar-hopping around the Village.'
'In the rain?'
'That's right. I didn't get home until after midnight. I was in the bag.'
'Do you remember where you went?'
'I have some favorite hangouts. I guess I went there.'
'See anyone you know? Talk to anyone?'
'The bartenders. They'll probably remember me; I'm the world's smallest tipper-if I tip at all. Usually I stiff them.
Bartenders and waiters tend to remember things like that.'
'Can you recall where you were from, say, eight o'clock to ten?'
'No, I can't.'
'You better try,' Boone advised.
'Make out a list of your hangouts-the ones you hit that Friday night.
There'll be another cop coming around asking questions.'
'Shit,' Gerber said, 'I've told you guys all I know.'
'I don't think so,' Delaney said coldly.
'I think you're holding out on us.'
'Sure I am,' Gerber said in his hoarse voice.
'My deep, dark secret is that I once met Doc Simon's wife and I wanted to jump her. She's some sweet piece. Now are you satisfied?'
'You think this is all a big, fat joke, don't you?' Delaney said.
'Let me tell you what we're going to do about you, Mr. Gerber. We're going to check you out from the day you were popped to this minute.
We're going to talk to your family, relatives, friends. We'll go into your military record from A to Z. We'll even find out why you got busted from sergeant.
Then we'll talk to people in this building, your women, the bartenders, anyone you deal with. We'll question the strangers you assaulted and the doctors at St. Vincent's who stitched you up. By the time we're through, we'll know more about you than you know about yourself. So don't play cute with us, Mr. Gerber; you haven't got a secret in the world. Come on, Boone, let's go; I need some fresh air.'
While they were picking their way carefully down the filthy staircase, Boone said in a low voice, 'Are we really going to do all that, sir?
What you told him?'
'Hell, no,' Delaney said grumpily.
'We haven't got the time.'
They sat in the car a few moments, the heater coughing away, while Boone lighted a cigarette.
'You really think he's holding out?' Boone asked.
'I don't know,' Delaney said, troubled.
'That session was nutsville. His moods shifted around so often and so quickly.
One minute he's cooperating, and the next he's a wiseass cracking jokes.
But remember, the man was in a dirty war and probably did his share of killing. For some guys-not all, but some-once they've killed, the others come easier until it doesn't mean a goddamn thing to them. The first is the hard one. Then it's just as mechanical as a habit. A life? What's that?'
'I feel sorry for him,' Boone said.
'Sure. I do, too. But I feel sorrier for Simon Ellerbee.
We've got to ration our sympathy in this world, Sergeant; we only have so much. Listen, it's still early; why don't we skip lunch and drive up to Chelsea. Maybe we can catch Joan Yesell at home. Then we'll be finished and can take the rest of the day off.'
'Sounds good to me. Let's go.'
Joan Yesell lived on West 24th Street, in a staid block of almost identical brownstones. It was a pleasingly clean street, garbage tucked away in lidded cans, the gutters swept. Windows were washed, faqades free of graffiti, and a line of naked ginkgo trees waited for spring.
'Now this is something like,' Delaney said approvingly, 'Little Old New York. 0. Henry lived somewhere around here, didn't he?'
'East of here, sir,' Boone said.
'In the Gramercy Park area. The bar where he drank is still in business.'
'in your drinking days, Sergeant, did you ever fall into Mcsorley's Old Ale House?'
'I fell into every bar in the city.'
'Miss it?' Delaney asked curiously.
'Oh, God, yes! Every day of my life. You remember the highs; you don't remember wetting the bed.'
'How long have you been dry now-four years?'
'About. But dipsos don't count years; you take it day by day.'
'I guess,' Delaney said, sighing.
'My old man owned a saloon on Third Avenue-did you know that?'
'No, I didn't,' Boone said, interested.
'When was this?'
'Oh, hell, a long time ago. I worked behind the stick on afternoons when I was going to night school. I saw my share of boozers. Maybe that's why I never went off the deep end -although I do my share, as you well know.
Enough of this.
What have you got on Joan Yesell?'
'One of Suarez's boys checked her out. Lives with her widowed mother.
Works as a legal secretary in a big law firm up on Park. Takes home a nice buck. Never been married.
Those three suicide attempts Doctor Diane mentioned proved out in emergency room records. She claims that on the evening Ellerbee was killed she was home all night. Got back from work around six o'clock and never went out. Her mother confirms.'
'All right,' Delaney said, 'let's go through the drill again.
The last time-I hope.'
The ornate wood molding in the vestibule had been painted a hellish orange.
'Look at this,' Delaney said, rapping it with a knuckle.
'Probably eighteen coats of paint on there. You strip it down and there's beautiful walnut or cherry underneath. You can't buy molding like that anymore. Someone did a lousy restoration job.'
There were two names opposite the bell for apartment 3-C: Mrs. Blanche Yesell and J. Yesell.
'The mother gets the title and full first name,' Delaney noted.
'The daughter rates an initial.'
Boone identified himself on the intercom. A moment later the door lock buzzed and they entered. The interior was clean, smelling faintly of disinfectant, but the colors of the walls and carpeting were garish. The only
