everyone.
Then, in the last year or so, he became moodier. Some days he'd really be up, laughing and joking. And other days he'd be down, like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.'
'I see.'
'About a month ago,' she added, 'he wore a little flower in his lapel.
He never done that before. He really was a dreamy man.'
'Thank you, Miss Judd,' Delaney said, tipping his homburg.
When he came outside, he found the day transformed. A thick cloud cover was churning over Manhattan, the wind had taken on a raw edge, the light seemed sourish and menacing.
The gloom fitting his mood exactly.
He was disgusted with himself, for he had been trying to bend the facts to fit a theory instead of devising a theory that fit all the facts.
That kind of thinking had been the downfall of a lot of wild-assed detectives.
It was those two sets of footprints soaked into the Ellerbees' carpet that had seduced him. That and the gap in the victim's time schedule. It seemed to add up to two late patients on the murder night. But though Carol Judd said it was possible, there wasn't a shred of evidence to substantiate it.
Still, he told himself stubbornly, it was crucial to identify Ellerbee's late visitor or visitors. One of them had been the last person to see the victim alive and was a prime suspect.
Plodding uptown, he remembered what he had said to Monica about assembling a jigsaw puzzle. He had told her that he had found some straight-edged pieces and was putting together the frame. Then all he needed to do was fill in the interior pieces of the picture.
Now he recalled that some puzzles were not pictures at all.
They were rectangles of solid color: yellow, blue, or blood red. There was no pattern, no clues of shape or form. And they were devilishly hard to complete.
When he entered the brownstone, he heard the phone ringing and rushed down the hallway to the kitchen. But Monica was there and had already picked up.
'Who?' she said.
'Just a minute, please.' She covered the mouthpiece with her palm and turned to her husband.
'Timothy Hogan,' she reported. 'Do you know him?'
'Hogan? Yes, he's one of the new men. I'll talk to him.'
She handed him the phone.
'I couldn't get a hold of Jason or Boone,' Hogan whined, 'so that's why I'm calling. I'm at St. Vincent's Hospital.'
'What happened?'
'I started checking out that Joan Yesell. She didn't report to work today.
Okay? So I go down to her place in Chelsea.
She ain't home, and her mother ain't home. So I start talking to the neighbors. Okay? This Joan Yesell, she tried to do the Dutch yesterday afternoon, but blew it. Just nicked her left wrist with a kitchen knife.
A lot of blood, but she's okay. They kept her here overnight, under observation. Her mother is signing her out right now. You want I should question them?'
'No,' Delaney said promptly, 'don't do that. But them go home. You can catch up with them tomorrow. Do you know what time yesterday she cut herself?'
'They brought her into St. Vincent's Emergency about four-thirty, so I guess she sliced herself around four o'clock.
Okay?'
'Thank you, Hogan. You did exactly right to call me. Pack it in for the day.'
He hung up and turned to Monica. He told her what had happened.
'The poor woman,' she said somberly.
'If she tried suicide yesterday at four o'clock, it couldn't have been more than an hour after Boone and I had questioned her. I hope to God we didn't trigger it.'
'How did she seem when you left?'
'Well, she's a mousy little thing and suffers from depression. She was very quiet and withdrawn. Dominated by her mother. But she sure didn't seem suicidal. I wonder if it was anything we said.'
'I doubt that. Don't worry about it, Edward.'
'This morning I was happy that things were beginning to happen, that we were nwking them happen. But I didn't figure on anything like this.'
'It's not your fault,' she assured him.
'She's tried before, hasn't she?'* '-Ibree times.'
'Well, there you are. Don't blame yourself.'
'Son of a bitch,' he said bitterly.
'I just don't get it. We talk to her, very politely, no arguments, we leave, and she tries to kill herself.'
'Edward, maybe it was just talking about the murder that pushed her over the edge. If she's depressed to start with, reminding her of the death of someone who was trying to help her might have made her decide life wasn't worth living.'
'Yes,' he said gratefully, 'it could have been that. I'm going to have a slug of rye. Would you like one?'
'I'll have a white wine. We're having linguine with clam sauce tonight.
I added a can of minced clams and a dozen fresh cherrystones.'
'Very good,' he said approvingly.
'In that case, I'll have a white wine, too. By the way, Chief Suarez is stopping by later. I don't know what time, but he'll call first. I'd like you to meet him. I think you'll like him.'
After dinner, Delaney went into the study to write out a report on Carol Judd. Suarez called around eight o'clock and said he was on his way uptown. But it was almost nine before he arrived. Delaney took him into the living room and introduced him to Monica.
'What can I get you, Chief?' he asked.
'You look like you could use a transfusion.'
Suarez smiled wanly.
'Yes, it has been that kind of a day.
Would a very, very dry gin martini on the rocks be possible?'
'Of course. Monica, would you like anything?'
'A small Cointreau would be nice.'
Delaney went into the kitchen and made the drinks. He put them on a tray along with a brandy for himself.
'Delightful,' Chief Suarez said, when he tasted his.
'Best martini I've ever had.'
'As I told you,' Delaney said, shrugging away the compliment, 'I have no good news for you, but I wanted you to know what we've been doing.'
Rapidly, concisely, he summarized the progress of his investigation to date. He omitted nothing he thought important, except the lifting of the ball peen hammer from Ronald Bellsey's Cadillac. He expressed no great optimism, but pointed out there was still a lot of work to be done, particularly on those vague alibis of the six patients.
Monica and the Chief listened intently, fascinated by his recital. When he finished, Suarez said, 'I do not believe things are as gloomy as you seem to suggest, Mr. Delaney.
You have uncovered several promising leads-more, certainly, than we have found. I commend you for persuading Doctor Diane Ellerbee to furnish a list of violence-prone patients. But you should know, that lady and the victim's father continue to bring pressure on the Department, demanding a quick solution.'
'That's Thorsen's problem,' Delaney said shortly.
'True,' Suarez said, 'and he handles it by making it my problem.'
He glanced around the living room.
'Mrs. Delaney, you have a lovely home.
