Puzzled to Death

by Parnell Hall

  Marty stroked his mustache. “Now, I don’t happen to know who it is, I wasn’t payin’ that much attention, ’cause what did I care? But if you wanna know who profits from Paul Thornhill’s death, you gotta look and see who was fourth.”

  NED DOOWACKER SEEMED NERVOUS. OF COURSE, HE wasn’t accustomed to being rousted out of bed to answer questions for the chief of police.

  It was late, because it had taken Chief Harper and Cora Felton a long time to run Ned down. As there was no record of where he was staying, it had taken trial and error to hit the right bed-and-breakfast. Elsie Dixon in her nightgown had let them in, pointed Chief Harper in the direction of Ned’s door, and clumped back to bed without so much as asking what had brought the Bakerhaven police chief calling on one of her guests in the middle of the night. Chief Harper had clumped up after Elsie, returning minutes later with the aforementioned Ned Doowacker.

  “But I didn’t do anything,” Mr. Doowacker protested. “I don’t understand. What did I do?”

  Cora Felton sized him up. Ned Doowacker was dressed in a white terry-cloth bathrobe and socks. His legs were bare, which made him appear tall and gawky, though he was actually no taller than Chief Harper. Cora took an instant dislike to him, wondered if it was because he had dismissed her puzzles as too easy when he’d signed up for the tournament.

  “No one’s accusing you of anything,” Chief Harper said. “We just want to ask you a few questions.”

  “Questions about what?”

  “Where were you tonight?”

  Ned Doowacker blinked. He straightened himself up, pulled his robe around him, said with what dignity he could muster, “I fail to see how that’s any of your business.”

  “I’m sorry,” Chief Harper said. “I should have asked you to bring your shoes.”

  “Shoes?”

  “Yes. If you’re going down to the police station, you can hardly go in socks. Let’s go back up to your room and get your shoes. You might pull on some pants while you’re at it.”

  Ned Doowacker was alarmed. “Police station? What are you talking about? Why are we going to the police station?”

  “Because you don’t want to answer my questions. Which means I have to advise you of your rights, take you in, and give you a chance to consult an attorney. So come on, let’s get your shoes.”

  Ned Doowacker fell all over himself trying to backtrack. He flailed his arms in front of his face, making him look like a tipsy stork. “Wait a minute, wait a minute. Did I say I wouldn’t answer your questions? Not at all. I merely wondered why you’re asking. Why are you asking, by the way?”

  “Paul Thornhill was killed tonight.”

  Ned Doowacker’s eyes bugged out of his head. He stuttered, “Pau—Pau—Pau—”

  “That’s right. Paul Thornhill. That’s why we’re asking everyone connected with him what they were doing tonight. So you needn’t feel picked on. However, I must advise you you have the right to remain silent. Should you give up the right to remain silent—”

  “Stop it! Stop it!” Ned Doowacker cried. He rubbed his face. “Oh, my God, this can’t be happening.”

  “It’s happened,” Chief Harper said. “Now, let’s try again. What were you doing tonight?”

  “When?”

  “After the tournament?”

  “Oh? Well, I went out to eat, of course. At a restaurant near town hall. So I could go back and check on the standings. They were supposed to be posted at six, but they were late. They weren’t put up till six-fifteen. Rather annoying, if you ask me. If you say six o’clock, you should do six o’clock.” Ned frowned, remembering his irritation.

  “So you hung out until six-fifteen just to get the scores?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And how did you do?”

  “I was in fourth. Really annoying. I should have been third.”

  “You mean your score was wrong?”

  “No, I don’t mean that. I just mean I should have done better. I was ahead of Zelda Zisk, sure. But I was four points behind Craig Carmichael. Four points. What a pain.”

  “I can imagine,” Chief Harper agreed. “Any particular reason you wanted to beat Craig Carmichael?”

  “Of course I wanted to beat everybody,” Ned Doowacker said. “But Craig in particular.”

  “How come?”

  “Because he was a ‘celebrity’ contestant.” Ned Doowacker held up two fingers on each hand to make quotation marks around the word. “Chosen by good old Harvey Beerbaum himself.”

