Chapter 4 Chapter Four

That weekend, Ellery was in a state of nervousness. For hours on end, he played with compasses, rulers, pencils, and graph paper, tracing mysterious statistical curves.Finally, he threw the coordinate maps into the stove, and hours of painstaking effort reduced them to wisps of smoke.It was an unbearably hot Sunday, but when Officer Quinn came in, he saw him warming in front of the stove; the officer said feebly to Ellery that even if he had to live in purgatory, he should find a way to lower the temperature a little Son. Ellery laughed wantonly. "There are no electric fans in hell."

Then he went into the study and made a gesture to close the door, but his father followed. "son." Ellery stood at his desk, staring down at the box of files.He hadn't shaved in three days, and his dark blue skin was visible under the bushy beard.It looked more like a dead plant, not human at all, thought his father.Then he called again: "son." "Dad, I'd better throw in the towel." The police officer smiled: "You're just talking. Do you want to talk about it?" "As long as you can come up with an interesting topic." The officer turned on the electric fan.

"Well, you can always talk about the weather. By the way, I heard about your—what do you call those two brats, Militia?" Ellery shook his head. "How about a walk in the park? Or take a taxi?" "How about something fresh?" Ellery murmured. "You don't even have to shave. You won't meet any acquaintances anyway. Almost half of the people in the city have left. How about you, son?" "Let's talk!" Ellery looked out the window, the sky seemed to be bordered by a bright red, just reflected on the building, "What the hell weekend!"

"Listen," said his father, "Monster Cat only works on working days, Saturdays and Sundays, and the only regular holiday he's missed since he started his crimes is Fourth of July, So we can stop worrying about what's going to happen this Labor Day weekend." "You should know what New York looks like on Labor Day night." The setting sun dyed the buildings outside the window red.Twenty-four hours from now, he thought. "Traffic jams everywhere, on the roads, on bridges, in tunnels, in airports, docks, in the parking lots of train stations, all people are crowding back into the city at the same time."

"Okay, Ellery, let's go to the movies. Ha! Come on, let's catch a vaudeville. I'll even go to the thigh show with you tonight." Ellery couldn't smile at all. "I just want to have a monster cat. Enjoy it yourself, Dad, I'll just spoil your fun." The police officer tactfully went out by himself. But he didn't go to the thigh show.Thanks to the help of the bus driver, he made a trip to the downtown police station. The knife fell towards his neck with a "swish", and the sweltering night turned cherry-like blood red.He was ready and calm, maybe even happy.The prison wagon below was packed with cats, nodding approvingly as they weaved blue and orange silk ropes solemnly.A kitten about the size of an ant sat in front of him, looking at him with black eyes rolling around.Just when he could feel the knife swinging and the great pain across his neck, the night seemed to disappear in an instant, and a bright light covered all the surrounding scenery.

Ellery opened his eyes. The cheek pressing against the desk was uncomfortable, and the blood was throbbing in it.The extremely intense pain in the dream extended to the other side of reality.While he was wondering, he heard the tiresome monotonous ringing of the telephone in his father's room. He got up and went to the next room and turned on the light. — 1:45. "Hello." His neck was sore. "Ellery." The officer's voice woke him up instantly. "The phone has been ringing for ten minutes." "I fell asleep on my desk. What's the matter, Dad? Where are you?"

"Where else could I have made this call? I've been here all night. You haven't undressed yet?" "Ok." "Meet me at the Pikelist Building right away. It's on East Eighty-fourth Street between Fifth Avenue and Madison." 1:45, so it's Labor Day.From August 25th to September 5th, there are 11 days. 11 is 1 more than 10.10 days between Simon Phillips and Beatrice Velikin.1 more than 10 is... "Ellery, are you listening?" "Who is it?" His head hurt like hell. "Ever heard of Dr. Edward Cazalis?" "Kazalis?"

"You didn't expect..." "The psychiatrist?" "It's him." "impossible!" It's as if, as you crawl along the narrow path of inference, the night outside splits into a million shimmering fragments. "What do you think, Ellery?" He felt that he was suspended in the distant outer space, at a loss. "It can't be Dr. Kazalis." He pulled himself together. The officer's voice said slyly, "Why do you think so, son?" "Because of his age. Kazalis won't be the seventh victim, no way. Something must be wrong."

"Age?" The old man hesitated, "What does Kazalis' age matter?" "He must be over 60 by now. It can't be Kazalis, it's not in his plans." "What plan?" his father snarled. "It's not Kazalis, is it? If it's Kazalis..." "It wasn't originally!" Ellery breathed a sigh of relief. "The niece of Dr. Cazalis's wife," said the inspector irritably. "Her name is Reno Richardson. Pikelist is where the Richardsons live, including the girl and her parents." "Do you know her age?"

