He thought that would please her, but instead she looked like she was about to cry.
"Does that mean I won't be seeing you anymore?" He touched her shoulder.
"No," he said gently, "it doesn't mean that.:: "Good, she said happily.
"Brian, would you like to try the Ouija board again? Maybe it will help you find out who did it." Sure," he said, "let's try."
They sat as they had before, the board between them on the cocktail table. Sylvia put her fingers lightly on the planchette and closed her eyes.
"Doctor Ellerbee," Detective Brian Estrella said in a hollow voice, "was the person who killed you a stranger?"
The planchette did not move.
Estrella repeated his question.
The planchette jerked wildly. It spelled out KGXFRD, then stopped.
"Doctor Ellerbee," the detective tried once more, "was the person who killed you a stranger?"
The planchette moved slowly. It pointed to N and then to 1.
NI. Then it stopped.
"Sylvia," Brian said softly, "I don't think we're getting anywhere. It spelled out NI. That doesn't mean anything."
She opened her eyes.
"Maybe he's just not getting through to me tonight. His spirit may be busy with another medium."
"That could be it," Estrella acknowledged.
"But we'll try again, won't we, Brian?" she asked anxiously.
"Absolutely," he said.
On Saturday afternoon, Delaney, Boone, and Jason held a council of war.
They shuffled through all the reports that had come in during the week and discussed reassignments.
"Estrella says Otherton is clean," Delaney said.
"You willing to accept that?"
"I am, sir, " Jason said promptly.
"He did a thorough job on her-checked all her friends and neighborhood stores. It was just by luck that he got onto the phone call to the lobby clerk.
I think she's clean."
"Boone?"
"I'll go along with Jose, sir."
"What's this Ouija board nonsense in his report? It's the second time he's mentioned that. Is the man a flake?"
"No, sir," Jason Two said.
"He's a steady, serious kind of guy. But his wife is very sick, and maybe he's got that on his mind."
"Oh," Delaney said.
"I didn't know that and I'm sorry to hear it. Does he want a leave of absence?"
"No, he says he wants to keep on working."
"Probably the best thing," Delaney said.
"All. right, let's clear Otherton. She may be a nut case, but I can't see her as a killer. Now about this report from Detective Venable…
That is interesting. Sounds to me like Mrs. Yesell has been leading us up the garden path."
"Her story sure needs work," Sergeant Boone said.
"if Otherton is cleared, how about switching Estrella to Joan Yesell? He can work with Helen on finding the members of Mrs. Yesell's bridge club."
"Yes," Delaney said, "let's do that. Boone, you're working with Calazo on Ronald J. Bellsey?"
"Every chance I get."
"And, Jason-you and Keisman are covering Harold Gerber?"
"That's right, sir. Nothing new to report."
"And Konigsbacher has nothing new to report on Symington. But I've got something new that may interest you."
He told them about Detective Parnell's report-that Dr. Simon Ellerbee's will had specifically canceled all his patients' outstanding bills.
"Now what the hell do you suppose that means?" he asked the two officers.
They both shook their heads.
"Beats me," Boone said.
"Probably nothing," Jason said.
"Probably," Delaney said, sighing.
"We've sure got a lot of probabilities in this case and damned little we can sink our teeth in. Well, what can I tell you except to keep plugging and Pray for a break."
After they left, he returned to the study to paw through the scattered reports again. He was in a sour, dispirited mood.
"Keep plugging." That was stupid, unnecessary advice to give his aides.
They were experienced police officers and knew that plugging was the name of the game.
What always bemused Delaney in cases like this was the contrast between the grand passion that incited the murder of a human being and the pedestrian efforts of the police to solve it.
In a crazy kind of way, it was like solving the mystery of a Rembrandt by analyzing pigments, brush strokes, and the quality of the canvas, and then saying, "There! Your mystery's explained." It wasn't, of course.
Mystery was mystery. It defied rational explication.
Even if the Ellerbee homicide was closed, Delaney suspected the solution would merely be a resolution of the facts.
The enigma of human behavior would remain hidden.
Two weeks before Christmas, and the city had never been more enchanting.
The "city" being Manhattan, and more particularly midtown Manhattan, with streets glowing with lights and tinsel. Amplified carols rang out everywhere, along with the jingle of bells and cash registers. The annual shopping frenzy was in full swing, stores mobbed, the spending fever an epidemic.
"Take my money, miss-please!"
But downtown, on Seventh Avenue South, there were no lights, no tinsel, no carols. Just some foul remains of the last snowfall, clotted with garbage and dog droppings. Harold Gerber's tenement showed no festive trappings. Paint peeled, plaster fell away, the bare, lathed walls oozed a glutinous slime that smelled of suppuration.
"Oh little town of Bethlehem," Detective Robert Keisman sang.
"How about "Come, All Ye Faithful'?" Jason suggested.
The two detectives were lounging around Gerber's ruinous pad, working on a six-pack of Schaefer. The two black officers were wearing drifter duds, and all three men were bundled in down jackets, with caps and gloves. It was damp, and cold enough to see their breath.
"Let's go through it once more," Jason Two said.
"Oh, Jesus," Gerber said, "do we have to?"
"Sure we have to," Keisman said lazily.
"You're aching to get your ass locked up, aren't you? Spend a nice warm holiday in durance vile-right?
You say you snuffed Doc Ellerbee. Well, yeah, that may be so, but on the other hand you may just be jerking us around." I "See, Harold," Jason said, "we run you in, and it turns out you're just a bullshit artist wasting everyone's time-well, that don't look so good on our records."
"Shit," Gerber said, "you write out any kind of a confession you like-put anything in it you want-and I'll sign it."
"Nah," the Spoiler said, "that's not how it's done, Harold.
You got to tell us in your own words. You say you took a cab over to Ellerbee's townhouse on that night?"
Gerber: "That's right."
Jason: "What kind of cab? Yellow, Checker, gypsy?"
Gerber: "I don't remember."
Keisman: "How long did it take you to get there?"
Gerber: "Maybe twenty minutes."
Jason: "Where did the cabby drop you?"
Gerber: "Right in front of Ellerbee's office."
Keisman: "How did you get in?"
Gerber: "Rang the bell. When he answered, I told him I was in a bad way and had to see him. He let me in."
Jason: "You were carrying the hammer?"
Gerber: "Sure. I carried it with me for the express purpose of killing Ellerbee. It was a premeditated murder."
Keisman: "Uh-huh. Now tell us again where you got the hammer."
Gerber: "I boosted it from that hardware store near Sheridan Square."
Jason: "Just put it under your jacket and walked out?"
Gerber: "That's right."
Keisman: "We checked with them. They lose a lot to shoplifters, but no ball peen hammers."
Gerber: "They don't know their ass from their elbow."