  “You resented that?”

  “Well, was it right? How’s Craig Carmichael any better than I am, that’s what I want to know? Four points is nothing. I can make that up like that.” He snapped his fingers to indicate the speed. The gesture might have been more impressive had it been less awkward and actually managed to make a sound.

  “You expect to beat Craig Carmichael tomorrow?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “And move into third place?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “You’re in third now.”

  “Huh?”

  “Paul Thornhill’s dead. You don’t have to beat Craig Carmichael. You’re already in third.”

  Ned Doowacker tugged at his ear. “Oh. Oh,” he said. “That’s right, I am. But it doesn’t matter. I’m going to beat him anyway.”

  Chief Harper frowned. His interrogation stalled. Unless Ned Doowacker was a hell of an actor, he didn’t seem that concerned with moving from fourth place to third. Which killed his motivation for murder.

  Sensing Chief Harper’s distress, Cora Felton swooped in. “Mr. Doowacker, let me get something straight. You want to beat Craig Carmichael because he’s a celebrity contestant—why is that so important?”

  “I told you. Because Harvey chose him. Out of the people at the barbecue.”

  “Barbecue? What barbecue?”

  “Harvey Beerbaum’s barbecue.” With a how-could-you-be-so-stupid-not-to-know-this look, Ned Doowacker said, as if explaining to a child, “You know, in his backyard. Here in Bakerhaven.”

  Cora Felton frowned. She had a vague memory of some invitation for which she’d had to invent an excuse. “A couple of months ago?”

  “Sometime in September, I think. We were all there. Me, Craig, Paul, Zelda, Don, and Bev. We were all there when he pitched the idea. A big-deal puzzle tournament for charity. But when it goes forward, who does he choose? Just those three.”

  “Who are Don and Bev?”

  “Don Hinkle and Beverly Platt.” Ned Doowacker waved it away. “They’re not here. When they weren’t picked, they didn’t come. I suppose I shouldn’t have either, but it made me mad. Made me want to win.”

  “So you came here, determined to beat the people he picked?”

  “Well, wouldn’t that serve Harvey right?” Ned Doowacker said.

  “It certainly would,” Cora said. “So, when you finally got a look at the score tonight, you were ahead of Zelda Zisk. You were only four points away from Craig Carmichael. Unfortunately, Paul Thornhill’s score was out of reach. No way to beat him.”

  “No need to beat him,” Ned Doowacker pointed out. “I only had to get in the finals.”

  “Yeah, but could you beat him then? His scores were consistently better. He was top dog. You have to admit you had a motive for eliminating Paul Thornhill.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Ned Doowacker looked genuinely surprised. “There’s been other murders. You suspect me of them as well?”

  “We’re still waiting to hear where you were tonight.”

  “Well, it’s somewhat delicate.”

  “Delicate?” Cora twisted her tongue around the word. “Listen here, Mr. Scooby Dooby Doowacker. This is a murder case. We got no time for delicate. Let’s go get those shoes.”

  Ned Doowacker gulped. “Can I trust you to be discreet?”

  “Sure,” Cora said. “You can trust us not to blab the fact you were out with Charlotte Drake, a married woman who was Judy Vale’s next-do
or neighbor.”

  Ned Doowacker, sucker punched, deflated like a paper bag.

  “Is that right?” Chief Harper said. “So what were you doing having drinks with her? Perhaps trying to find out how much she knew?”

  “Of course not,” Ned Doowacker said in a panicked whisper. “I swear. It never crossed my mind. I never knew she was the woman’s next-door neighbor until I started talking to her.”

  “And then you pumped her for information,” Cora said. “About whether she saw you call on Judy the night she was killed. When it turned out Charlotte hadn’t seen you, you let her live.”

  Ned Doowacker’s mouth fell open. He stared at Cora, unable to speak.

  “And that’s when you went to kill Thornhill instead.”

  Ned Doowacker struggled to recover. “Are you crazy? What are you talking about? Why in the world would I kill Judy Vale?”

  “You seem to know her name well enough.”