"Twenty or almost thirty, I guess." "single?" "Probably not, I don't know enough. I have to hang up, Ellery, hurry up." "I'll be right there." "Wait, how do you know Kazalis isn't..." Across Central Park, Ellery stared into the microphone, lost in thought.He had forgotten to put the microphone back on the hook. - phone book. He ran back to his study and grabbed the Manhattan phone book. —Richardson. Reynolds Richardson, 12 East Eighty-fourth Street, second floor door. There is another Zachary Richardson, who lives at the second floor of No. 12 East Eighty-fourth Street, the same number.

Ellery, in perfect peace of mind, began to wash and change. Ellery would not be able to piece together a concrete picture of the entire evening until afterward.It was a long and chaotic night, many faces wandered and intertwined, and then separated, the things said were fragmented, the voice was hoarse, and tears were flowing.People were coming and going; phones were ringing almost incessantly, pencils were wandering across paper.At the end there are doors, a deck chair, and a photo.The photographer was there too, someone measuring, someone drawing; small, blue fists, dangling silk ropes; a Louis XVI gold clock on an Italian marble fireplace, a painting of a nude, a torn torn book cover... Ellery's mind was like a machine, his senses searched for things without thinking, and it didn't take long for the finished product to emerge. Out of a storage instinct, Ellery kept tonight's finished product in the back of his mind, feeling that it would come in handy later. There were no clues about the girl.He can only see her beauty through photos.Her body froze at the moment of struggling with all her strength, becoming an ordinary fossil without any meaning.She was petite and dainty, with soft, curly brown hair.A beautiful nose, and her mouth, judging from the photos, is a bit pampered.The nails on the hands and feet were beautifully manicured, and the hair was recently done.The shirts worn under the satin robes were of great value.She was reading a tattered copy of "Eternal Amber" when the strange cat raided. There is a leftover orange and a few cherry pits on a small inlaid coffee table next to the lounge chair.There is also a bowl of fruit, a silver cigarette case, an ashtray with 14 cigarette butts in it, and a silver lighter in the shape of an armored warrior on the coffee table. Under the relentless ravages of death, the girl looked like she was 50, but in this recent photo she looks like an innocent 18-year-old.The girl is actually 25 years old and an only child. Ellery gave up on Reynolds Richardson, bemoaning the lack of it. The survivors did not give any more clues. There were four of them: the parents of the murdered girl, the girl's aunt, Mrs. Kazalis, and the famous doctor Kazalis. In the sad atmosphere, Ellery felt strange that they couldn't see them supporting and comforting each other, so he observed them carefully one by one. The girl's mother spent time in uncontrolled hysteria.For a middle-aged woman, Mrs. Richardson was quite flashy, though a little too fashionable and jeweled.Ellery thought she might have chronic anxiety that had nothing to do with her misfortune, and that she was as cranky as a child with a hernia.It can be clearly seen that she is the kind of woman who loves life so much that she is stingy. The golden youth has lost its luster, and she diligently gilds the remaining beauty and deceives herself with luxurious packaging.At this moment, at the head of losing her daughter, she wailed in pain, as if suddenly discovering something long forgotten. The girl's father was a small, gray-haired man of about 64, rather prim, who looked like a jeweler or a librarian or something.In fact, he was the head of the oldest dry goods wholesaler in New York, the Richardson Leebo Company. When Ellery walked around the city, he often passed the "Richardson Leebo & Company" building, which was nine stories high and spanned nearly half a block at Broadway and Seventeenth Street.The company is famous for its old-fashioned operating principles, patriarchal business model, employees will never join the union, and they will submit to the company's arrangements without complaint throughout their lives until