If Helen was suffering from doubts, Detective Ross Konigsbacher was inflated with confidence, convinced he was on a roll' On the same night Helen was brooding unhappily in her Honda, the Kraut was rubbing knees with L. Vincent Symington at a small table at the Dorian Gray.
Symington had insisted on ordering a bottle of Frascati, served in a silver ice bucket. The detective had made no objections, knowing that Symington would pick up the tab. That was one thing you could say for the creep: There were no moths in his wallet.
"A dreadful day," he told Konigsbacher.
"Simply dreadful.
This is a nice little wine, isn't it? One crisis after another. I'm on Wall Street, you know-I don't think I told you that-and today the market simply collapsed. What do you do, Ross?"
"Import-export," he said glibly, having prepared for the question.
"Plastic and leather findings. Very dull."
"I can imagine. Are you in the market at all?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Well, if you ever decide to take a flier, talk to me first; I may be able to put you into something sweet."
"I'll do that. But my wife has been nagging me about a new fur coat, so I won't be able to take a flier in stocks or anything else for a while."
"What a shame," Symington said.
"Women can be such bitches, can't they?
Are you still working out, Ross?"
"Every morning with the weights."
"Oh, my!" the other man said, laughing brightly.
"You're getting me all excited. And what does your wife do while you're exercising in the morning?"
"She snores."
"Now that is dull. Here, let me fill your glass. This goes down easily, doesn't it?"
"Like some people I know," the Kraut said, and they both shook with silent laughter.
"Vince, have you had any more visits from the cops about the murder of your shrink?"
"Not a word. But I'm sure they're investigating me from A to Z. Let them; I have nothing to hide."
"I hope you have a good alibi for the time it happened."
"I certainly do," Symington said virtuously.
"I was at a very posh affair at the Hilton. My company was giving a birthday dinner for the founder. A dozen people saw me there."
"Come on, Vince," Konigsbacher said, smiling.
"Don't tell me you were there all night. I know how boring those things can be. Didn't you sneak out for a teensy-weensy drink somewhere else?"
"Oh, Ross," the other man said admiringly, "you are clever. Of course I split for a while. Simply couldn't endure all that business chitchat. I found the grungiest, most vulgar bar in the city over near Eighth Avenue. It's called Stallions.
How does that grab you? Rough trade? You wouldn't believe!
I just sat in a corner, sipped my Perrier, and took it all in.
What a spectacle' You and I must drop by there some night just for laughs. I've never seen so much black leather in my life! "
"Meet anyone interesting?" the detective asked casually.
"Well, if you must know…" Symington said coyly, twirling his wineglass by the stem, "there was one boy… I bought him a drink-he was having banana brandy; can you imagine!-and we talked awhile. His name was Nick. He was one Of those dese, demand dose boys, and said he wanted to be -fleff I asked, but it went right over his head! I an actor.
"Han spent a fun hour there, and then I went back to the party at the Hilton. I'm sure not a soul noticed I had been gone."
"Oh, Vince," the Kraut said seriously, "I hope you weren't gone during the time your psychiatrist was killed. The cops aren't dummies, you know. They're liable to find out you left the party and come around to question you again,"
"You think so?" the other man said, beginning to worry.
"Well, as a matter of fact, I was away from the Hilton from about nine to ten o'clock or so, but I can't believe the cops could discover that."
"They might," Detective Konigsbacher said darkly.
"They have their ways."
"Oh, God!" Symington said despairingly.
"What do you think I should do?
Maybe I'll look up those two cops who came to question me and tell them about it. That would prove I have nothing to hide, wouldn't it?"
"Don't do that," the Kraut said swiftly.
"Don't volunteer anything. Just play it cool. And if they dump on you for not telling them about being away from the party, tell them you forgot. After all, that boy-what was his name?"
"Nick."
"Nick can back up your story."
"If they can ever find him," the other man said dolefully.
"You know what those kids are Re-here today, gone tomorrow.
"Well, don't worry about it," Konigsbacher advised.
"As long as you're innocent, you have nothing to fear. You are innocent, aren't you, Vince?"
"Pure as the driven snow," Symington said solemnly, and both men laughed immoderately.
"Ross, have you had dinner yet?"
"As a matter of fact, I haven't. You?"
"No, and I'm famished. I know absolutely the chicest French bistro in town; their bouillabaisse is divine. Would you care to try it? My treat, of course."
"Sounds like fun," Konigsbacher said.
"It's got to be better than my wife's cooking, She can't boil water without burning ice, "Ross, you're a scream!"
Symington paid the bill and they left for the chicest French bistro in town.
The detective told himself he was living high' off the hog, and plotted how he might make this cushy duty last.
Incomplete reports to Sergeant Boone and Delaney would help.
Delaney himself was sinking in a swamp of incomplete data. He couldn't get a handle on the alibis of Otherton, Bellsey, Yesell, or Symington, and Harold Gerber's confession was still neither verified nor refuted.
Other than eliminating Kane as a suspect, little hard progress had been made.
Delaney found most bothersome about this puzzle wasn't the factual alibis but the enigmas that showed no signs of yielding to investigation. In his dogged, methodical way, he made a list of what he considered the key mysteries that seemed to defy solution: Major riddles: 1. Who was the late patient Dr. Ellerbee was expecting on the night he was killed?
2. Why were there two sets of wet footprints on the townhouse carpeting?
3. What was the meaning of the hammer blows to the victim's eyes after he was dead?
4. Who stole the billing ledger-and for what reason?
5. What was the cause of Ellerbee's change of personality during the past year?
Minor riddles: 1. Did L. Vincent Symington's sighting of Dr. Ellerbee driving alone on a Friday night have any significance?
2. Why did Joan Yesell attempt suicide immediately after she was questioned about the case?
3. What was the real purpose of Dr. Diane Ellerbee's visit to the Delaneys' home-and her unexpected friendliness?
He hunched over his desk, studying the list with the feeling-a hope, really-that finding the answer to one riddle would serve as a key, and all the others would then give up their secrets in a natural progression, the entire case suddenly revealed as a rational and believable chain of events.
It existed, he was convinced, and remained hidden only because he hadn't the wit to see it.
He was rereading his list of conundrums when the phone rang.
"Edward X. Delaney here."
"This is Detective Charles Parnell, Mr. Delaney. How are you, sir?"
"Fine, thank you. And you?"
"Having fun," Daddy Warbucks said, laughing.
"I'm assdeep in numbers, trying to put away a guy who was running a Ponzi scam in Brooklyn. Took his relatives, friends, and neighbors for about a hundred big ones. Interesting case. I'll have to tell you about it someday. But the reason I called… I promised you I'd follow up on Simon Ellerbee's will. It's been filed for probate, and I can give you the scoop."