by Parnell Hall
“Just so long as the principals are in here,” Cora said.
“You mean like Chief Harper and the prosecutor?”
“I’m sure they got in. I mean like Chuck and Mimi Dillinger. And Veronica Martindale.”
“Who’s that?”
“My surprise witness.”
“You have a surprise witness?”
“Yes.”
“But you told me who it is.”
“So?”
“So it’s not a surprise.”
“I wasn’t trying to surprise you. Aim your camera at her when the time comes.”
“When will that be?”
“When I say so. Is it eight o’clock yet?”
“Just about,” Iris said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Rick said. “We’re not live.”
“How come?”
“It’s prime time. I can’t go live in prime time. Not unless you plan to shoot someone.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Cora took the microphone, addressed the crowd. “Good evening. I’ve asked for this special town meeting because I’ve been arrested for murder. When you get arrested for murder they tell you you have the right to remain silent. But they never tell you you have the right to talk. In fact, they warn you if you do, what you say may be taken down and used against you. I see the police are here, as well as the prosecutor and the judge, so if anybody’d like to take down what I say and use it against me, feel free.
“I challenged the killer to be here. I don’t know if the killer took that challenge, because I don’t know who the killer is. But everybody and his brother seems to be here, so let’s assume the killer took the bait. Who could it possibly be?”
Barney Nathan shot to his feet. “Miss Felton!”
“Ah. Dr. Barney Nathan. You would have been my last choice. But if you want to confess, go right ahead.”
“I want to object to you saying I botched the autopsy.”
“I didn’t say you botched it. I just said there were two bullets and you only found one. It’s a math problem. You probably miscounted.”
“There was only one bullet.”
“You say that now, but wait till I get you on the stand. Sit down, Doc. I’ll be right with you.”
Cora waited patiently until the doctor subsided, then clapped her hands together. “All right, if we can table the doctor’s ruffled feathers for a minute, let’s see who else is here.
“Benny Southstreet couldn’t be here tonight because I killed him. At least, that’s the police theory. I can’t say as I buy into it. It leaves a lot to be desired.
“Who was Benny Southstreet? He wasn’t from around here. He was from New York City. I am originally from New York City, so one might suspect a connection. One would be wrong. I never met the man in my life, until he showed up to accuse me of stealing his puzzle.
“With regard to the theft of the puzzle, I can only say I was set up. Unintentionally, to be sure, but set up nonetheless. Mimi Dillinger wanted a crossword puzzle to help her break the news to her husband about her smashing his car. That’s Mimi sitting there in the third row with her husband, Chuck. Got a babysitter, did you, Mimi? Believe me, I can’t thank you enough.
“I gave her a puzzle of Benny Southstreet’s, slightly altered to fit the occasion. I did not intend to steal from Mr. Southstreet, nor did I represent the puzzle as my own. It was a private matter, no one could possibly care.
“Except Mimi put the puzzle in the newspaper. Benny Southstreet saw it there, and flipped out. He came here, and accused me of plagiarism. Anyone who thinks I killed him because of that is a moron.”
Cora nodded in the direction of Chief Harper and Henry Firth. “Begging the police and prosecutor’s pardon. I should say in their defense, it’s not really their fault. I’ve been quite adroitly framed. Benny South-street was killed at a time I was seen at his motel room, and at a time when I was the only person seen at his motel room. If I were a cop, I’d start looking pretty good to me too.
“Well, assuming I didn’t kill Benny Southstreet, what really happened?
“Here’s what I know so far.
“Benny Southstreet was a two-bit hustler, eager to embarrass me with a plagiarism charge in the hope of extorting some money. It wasn’t going to fly, but Benny didn’t know that. Hoping to support a suit, he breaks into Mimi Dillinger’s house and ransacks the study, looking for evidence of my having given her his puzzle. Then he breaks into my house, to check out my computer. He wants to find the crossword puzzle in Crossword Compiler to clinch his case.
