"Oh, lord," she said.
"We've got to get the kitchen cleaned up. Are there fresh towels in the hall bathroom? Do I have time to change?"
"To what?" he said.
"You look fine just the way you are.
And yes, there are fresh towels in the bathroom. Take it easy, babe; this isn't a visit from the Queen of England."
But by the time Dr. Diane arrived, the kitchen was cleaned up, the living room straightened, and they were sitting stiffly, determined not to be awed by the visitor-and not quite succeeding.
Diane Ellerbee was graciousness personified. She complimented them on their charming home, unerringly selected the finest piece in the living room to admire-a small Duncan Phyfe desk-and assured Delaney that the vodka gimlet he mixed for her was the best she had ever tasted.
In fact, she played the grande dame so broadly that he made a cop's instant judgment: The woman was nervous and wanted something. Having concluded that, he relaxed and watched her with a faint smile as she chatted with Monica.
She was wearing a sweater and skirt of mushroom-colored wool, with high boots of buttery leather. No jewelry, other than a plain wedding band, and very little.makeup. Her flaxen hair was down, and her classic features seemed softened, more vulnerable.
"Mr. Delaney," she said, turning to him, "was that list of patients I gave you any help?"
"A great deal. They are all being investigated."
"I hope you didn't tell them I gave you their names?"
"Of course not. We merely said we're questioning all your husband's patients-which is true-and they accepted that."
"I'm glad to hear it. I still don't feel right about picking out those six, but I wanted to help any way I could. Do you think one of them could have done it?"
"I think possibly they are all capable of murder. But then, a lot of so called normal people are, too."
"I really don't know exactly how you go about investigating people," she said with a confused little laugh.
"Question them, I suppose."
"Oh, yes. And their families, friends, neighbors, employers, and so forth.
We go back to them several times, asking the same questions over and over, trying to spot discrepancies."
"Sounds like a boring job."
"No," he said, "it isn't."
"Edward has the patience of a saint," Monica said.
"And the luck of the devil," he added.
"I hope."
The doctor laughed politely.
"Does luck really have much to do with catching a criminal?"
"Sometimes," he said, nodding.
"Usually it's a matter of knocking on enough doors. But sometimes chance and accident take a hand, and you get a break you didn't expect. The criminal can't control luck, can he?"
"But doesn't it work the other way, too? I mean, doesn't luck sometimes favor the criminal?"
"Occasionally," he agreed.
"But it would be a very stupid criminal who depended on it.
"The best laid schemes… ' and so on and so on." He turned to Monica.
"Who said that?" he asked her, smiling.
"Shakespeare?" she ventured.
"Robert Bums," he said.
"Shakespeare didn't say everything – " He turned to Diane Ellerbee.
"Now it's your chance. who wrote, "Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practise to deceive!'?"
"That was Shakespeare," she said.
"Sir Walter Scott," he said, still smiling.
"Did you say you had something to tell me, doctor?"
"Oh, you'll probably think it's silly," she said, "but it's been bothering me, so I thought I'd tell you anyway. The first time you and Sergeant Boone came to see me, you asked a lot of questions, and I answered them to the best of my ability.
After you left, I tried to remember everything I had said, to make sure I hadn't unintentionally led you astray."
She paused.
"And?" he said.
"Well, it probably means nothing, but you asked if I had noticed any change in Simon over the last six months or year, and I said no. But then after thinking it over, I realized there had been a change.
Perhaps it was so gradual that I really wasn't aware of it."
"But now you feel there was a change?" Delaney asked.
"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.