retirement.For all his integrity, Richardson was as stubborn as a rock and as narrow as a straight line.He couldn't comprehend what happened here at all, sitting alone in a corner, staring incredulously at the woman in an evening gown in agony, and then cast his eyes to the curled up figure under the blanket for a while. Richardson's sister-in-law was much younger than his wife, and Ellery guessed Mrs Cazalis was in her early forties.She was pale, tall and slender, and said little.She was not at all like her sister, she found her way; she glanced now and then at her husband, and she possessed the meekness Ellery used to see in the wives of eminent men.For this woman - to put it in a pathetic arithmetic way - marriage was the whole of her existence.In a society where people like Mrs Richardson predominated, Mrs Cazalis was destined to have few friends and few social interests.She soothed her middle-aged sister as she would a child throwing a tantrum.Only when Mrs. Richardson went too far with indulgence did she show a trace of reproach and displeasure, as if she felt underappreciated and cheated.She had a pure, uncompromising sensibility, an ice-delicate emotion that would recoil from her sister's unbridled emotion. While Ellery was concentrating on his observation and analysis, a pleasant male voice said next to his ear: "It can be seen that you have noticed it." Ellery turned quickly. It was Dr. Kazalis.He is tall and tall, although his shoulders are shrunk, he still looks majestic, with a pair of soft and cold eyes, and a head of thick gray hair, the whole person looks like a glacier.His voice was calm, with a hint of musical sarcasm mixed in.Ellery had heard somewhere that Dr. Kazalis had an unusual experience as a psychiatrist.Seeing himself for the first time now, he had to believe that statement.He must be sixty-five, Ellery thought, probably older.He is now semi-retired and only accepts a few patients, mainly female patients, and they are all selected.Declining health, a stagnant medical career, and advanced age are the main reasons for his reduction in patients.However, Dr. Kazalis still looked energetic and capable. With his large and thick surgeon's hands that kept moving, it was obvious that he was a man who couldn't sit still.Although these observations had nothing to do with the murders, Ellery was intrigued by this enigmatic figure.Nothing escapes his penetrating eyes.Ellery thought: He knows everything, but he says nothing, or only what he thinks his listeners need to know. "Notice anything, Dr. Cazalis?" "The difference between a wife and her sister. My sister-in-law was a terrible mother to Reynolds. She was afraid of the child, jealous and doting on her. She was usually spoiled or screamed at her. When you met her When she was in a bad mood, she simply ignored Renault's existence. Now Della panics because of guilt. Clinically speaking, a mother like Della wants her child to die, but once things happen When it came true, they cried and begged for forgiveness. Her grief was actually for herself." "Mrs Cazalis seems to know that as well as you do, doctor." The psychiatrist shrugged. "My wife did her best. We lost two babies in the delivery room within four years of our marriage, and my wife has never been able to conceive again. She transferred her affections to Della's children, and the two of them People, I mean my wife and Renault, get each other's compensation. Of course it can't be perfect, for example, this poor biological mother will always be a problem." The doctor took a look at the sisters and said coldly, "Even in mourning At that time, I didn't look like a mother at all. My mother was beating her chest and feet, but my aunt was silently mourning. As for myself," Dr. Cazalis said suddenly, "I love that little girl very much." After finishing speaking, he just walked away. At about 5 in the morning, they had already figured out the facts, roughly like this: The girl was home alone at the time.She was supposed to accompany her parents to a family dinner at a friend of Mrs. Richardson's in Westchester, but Raynor himself didn't want to go. ("She's on her period," Mrs. Cazalis told Officer Quinn. "Every time she does, Raynor is sick. She told me on the phone in the morning