'Suits me just fine,' Jason Two said.
'It'll be a vacation,' Sergeant Boone said. 'Working just one case.'
'Vacation, hell!' Delaney said. 'I'm going to run your ass off. Now the first thing the three of us are going to do is go through all the paper on the Ellerbee kill. We'll read every scrap, look at every photo. We'll take a break in an hour or so.
I've got some sandwiches and drinks. Then we'll get back to it until we've emptied the cartons. Then we'll sit around and gas and decide what we do first.'
They set to work, opening the cartons, piling the photocopied documents on Delaney's desk. He read each statement first, then handed it to Boone, who scanned it and passed it along to Officer Jason. Most of the stuff was short memos, and those went swiftly. But the Medical Examiner's postmortem and the reports of the Crime Scene Unit were longer and took time to digest.
Delaney smoked another cigar, and the two cops chain smoked cigarettes.
The study fogged up, and Delaney rose to switch on an exhaust fan set in the back window. But there was no conversation; they worked steadily for more than an hour. Then they broke for lunch. Delaney brought in a platter of sandwiches he'd prepared earlier and cans of Heineken for Jason and himself. Abner Boone had a bottle of club soda.
Delaney parked his feet up on his desk.
'Jason,' he said, 'you did a hell of a job keeping clear of those wet tracks on the carpet.'
'Thank you, sir.'
'I think your report covered just about everything. Nothing you left out, was there?'
'Nooo,' the officer said slowly, 'not to my remembrance.'
'When you went up the stairs,' Delaney persisted, 'and into the receptionist's office, did you smell anything?'
'Smell? Well, that was a damned wet night. The inside of that house smelled damp. Almost moldy.'
'But nothing unusual? Perfume, incense, cooking odors something like that?'
The big black frowned. 'Can't recall anything unusual.
Just the wet.'
'That art gallery on the first floor-the door was locked?'
'Yes, sir. And so was the door to Dr. Diane Ellerbee's office on the second floor. And so was that private apartment on- the fourth. The victim's office was the only one open.'
'He was lying on his back?'
'Yes, sir. Not a pretty sight.'
'Sergeant,' Delaney said, swinging his swivel chair to face Boone, 'how do you figure those two hammer blows to the eyes? After the poor guy was dead.'
'That seems plain enough. Symbolic stuff. The killer wanted to blind him.'
'Sure,' Delaney agreed. 'But after he was dead? That's heavy.'
'Well, Ellerbee was a psychiatrist dealing with a lot of crazies. It could have been a patient who thought the doctor was seeing too much.'
Delaney stared at him. 'That's interesting-and plausible.
Listen, there are three sandwiches left, and I've got more beer and soda. Why don't we finish eating and work at the same time?'
They were done a little after 3:00 P.m and stuffed every thing back in the cartons. Then they all sat back and stared at each other.
'Well?' Delaney demanded. 'What do you think of the investigation so far?'
Boone drew a deep breath. 'I don't like to put the knock on anyone,' he said hesitantly, 'but it appears to me that Chief Suarez hasn't been riding herd on his guys. For instance, in her statement Dr. Diane Ellerbee says she called Dr. Julius Samuelson about one-fifteen in the morning. The guy who's supposed to check it out goes to Samuelson and asks, 'Did Dr. Diane call you at one-fifteent And Samuelson says, 'Yes, she did.' Now what kind of garbage is that? Maybe the two of them were in it together and protecting each other's ass. She says she called from their Brewster home.
That's a toll call to Manhattan. So why didn't someone check phone company records to make sure the call was actually made?'
'Right!' Jason T. Jason said loudly. 'Ditto her call to the Ellerbees' garage. The night attendant says, 'Yeah, she called,' but no one checked to make sure the call was made from Brewster. Sloppy, sloppy work.'
'I concur,' Delaney said approvingly. 'And Samuelson said he was at a concert in Carnegie Hall when Ellerbee was offed. But I didn't see a damned thing in those four cartons that shows anyone checked that out.
Was he at the concert with someone or was he alone? And if he was alone, did anyone see him there? Does he have a ticket stub? Can the Carnegie Hall people place him there that night? Chief Suarez said he had more or less eliminated the widow and Samuelson as suspects. Bullshit! We've got a way to go before I'll clear them. Don't blame Suarez; he's got a zillion other things on his mind besides this Ellerbee kill. But I agree; so far it's been a half-ass investigation.'
'So?' Boone said. 'Where do we go from here?'
'Jason,' Delaney said, pointing a thick forefinger at him, 'you take the widow. Check out those two calls she says she made from Brewster. And while you're at it, talk to the Brewster cop she says she phoned to ask if there was a highway accident. Make sure she did call, and ask the cop how she sounded. Was she hysterical, cool, angry-whatever. Boone, you take Samuelson and his alibi. See if you can find out if anyone can actually place him at Carnegie Hall at the time Ellerbee was killed.'
'You think the widow and Samuelson might be lying?' Jason said.
'Oh, Jesus,' Delaney said. 'I lie, you lie, Boone lies, everyone lies.
It's part of the human condition. Mostly it's innocent stuff-just to help us all get through life a little easier. But in this case we've got a stiff on our hands. Yes, the widow and Samuelson might be lying-even if they're not the perps. Maybe they have other reasons. Let's find out.'
'What do you plan on doing, sir?' Sergeant Boone asked curiously.
'Me? I want to study those statements about the hassle Dr. Samuelson had with the Department's legal eagles. The argument was about the doctor-patient relationship, which is supposed to be sacred under the law. Ha-ha. But here we have a case where a doctor has been knocked off and the Crime Scene Unit guys grabbed his appointment book. So now we know the names of his patients, but Samuelson claimed the files were confidential. The Department's attorneys said not so; a murder was committed and the public good required that patients be questioned. As I understand it, they came to a compromise. The patients can be investigated, but they cannot be questioned unless they agree to it, because the questioning might involve their illness-the reason they were consulting Ellerbee in the first place. It's a nice legal point, and could keep a platoon of lawyers busy for a year.
But as things stand now, we can check the whereabouts of every patient at the time of Ellerbee's death, but we can't question the patients or examine their files unless they agree to it. Now isn't that as fucked up as a Chinese fire drill?'
'You think the patients will agree to answer questions?' Boone said.
'I think if one of his patients chilled Ellerbee, he or she will agree to be questioned, figuring that if they refuse, they'll be automatically suspected by the cops.'
'Oh, wow,' Jason Two said, laughing. 'You figure crazies can reason like that?'
'First of all we don't know yet just how nutty his patients are. Second, you can be a complete whackc, and still be able to think as rationally as any so-called normal man or woman. I remember a guy we racked up who was a computer whiz. I mean a genius. All his work involved mathematical logic. But he had one quirk: He liked to rape little girls. Except for that, he was an intellectual giant. So don't get the idea that all of Ellerbee's patients are dummies.'
'When are we going to get started on the patient list, sir?' Jason asked.
'Another thing,' Delaney said, ignoring Jason's question.
'I saw nothing in those cartons to indicate that anyone had thought to run the victim, his widow, his father, and Dr. Samuelson through Records.'
'My God,' Boone said, 'you don't think people like that have jackets, do you?'