  “Well, why wouldn’t I after talking to her neighbor?”

  “And just how did that come about?” Chief Harper countered. “That you had a rendezvous with this married woman? Do you want me to believe you just picked Charlotte Drake up in a bar?”

  “Of course not,” Ned fumbled. “I saw her last night. At Fun Night. At the dessert table, getting a cup of decaffeinated coffee. She asked me out for drinks.”

  “Charlotte Drake asked you out?”

  “She asked me to meet her at the Rainbow Room. That’s what I did.”

  “How long were you at the bar?”

  “We were there from eight till nine.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “Went for a drive, if it’s any of your business.”

  “Anyone see you where you parked your car?”

  “I didn’t say I parked the car.”

  “No, you didn’t. Anyone see you driving around, parked, or flying to the moon, for that matter? Anyone at all besides this married woman who can vouch for your whereabouts at the time?”

  “Isn’t she enough?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll have to talk to her. Should I do that now? Her husband’s probably home.”

  Ned Doowacker put up his hands. “Please, please. This is awful. I was with her from eight to eleven. She was with me the whole time. I couldn’t possibly have killed Paul Thornhill. But there’s no reason to go about it this way. Good God, don’t get them out of bed. I’m cooperating, what more do you want?”

  Chief Harper’s face hardened. “I would like to know one thing, Mr. Doowacker. Not to knock your prowess as a ladies’ man, but it strikes me as somewhat extraordinary that in the middle of a crowded event you walk up to a woman you never met before, whose husband happens to be there, and charm her into asking you out the next night. I can think of a lot of men in the world who would like to have your skill.”

  Ned frowned. “What do you mean, a woman I never met before? Did I say I never met her before?”

  “Oh? When did you meet her?”

  “Back in September, when Harvey had the barbecue.”

  “You mean Mrs. Drake was at the barbecue?”

  “No, of course not. But I stayed over. It’s a trek from Bakerhaven back to New York, and I don’t like to drive at night, particularly after a few drinks. Anyway, I went out to this bar, the Rainbow Room, and that’s where I met her.”

  “Her husband wasn’t there?” Cora asked.

  “No, of course not. That’s how I got to know her. Because he wasn’t there.”

  “Who was she there with?”

  “I don’t know. Some other women.”

  “Judy Vale?”

  Ned Doowacker made a face. “I really don’t know.”

  Chief Harper moved in, grabbed him by the bathrobe, pulled him up close. “Last chance. Think very carefully before you answer, or we’re going downtown. You met Charlotte Drake with some of her friends. Was one of them Judy Vale?”

  “I tell you, I don’t know. It’s a while ago; frankly I wasn’t paying attention to anyone but her.” Ned Doowacker grimaced, sucked air through his teeth. “Now, she’ll tell you different. She’ll tell you Judy Vale was there and I met her. Well, maybe so, but it made no impression at all. Only I can’t tell Charlotte that, or she’ll think I’m a noodge. So tonight I’m just nodding and saying, Yes, yes, Judy Vale, but I don’t know who she was. I don’t know if I actually met her, saw her, or even remember. Even though Charlotte says I do.”

  “So,” Cora said, “Charlotte Drake will say you knew Judy Vale, despite the fact you claim you did not?”

  “Sounds bad when you put it that way.”

  “Sounds bad no matter how you put it,” Chief Harper said. “Tell me something. Were any of the others there in the Rainbow Room that night? Craig Carmichael? Paul Thornhill? Zelda Zisk?”

  “Paul might have been. Craig and Zelda I don’t remember.”

  “Uh-huh,” Chief Harper said. “But Paul Thornhill might have been. So you’re now putting yourself in this bar with two of the murder victims?”

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Ned Doowacker protested miserably. “I said he might have been. I’m not sure. And as for her, I don’t know if I met her or not.”

  “But you might have?”

  “I might have. I simply don’t recall.”

  “If you saw her again, you think it might jog your memory?”

  “Saw her again? What are you talking about? I thought she was dead.”

  Chief Harper nodded grimly.

  “Good thinking.”