that she wasn't going. Della was very upset about it." Angry.") The Richardsons left for Westchester not long after 6, and it was a dinner party.There are two servants in the family, the cook happened to be on vacation, and she had already gone back to her own home in Pennsylvania on Saturday afternoon, and the other maid in Reno was on vacation that night; because she didn't live with the master originally, she had to go to the second It won't come until morning. The Kazaliss, who lived a block away at Park Avenue and Seventy-eighth Street, missed Reynolds all night. At 8:30 Mrs Cazalis called.Reynolds said she was "the same as before, with cramping pains" and, besides, that everything was fine, and told her uncle and aunt not to "worry" about her.However, as soon as Mrs. Cazalis knew that Reynolds was in the habit of eating nothing, she went to the Richardson's house to prepare a hot dinner, forced Reynolds to eat it, and then put the girl comfortably. Settled in a recliner in the living room, she spent another hour or so chatting with her niece. Renault has been in a bad mood recently.She told her aunt that her mother had been nagging her to "get married and stop being a stupid high school girl with boyfriend after boyfriend".Reynolds had been passionately in love with a poor boy of Jewish descent who was later killed in St. Los, and Mrs. Richardson strongly opposed their association. "Mum doesn't know him at all, and she won't let him go even after he dies." Mrs. Cazalis listened patiently to the girl's bitterness, and then tried to persuade her to go to bed. But Reynolds said, "It hurts so much, I might as well just read." And it was too hot for her.Mrs Cazalis told her not to stay up too late, kissed her good night, and left.It was almost ten o'clock then.When she took one last look at her, she was lying on the recliner, smiling and reaching for a book. After returning home, Mrs. Cazalis lamented for a while, her husband comforted her for a while, and then put her to bed.Dr. Kazalis stayed up late reading a case, and he promised his wife that he would call Raynor again before going to bed. "Because Della and Zeke probably won't be back until three or four in the morning." A little after 12 o'clock, the doctor called Richardson's house, but no one answered. Five minutes later, he called again.There was an extension in Reno's bedroom, and even if she was asleep, the constant ringing of the phone should have woken her up.Dr. Kazalis felt disturbed and decided to see for himself.Without waking his wife, he walked up to Pacrest Building and found Reno Richardson lying in a chair, strangled to death with an orange silk rope deep in the skin of her neck. His sister-in-law and his wife hadn't come back then; there was no one else in the house but the dead girl.Dr. Cazalis called the police, then found the phone number of Mrs. Richardson's Westchester friend's house on a table in the hall, ("I left the number with Raynor in case she got sick and asked me to come back. ’ Mrs. Richardson weeps) informs them that Raynor “has had an accident.”Then he called his wife to come right away, and she arrived right away in a taxi.Mrs. Cazalis put a long coat over her pajamas and went out. When she arrived, the police were already there.She passed out, but by the time the Richardsons returned she was well enough to comfort her sister. ("That's all," whispered Officer Quinn, "she deserves the Nobel Peace Prize.") Just a variation on the same thing, Ellery thought.Some events, several accidents, the only constant is the rope with the color of death.This is the hard core that cannot be broken. "I glanced at the silk cord that was round her neck," said Dr. Kazalis, "and I had only one thought in mind—the cat." The balconies and roofs were not inspected until after daylight—the French doors and windows in the living room were left open all night—and they were inclined to think that the strange cat had swaggered in by the front door after taking the manual elevator to the top floor.Mrs Cazalis remembers checking to see if the door was locked when she left at 10 a.m., when it was.But by the time her husband arrived at 12:30 midnight, the front door was wide open and held against a doorstop.Since the dead man's