And, like an idiot, it never occurred to me to think of her as a vicious, cold-blooded killer."

"But she couldn't."

"Hold on," he interrupted again.

"Let me finish. Neglecting the percentages wasn't the worst of my stupidities; I neglected the obvious. Which, in this case, was her statement that she left Manhattan that night about six-thirty and got up to Brewster around eight. Who says so?

She says so. Where's the proof? There is no proof. And like the moron I am, I never even doubted,her story, didn't try to prove it out one way or the other."

"That doesn't mean she's guilty."

"No? Here's the scenario as I see it: "Simon Ellerbee really has a thing for this Joan Yesell.

And he's straight; he's not scamming her. So he tells his wife he wants a divorce. I figure that happened maybe three weeks, a month before he was killed. Or maybe she found out about Yesell herself-who knows? But the idea of divorce really shakes her. He's dumping the golden goddess for a wimp? She starts plotting.

"So on the murder night, as usual, she tells him she'll drive up to Brewster early, and he can follow after he gets rid of his late patient who, Diane knows, is probably Yesell. Diane gets her car out of the garage, but she never leaves Manhattan.

Maybe she drives around, but I have a feeling she parks somewhere on East Eighty-fourth, where she can see the door of the townhouse, and just sits and waits.

"Yesell is late that night and doesn't show. But I figure Diane is in such a state that it doesn't matter. I think she intended to kill the two of them-I really do. She wants to waltz in on them while they're in each other's arms. Then she'll bash in their skulls with her trusty little hammer. Where she got the ball peen, I don't know yet, but I'll find out.

"Anyway, she's got herself psyched up for murder, and when Yesell hasn't shown up by, say, eight-thirty, Diane says to herself, the hell with it, I'm going to kill the man who betrayed me. Gets out of the car, plods through the rain, goes up to her husband's office, and kills him. The fatal blows landed high on his head, but from the back, So he had turned away from her, not expecting death. Afterward she rolls him over, hammers out his eyes.

"Monica, let me get you a drink; you look a little pale."

He went into the kitchen, brought back a bottle of Frascati and two glasses. Then he sat down again, and poured the wine.

"Was I too graphic? I'm sorry. But do you see any holes in the story? It hangs together, doesn't it? Makes a crazy kind of logic?"

"I suppose," Monica said hesitantly.

"But why, Edward?

Was it just the woman scorned?"

"That was part of it, sure, but there was more to it than that. I completely misjudged that woman. I thought her cold, always in control, always thinking before she acted. But now I believe that behind that facade is a very passionate woman."

There were other things Delaney wanted to tell his wife.

Why Diane Ellerbee had crushed her husband's eyes, for instance. But he thought Monica, now looking forlorn and shaken, had heard enough gore and violence for one night.

"Let's go watch some TV comedy," he suggested.

"Or just sit and talk. We haven't had an evening together in a long time."

She smiled warmly.

"No, we haven't. What are you going to do now, Edward?

Arrest her?"

He shook his head.

"I don't have enough for that yet.

Everything I told you is just supposition. We'll have to try and come up with hard evidence. Maybe we will, maybe we won't. But I can tell you one thing: That bloody lady is not going to walk away from this whistling a merry tune."

Early on the morning of December 28th, a Saturday, Delaney called Boone and Jason and asked both men to come to the brownstone at 1 1:00 A.m. By the time they had arrived, he had assembled more reports, notes, and data he felt clearly pointed to the guilt of Dr. Diane Ellerbee.

He sat them down and went through his presentation again, much as he had related it to Monica the night before.

"As I see it," he finished, "there's no way we're going to prove or disprove she went up to Brewster that night at the time she claimed.

Unless an eyewitness comes forward which is about as likely as a blizzard in July. But let's assume she had the opportunity to waste him. That leaves the motive and method."

"Seems to me you've got the motive, sir," Boone said.

"A wife being dumped for another woman. I've handled a dozen homicides like that."

"Sure you have," Delaney said.

"Happens all the time. But I think there was more to it than that. This gets a little heavy, but bear with me. Here we have a beautiful young woman who's enjoying all the perks that beautiful young women enjoy.

Then she becomes Ellerbee's student. He sees her pa tential and tells her that if she doesn't use her brain, she's nothing but a statue. Get it? He's saying that her looks don't mean damn-all; it's just a lucky accident of birth. He's not impressed by her beauty, he tells her, but he's impressed by her brain and convinces her that she's got to use it if she wants a fulfilling life. Okay so far?"

"He's trying to improve her," Jason Two said.

"Like we talked about before."

"Right! He's telling her that beauty is only skin deep. She goes along with that, makes a happy marriage and a successful career. Then, suddenly, she finds out he's got eyes for another woman. Get that-he's got eyes for another woman." The Sergeant said, "So you think that's why she put his eyes out?"

"Had to be," Delaney said definitely.

"Not only was he being unfaithful to her, but he was going back on everything he had told her. So, after he was dead, she blinded him. Now you'll never find anyone more beautiful than me, you son of a bitch-that's what she was saying."

"Hey," Jason said, "that's one crazy lady."

"Maybe she was when she did it," Delaney admitted, "but after it was done she covered up like an Einstein and diddled us with no trouble at all. I mean she was thinking every step of the way, acting like the outraged widow seeking justice and making a great show of cooperating with us any way she could. No dummy she."

"We're never going to hang it on her," Boone said.

"What have we got?"

"It's all circumstantial," Delaney said.

"And thin at that.

But we've got to try to flesh it out. Here's what I want you men to do today… You can divide it up any way you like.

First, check out that Manhattan garage where the Ellerbees kept their cars when they were in town. Find out if the garage does any servicing or repairs. If so, did they lose a ball peen hammer in the last three months?

If that doesn't work, go up to Brewster. They keep that Jeep station wagon up there; they must have a local garage or gas station doing their servicing.

Ask the same question: Are you missing a ball peen hammer?

I've got a couple of things I want to check out. Let's all meet back here at, say, nine o'clock tonight and compare notes.

Boone you look doubtful. Aren't you convinced she did it?"

"I'm convinced," the Sergeant said mournfully.

"After listening to Joan Yesell's story, Diane becomes the number one suspect. The only thing that bothers me is that I think she's going to walk."

"Jason?"

"Yeah, I think the lady killed her husband. But like the Sergeant says, pinning her is something else again."

"We'll see," Delaney said stolidly.

"We'll see."

After they left, he went into the kitchen to fortify himself.

The women had gone shopping and then planned to catch the Christmas show at Radio City Music Hall. So Delaney had the house to himself. More important, he had the refrigerator to himself.

There was a marvelous loaf of marbled rye: half-rye, halfpumpernickel baked in a twist. With thick slices of smoked turkey, chips of kosher dill pickle, and a dousing of Tiger sauce, a great condiment he had discovered. At first taste it was sweet-and-sour. A moment later, sweat broke out on your scalp and steam came out of your ears.