“Benny is a bit of a computer whiz, much more skilled than I am, and while he’s there he checks me out. Discovers I’m bidding on eBay on a set of chairs. And the person I’m bidding against is none other than Mr. Wilbur here, of Wilbur’s Antiques.
“This, I regret to say, is your basic comedy of errors. Mr. Wilbur had some chairs stolen. To trap the thief, I had Harvey Beerbaum offer an identical set of chairs for sale on eBay, hoping people would bid on them. Unfortunately, the only one who bids is Wilbur. I don’t know it’s Wilbur, so I bid against him, trying to judge his interest. And he continues to bid, not knowing it’s me.
“Benny Southstreet has no idea why we’re interested, but if the chairs are valuable, he wants ’em. He checks out Harvey Beerbaum’s residence, finds security minimal.”
Harvey lunged to his feet.
Cora added quickly, “Yes, yes, Harvey, that’s no longer true, anyone attempting entrance now will be immediately electrocuted. Anyway, he breaks in, steals Harvey’s dining room chairs, and offers to sell them to Mr. Wilbur, who actually had an appointment with him at the motel, right around the time Benny was killed.”
Wilbur sputtered angrily.
“Hang on, Mr. Wilbur. You’ll get an opportunity to deny you killed him. So will anyone else who takes exception to what I’m about to say.”
Cora spread her hands. “I’m laying out what happened here. To do that, I’m going to ask questions of some of the people involved. Please understand you are under no obligation to answer them. On the other hand, if you do, no one’s going to cross-examine you, because this isn’t a trial.”
“Now, just a minute,” prosecutor Henry Firth said.
“And that goes for you, too, Mr. Firth. If I ask you questions, you have every right not to answer.”
“/may have some questions.”
“Then you can call your own town meeting. But you can’t ask ’em here.”
“Wait a minute. You can’t do that.”
“Why?”
“Well… I don’t like it.”
“I don’t believe that’s a legal reason. Let’s ask Judge Hobbs. Judge, do we care what the prosecutor likes?”
The elderly jurist smiled. “You’re asking my opinion? I thought I had no jurisdiction here.”
“See?” Cora said. “He has the right attitude. Okay, I’m going to make my presentation. Unless, of course, the prosecution insists on taking part. In which case we can all go home.”
There were rumblings, and shouts of “No!” from the crowd.
Rick Reed pushed forward. “This is Rick Reed, Channel 8 News, coming to you live from the Bakerhaven town hall. On behalf of the Channel 8 News team, I certainly hope we continue with this groundbreaking news story.”
“Excellent,” Cora said. “My first witness is Rick Reed, of Channel 8 News.”
The reporter’s expression was priceless. “Me?”
“Relax, Rick. I’m not accusing you of the crime. But you were at the motel the afternoon it was discovered. Channel 8 carried live pictures of the body being taken away.”
Rick glowed with pride. “That’s right. We did.”
“How did it happen you got there so fast?”
“I think you’ll find Channel 8 News is often first on the scene.”
“This particular instance. How did you get the lead?”
“Someone phoned in a tip.”
“To you?”
&n
bsp; “No. To the station.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“Yes, because there was some discussion over whether it was legit, and whether we should go. Sometimes these things are pranks.”
“But this one wasn’t?”
“It sure wasn’t.”
“So that’s why Channel 8 had live coverage from the motel?”
“That’s right.”
“Thank you very much.” Cora looked out over the audience. “I’d like to ask a few questions of Miss Veronica Martindale. Miss Martindale, if you would come up here, please.”
A rather distinguished-looking elderly woman in the back of the room got up and made her way down the center aisle. Her face was lean and unlined as if from a dozen face-lifts, though it was obvious she had never had a single one. She was slender, walked with a slight limp.
Cora Felton gave way, shared the stage with her for the camera. “You are Veronica Martindale?”
“That’s right.” Her voice was full, not at all reedy and old.
“Is that your married name?”
“Yes, it is.”
“You’re married?”
“Divorced.”
“What is your maiden name?”
“Austin. Veronica Austin.”
In the back of the room, Mr. Wilbur struggled to his feet. “Ronnie?” he croaked. He cleared his throat, gawked. “Ronnie!”