fingerprints were on the doorstop, it was clear that Raynor had opened the front door after her aunt had left, probably to allow for more air, as it was a very hot night.The porter at the night watch remembered seeing Mrs. Cazalis coming and going, and Dr. Cazalis coming in at midnight, but he admitted that he slipped out a few times in between, all for groceries at Eighty-sixth Street and Madison Avenue. Even if he is guarding the entrance hall downstairs, criminals may still sneak in when he is not looking. Wake up from sleeping on the chair." He didn't see or hear anything unusual. No neighbor heard the screaming. Fingerprinters found nothing suspicious. Dr. Prouty, who was sent by the medical examiner's office, could not pinpoint the exact time of death, but could only say that it was between Mrs. Cazalis' departure and her husband's arrival. The rope that strangles the neck is made of tussah silk. "The writer Henry James once called it—" Dr. Cazalis said, "the fatal delusion of truth." As dawn broke, they sat around drinking cold ginger ale and beer.Mrs. Cazalis made a plate of cold chicken sandwiches that no one was interested in touching except Officer Quinn, who Ellery forced to eat a little.The body had been removed according to procedure, and the ominous blanket was gone. A breeze came in from the penthouse balcony, and Mrs. Richardson had fallen asleep in her bedroom after being sedated. "In homage to the great skeptic," Ellery replied, "I must say that truth is not fatal because of falsehood, Doctor, but too little truth." "Seven murders is not enough?" exclaimed the doctor's wife. "Seven times zero, Mrs. Cazalis. Well, maybe not a little, but it's very tricky." Officer Quinn chewed his jaw up and down mechanically, but he didn't seem to be listening. "What can I do?" They were all startled.Renault's father sat there for so long, and now he spoke suddenly. "I have to do something, I can't just sit here, I have a lot of money..." "I'm afraid the money won't help, Mr. Richardson," Ellery said. "Monica McKell's father thought the same thing as you did. On August 10th, he offered a $100,000 reward. It didn't do anything, just Increased police distress." "Go to sleep, Zach?" Dr. Kazalis suggested. "She's never had a feud, Edward, you know. Everyone loves her so much. Why this...why did he pick Reynolds? She's everything to me. Why my daughter?" "Why other people's daughters, Mr. Richardson?" "I don't care about anyone else! What do we pay the police for!" Richardson stood up excitedly, cheeks flushed. "Zack..." He slumped his shoulders, looking dejected.After a while, he walked out quietly, muttering something in his mouth. "No, honey, let him go," the psychiatrist hastily stopped his wife. "Zack sees things with his Scotch obstinacy, and life is precious to him. It's you, I'm worried, look at you, your eyes are popping out from exhaustion. Come on, honey, I'll take You go home." "No, Edward." "Della is already asleep..." "If you don't go, I won't go, and you are needed here." Mrs. Kazalis grabbed her husband's hand, "Edward, they need you. Now you can't stay out of it, tell me you will help them. " "Of course. I'll take you home." "I'm not a child!" The big man suddenly jumped up: "What can I do now? These people are experts in this kind of thing. If it were me, I wouldn't ask them to come to my clinic and tell me how to treat patients!" "You're clearly trying to embarrass me, Edward." Her voice became sharper. "You can tell these gentlemen something, can't you? You've told me several times about your views, and your theories... " "But, that's just a reason. Come on, be sensible, you should go back..." "Della needs me." Her voice was strong and determined. "Honey." He seemed taken aback. "You know what Renault means to me." Mrs. Cazalis burst into tears. "You know, you know!" "Of course." He winked at Officer Ellery and Quinn, who were about to come over to comfort him. "Reynolds is also very important to me. Well, don't cry, you will ruin your body." "Edward, don't forget what you said to me!" "I'll do my best. Don't cry any more, my dear, don't cry any more." In his arms, she gradually stopped sobbing. "But you haven't promised me yet." "You stay here. I think you're right. Della's going