And a quiet, timid, plain, rather dowdy woman at that. It was the worst thing that could possibly happen to you. Because you couldn't handle defeat.
Didn't know how-you had no experience. So all you could feel was anger.
Your husband's declaration of love for Yesell not only destroyed you, but it destroyed your world." He paused a moment, expecting a reply. But when she said nothing, he flipped more pages on his clipboard, then looked up at her again.
"All right," he said, "so much for the psychoanalysis, doc but I think it gives us a motive a jury would believe. Now let's talk about the weapon the ball peen hammer that crushed your husband's skull and put out his eyes.
We spent a lot of time on that hammer, Doctor Ellerbee, and, lo and behold, we discovered a ball peen hammer was stolen sometime in October from May's Garage and Service Station in Brewster, where you take your cars. You could have lifted it. It's possible, isn't it? And where do you think that hammer is now? At the bottom of the brook that runs through your land. Which is why we're getting a warrant to drag the stream. And if we find it-what then?
Fingerprints and bloodstains, I suppose. You'd be amazed at what the laboratory men can do these days."
She stirred restlessly, moving her body in the chair and turning her head back and forth. She reminded Delaney of one of the great cats he had seen behind bars in the Central Park Zoo-a cheetah, he recalled whipping its head from side to side, pacing, endlessly pacing, plotting how to get out.
"Not much more now," he said stonily.
"You couldn't handle your anger, so you got hold of the hammer and started planning. It had to be on a Friday night, because that's when Joan Yesell came up here, and she and your husband made love on his black leather couch. Right? So, on that stormy night, you didn't drive up early to Brewster at all, did you?"
"I did!" she cried.
"I did!"
"Don't jerk me around," he said, tapping his clipboard.
"We've got evidence here that you didn't. That instead you stayed in Manhattan, watched the townhouse, waiting for Joan Yesell to arrive. But she was late that night. Your anger was building, building… Finally you came in here and murdered your husband. And then smashed his eyes because he had the effrontery to look at another woman."
She stared at him with horrified wonder.
"Why are you doing this to me?" she asked.
"Why?"
He stood suddenly and slammed a hard fist down on her desk top, a heavy blow that made everyone in the room jump.
He leaned far over the desk.
"Why?" he said in a strangled voice, glaring at her.
"Why?
Because you visited my home, you were sweet to my wife, you invited us to your home and fed us. You actually sat down at table with us and acted the bountiful hostess. Then you sent us flowers. The beginning of your downfall-if only you could have known. But throughout you've played me for a fool-a fool! And that I can't take. You want to know why?
That's why I" He subsided into his chair, his fury ebbing. She looked at him, bewildered, not understanding. Boone and Jason understood but remained silent.
The silence grew. He gave her time, watching her face working. He guessed what was going through her mind. He could almost see her confidence slowly returning as she reviewed everything he had said. She straightened in her chair, raised a hand to make certain her braids were in place.
"You don't know that I stole a hammer from May's," she said finally,
"and you certainly can't prove it."
"That's true," Delaney said, nodding.
"And you can't prove that I stayed in Manhattan that night."
He nodded again.
"You can't even prove that I knew about my husband's sleazy little affair," she concluded triumphantly.
"So you've got nothing."
He showed his teeth again.
"We've got you, madam," he said.
She was shaken, expecting to hear a proven indictment.
But this great, shaggy bear of a man sat silently, staring at her over his reading glasses.
"Stop calling me 'madam,"' she said petulantly.
"If you don't wish to address me as "Doctor,' then "Mrs. Ellerbee' will do as well."
He leaned forward.
"Why don't we cut out the shit," he said pleasantly, using the crude word deliberately to further unsettle her.
"You're going to waltz away from this, smiling bravely. If you don't know it, your lawyers will."
"Well, then," she said, "this has all been an exercise in futility, hasn't it?"
"Not quite. If I had my druthers, you'd be behind bars. for ten-to-twenty, eating off tin plates and afraid to pick up the soap in the shower. But if I can't have that, I'll settle for second best." He extended a big hand, fingers spread wide, then slowly clenched them into a rocky fist.
"I'm going to crush you, madam-just like that."
She looked at him, then looked at the two uniformed-officers sitting behind him. They returned her stare.
"Let me tell you what's going to happen to you," Delaney said, hunching forward to rest his clasped hands on the desk.
"We're going to make what they call a media event out of this.
We're going to arrest you, charging you with the premeditated murder of your husband, Simon Ellerbee. You'll be taken to the nearest precinct house, photographed, and fingerprinted.
Then you'll be allowed a phone call to your attorney. While you're waiting for him, you'll be locked in a cage. Won't that be nice? Oh, you'll be out in a few hours, I'm sure-maybe a day at the most.
Meanwhile we'll have alerted the newspapers and television stations.
It's going to be a circus: Wife accused in brutal slaying of husband.
The media will love it. Prominent East Side couple. Wealthy, well-known psychiatrists.
And the other woman-a patient! Have you ever been photographed wearing a bikini? I'll bet the tabloids get hold of the photo and splash it all over their front pages.
"You wouldn't dare," she gasped, her face suddenly a death's-head.
"Oh, I'd dare a great deal more than that, madam. Leaks to the press about your husband's affair. Maybe Joan Yesell can sell her story and make a few bucks -she's entitled."
"I'll sue you!" she screamed.
"I'll sue all of you!"
"Be my guest," he said with a frosty smile.
"You sue, and you're going to be in the headlines a long time, lady. But meanwhile your career is down the drain. No more kiddie patients for you. And wherever you go, for the rest of your life, people will point a finger and whisper, "That's the woman they said killed her husband."
You'll never outlive that."
"You're a brute," she shouted at him, quivering with anger.
"A brute!"
"A brute, am I? And what do you call someone who hammers in the skull of another human being and then crushes his eyes? I'm a brute but you're notis that the way your mind works? You didn't really think you were going to get off scotfree, did you? This is an imperfect, unfair world, I admit, but you sin and you pay the price, one way or another. It's payment time for you, doctor."
"I didn't do it!" she howled desperately.
"I swear I didn't!', "You did it," he said, looking at her steadily.
"You know it, I know it, these officers know it, the Department knows it.
And pretty soon the whole city will. You're going to be a nine-day wonder, Doctor Ellerbee. Maybe they'll even make up rhymes about you-like "Lizzie Borden took an axe..
Won't it be great to be a superstar?"
She moved so swiftly they didn't have time to react. Instead of circling the desk, she launched herself over the top, claws out, going for Delaney's face. He jerked back, his chair went over with a crash, and he dragged her down atop him, hoping his glasses wouldn't break.
Boone and Jason Two pulled her off. She fought them frantically and they slammed her back into the chair behind the desk. Jason stood next to her, a meaty hand clamped on her shoulder.
Delaney climbed awkwardly to his feet. He set the chair upright, examined his reading glasses to make sure they weren't broken, and touched the stinging marks on his cheek.