'But it's hard to admit it. I admired that woman.'
'I did, too. I still admire her-but for different reasons.
She thought this whole thing out very, very carefully. The only mistakes she's made so far are little ones- nothing that could bring an indictment.'
'I must have missed something in her,' Monica said.
'Something that you saw and I didn't.'
'It goes back to that conversation we had about beautiful women and how they think.'
She put her brush aside and came over to him. She stood in front of him in a peach-colored nightgown and matching peignoir.
'Turn around,' she said.
'What?'
'Sit sideways on the bed,' she ordered.
'Take off your tie and open your shirt and vest.'
He obeyed, and she began to massage the meaty muscles of his neck and shoulders. Her strong fingers dug in, kneading and pinching.
'Oh, God,' he said, groaning, 'don't stop. What do you charge by the hour?'
'On the house,' she said, her clever hands working.
'Tell me-how do beautiful women think?'
'They can't face reality. Or at least not our reality. They live in a shimmering crystal globe. You know-those paperweights: a Swiss chalet scene.
You turn them upside down and snow falls. It's a never-never land.
Beautiful women live in it.
Admiration from all sides. The love of wealthy men. They don't have to lift a finger, and their future is assured. All wants granted.'
'You think Diane was like that?'
'Had to be. Beauty is a kind of genius; you can't deny it.
You got it or you don't. Then along comes Simon Ellerbee, her teacher.
He convinces her she's got a good brain too. Not only is she beautiful, but she's brainy. That crystal ball she lives in is now shinier and lovelier than ever.'
'Then he asks for a divorce?'
'Right! Oh, han, that feels so good. Up higher around my neck. Yes, her husband asks for a divorce. I'll bet my bottom dollar it was the first failure in her life. A defeat. We all learn to cope with defeats and disappointments. But not beautiful women; they're insulated in their crystal globes. It must have devastated her. The man who convinced her that she had a brain not only doesn't want her brain anymore, but doesn't want her. Can you imagine what that did to her ego?'
'I can imagine,' Monica said sadly.
'When someone hurts you, you hurt back: that's human nature. But this was a cataclysmic hurt. And she responded in a cataclysmic way: murder.
I told you that her reality was different from ours. When Simon asked for a divorce, he wasn't only destroying her, he was demolishing her world.
And all for a little, plain, no-talent woman? If such things could happen, then Diane's reality had no substance. You can see that, can't you?'
'I told you,' Monica said, 'you see more than I do.'
She moved away from him and began to turn down the blankets and sheet on her bed.
'Open the window tonight?' he asked her.
'Just a crack,' she said.
'It's supposed to be below freezing by morning.'
He went in for a shower. Scrubbed his teeth, brushed his hair, climbed into his old-fashioned pajamas. When he came back into the bedroom, Monica was sitting up in her bed, back against the headboard.
'You don't like me much tonight, do you?' he said.
'It's not a question of liking you, Edward. But sometimes you scare me.'
'Scare you? How so?'
'You know so much about Diane. It all sounds so logical, the way you dissect her. What do you think about me?'
He put a palm softly to her cheek.
'That you're an absolutely magnificent woman, and I hate to imagine what my life would be without you. I love you, Monica. You believe that, don't you?'
'Yes. But there's a part of you I'll never understand. You can be so-so strict sometimes. Like God.'
He smiled.
'I'm not God. Not even close. Do you think Diane Ellerbee should get off scot-free?'
'Of course not.'
'Of course not,' he repeated.
'So the problem now is how she can be made to pay for what she did.'
'How are you going to do that, Edward?'
'I'm going to turn over her crystal globe,' he said coldly, 'and watch the snow come down.'
He turned off the light and found his way to Monica's bed.
She pulled the blankets up to their chins.
'Please don't tell me that I scare you,' he begged.
'That scares me. 'You don't really scare me,' she said.
'It's just the way you become obsessed with a case.'
'Obsessed? I guess so. Maybe that's the way you've got to be to get anything done. I just don't like the idea of someone getting away with murder. It offends me. Is that so awful?'
'Of course not. But sometimes you can be vindictive, Edward.'
'Oh, yes,' he readily agreed.
'I plead guilty to that.'
'Don't you sympathize with Diane at all?'
'Sure I do. She's human.'
'Don't you feel sorry for her?'
'Of course,'
'But you're going to destroy her?'
'Completely,' he vowed.
'But that's enough about Doctor Diane Ellerbee. What about us?'
'What about us?'
'Still friends?'
'Come closer,' Monica said.
'I'll show you.'
'Oh, yes,' he said, moving.
'Thank you, friend.'
Delaney prepared carefully for his meeting with Dr. Julius K. Samuelson: went over once again the biography Jason had submitted, reviewed his report on the first interrogation, read his notes on Samuelson's comments and behavior during that visit to Brewster.
He had told Boone and Jason that he intended to lean on Dr. Samuelson.
But in cops' lexicon, there are varieties of leaning, from brutal hectoring to the pretense of sorrowful sympathy. In this case, Delaney decided, tough intimidation would be counterproductive; he might achieve more with sweet reasonableness- an approach Delaney characterized as the 'I need your help' style of interrogation.
He lumbered over to Samuelson's office at 79th Street and Madison Avenue. It was a harshly cold morning, the air still but the temperature in the teens. Delaney was thankful for his flannel muffler, vested suit, and balbriggan underwear. He thrust his gloved hands into his overcoat pockets, but he felt the cold in his feet, a