to need you. Use their guest room, dear. I'll give you some medicine and you'll get some sleep." "Edward, promise me!" "I promise you. Now, I'll take you to bed." When Dr. Kazalis returned, he looked apologetic: "I should have expected such a hysterical reaction." "I'd rather see the old-fashioned catharsis at times like this," murmured Ellery. "By the way, Doctor, what's the theory Mrs. Cazalis mentioned?" "Theory?" Officer Quinn looked around. "Who has any theory?" "I've got a little idea," said Dr. Kazalis, reaching for his sandwich as he sat down. "Well, what are those people doing out there?" "Check balconies and roofs. Tell me your theory, doctor." The officer took one of Ellery's cigarettes.He never smoked. "I think every New Yorker has a theory or two," the psychiatrist smiled. "Of course, there's no psychiatrist who doesn't have some opinion on these murders. Although I don't have the inside story that you have." information." "We know about as much as you know." Kazalis muttered: "What I'm going to say is—Inspector, even if I knew, I don't believe it will have any real effect—in my opinion, you apply ordinary investigative methods to these unusual investigations. That's where you've gone astray. You've focused on the victim's side--which makes sense in normal cases, but it's dead wrong in these cases. .At this point, it would be more effective to focus on the murderer.” "how do I say this?" "Didn't it mean that the victims had nothing in common?" "right." "They don't know each other either?" "As far as we know so far." "Believe me, you'll never find an obvious point of intersection. These seven people are not related to each other, because they are. If there is any relationship between them, it can only be-say, the murderer's eyes are closed. Randomly flipped through the phone book seven times and decided to murder the forty-ninth person listed in the second column on that page." Ellery was thrilled. "We have seven here," Dr. Cazalis said, swallowing the last mouthful of his sandwich. "Seven people who had no connection in their lives, but died at the hands of the same person. From a medical point of view, this What does it mean? It's called: a series of indistinguishable acts of violence. To a person trained in psychiatry, this is called psychosis. By the way, I say indistinguishable because psychopaths Only when judged by the eyes of the real world, that is, by the world view of a healthy mind, do the behaviors of psychopaths appear to be unmotivated. Psychopaths are motivated, but they base their actions on a distortion of reality. beliefs or misinterpretations of facts to construct their motives. "Based on the analysis of the available data, I believe that the cat - the cartoonist should be damned for such shameless denigration of such a fairly balanced and stable animal - is in a state we call a systemic delusion, which is a Kind of paranoid." "Well, it seems," said the inspector, who seemed rather disappointed, "that our first theory is that the murderer was a madman." "'Madman' is the term commonly used by the general public and the law," Dr. Kazalis said with a shrug. "There are some people who, while not legally mad, still have symptoms of psychosis. I suggest that we It is more appropriate to use medical terms." "Well, it's called a mental patient. We have also checked the mental hospital again and again, but there is still no result." "Not all psychopaths seek medical attention, Officer Quinn," said the psychiatrist sarcastically, "and that's what I'm specifically pointing out. If, for example, Monster Cat is a paranoid psychopath of the schizophrenic type, he His appearance and behavior are likely - as far as the layman sees - to be as normal as the average of us. He may go unsuspected for a long time, and yet do a great deal of harm in the meantime." "Every time I talk to you guys," said the policeman wearily, "I get upset." "Dad, I think," Ellery said, "Dr. Kazalis wanted to share his opinion, not to demoralize. Go ahead, doctor." "I'm just trying to offer a different perspective. It's possible he's been under the care of some private doctor, or has recently been treated. In my opinion, whoever the perpetrator is, he should be local because the seven murders It all