'Yes, I do. Thinking over this past year, I realize Simon had become-well, distant and preoccupied is the only way I can describe it.
He had been very concerned about his patients, and I suppose at the time. I thought it was just overwork that was bothering him. But yes, there was a change in him. I don't imagine it means anything, but it disturbed me that I hadn't given you a strictly accurate answer, so I thought I better tell you.'
'I'm glad you did,' Delaney said gravely.
'Like you, I don't know if it means anything or not, but every little bit helps.'
'Well!' Diane Ellerbee said, smiling brightly.
'Now I do feel better, getting that off my conscience.'
She drained her gimlet, set the glass aside, and rose. They stood up.
She offered her hand to Monica, 'Thank you so much for letting me barge in,' she said.
'You have a lovely, lovely home, I wish the two of you would come up to Brewster soon and see our place. It's not at its best in winter but Simon and I worked so hard to make it something special, I'd like to have you see it. Could you do that?'
'We'd be delighted,' Monica said promptly.
'Thank you.'
'Let's wait for a weekend when no blizzards are predicted,' Diane Ellerbee said, laughing.
'The first good Saturday-all right?'
'We don't have a car,' Delaney said.
'Would you object if Sergeant Boone and his wife drove us up?'
'Object? I'd love it! I have a marvelous cook, and Simon and I laid down some good wines. I enjoy having company, and frankly it's lonely up there now. So let's all plan on getting together.'
'Whenever you say,' Monica said.
'I'm sorry you have to leave so soon. Drive carefully.'
'I always do,' Dr. Ellerbee said lightly.
'Good night, all.'
Delaney locked and bolted the front door behind her.
'What an intelligent woman!' Monica said when he came back to the living room.
'Isn't she, Edward?'
'She is that.'
'You'd like to see her Brewster home, wouldn't you?'
'Very much. The Boones will.drive us up. We'll make a day of it.'
'What she said about her husband changing-does that mean anything?'
'I have no idea.'
'She really is beautiful, isn't she?'
'So beautiful,' he said solemnly, 'that she scares me.'
'Thanks a lot, buster,' she said.
'I obviously don't scare you.
'Obviously,' he said, and headed toward the study door.
'Hey,' Monica said, 'I thought you weren't going to work tonight.'
'Just for a while,' he said, frowning.
'Some things I want to check.'
Detective Benjamin Calazo was a month away from retirement and dreading it.
He came from a family of policemen.
His father had been a cop, his younger brother was a cop, and two uncles had been cops. The NYPD wasn't just a job, it was a life.
Calazo didn't fish, play golf, or collect stamps, He had no hobbies at all, and no real interests outside the Department.
What the hell was he going to do-move the wife to a mobile home in Lakeland, Florida, and play shuffleboard for the rest of his days?
The Ellerbee case seemed like a good way to cap his career. He had worked with Sergeant Boone before, and knew he was an okay guy. Also, Boone's father had been a street cop killed in the line of duty. Calazo had gone to the funeral, and you didn't forget things like that.
The detective had asked to be assigned to Isaac Kane for the reason he stated: His nephew was retarded, and he thought he knew something about handling handicapped kids. Calazo had three married daughters, and sometimes he wondered if they weren't retarded when he was forced to have dinner with his sons-in-law-a trio of losers, Benny thought; not a cop in the lot.
His first meeting with Isaac Kane went reasonably well.
Calazo sat with him for almost three hours at the Community Center, admiring the kid's pastel landscapes and talking easily about this and that.
Every once in a while Calazo would spring a question about Dr. Simon Ellerbee. Isaac showed no hesitation in answering, and the subject didn't seem to upset him. He told the detective pretty much what he had told Delaney and Boone which didn't amount to a great deal.
The boy didn't display any confusion until Calazo asked him about his activities on the night of the murder.
'It was a Friday, Isaac,' Calazo said.
'What did you do on that night?'
'I was here until the Center closed. Ask Mrs. Freylinghausen; she'll tell you.'
'Okay, I'll ask her. And after the Center closed, what did you do then?'
'I went home.'
'Uh-huh. You live right around the corner, don't you, Isaac? So I guess you got there around nine-five or so. Is that correct?'
Kane didn't look at the detective, but concentrated on adding foliage to a tree in his landscape.
'Well, uh, it was probably later. I walked around awhile.'
'That was a very rainy night, Isaac. A bad storm. You didn't walk about in that, did you?'
'I don't remember!' Kane said, breaking one of his chalks and flinging it away angrily.
'I don't know why you're.asking me all these questions, and I'm not going to answer any more.
You're just-' He began to stutter unintelligibly.
'All right,' Benny said mildly, 'you don't have to answer any more questions. I just thought you'd want to help us find out who killed Doctor Simon.'
Kane was silent.
'Hey,' the detective said, 'I'm getting hungry. How about you? There's a fast-food joint on the corner. How's about I pick up a couple of burgers and coffee for us and bring them back here?'
'Okay,' Isaac Kane said.
Calazo brought the food and they had lunch -together. An old lady wheeled up her chair and stared at the detective with ravenous eyes. He gave her his slice of dill pickle. He didn't mention Ellerbee again, but got Kane talking about his pastels and-why he did only landscapes.
'They're pretty landscapes,' Isaac explained 'Not like around here.
Everything is clean and peaceful.' Sure it is,' the detective said.
'But I notice you don't put in any people.'
'No,' Kane said, shaking his head.
'No people. Those places belong to me.'
Calazo checked with Mrs. Freylinghausen. She confirmed that Isaac Kane came in every day and stayed until the Community Center closed at nine o'clock. The detective thanked her and walked around the corner to Kane's home, timing himself. Even at a slow stroll it took less than two minutes.
Kane lived with his mother in the basement apartment of a dilapidated brownstone on West 78th Street. It was next to an ugly furniture warehouse with rusty steel doors for trucks and sooty windows on the upper floors. Both buildings were marred with graffiti and had black plastic bags of garbage stacked in front. Some of the bags had burst or had been slashed open.
