by Parnell Hall
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For the NYPD
An NYPD Appreciation
On behalf of the NYPD, I would like to thank the following people for helping catch the killer. That may seem strange, since these people actually provided the puzzles used by the killer, but I think we can all agree they were merely setting the killer up.
At any rate, I would like to thank New York Times crossword puzzle editor Will Shortz for constructing the sudoku puzzles, frequent New York Times contributor Fred Piscop for constructing the crossword puzzles, and American Crossword Puzzle Tournament champion Ellen Ripstein for editing them. Without the help of these three experts, the killer never would have been caught.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Also by Parnell Hall
About the Author
Copyright
Chapter
1
“Want a job?”
Cora Felton eyed Becky Baldwin suspiciously. “What kind of job?”
“A little detective work?”
“Does it involve blackmail?”
“No.”
“Does it involve my ex-husband?”
“Which one?”
Cora rounded her lips, pointed at Becky. “Oooh. Nice shot. You are really getting quite accomplished. It’s hard to believe you’re only sixteen.”
Becky was in her late twenties; she only looked sixteen. Her long blond hair, angel face, and willowy figure belied the fact that she was an accomplished trial lawyer who deserved a wider practice. The only thing that held her back was the fact that Bakerhaven, Connecticut, had virtually no crime, aside from the occasional murder.
“Yeah, yeah,” Becky said. “And I could have had a wonderful career as an attorney if I only had the gumption to leave town.”
“Why don’t you?”
“I don’t want to work for a firm. I want to work for myself.”
“Yeah, but if there is no work—”
“There’s work. I have a case. You want in?”
“Is there a crossword puzzle involved?”
“You are the most suspicious person I ever met.”
“That’s an evasion.”
Cora despised crossword puzzles, a rather unfortunate situation for the nationally famous Puzzle Lady, whose benevolent, grandmotherly face appeared on a syndicated daily crossword puzzle and who hawked breakfast cereal to school children on television. She hated crosswords because she couldn’t do them. She was, in fact, a fraud, fronting for her niece. Sherry Carter originally dreamed up the idea as a means of hiding from her abusive ex-husband. Happily, that was no longer necessary; still, revealing to the puzzle-solving, breakfast-eating general population that the lovable icon they had been revering for years was actually the cruciverbal Milli Vanilli was not an option.
“There are no puzzles involved,” Becky promised.
“Or ex-husbands?”
“Your ex-husband Melvin is not involved,” Becky said. “As for the rest, I cannot be expected to keep track of all the men you might have married.”
“I haven’t married anyone in years,” Cora said.
“Really? Are you still seeing Barney Nathan?”
“He went back to his wife,” Cora said, not without a tinge of regret. Her affair with the married doctor had been her only serious entanglement in years. “I thought you knew that.”
Becky smiled. “Actually, I did.”
“Oooh,” Cora said. “The bitchy barb. Snidely done. I like that.”
“Thank you. Will you take the job?”
“Going to tell me who the client is?”
“Sure.”
“Well, that’s a switch. Lately you’ve been holding out on me, keeping me in the dark, treating me as a second-class citizen.”
“Not this time.”
“I’m glad to hear it. What do you want me to do?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
Cora frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“We’re meeting the client tomorrow. Assuming you’re in.”
“You haven’t met the client?”
“I’ve talked to him on the phone.”
“What did he want?”
“To meet me tomorrow.”
“If I killed you, it would be justifiable homicide. Why does the client want to meet you tomorrow?”
“That’s the beauty of the whole thing. I have no idea.”
“Then how do you know you need me?”
“I’m psychic.”
“Becky.”
“I’m meeting the client tomorrow. I have no idea why. I want you there.”
“Why?”
“I want a witness.”
“That makes no sense. You can’t have a confidential communication in the presence of a third person. You’re a lawyer, you know that.”
“I may not want to have a confidential communication.”
“With your client?”
“He’s not my client until I say so.”
“He hasn’t hired you yet?”
“He thinks he has.”
“That’s not the point,” Cora said. “The point is, if he hasn’t hired you, he isn’t paying me.”
“When he hires me, he will.”
“And if he doesn’t hire you, I don’t get paid.”
“You’ll get paid.”
“How?”
“I’ll pay you.”
Cora looked at her skeptically. “You’ll pay me to sit in on an interview with your client?”
“That’s right.”
“I’ve already pointed out why that’s a dumb idea. And you still want to do it. Let me see if I can figure out why.”