  “YOU LIKE HIM FOR THIS?” CORA FELTON ASKED CHIEF Harper, as they headed for the funeral home out on Sunset Drive.

  Cora Felton and Chief Harper were in the cruiser. Ned Doowacker was following along behind in his rental, in the hope of being allowed to go home after viewing the corpse.

  “I don’t like him at all,” Chief Harper said. “Wrong type. I’d like Paul Thornhill for it a lot more if he wasn’t dead.”

  “Being the victim does make him a less likely suspect,” Cora agreed. “So what’s wrong with Ned Doowacker?”

  “Everything. The guy’s too stupid to have done it.” Chief Harper grimaced. “I don’t mean stupid. I know the guy’s a puzzle whiz. But socially, he’s totally inept.”

  “And yet he picked up a woman,” Cora pointed out.

  “So what?” Chief Harper said. “Women are nuts when it comes to men. For no good reason at all they’re apt to take up the least likely type and they won’t even know why.”

  “You running for public office, Chief?”

  “Of course not. Why?”

  “Every now and then you come out with something, the publication of which would not be in your best interests.”

  Chief Harper snorted. “Every now and then you come out with a sentence, the phrasing of which would drive a normal person nuts. You wanna talk this out or not? We only got a few minutes before we get to the morgue.”

  “The morgue?”

  “All right, so we don’t have a morgue. I mean the funeral home. You wanna talk it out or not?”

  “Sure. You were telling me why you don’t like Ned Doowacker for the perp. And I see your point. The idea of him killing someone seems ludicrous. But say he could. Say he’s wacko—not that big a stretch. I could see him killing the women, but I have a problem with Paul Thornhill.”

  “Me too,” Chief Harper said. “You put Doowacker up against Thornhill, Thornhill wins. Doowacker doesn’t wind up strangling him. It would take somebody young and athletic and strong.”

  “Is that how you see it?” Cora Felton said.

  “I certainly do. Now, who in this case is young and athletic and strong?”

  “Lots of people,” Cora Felton said.

  “No,” Chief Harper said. “One person. Billy Pickens. The man with the motive, the man with the means, the man with the opportunity.”

  “Come on, Chief,” Cora Felton said. “You don’t suspect Billy Pickens anymore. Not with Paul Thornhill being killed. It sends the investigat
ion off in a whole different direction.”

  “It did,” Chief Harper said, “but it just made a U-turn. If Doowacker met Judy Vale back in September, there’s a good possibility Paul Thornhill met her back then too. Say that was around the time Billy Pickens was involved with Judy. Say Billy Pickens strangled her. Say Paul Thornhill suspects this. Say that’s what Thornhill was chatting about with Mrs. Roth.”

  “I’d say that’s a big stretch, Chief.”

  “Yeah, but what isn’t? We got new facts comin’ in a mile a minute, and everything’s a jumble. Some of this stuff’s gotta play. Will you at least concede that it would take someone as strong as Billy Pickens to kill Paul Thornhill?”

  “I’ll accept it as a reasonable premise, Chief. But Billy’s not the only strong man in town. It could be anyone who works with his hands. A mechanic, for instance.”

  “You’re back to Marty Haskel?”

  “Well, you’re back to Billy Pickens.”

  “For good reason. Give me a reason for Marty Haskel to commit the murders.”

  “The reason to kill Paul Thornhill is obvious.”

  “And Mrs. Roth and Judy Vale?”

  “I have no motive there,” Cora admitted. “But I’m not ready to concede your strong-man theory. Suppose Paul Thornhill was drugged? Then Ned Doowacker could have strangled him just fine. So could Thornhill’s wife. Or Billy Pickens’s wife, for that matter.”

  “You pushing that?”

  “I’m not pushing anything,” Cora said. “I’m really irritated that nothing makes sense. Like you say, it’s confusing to have these new facts thrown at us.”

  “Yeah, like that little barbecue. Remind me to give Beerbaum a piece of my mind.”

  “Why?” Cora Felton said. “Not that I like the guy, but how is that his fault? I mean, how could Harvey know the barbecue might be important until after Thornhill gets killed?”