"I loved him," Symington said dully.
"Really loved him.
He was almost Christlike. Nothing shocked him. He could forgive you anything. Once, years ago, I went off the deep end and punished my parents. Really hurt them. Doctor Simon got me to face that. But he didn't condemn. He never condemned. Oh, Jesus, what's going to happen to me?"
"You haven't answered my question," Delaney said sternly.
"Did you notice any change in him recently?"
"No. No change."
Suddenly, without warning, Symington began weeping.
Tears ran down his fat cheeks, dripped off, stained the cushion. He cried silently for several minutes.
Delaney looked at Boone and the two rose simultaneously.
"Thank you for your help, Mr. Symington," Delaney said.
"Thank you, sir," Boone said.
They left him there, lying on his velvet couch in his cherry jumpsuit, wet face now turned to the ceiling.
Outside, they ran for the car, splashing through puddles.
They sat for a moment while Boone lighted a cigarette.
"A butterfly?" he said.
"Do you think?"
"Who the hell knows?" Delaney said roughly.
"But he's a real squirrel. Listen, I'm hungry. There's a Jewish deli on Lex, not too far from here. Great corned beef and pastrami.
Plenty of pickles. Want to try it?"
"Hell, yes," the Sergeant said.
"With about a quart of hot coffee."
The delicatessen was a steamy, bustling place, fragrant with spicy odors. The decibel level was high, and they shouted their orders to one of the rushing waiters.
"Good scoff," Boone said to Delaney when their sand wiches came.
"How did you happen to find this place?"
"Not one of my happier moments. I was a dick two, and I was tailing a guy who was a close pal of a bent-nose we wanted for homicide in a liquor store holdup. The guy I was hoping would lead us to the perp came in here for lunch, so I came in, too. The guy ordered his meal, and when it was served, he got up and headed for the rear of the place. the john is back there, so I figured he was going to take a leak, then come back and eat his lunch. But when he didn't return in five minutes, I thought, Oh-oh, and went looking. That's when I found out there's a back door, and he was long gone. I guess he spotted me and took off. So I came back and finished my lunch. The food was so good, I kept coming here every time I was in the neighborhood."
"Did you get the perp?"
"Eventually. He made the mistake of belting his wife once too often, and she sang. He plea-bargained it down to second degree. That was years ago; he's probably out of the clink by now."
"Robbing more liquor stores."
"Wouldn't doubt it for a minute," Delaney said with heavy good humor.
"It was the only trade he knew."
"You know," said Boone, "that Symington didn't strike me as the kind of guy who'd own a ball peen hammer."
"Or galoshes either. But it wouldn't surprise me if he owned a pair of cowboy boots. These people we're dealing with are something. They hold down good jobs and make enough loot to see a therapist three times a week. I mean they fuction. But then they get talking, and you realize their gears don't quite mesh. They think that if A equals B, and B equals C, then X equals Y. We've got to start thinking like that, Sergeant, if we expect to get anywhere on this thing. No use looking for logic."
They were silent awhile, looking idly at the action in the deli as customers arrived and departed, the sweating waiters screamed orders, and the guys behind the hot-meat counter wielded their long carving knives like demented samurai.
"I think," Boone said, "that maybe Symington really was in love with Ellerbee. Sexually, I mean."
"It's possible," Delaney said.
"It's even possible that Ellerbee responded.
Maybe the good doctor was iced because of a lover's quarrel. But that just shows how this warped world is getting to me. Finished? I think we better get back; Jason said he'd be there at one o'clock."
"I hope he's found something heavy."
"Don't hold your breath," Delaney advised.
Monica had been out doing volunteer work at a local hospital. When she returned home, she had found Jason T. Jason sitting outside the brownstone in the unmarked police car. She brought him into the kitchen and they were having a coffee when Delaney and Boone walked in. The three men went into the study, Jason carrying a manila envelope.
"So," Delaney said to Jason, "how did you make out?"
The black cop was a boulder of a man: six-four, 250-and very little of that suet. His skin was a ruddy cordovan that always seemed polished to a high gloss. He wore his hair clipped short, like a knitted helmet, but his sharply trimmed mustache stretched from cheek to cheek. His hands were hams and his feet bigger than Delaney's.
Jason Two lived with his wife, Juanita, and two young sons in Hicksville, Long Island. He had been six years in the Department and had two citations, a number of solid busts and some good assists. He was hoping for a detective's shield but so were twenty thousand other cops.
"I don't know how I did," he confessed, opening the manila envelope.
"First time I looked for a perp in a library. I got three reports here, on the two Ellerbees and Doc Samuelson. I did them up on my older boy's typewriter. I'm a twofingered typist, both thumbs, so there's a lot of marking out and corrections, but I think you'll be able to read them.
Anyway, they're mostly cut-and-dried stuff. dates, ages, education, family background, their college degrees, and so forth.
To be honest, sir, I don't think it all amounts to diddley-squat.
I mean, I can't see any of it helping us find Ellerbee's killer."
"Nothing unusual?" Delaney asked.
"Nothing that struck you as being out of the ordinary or worth taking a second look at?"
"Not really," Jason said slowly.
"About the most unusual thing was that Samuelson had a breakdown some years ago.
That seemed odd to me: a psychiatrist cracking up. They said it was exhaustion from overwork. He was out of action for about six months. But then he went back to his office and took up his caseload again."
Delaney turned to Boone – "He said his wife died of cancer, didn't he, and his son was killed in an automobile accident?
That would be enough to knock anyone for a loop. Anything else, Jason?"
"Well, sir, I collected all the facts and figures I could in the time I had. All that's in my reports. Most of it came from books, newspapers, and professional journals. But I talked to a lot of people, too. Friends and associates of all three doctors. And after I got the factual stuff I wanted, I'd bullshit awhile with them. Funny how people run off at the mouth when they hear it's a murder investigation. Anyway, I heard some stuff that may or may not mean anything. I didn't put it in my reports because it was just hearsay. I mean, none of it is hard evidence."
"You did just right, Jose," Sergeant Boone said.
"We need every scrap we can get. What did you hear?"
"First of all, practically every guy I talked to mentioned how beautiful Diane is. They all sounded like they were in love with her. I've never seen her, but she must be some foxy lady."
"She is," Delaney and Boone said simultaneously, and they all laughed.
"Well,'everyone said how lucky Doc Simon was to hook on to someone like her: a looker with plenty of the green. But one guy swears Ellerbee wasn't all that anxious to marry, but she had her mind set on it. I told you I heard a lot of rumors.
Some of the guys admitted they made a play for her, even after she was married, but it was no dice; she was straight."
"Any gossip about Doctor Simon playing around?" Delaney asked.
"Nada, " Jason said.
"Apparently he was a cold, controlled kind of guy. I mean, he was pleasant enough, good company and all that, but a secret man; he didn't reveal much. At least that's what most people said. But I talked to one woman she's the secretary of that association he belonged to and she said she saw Ellerbee at a dinner about a month before he was iced. She said she was surprised at how he had changed since she saw him last. She said he was singing, and a lot more outgoing than he had been. Seemed really happy, she said."