took place in Manhattan, so that was the ideal place to start the hunt. That said, it was obvious that the cooperation of every psychiatrist in the area had to be sought. After being fully informed of the characteristics of the person they were looking for, each You can start a blanket search from your own patient records, including current and past patients, to see who has such a possibility; then, these people who may be suspected must be professionally filtered to trace the symptoms of the medical records. At the same time, you People in the office also conduct routine investigations. Of course, there is a possibility that in the end it will be a waste of time, and the weight of these tasks is not trivial..." "It's not about work," Officer Quinn whispered, "What worries me is these medical people." "Well, I'm happy to do my best to help. You've already heard my wife's request! I don't have many patients now," the psychiatrist grimaced. "I'm already preparing to retire, so I won't add any extra burden." "You are very enthusiastic, Dr. Cazalis." The inspector stroked his beard. "I admit that this opens up a field that we have not touched. What do you think, Ellery?" "Of course," Ellery replied immediately. "That's a very constructive proposition. It might actually lead to us getting that guy!" "I seem to hear a hint of doubt?" Doctor Kazalis smiled, tapping the table with his strong fingers. "maybe." "You disagree with my analysis?" "Not entirely agree, Doctor." The psychiatrist stopped the tapping. "I don't believe this string of crimes was random," Ellery said. "Then you must have some intelligence that I don't." "No, my opinion is based on the same data analysis, I know that. In fact, these crimes have a fixed pattern." "A fixed pattern?" Kazalis' eyes widened. "These murders all share some common elements." "And that one too?" The officer gasped. "Yes, Dad." Dr. Kazalis began beating the table like a drum again. "I suppose you don't mean the uniformity of the method of murder, those ropes, strangulations and all that..." "No, I mean that the seven victims have something in common. I believe that these commonalities represent some kind of plan, but where did this plan come from, what is its nature, what is its purpose..." Ellery's eyes were blank. "Sounds very interesting." Dr. Kazalis looked at Ellery like a surgeon examining a patient. "If you're right, Mr. Quinn, then I'm wrong." "It's possible we're both right, I have a feeling we're both right. 'Crazy, but reasonable."'—they laughed together—"Dad, I strongly recommend Dr. Cazalis's advice, And do it immediately." "We broke all the rules in the textbook," his father mused. "Doctor, are you willing to consider doing your own thing?" "Me? You mean the psychiatric field?" "right." Although Dr. Kazalis' fingers stopped moving, they seemed to be ready to go at any moment. "It's like a huge medical project that won't work unless every doctor in psychiatry is willing to cooperate. If you were to lead this investigation—with your reputation and professionalism, doctor, other I don't think we can do it with a degree of thoroughness that can be covered by any other method. In fact," said the inspector thoughtfully, "this is an ideal arrangement for several other reasons. The mayor has Appoint my son as a 'Special Investigator' and we will be responsible for the official part of the work, if you add in the medical investigation, we will be like a trident, maybe," the police officer said with a slight smile "Maybe we can do something. I'll have to get the city's approval first, Dr. Cazalis, but my gut tells me the mayor and the chief of police will be happy. Until then , can I tell them that you are willing to go out?" The psychiatrist raised his hands up: "I saw a movie once, and there was a word for it? 'Bound yourself'! Well, officer, I'm willing to take the bait. What's the procedure?" "Where will you be the rest of the day?" "That depends on Della and Zach. Not here, but at home, officer. I'll try and see if I can get a few hours of sleep this morning." "Try?" Ellery said, standing up and stretching. "It's not a problem for me." "Sleeping has always been a problem for me, I have chronic insomnia - it's a common symptom of certain diseases," the psychiatrist said with a smile, "like schizophrenia, paranoia, etc., but Please don't tell my patients that I carry ample supply of sleeping pills at all times." "I'll call you this afternoon, Dr. Cazalis." Kazalis nodded to the officer and walked out slowly. Quinn and his son were silent for a while.The staff on the balcony were gradually leaving, and Sergeant Willie was walking in through the balcony in the sun. “你觉得怎么样？”