The Fourth Deadly Sin by Lawrence Sanders Read Free Book Online Page B

man.”
    “Dr. Murray Walden,” Delaney repeated, jotting the name on his desk calendar. “Would you phone him and tell him to expect a call from me?”
    “Of course.”
    “He’ll cooperate?”
    “Absolutely. Did you go through the files, Edward?”
    “I did. Once.”
    “See anything?”
    “A lot of holes.”
    “That’s what I was afraid of. You’ll plug them, won’t you?”
    “That’s what I’m getting paid for. By the way, Ivar, what am I getting paid?”
    “A case of Glenfiddich,” Thorsen said. “And maybe a medal from the Mayor.”
    “Screw the medal,” Delaney said. “I’ll take the scotch.”
    He hung up after promising the Deputy he’d keep him informed of any developments. Then he tidied up, returning the emptied sandwich platter, beer cans, and soda bottles to the kitchen.
    Back in the study, he eyed the cartons of Ellerbee records with some distaste. He knew that eventually all that bumf would have to be divided logically and neatly into separate file folders. He could have told Boone or Jason to do it, but it was donkey labor, and he didn’t want their enthusiasm dulled by paperwork.
    It took him five minutes to find the two documents he was looking for: the exchange of correspondence and memos between Dr. Julius K. Samuelson and the Department’s attorneys regarding the issue of doctor-patient confidentiality, and the photocopies of Dr. Simon Ellerbee’s appointment book.
    After rereading the papers, Delaney was definitely convinced that their so-called compromise was ridiculous and unworkable. No way could a detective investigate a possible suspect without direct questioning. He decided to ignore the whole muddle, and if he stepped on toes and someone screamed, he’d face that problem when it arose.
    What interested him was that Samuelson had made his argument for the inviolability of Ellerbee’s files as president of the Greater New York Psychiatric Association. He was, in effect, a professional upholding professional ethics.
    But Samuelson was also a witness involved in a murder case and a friend of the victim. Nowhere in his correspondence did he state his personal views about investigating Ellerbee’s patients to find the killer.
    Even more intriguing, the opinions of Dr. Diane Ellerbee on the subject were never mentioned. Granted that the lady was a psychologist, not a psychiatrist, still the absence of her objection suggested that she was willing to see her husband’s patients interrogated.
    Delaney pushed the papers away and leaned back in his swivel chair, hands clasped behind his head. He admitted to an unreasonable impatience with lawyers and doctors. In his long career as a detective, they had too often obstructed, sometimes stymied, his investigations. He recalled he had spoken about it to his first wife, Barbara.
    “Goddamn it! How can a guy become a lawyer, doctor or even an undertaker, for that matter. All three are making a living on other people’s miseries-isn’t that so? I mean, they only get paid when other people are in a legal bind, sick, or dead.”
    She had looked at him steadily. “You’re a cop, Edward,” she said. “That’s the way you make your living, isn’t it?”
    He stared at her, then laughed contritely. “You’re so right,” he said, “and I’m an idiot.”
    But still, lawyers and doctors weren’t his favorite people.
    “Carrion birds,” he called them.
    Closer inspection of Ellerbee’s appointment book proved more rewarding. It was an annual ledger, and, starting at the first of the year, Delaney attempted to list the name of every patient who had consulted the doctor. He used a long, yellow legal pad which he ruled into neat columns, writing in names, frequency of visits, and canceled appointments.
    It was an arduous task, and when he finished, more than an hour later, he peered at the yellow pages through his reading glasses and wasn’t sure what in hell he had.
    Some patients consulted Ellerbee at irregular intervals.
    Some