"I agree," Diane said.
"Execution is not the answer. Statistics prove it doesn't act as a deterrent."
"It sure as hell deters the guy who gets chopped," Delaney said.
"He's not going to get paroled, go out, and kill again.
The trouble with you psychiatrists is that you're as bad as priests: You think everyone can be redeemed. Tell them, Sergeant." t "Some people are born rotten and stay rotten the rest of their lives," Boone said.
"Ask any cop. The cruds of this world are beyond redemption."
"Right!" Delaney said savagely. He turned to the two doctors.
"What you won't admit is that some people are so morally corrupt that they cannot be helped. They accept evil as a way of life. They love it!
They enjoy it!
And the world is better off without them."
"What about someone who kills in passion?" Monica asked.
"A sudden, uncontrollable passion."
"Temporary insanity?" Boone said.
"Is that what you're pleading? It just won't wash. We're supposed to be Homo sapiens-wise, intelligent animals with a civilized rein on our primitive instincts. A crime of passion is a crime-period.
And the reasons should have no effect on the verdict."
Then they all began to argue: blame, guilt, capital punishment, parole, the conflict between law and justice. Delaney sat back happily and listened to the brouhaha he had started. A good house party. Finally…
"Did you ever notice," he said, "that when a killer is nabbed bloody-handed, the defense attorney always goes for the insanity plea and hires a battery of 'friendly' psychiatrists?"
"And meanwhile," Boone added, "the accused announces to the world that he's become a born-again Christian and wants only to renounce his wicked ways and live a saintly life."
"You're too ready to find excuses for your patients," Delaney said to the two psychiatrists.
"Won't you admit the existence of evil in the world?
Would you say Hitler was evil or just mentally ill?"
"Both," Dr. Samuelson said.
"His illness took the form of evil. But if it had been caught in time it could have been treated."
"Sure it could," Delaney said grimly.
"A bullet to the brain would have been very effective."
The argument flared again and gradually centered on the problem of the "normal" person living a law-abiding existence who suddenly commits a totally inexplicable heinous crime.
"I had a case like that once," Delaney said.
"A dentist in the Bronx… Apparently under no great emotional stress or business pressures. A quiet guy. A good citizen. But he started sniping at people from the roof of his apartment house. Killed two, wounded five. No one could explain why. I think he's still in the acorn academy. But I never thought he was insane.
You'll laugh when I tell you what I think his motive was. I think he was just bored. His life was empty, lacked excitement. So he started popping people with his hunting rifle. It gave a kick to his existence."
"A very penetrating analysis," Samuelson said admiringly.
"We call it anomie: a state of disorientation and isolation."
"But no excuse for killing," Delaney said.
"There's never an excuse for that. He was an intelligent man; he knew what he was doing was wrong."
"Perhaps he couldn't help himself," Diane Ellerbee said.
"That does happen, you know."
"No excuse," Delaney repeated stubbornly.
"We all may have homicidal urges at some time in our lives, but we control them. If there is no selfdiscipline, then we're back in the jungle. Self-discipline is what civilization is all about."
Diane smiled faintly.
"I'm afraid we're not all as strong as you.
"Strong? I'm a pussycat. Right, Monica?"
"I refuse to answer," she said, "on the grounds that I might incriminate myself."
Diane laughed and got up to prepare dinner. The women set out plates, glasses, thick pink napkins, and cutlery on linen place mats.
The Beef Bourguignon was in two cast-iron Dutch ovens that had to be handled with thick asbestos mitts. Delaney and Boone carried the pots into the dining room and set them on trivets. Samuelson handled the salad bowl and baskets of hot, crusty French bread. Then Diane Ellerbee put out a '78 California cabernet sauvignon.
"That's beautiful," Delaney said, examining the label.
"The last of the last case," their hostess said sadly.
"Simon and I loved it so much. We kept it for special occasions. Mr.
Delaney, would you uncork the bottles?"
"My pleasure," he said.
"All of them?"
"All," she said firmly.
"Once you taste it, you'll know why."
They had plenty of room at the long table. The hostess sat at the head and filled plates with the stew, and small wooden bowls with the salad.
"It's heaven," Monica said.
"Diane, you'll never make me believe this is stew meat."
"As a matter of fact, it's sirloin. Please, when you're ready for seconds, help yourself; I'm too busy eating."
They were all busy eating, but not too busy to keep the talk flowing.
Abner Boone was seated next to Monica, and Rebecca was paired with Dr.
Samuelson. Delaney sat on the right of the hostess.
"I hope," he said, leaning toward her, "you weren't upset by the conversation before dinner. All that talk about crime and punishment."
"I wasn't upset at all," she assured him.
"I found it fascinating. So many viewpoints…"
"I was a little hard on psychiatrists," he admitted.
"I'm really not that hostile toward your profession. I was just-"
"I know what you were just," she interrupted.
"You were trying to get an argument started to wake everyone up. You succeeded brilliantly, and I'm grateful for it."
"That's me," he said with a wry smile.
"The life of the party. One thing you said surprised me."
"Oh? What was that?"
"Your objection to capital punishment. After what you've been through, I'd have thought you'd be in favor of the death penalty.
"No," she said shortly, "I'm not. I want Simon's murderer caught and punished. To the limit of the law. But I don't believe in an eye for an eye.
He was saved from replying by Dr. Samuelson, who raised a hand and called in a squeaky voice, "A question!" They all quieted and turned to him.
"Will anyone object if I sop up my gravy with chunks of this marvelous bread?"
There were no objections.
As the hostess had predicted, the wine went swiftly, and the stew and salad were almost totally consumed. Later, when the table was cleared, the women went into the kitchen, shooing the men back to the living room. The room had become chilly, and Samuelson added two more pressed logs to the fireplace.
"There's central heating, of course," he told the others, "but Diane prefers to keep the thermostat low and use the fireplaces."
"Can't blame her for that," Abner Boone said.
"Saves on fuel, and an open fire is something special. But shouldn't she have a screen?"
"I think there's one around," Samuelson said vaguely, "but she doesn't use it."
They sat staring into the rejuvenated blaze.
"I was afraid we might have upset Doctor Ellerbee," Delaney said to Samuelson, "with all our talk about murders. But she says no."
"Diane is a very strong woman," Samuelson said.
"She has made a very swift recovery from the trauma of Simon's death.
Only occasionally now do I see how it has affected her. Suddenly she is sad, or sits in silence, staring at nothing. It is to be expected. It was a terrible shock, but she is coping."
"I suppose her work helps," Boone said.
"Oh, yes. Dealing with other people's problems is excellent therapy for your own. I speak from personal experience.