“That’s right. Mr. Wilbur. Miss Ronnie Austin.” Cora beamed. “I think she can help you out with those chairs.”
CORA FELTON LEANED on the lectern, smiled like a benevolent matchmaker. In the back of the room, Wilbur and Ronnie were huddled together, thick as thieves.
“So,” Cora said, “that’s that. I’m sure those kids have a lot to talk over, but we do have this little murder. Fortunately, Mr. Wilbur has nothing to do with it, so we can excuse him if he doesn’t pay attention.
“The problem with this crime is it has no obvious solution. All the promising leads are dead ends. Like Mr. Wilbur’s stolen chairs. And Harvey Beerbaum’s stolen chairs. And Veronica Martindale’s chairs, which were neither sold nor stolen. But that’s beside the point. The fact is, the stolen chairs in Benny Southstreet’s motel room had absolutely nothing to do with his murder.
“The problem was, neither did anything else. The crossword puzzles. The fingerprints on the gun. They meant nothing. And I should know. They’re my fingerprints. So I knew they were meaningless.
“But I couldn’t prove it. I needed a clue. And I couldn’t get one. Nothing helped.”
Cora smiled. “What I needed was a dog that didn’t bark in the nighttime. You know what I mean? Since there was no clue there, I had to find a clue in something that wasn’t there. Like a dog not barking. The dog knows the killer so he doesn’t bark. So the killer is someone the dog knows.
“That was my problem. I needed a dog that didn’t bark.”
Cora looked out over a sea of faces regarding her as if she’d just taken leave of her senses. “Let’s move on. Next up, I’d like to ask a few questions of Mr. Paul Fishman.”
In the back of the room, the Photomat operator shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“That’s him right there,” Cora said, for the benefit of the TV camera. “If he looks a little reluctant, it’s because he thinks I’m going to bawl him out. That’s not why I’m asking him up here. I’m asking him up here because he’s absolutely dreamy-looking, and I have a question or two. Come on up. I bet you look great on TV.”
Paul Fishman made his way forward.
Cora beamed. “What do you think, girls? Isn’t he something? I’d marry him myself, if I weren’t up for murder.”
Henry Firth strode to the front of the room. “Now, just a minute here! Paul Fishman happens to be a witness for the prosecution!”
“And I’m sure he’ll make an excellent one,” Cora said sweetly. “In the meantime, I’d like to ask him some questions.”
“I don’t want you tampering with a prosecution witness!”
“What’s the matter? Are you afraid I’ll get him to lie?”
“Of course not!”
“Then you must be afraid I’ll get him to tell the truth.”
Henry Firth opened his mouth, closed it again. The Channel 8 News crew filmed him gleefully as he sat back down.
“Mr. Fishman, you have no problem answering a few questions, do you? Before you send me up the river, I mean.”
“I’m sure I won’t do that.”
“I am too. Let’s get right to it. You gave the police some photographs I took of the murder scene?”
“I explained that.”
“Yes, you did. And very nicely too. It was your civic duty. Ladies and gentlemen, this man is not only handsome, he is a patriot. Or a Good Samaritan. Or whatever. At any rate, he had noble reasons for ratting me out.”
Paul opened his mouth to speak.
Cora held up her hand. “Relax. We won’t get into that. Here’s the point. Paul was in the Photomat. He has a little TV under the counter he watches when business is slow, and he happened to see Rick Reed, of Channel 8 News, bringing live coverage of the motel.
“Well, that caught his attention, because he’d just developed a roll of film with the very same pictures. He grabbed the film, hopped in his car, drove out to the motel, and gave the photos to the police. They were my pictures, and that’s why he thinks I hold a grudge. Since then, he has gone out of his way to make it up to me. He even supplied me with a duplicate set of snaps.”
Cora reached in her purse. “I have those pictures here. I’d like to show them to you now.” Cora held them up. “It’s going to be a little tough for you in the back row. Perhaps the camera can zoom in. Just watch the monitors.”
