years.'
Estrella: 'And at whose home was the game that particular night?'
'Right here. That is one of the reasons I remember it so clearly. It was supposed to be held at the home of another member. But the weather was so miserable, I called the others and asked if they'd mind coming to me.' She tapped her built-up shoe with her cane.
'Because of this, I don't navigate too well in foul weather. The other members kindly agreed to come here. It wasn't a great imposition; they all live within two blocks.'
Venable: 'At whose home was the game originally scheduled?'
'Mrs. Blanche Yesell.'
Venable: 'But she came here instead?'
'Must I repeat everything twice?' Mrs. Gladys Ferguson said testily.
'Yes, she came here instead, as did the others.'
Estrella: 'We just want to make certain we understand your answers completely, Mrs. Ferguson. What time do you ladies usually meet?'
'The game starts at eight-thirty, promptly. The members usually arrive a little before that. We end at ten- thirty, exactly.
Then the hostess serves tea and coffee with cookies or a cake.
Everyone usually departs around eleven o'clock.'
Detective Venable took out her notebook.
'We already know that you and Mrs. Blanche Yesell are two of the members. Could you give us the names and addresses of the other two?'
'Is that absolutely necessary?'
Estrella: 'Yes, it is. You'll be assisting in the investigation of a violent crime.'
'That's hard to believe-the Four Musketeers involved in a violent crime.
That's what we call ourselves: the Four Musketeers.' Venable: 'The names and addresses, please.'
The detectives spent the next two days questioning the other two members of the club. They were both elderly widows of obvious probity. They corroborated everything that Mrs. Gladys Ferguson had stated.
'Well,' Estrella said, staring at his opened notebook, 'unless the Four Musketeers are the greatest criminal minds since the James Gang, it looks like Mrs. Yesell is lying in her teeth.
She wasn't home that night, and her daughter is still on the hook.'
'Son of a bitch!' Helen Venable said bitterly.
'I still can't believe Joan was the murderer. Brian, she's just not the type.'
'What type is that?' he asked mildly.
'She's human, isn't she? So she's capable.'
'But why? She keeps saying how much she admired the doctor.'
'Who knows why?' he said, shrugging.
'We'll let Delaney figure that out. Let's go up to Midtown North and borrow a typewriter. We'll work on the report together. I'd like to get it to Sergeant Boone tonight. I have a heavy date with a Ouija board.'
'And I was going to share an apartment with her,' Venable mourned.
'Count yourself lucky,' Estrella advised.
'You could have picked Jack the Ripper.' – 'I hope you have some good news for me,' First Deputy Commissioner Ivar Thorsen said.
'I sure could use some. The Admiral was slumped in a leather club chair in the study, gripping a beaker of Glenfiddich and water, staring into it as if it might contain the answers to all his questions.
'Ivar, you look like you've been through a meat grinder,' Delaney said from behind his cluttered desk.
'Something like that,' Thorsen said wearily.
'A tough day.
But they're all tough. If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen. Isn't that what they say?'
'That's what they say,' Delaney agreed.
'Only you happen to like the kitchen.'
'I suppose so,' the Deputy said, sighing.
'Otherwise why would I be doing it? When I leave here, I've got to get over to the Waldorf-a testimonial party for a retiring Assistant DA.
Then back downtown for a meeting with the Commish and a couple of guys from the Mayor's office. We're getting a budget bump, thank God, and the problem is how to spend it.'
'That's easy. More street cops.'
'Sure, but who gets the jobs-and where? Every borough is screaming for more.'
'You'll work it out.'
'I suppose so-eventually. But to get back to my original question-any good news?'
'Well…' Delaney said, 'there have been developments.
Whether they're good or not, I don't know. So far we've eliminated four of the patients: Kane, Otherton, Gerber, and Symington. Some good detective work there and some luck.
Anyway their alibis have been proved out-to my satisfaction at least.'
'But you've still got two suspects?'
'Two possible suspects. One is Ronald Bellsey, a nasty brute of a man.
Detective Calazo is working on him. In his last report, Calazo says he hoped to have definite word on Bellsey within a few days. Calazo is an old cop, very thorough, very experienced. I trust him.
'The other possible suspect, more interesting, is Joan Yesell, suicidal and suffering from depression. Her mother claims she was home at the time of the murder. Detectives Venable and Estrella have definitely proved the mother is lying. She was somewhere else and can't possibly alibi her daughter.'
'You're going to pick them up?'
'Mother and daughter? No, not yet. I've switched everyone except Calazo to round-the-clock surveillance of the daughter. Meanwhile we're digging into her background and trying to trace her movements on the day of the murder.'
'Why do you think the mother lied?'
'Obviously to protect the daughter. So she must have some guilty knowledge. But it doesn't necessarily have anything to do with Ellerbee's death. Joan Yesell could have been shacked up with a boyfriend, and the mother is lying to protect her reputation-or the boyfriend's.'
Thorsen took a gulp of his drink and regarded the other man closely.
'Yes, that's possible. But you have that look about you, Edward-the endof-the-trail look, a kind of suppressed excitement. You really think this Joan Yesell is involved, don't YOU?'
'I don't want to get your hopes up too high, but yes, there's something that's not kosher there. I've spent all afternoon digging through the files, pulling out every mention of the woman. Some of the stuff that seems innocent on first reading takes on a new meaning when you think of her as a killer. For instance, right after Boone and I questioned her for the first time, she attempted suicide. That could be interpreted as guilt.'
'What would be her motive?'
'Ivar, we're dealing with emotionally disturbed people here, and ordinary motives don't necessarily hold. Maybe the doctor uncovered something in Yesell's past so painful that she couldn't face it and couldn't endure the thought of Ellerbee knowing it. So she offed him.'
'That's possible, I suppose. Sooner or later you're going to have to confront her, aren't you?'
'No doubt about that,' Delaney said grimly.
'And the mother, too. But I want to do my homework first-learn all I can about Joan and her movements on the murder night.
Maybe she really was with a boyfriend. If so, we'll find out.'
'Meanwhile,' Deputy Thorsen said, 'the clock is running out. Ten days to the end of the year, Edward. That's when the PC selects his Chief of Detectives.'
Delaney took a packet of cigars from his desk drawer, held it out to the Admiral. But the Deputy shook his head. Delaney lighted up, using a gold Dunhill cutter his first wife had given him as a birthday present twenty years ago.