Cora whipped out a pack of cigarettes.
“You can’t smoke in here.”
“I can if I’m doing a job and not getting paid.”
“You’ll get paid.”
“Interesting,” Cora mused. “Why would you pay me money just to come to your office? Ah! That’s it! The meeting is not in your office.”
“No.”
“Where is the meeting?”
“In New York City.”
Cora grinned. �
��Where in New York City?”
“Manhattan, actually.”
“That’s not what I meant. Are you meeting the client in his office at work?”
“No.”
“You’re meeting the client in his apartment.”
“Actually—”
“In the apartment he shares with his wife who isn’t home.”
“No, I believe he’s a bachelor.”
“And you’re meeting him in his bachelor apartment?”
“Actually, it’s a penthouse.”
“Ah! Of course! And what wonderful connotations that has—thank you, Bob Guccione.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Oh, why should that be a problem?” Cora said ironically. “Let me see if I understand this: A young man is attempting to lure you up to his apartment with the offer of a job. You want me along, not for my keen insight, my astute judgment of character, or my impressive detective skills. You want me along because I’m tough as nails and have a gun in my purse.”
“So?” Becky said. “What if I do?”
Cora smiled. “I like that.”
Chapter
2
Jennifer toddled across the lawn and wrapped her muddy arms around Cora’s leg.
“Sherry,” Cora protested. “Look what she’s doing.”
Sherry Carter, lounging in a lawn chair, said, “You wanted her to walk.”
“I wanted her to walk around. I didn’t want her to walk around me.”
Sherry wasn’t impressed. “You can drop the gruff-aunt act. You know you love her.”
“I’d love her more if she were holding onto your leg.”
A car came up the driveway.
“Oh, look, it’s Daddy,” Sherry said.
Jennifer shrieked, “Daddy!” and took off across the lawn.
“What are you trying to do, teach her to run in front of cars?” Cora said.
“Relax. By the time she gets to the driveway, Aaron could have gone to the store and back.”
Jennifer was indeed making rather slow progress, but not for want of trying. She would rush forward, fall on her face, pick herself up again, and repeat, having gained, if not wisdom, at least another fresh layer of dirt.
Aaron got out of the car to meet her. The young reporter wore a sports shirt, open at the neck. His clean khaki pants seemed an excellent target.
He held out his arms. “Come to Daddy!”
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Cora warned.
“He knows what he’s asking,” Sherry said. “He’s asking me to do a laundry.”
Jennifer fell into Daddy’s arms. He lifted her up, spun her around.
“Don’t get her dizzy,” Cora said.
“You’re worse than a mother hen,” Sherry told her.
“She’s just jealous,” Aaron said. “You want me to spin you, Cora?”
“Just try it, buster.”
“Cora got a job,” Sherry said.
“Oh?”
“Becky Baldwin’s chaperone.”
“Bodyguard,” Cora said.
“If you say so.”
“Chaperones don’t carry guns.”
Aaron walked over to them, bouncing the baby on his hip. “What are you talking about?”
Cora filled him in on her assignment for Becky Baldwin.
“Sounds like fun,” Aaron said.
“Fun? How can it possibly be fun?”
“It’s in New York. Your appointment’s in the afternoon, isn’t it? Why don’t you get theater tickets?”
“Are you suggesting I take Becky Baldwin to the theater?”
“Sure. Take her to The Book of Mormon.”
“I don’t date women.”
“Like that’s the only problem,” Sherry said. “You can’t get tickets to The Book of Mormon.”
“Sure you can.”
“Not on the same day.”
“Hey, I’m a reporter. Let me see what I can do.”
“You’re going to get press passes?” Cora said. “I am not writing a damn review.”
A car turned into the driveway.
“What is this, a convention?”
“It’s Chief Harper,” Sherry said. “I wonder what he wants.”
Chief Harper pulled up behind Aaron and got out of the car. The chief had on his relaxed, friendly face, the one he wore in between cases, particularly cases involving Cora Felton. Cora had assisted the chief in a number of investigations, and while he appreciated her help, she exasperated him no end by evading direct questions, usually because she had something to conceal.
“Hi, Chief,” Cora said. “Come to see my grandniece?”
Chief Harper belatedly took note of the baby. He leaned in, said, “Well, now, she is cute, isn’t she?”
Jennifer tried to grab his tie.
He took a prudent step backwards. “And quick, too.”