On the TV monitors, Cora’s finger pointed to a photo. “See, here’s what caught his eye. Here’s the motel sign.” She flipped to the next photo. “Here’s the motel room door. With the number on it. That’s the number of Benny Southstreet’s unit. That’s the same number Paul Fishman saw on TV.”
Cora shuffled through the photos, held another up to the camera. “Here’s a picture taken inside the room. It’s not of a dead body. It’s a bunch of chairs. The chairs belong to Harvey Beerbaum. Benny Southstreet stole them, in the hope of selling them to Mr. Wilbur, of Wilbur’s Antiques. If you follow all of that, fine. If you don’t, it’s kind of incidental.”
Cora grimaced. “That’s the problem with this crime. Everything is kind of incidental. Anyway, these are the pictures. Here’s another angle, and— Oh!”
A shot of Sherry Carter in a string bikini filled the screen.
“I’m sorry. That’s not a crime scene. Though a figure like that ought to be a crime. That’s my niece, Sherry. It’s a picture I snapped of her sunbathing when she wasn’t looking.”
Sherry leaped to her feet, cried, “Aunt Cora!”
“You see my niece’s distress. Clearly that’s a picture she never expected to see on TV. Or in the town hall in front of a couple of hundred people. But I think we can agree it’s a photo that immediately grabs your attention.”
Cora turned, pointed her finger. “And yet Paul Fishman didn’t see it. Isn’t that amazing? This picture was on the roll he gave to the police. Paul developed the film, Paul printed the negatives, Paul put the photos in the envelope, and he didn’t see the shot of my nearly nude niece.” Cora smiled. “Nice alliteration. Why didn’t he see that photo? Is he blind? Is he gay? Not at all. He’s seen my niece before, even mentioned to me how attractive she is. Which means he’s young, insensitive, and tactless, but not blind. And he’s sure as hell the type of guy who’d notice a photo like that. And he didn’t, because I asked him about it when he gave me the photos. So, my question, Mr. Fishman, is, how’d you miss a shot like this?”
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. It’s been bothering me. It’s one of the things I’d like to know.”
“These are pictures of a murder scene. Why would I notice anything else?”
/>
“Yeah, but when you developed the film, there hadn’t been a murder.”
“I wasn’t paying particular attention.”
“Yeah, but you saw the motel.”
Paul frowned, said nothing.
“Well, you think about it, I’ll give you another chance.”
To Sherry’s great relief, Cora put the photos away. Cora watched as Sherry sat down again. Aaron put his arm around her protectively.
Across the aisle, Dennis and Brenda were engaged in a rather animated whispered discussion.
Cora smiled, gestured to Barney Nathan. “Okay, Doc, your turn. Here’s your chance to bawl me out. I understand you’re upset about something?”
“That’s putting it mildly.” Barney Nathan stood up, adjusted his scarlet bow tie, and sniffed disdainfully. “You said on TV I botched the autopsy. That’s slander. We’re on TV now, and I’d like you to take it back.”
“I said there were two shots, and there were two shots.”
“There was one.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Did you confirm that by reex-amining the body after I made that statement on TV?”
“Yes, I did. And it was absolutely false. There was only one bullet.”
“Uh-huh. And did you discover anything else that you hadn’t in your original autopsy?”
Henry Firth was on his feet. “I’m not going to let the doctor answer that! You said there were two shots. There weren’t two shots. That’s all that’s important here. Anything else the doctor can testify to in court.”
“You’re not going to let him tell us what he found?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter. I’ll get at it another way.” Cora reached in her purse, pulled out a plastic evidence bag. “Mimi, here’s a question you can answer from right where you are.” She held up the bag. “Is this your ice pick?”
Mimi’s mouth fell open. “Oh! You found it. Where did you find it?”
“Where did I find it, Mr. Fishman?” Cora asked cheerfully.
Paul Fishman’s eyes were wide. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes you do. I told you I’d ask you one more question. This is it. Answer it, and you can go.” Cora’s eyes burned into him. “Where did I get this ice pick?”