警官突然问道。 “觉得什么，爸？” “卡扎利斯。” “哦，非常踏实可靠的市民。” “是啊，可不是。” “什么都没有，”维利警佐说，“连个鬼影子也找不到，警官，他是从通顶楼的电梯进来的，不会错。” “只有这一点，”警官喃喃说道，“我希望他能停止他的手指运动，看得我心神不宁的。哦，维利，收工回家养神吧。” “那些报社的家伙怎么办？” “他们可能会去围剿卡扎利斯医生，去帮他挡一挡。告诉他们我马上就来。含糊其辞地侃一通，是我的拿手好戏。” 警官点了一下头，脚步沉重地离去，一边还打着哈欠。 “你打算怎样，爸？” “我得先到下城去一趟。你要回家吗？” “如果我能脱身的话。” “先在走廊的壁柜里待着，我会把他们引到客厅这边，然后你就可以溜之大吉了。” 之后，他们就尴尬地分手了。 埃勒里醒来时，发现他父亲坐在床边望着他。 “爸，几点了？” “刚过5点。” 埃勒里伸伸懒腰：“刚回来吗？” "Ok." “有没有什么新消息？” “到下午为止还没有。那条绳索不是什么新证据，它跟其他六条是一样的。” “一般人的反应怎样？还好吗？” “哪有这么好的事。”奎因警官双手交叉放在胸前，好像觉得冷似的，“他们全咬住这个案子大做文章。警察局和市政府的每一部电话都忙个不停。每一家报纸都卷起袖子准备挑衅。宣布你的任命带来的好处，都随着理查森小姐的命案而烟消云散了。我今天早上和局长去市长办公室里讨论卡扎利斯那件事，市长高兴得只差没跟我接吻。当下他就打了个电话给卡扎利斯，他在电话上讲的第一句话是：'卡扎利斯医生，你什么时候可以开新闻发布会？'” “卡扎利斯愿意？” “他此刻正在举行新闻发布会。今天晚上从收音机里就可以听到。” “市长大人一定对我彻底失望了。”埃勒里纵声大笑。 “你赶快去睡觉吧，不然你自己就会成为医学会议讨论的对象。” 警官一动也不动。 "What else is there?" “埃勒里，”老头子抬起左腿，慢慢动手解开鞋带，“下城谣传着一些闲话，我本来是不想问你的，可是如果要我忍辱负重继续干下去，我必须知道我们到底是打到第几局了。” “问我什么？” “我要你告诉我，你有什么发现。”他开始解另一只脚的鞋带，“我只想了解一下情况，你知道的。”他对着鞋子解释，“或者让我这么说吧，如果要我熨裤子，至少也要先让我知道你打算要我坐在什么上面。” 听起来像某种独立宣言，发乎于悲愤，施之于正义。 埃勒里看起来不太高兴。 他伸手去拿香烟和烟灰缸，然后又躺回去，把烟灰缸平放在胸口上。 “好吧，”他说，“从你的角度来看，我是个不忠不孝的自私鬼，而且，我想，从你的角度来看，我的确如此。那就让我们来听听，我对你隐瞒的这些是不是能给你、我、市长、局长或爱伦坡的亡灵提供些微的用处。” “阿奇博尔德·达德利·艾伯内希44岁，维奥莱特·史密斯42岁，莱恩·欧莱利40岁，莫妮卡·麦凯尔37岁，西蒙·菲利普斯35岁，比阿特丽斯·维利金32岁，雷诺·理查森25岁。44，42，40，37，35、32，25。” 警官听得目瞪口呆。 “每一名受害者都比前一名年纪轻，这就是为什么我那么有把握卡扎利斯不可能是第七号被害者，他比他们任何一个都老。要成为名单上的第七号，他的年纪一定要在32岁以下，因为那是第六号被害者的年龄……这是假设在被害者年龄递减的模式是可确定的基础上。结果呢，第七号，理查森家的女孩子，25岁，所以我猜对了。确实有一个年龄渐趋减小的模式。就数学上来讲，其间的差数不规则，但是走向总是越来越年轻，越来越年轻。” 警官紧紧抓住右脚的鞋子说：“我们没看出这一点，没有人发现。” “唉，这不过是在一团混乱中仅有的一个有意义的碎片，令人又有继续下去的意愿。就像不知原图形是什么的拼图，你找了又找，然后忽然间恍然大悟。但是这代表了什么？它是有意义的，没错，但是，是什么意义？它出自某种原因，但是，是什么原因？这不可能是巧合，七件案子，不可能这么巧！然而你愈是往下想，它就似乎愈没有意义。你能不能想出一个充分的理由解释，为什么有人会这么无聊，挑一些一个比一个年轻的人来杀——而这些人之间彼此没有一点儿关联？我实在想不出来。” “确实难解。”他父亲喃喃说道。 “对，我或许可以在今天晚上宣布，纽约市里凡25岁或25岁以上的人都可以不必担忧，因为怪猫在保险统计员绘制的图表中依次下行，目前他已经越过25岁这个关卡了……” “很滑稽，”警官有气无力地说，“听起来像……像吉尔伯特和萨利文的轻歌剧里的剧情。大家会以为你发疯了；就算他们相信你正常，最多也只能把所有的焦虑不安——都转移到年轻的民众身上。” “没错，”埃勒里点点头，“所以我不敢声张。” “第二，”他捻熄香烟，双手交握在脑勺后，仰头瞪着天花板，“七名受害人当中，有两名男性，五名女性。除了最后一名，所有的受害人都在32岁以上，全都超过法定适婚年龄很多，你说是不是？” "what?" “我的意思是，我们住在一个以婚姻为基础的社会之中。我们文化里的条条道路都通向'美国家庭'而这个家庭的避风港，并不接受单身生活。如果，你要求用证据来证明这个说法，只要想想，当我们提到'单身公寓'这个名词时，其中所隐含的那种微妙的亵渎意味，便可以明了。我们这个社会的女人把她们的少女时光花在捕猎丈夫上面，然后尽其余生守住他们；而我们这个社会的男人，整个少年时代都在嫉妒他们的父亲，因而一旦成人，便等不及找一个仅次于他们母亲的女人结婚。你想想，为什么美国男人那么迷恋乳房？我想说的是……” “唉，老天，你快说！” “如果你随便挑七个美国成年人，全部都在25岁以上，其中六个超过32岁，结果除了其中一个，其余都没有结婚，这几率有多大？” “欧莱利，”探长心头一惊，“老天，欧莱利是唯一已婚的。” “或者，你可以用另一个角度来看。两名男性当中，艾伯内希单身，欧莱利己婚，这样似乎可以把男性撇出考虑。但是五名女性全部是单身！如果你静下心来仔细想想，这真是了不起。五个介于42岁和25岁的女人，没有一个在这场伟大的美国求偶戏混战中告捷。这就和被害者年龄递减的模式一样，根本不可能是巧合。因此，怪猫是刻意地筛选——至少就女性被害者而言——未婚人士。为什么？你告诉我。” 奎因警官咬着指甲：“我唯一能想到的，就是他用婚姻做诱饵接近她们。但是……” “那根本解释不通。没错，我们并没有在她们的社交关系中找到大情种这种人物，连一点儿线索也没有。当然，我可以向所有在纽约的母亲们散播这个福音，告诉她们唯一需要担心被怪猫拥抱的女性，一定要是处女、厌恶婚姻的人或者是女同性恋，可是……” “说下去。”他父亲喊道。 “第三，勒死艾伯内希的绳子是蓝色的；维奥莱特的是橘红色的；欧莱利是蓝色；莫妮卡·麦凯尔，橘红色；西蒙·菲利普斯，橘红色；比阿特丽斯·维利金，橘红色；雷诺·理查森，橘红色。有一篇报告特别提到这一点。” “我都忘了。”警官喃喃地说。 “男性一种颜色，女性另一种颜色，非常一致。你说是为什么？” 等了一会儿，警官有些胆怯地问：“儿子，有一天，你曾提起还有第四点……” “哦，对了，他们全都有电话。” 他爸爸听了直揉眼。 “从某个角度来说，最寻常的东西最值得注意，总之，我是这么认为的。七个受害人，七部电话，甚至包括西蒙那个可怜的残废者，他们全都有电话，或者说，即使登记人是别人，例如雷诺·理查森、西蒙·菲利普斯和莫妮卡·麦凯尔家的情形，她们在电话簿上都登上了自己的名字。这我查过了。 “我不知道确切的数字，但是我猜，目前在美国的比例，是大约每100人中有25部电话，即四个人当中有一个人有电话。在大都会中比例应该更高，如纽约。我们就假定在纽约其比例是三比一。然而被怪猫找上的七名受害人，不是一个，也不是两个或四个，而是七个人全都有电话。 “这点所提示的第一个可能的解释是，怪猫是从电话簿里挑选他的佳肴的。纯粹像玩彩票一样。但是在抽彩票中，要挑七个，每一个都比上一个年轻的受害人，那几率必然奇低无比，因此，怪猫进行挑选应另有门路。 “另外，所有的被害者都名列在曼哈顿的电话簿上，这是一个重点，重点。”埃勒里把烟灰缸放到床头几上，把两腿放下来，像在哀悼一样地蹲着，“跳楼去算了，”他呻吟地说，“如果这个顺序当中有例外，比方说，某个被害者比上一个年龄大，有个被勒死的女性已结婚或结过婚，勒死某个男性的绳子是橘红色的，甚至是淡紫色的，或者有一个没有电话……这些共同点的存在是有原因的。或者，”埃勒里突然坐直身子说，“可能这些共同点的存在是基于某一个相同的理由，一种像最大公约数的东西，它们就像埃及尼罗河口发现的解码石罗赛达碑，是一把打开所有门扉的钥匙。你知道吗？那多令人振奋啊！” 但是奎因警官只是边脱衣边自言自语：“一个比一个年轻一点，你想想看……艾伯内希和维奥莱特差两岁，维奥莱特和欧莱利差两岁，欧莱利和麦凯尔差三岁，而她又和西蒙差两岁，西蒙则和比阿特丽斯差三岁。不是两岁就是三岁，在这六件案子里面，从没多过三岁。不过，到了……” “对，”埃勒里说，“可是，到了雷诺·理查森的时候，年龄的差距从最多三岁一下子跳到七岁。我整晚都在想这件事情。” 此时，瞥官已脱得全身精光，60岁的他看起来脆弱不堪，好像针一刺就会破似的。 “让我心神不宁的是，”他喃喃地说，“下一个又不知会是谁？”埃勒里转过身去。 “就这些了吗，儿子？” “目前就这些了。” “我要去睡了。” 光着身子、个子矮小的他拖着步子走了出去。