Read Online The Fourth Deadly Sin by Lawrence Sanders - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lawrence Sanders
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Warbucks check out the net worth of the dead guy and Doctor Diane Ellerbee.”
He paused a moment, pondering. Then: “And throw in Doctor Julius K. Samuelson for good measure. Let’s find out how fat his bank account is.”
“Will do,” Boone said, making some quick jottings in his notebook.
“Sir ” Jason T. Jason said hesitantly, “would you mind telling me the reason for this?”
“Cui bono, ” Delaney said promptly. “Who benefits? In this case, who stands to gain from the death of Simon Ellerbee? I’m not saying money was the motive here, but it might have been. It sure as hell has been in a lot of homicides where the perp turns out to be a member of the family or a beneficiary. It’s something that’s got to be checked out.”
“I’ll get on it right-” Boone started to say, but then the phone rang.
“That may be Doctor Diane,” Delaney said. “You better answer, Sergeant.” e talked briefly, then hung up and turned to them.
Six o’clock tonight,” he said. “She’ll be finished with her patients by then.”
“How did she sound?” Delaney asked.
“Furious. Trying to keep her cool. I’m not looking forward to that meeting, sir.”
“Has to be done,” Delaney said stubbornly. “The lady is said to be a real beauty-if that’s any consolation. Well, we’ve got about eight hours. Boone, why don’t you contact Suarez and get Charlie Parnell working on the financial reports. Jason, you take the car and go up to Brewster. The Ellerbees have a married couple who take care of their place.
The man does maintenance and works around the grounds.
Talk to him. He may have a toolshed or workshop on the premises.”
“Oh-ho,” Jason T. Jason said. “You want to know if he owns a ball peen hammer-right?”
“Right. And if he does, has he still got it? And if he has, you grab it.”
“Oh, yeah,” Jason said.
“And while you’re at it, get a look at the house and grounds. I’d like your take on it.”
“I’m on my way.”
“And so am I,” Boone said, as both officers rose.
“Sergeant, I’ll meet you at the Ellerbees’ townhouse at five-thirty. It’ll give us a chance to look around the neighborhood before we brace the widow.”
“I’ll be there,” Abner Boone promised.
After they left, Delaney returned to his study and looked at the cartons of files with dread. It had to be done, but he didn’t relish the task.
He set to work, dividing the records into separate folders: the victim, Dr. Diane Ellerbee, Dr. Julius Samuelson, the ME’s reports and photographs, the reports, photos, and map of the Crime Scene Unit, statements of everyone questioned.
Then he added notes of his conversation with Dr. Murray Walden, and what Sergeant Boone and Jason T. Jason had just told him.
It went faster than he had anticipated, and by 12:30 he had a satisfyingly neat stack of labeled file folders that included all the known facts concerning the murder of Dr. Simon Ellerbee.
It was time, he decided, for a sandwich.
He went into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and inspected the possibilities. There was a single onion roll in there, hard as a rock, but it could be toasted. And there were a few slices of pork left over from a roast loin. Some German potato salad. Scallions he could slice. Maybe a wee bit of horseradish.
He slapped it all together and ate it leaning over the sink.
Monica would have been outraged, but she was gone, doing volunteer work at a local hospital. She kept nagging him about his addiction, and she was right; he was too heavy in the gut. It was hard to convince her that the Earl of Sandwich had been one of civilization’s great benefactors.
He returned to the study and stared at the stack of Ellerbee file folders.
He had a disturbing bunch that this was going to be a “loose-ends case.”
That’s what he called investigations in which nothing was certain, nothing could be pinned down. A hundred suspects, a hundred alibis, and no one could say yes or
He paused a moment, pondering. Then: “And throw in Doctor Julius K. Samuelson for good measure. Let’s find out how fat his bank account is.”
“Will do,” Boone said, making some quick jottings in his notebook.
“Sir ” Jason T. Jason said hesitantly, “would you mind telling me the reason for this?”
“Cui bono, ” Delaney said promptly. “Who benefits? In this case, who stands to gain from the death of Simon Ellerbee? I’m not saying money was the motive here, but it might have been. It sure as hell has been in a lot of homicides where the perp turns out to be a member of the family or a beneficiary. It’s something that’s got to be checked out.”
“I’ll get on it right-” Boone started to say, but then the phone rang.
“That may be Doctor Diane,” Delaney said. “You better answer, Sergeant.” e talked briefly, then hung up and turned to them.
Six o’clock tonight,” he said. “She’ll be finished with her patients by then.”
“How did she sound?” Delaney asked.
“Furious. Trying to keep her cool. I’m not looking forward to that meeting, sir.”
“Has to be done,” Delaney said stubbornly. “The lady is said to be a real beauty-if that’s any consolation. Well, we’ve got about eight hours. Boone, why don’t you contact Suarez and get Charlie Parnell working on the financial reports. Jason, you take the car and go up to Brewster. The Ellerbees have a married couple who take care of their place.
The man does maintenance and works around the grounds.
Talk to him. He may have a toolshed or workshop on the premises.”
“Oh-ho,” Jason T. Jason said. “You want to know if he owns a ball peen hammer-right?”
“Right. And if he does, has he still got it? And if he has, you grab it.”
“Oh, yeah,” Jason said.
“And while you’re at it, get a look at the house and grounds. I’d like your take on it.”
“I’m on my way.”
“And so am I,” Boone said, as both officers rose.
“Sergeant, I’ll meet you at the Ellerbees’ townhouse at five-thirty. It’ll give us a chance to look around the neighborhood before we brace the widow.”
“I’ll be there,” Abner Boone promised.
After they left, Delaney returned to his study and looked at the cartons of files with dread. It had to be done, but he didn’t relish the task.
He set to work, dividing the records into separate folders: the victim, Dr. Diane Ellerbee, Dr. Julius Samuelson, the ME’s reports and photographs, the reports, photos, and map of the Crime Scene Unit, statements of everyone questioned.
Then he added notes of his conversation with Dr. Murray Walden, and what Sergeant Boone and Jason T. Jason had just told him.
It went faster than he had anticipated, and by 12:30 he had a satisfyingly neat stack of labeled file folders that included all the known facts concerning the murder of Dr. Simon Ellerbee.
It was time, he decided, for a sandwich.
He went into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and inspected the possibilities. There was a single onion roll in there, hard as a rock, but it could be toasted. And there were a few slices of pork left over from a roast loin. Some German potato salad. Scallions he could slice. Maybe a wee bit of horseradish.
He slapped it all together and ate it leaning over the sink.
Monica would have been outraged, but she was gone, doing volunteer work at a local hospital. She kept nagging him about his addiction, and she was right; he was too heavy in the gut. It was hard to convince her that the Earl of Sandwich had been one of civilization’s great benefactors.
He returned to the study and stared at the stack of Ellerbee file folders.
He had a disturbing bunch that this was going to be a “loose-ends case.”
That’s what he called investigations in which nothing was certain, nothing could be pinned down. A hundred suspects, a hundred alibis, and no one could say yes or
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