“Good work, Chief. We’re trying to teach her to keep away from cops.”
“A result of your Woodstock days, no doubt.”
“Woodstock? Wouldn’t know, Chief. I was a toddler then myself.” She cocked her head. “So, who died?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re here because you got a murder and you want me to solve it.”
“No one died.”
“That’s a shame. It’s a result of people living too long. Social Security’s going to run out long before I get there.”
“You’re in an awfully good mood.”
“Why shouldn’t I be? I haven’t done anything. So, whatever happened, it’s not my fault.”
“I never said it was.”
“Maybe not. I always assume you suspect me of something until you prove otherwise.”
“Good Lord,” Sherry said. “Are you two going to keep sparring or are you going to tell her what you want?”
“Hey, who asked your opinion?” Cora said.
“Don’t you want to find out what’s up?”
“Well, if you’d stop interrupting the man, maybe he’d tell me.”
“Interrupting?”
Aaron Grant grinned at Chief Harper. “I think they’ve forgotten about you.”
“Probably just as well.”
“What did you want, anyway?”
“I should probably tell Cora.”
Cora broke off from arguing with her niece. “Go ahead, lay it on me, Chief. You haven’t got a puzzle you want me to solve, have you?”
“No, I don’t. I’ve got a case that has me puzzled, though.”
“Your default position.”
“Hey.”
“What you got?”
“I had a break-in last week.”
“And you’re just getting to it now?”
“Ha ha. The fact is, I can’t make any headway.” Harper pointed at Aaron. “And I’d rather not see an editorial about it.”
“Maybe there’s nowhere to get,” Cora said.
“Doors don’t break themselves. Someone jimmied this one with a crowbar.”
“What was taken?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“There’s nothing to take.”
“Whoa. Time out, Chief. I think you left out a main detail of the story. Whose house is this?”
“It’s not a private home.”
“It was a store?”
“No.”
“You gonna make me play Twenty Questions? Come on, Chief. What was broken into?”
“The town hall.”
Chapter
3
Chief Harper was unusually quiet on the ride to town.
“Cheer up, Chief. This is not the crime of the century.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“What’s bugging you?”
“I don’t know. He sighed. “We got this case, and we’ll solve it or we won’t solve it, just business as usual. And then we’ll chalk it up and go on to the next.”
“Good Lord. What brought this on?”
“I don’t know. I�
��m just starting to feel old.”
“Join the club. You’re a little late getting there, but don’t worry, you’ll fit right in.”
“Yeah.”
“What’s the matter?”
Harper grimaced. “I had to testify at Stuart Tanner’s parole hearing last month.”
“Who?”
“Our first case. The girl in the cemetery.”
“What about it?”
Solving that murder had been the beginning of Chief Harper and Cora’s collaboration, though the chief hadn’t known it at the time. They’d been solving crimes ever since.
“That was Stuart Tanner. He’s up for parole.”
“What?”
“Exactly.”
“He was convicted of murder! Three counts!”
“Yeah. He got twenty-five to life.”
“I can do the math. If he’s not dead, he’s got a few years to go.”
“Yeah,” Harper said in disgust. “If twenty-five to life meant twenty-five to life. It ought to mean he’s there for life, unless he’s such a wonderful individual that sometime after he’s served twenty-five years and before he’s dead, a parole board could consider releasing him early. But they don’t have to do it. They shouldn’t have to grant him parole unless they can prove he doesn’t deserve it. They should have the right to keep him until he proves he deserves to get out. Even then, it should be their decision.”
“Whoa, Chief. Let’s not go off on a tangent. You’re frustrated with the system. I get that. You’ve strayed from the main point. Twenty-five to life. I may be a little dotty myself, but if it’s been twenty-five years since I moved to Bakerhaven, I’m really losing it.”
“That’s what I was saying. Twenty-five to life should mean twenty-five to life. But, no, the son of a bitch can apply for parole after twelve.”
“It’s been that long?”
“See what I mean?”
“So the son of a bitch could get out?”
Harper smiled grimly. “Not after what I told the parole board.”
Cora lapsed into silence. Damn. Now she felt old.
The Bakerhaven town hall, like most of the other buildings in town, was white with black shutters. Of course it was larger than most, with wide front steps and a double door. Harper drove around to the parking lot in the back.
Cora inspected the back door. “The lock’s been replaced.”
“Yes, it has. But you can still see the damage.”
“Yes. You think it was a crowbar?”