The- _aded ideas awhile longer, then Delaney glanced up at the walnut-cased regulator on the wall, a relic from a demolished railroad station.
"Getting late," he said.
"Why don't the three of us try Ronald J. Bellsey again-just walk in on him without warning. He should be home by now. Jason, we'll take your car and you can drop us back here."
On the drive south, Delaney remembered to ask Jason Two if he and his family would like to come for Thanksgiving Day dinner.
"Thank you, sir," the officer said, "but we've already signed on with Juanita's parents. They're making a big deal out of it, and the kids and the old folks would kill me if I canceled."
"Don't even consider it," Delaney said.
"We'll make it an.other time. Your boys should see their grandparents as often as possible. I wish I could see more of my grandchildren."
They double-parked in front of Bellsey's high-rise. Boone flashed his ID and asked the doorman to keep an eye on their car. There was no house phone; the lobby attendant explained they'd have to use the intercom. In addition, they were told to stand in front of a small, ceiling-mounted television camera that would relay their picture via closed circuit to a monitor in Bellsey's foyer.
"Cute gimmick," Delaney said.
"First time I've been on TV," Jason said, grinning.
"Should I do a buckand-wing or something?"
Boone spoke softly to Bellsey on the intercom, then held up his shield before the camera's eye.
"Apartment 2407," he reported to the others.
"He said to come up, but he didn't sound too happy about it." In the elevator, Delaney said to Jason, "Don't be bashful about chiming in when we question this guy. Let's overwhelm him with muscle."
The door of Apartment 2407 was jerked open by a stocky, red-faced man wearing a rugged sport jacket and whipcord slacks. Behind him, a smallish, graying woman stood in the foyer archway, hands clasped, peering at them timidly.
"I suppose this is about Ellerbee," Bellsey burst out angrily.
"I already talked to the cops about that."
"We know you did, Mr. Bellsey," Boone said.
"That was just a preliminary questioning. Unfortunately, you're involved in a murder investigation, and we--"
"What do you mean I'm involved?" Bellsey demanded, his voice rising.
"Jesus Christ, I was just one of his patients! I don't know a damned thing about how he got killed."
"Mr. Bellsey," Delaney said stonily, "are you going to keep us standing out here in the hallway while you shout at us and the neighbors get an earful?"
"Screw the neighbors! I don't see why I have to be harassed like this."
Jason T. Jason shoved his big bulk forward.
"No one's harassing you," he said quietly.
"Just a few questions and we'll be out of your hair."
Bellsey looked up at the big cop.
"Shit!" he said disgustedly.
"Well, come on in then. I want you to know you're interrupting our dinner." He turned to the woman.
"Lama, you get back to the kitchen; this has nothing to do with you."
The woman scurried away.
"Your wife?" Delaney asked as the three men entered the apartment.
"Yeah," Bellsey said.
"Leave her out of this."
He didn't offer to take their coats and made no effort to get them seated. So they all remained standing in a tight little group.
"I'm Sergeant Boone and these men are Delaney and Jason. Your full name is Ronald J. Bellsey?"
"That's right. The J. is for James in case you're interested."
"When was the last time you saw Doctor Ellerbee?"
"On Thursday afternoon, the day before he was killed.
Don't tell me you didn't get that from his appointment book.
Or is that expecting too much brains from cops?"
"Be nice, Mr. Bellsey," Delaney said softly.
"You get snotty with us and you'll be answering our questions at the precinct house and waiting a long, long time for your dinner.
Is that what you want?"
He glowered at them.
Bellsey was heavy through the shoulders and chest. His neck was short and thick, supporting a squarish head topped with an ill-fitting toupee.
He stood leaning belligerently forward, pugnacious jaw thrust out, hands balled into fists.
"Mr. Bellsey," Boone said, "You claim you were home on the night Ellerbee was killed." -That's right."
"All night?"
"Yeah. I got home around seven and didn't go out of the house until Saturday. Ask my wife; she'll tell you."
"Did you have any visitors Friday evening? See any neighbors? Make or receive any phone calls?"
"No.
"Do you have a police record, Mr. Bellsey?" Delaney asked.
"We'll check, of course, but it would be smart if you told us first."
Bellsey opened his mouth to speak, then shut it with a click of teeth.
He hesitated, then tried again.
I was never really arrested," he said grudgingly.
"Not formally, I mean. But I got into trouble a few times. I don't know what's on my record."
"What kind of trouble?" Jason asked.
"Fights. I was defending myself."
"How many times?"
"Once. Or twice."
"Or maybe more?"
"Maybe. I don't remember."
"Ever get in a fight with Doctor Ellerbee?" Boone asked.
"Ever attack him?"
"Shit, no! He was my doctor. A decent guy. I liked him."
"How long had you been seeing him?"
"About two years."
"You own a car?" Delaney asked suddenly.
Bellsey looked at him, puzzled.
"Sure."
"What kind?"
"Last year's Cadillac."
"Where do you keep it?"
"In the basement. We have an underground garage."
"You ever do any repairs on it yourself?"
"Sometimes. Minor stuff."
"You own tools?"
"Some.
"Where do you keep those?"
"In the trunk of the car."
Delaney glanced at Boone.
"Mr. Bellsey," the Sergeant said, "did Ellerbee ever mention to you that he had been attacked or threatened by a patient?"
"No.
"Did you know any of his other patients?"
"No' "Did you notice any change recently in his manner or personality?"
"No, he was just the same."
"What's 'the same'?" Jason asked.
"What kind of a man was he?"
"Calm, cool, and collected. Never blew his stack. Never raised his voice.
A real put-together guy. I cursed him out once, and he never held it against me."
"Why did you curse him out?"
"I don't remember."
"When you went -out shopping today," Boone said, "what did you wear?"
"What did I wear?" Bellsey said, bewildered.
"I wore a rainhat and a lined trenchcoat."
"Galoshes? Boots?"
"No. A pair of rubbers."
"You work for a wholesale butcher?" Delaney said.
"That's right."
"What do you do-slice salami?"
"Christ, no! I'm the manager. Production manager."
"You oversee the butchers, loaders, drivers-is that it?"
"Yes.
"YOU must deal with some rough guys."
"They think they are," Bellsey said grimly.
"But they shape up or ship out."
"You ever do any boxing?" Jason Two asked.
"Some. When I was in the navy. Middleweight."
"Never professionally?"
"NO."