by Parnell Hall
Chief Harper’s face fell when she walked in. “You didn’t get me one?”
“I thought you had yours by now.”
“I finished it.”
“What do you want? A muffin? A scone?”
“It’s all right.”
“No, I’ll get you one. What do you want?”
“I can’t let you do that.”
“Why not?”
“I just can’t.”
Cora shrugged. “Okay, I’ll hold down the office, you go.”
Harper shook his head. “Forget it.”
“Oh, go on, Chief.”
“I can’t have another muffin,” he cried in exasperation.
“How come?”
“I’m on a diet.”
Cora looked at him. Grinned. “It’s all right if I bring you a muffin, but you can’t get it for yourself?”
“I can’t keep buying muffins. My wife would kill me. On the other hand, if someone gives me one…”
“And you complain about my reasoning,” Cora said. She sat down, pulled the top off her latte, took a big gulp. “Ahhh. Life feels good again. Here, Chief, have a sip.”
“I can’t drink your coffee.”
“Oh, don’t be such a gentleman.”
“I’m not being a gentleman. I can’t drink the milk.”
“Oh. Bad stomach.”
“I didn’t have it till you came to town.”
“That’s hardly fair, Chief. As you pointed out, I’ve been here since the dawn of time.”
“Aw, hell.” Harper heaved himself out of his chair, walked out the door. He was back in five minutes with a cup of black coffee and a blueberry muffin. He sat down, leveled his finger at Cora. “You didn’t see me eat this.”
“Eat what?”
“Atta girl.”
Harper took a bite of muffin. “Like to know about our murder?”
“It’s a murder?”
“Oh, yeah. Blunt object. Like a lead pipe.”
“Professor Plum in the study?”
“Yeah. Someone coshed her over the head. That answers that question. Why she would let a man with a lead pipe into her living room at two in the morning is another matter.”
“Maybe the killer put her there.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know. Sense of composition? Get her away from the front door?”
“Why?”
“It was open. If she was there, someone might have seen her.”
“Wouldn’t it have been easier to close the door?”
“Maybe he wanted it open.”
“Why?”
“To air the place out for spring cleaning? How the hell should I know?” Cora took a sip of latte. “When was she killed?”
“Like the doc said, within the last hour. At least, that’s when she died. She could have been coshed earlier.”
“You mean lay there awhile and then died?”
“It’s possible.”
“While she was waiting for the EMS unit?”
“Don’t start with me.”
“Just making an observation.”
“Yeah, well, you got a newspaper reporter in the family.”
“You think I went home last night, woke him up? I haven’t even seen him this morning.”
“You wouldn’t give him a hot tip on that angle of the story?”
“Hadn’t occurred to me. Now that you mention it…”
“Don’t mess with me, Cora. I’m not having a good time here.”
“Hadn’t noticed.”
Harper took a bite of muffin, chewed it around. “Anyway, it’s official. She was murdered. So, any thoughts?”
“I think it’s a pretty stupid crime.”
“You think she was assaulted?”
“Only if the killer had an icepick,” Cora said. Harper gave her a look. “No, I don’t think she was sexually assaulted. I think she was just killed. It doesn’t look like a robbery. Nothing seems to be taken. It seems a rather pointless crime.”
“Except she was a witness in the town hall break-in.”
“A witness to what? She didn’t see anything. She didn’t know anything.”
“Maybe the killer thought she did.”
“Why? What would make him think that?”
“The fact we questioned her.”
“That makes no sense at all. The killer finds out we questioned the town clerk, says, ‘Gee, I’d better kill her in case she knows something she didn’t mention to the police the first time they questioned her that she might mention the second time’? What kind of a person thinks like that?”
“A paranoid killer?” Harper said. “All right, put it like that, it sounds silly.”
“No kidding. And, no, I don’t think it’s connected to the murder in New York.”
“How’d you know I was going to ask you that?”
“I know how you think. And, no, I don’t think it is, unless there’s some crossword puzzle or sudoku you’re holding out on me.”
“There isn’t.”
“Then I don’t see it. The motive is different. The means of death is different. The location is different. The gender of the victim is different. I can’t think of a single similarity except both of the victims are dead.”
“They’re both connected to you.”
Cora stared at the chief. “Excuse me?”
“You found the body in New York, and you picked a fight with this woman just the other day.”
“Picked a fight?”
“Let’s not quibble. The point is, you questioned her in the course of a police investigation. That makes two police investigations you’ve been involved with. In both cases, one of the participants wound up dead.”
“Both of the victims used toilet paper, and in each case they wound up dead.”
“Your interrogation of the town clerk was quite heated. I practically had to pull you away from her.”
“Does that make me a suspect? Should I be calling Becky Baldwin here?”
“You have the right to an attorney. I can’t imagine why you would need one.”
“Then stop playing up my motive.”
“I didn’t say it was a motive.”
“Well, if you’re going to nitpick about the wording.”
“Cora. It’s me. Calm down. I don’t think you killed anyone. I’m just pointing out the way it looks to other people.”
“People? You’re spreading it around I didn’t like the victim?”
“Well, if I’m asked the direct question.”
“Who’s asking you direct questions?”
“I got a call from Henry Firth.”
“Of course you did. He’s the prosecutor, he wants someone to prosecute. So, you trotted me out as a suspect?”
“Of course not.”
“So what’s Ratface got to do with it?”
“Nothing. You just wanted to know who’s asking me questions.”
“Chief. I asked you if you were telling people about me and the victim. You said if you were asked a direct question. I said who’s asking direct questions, you said Ratface.”
“I did not say Ratface.”
“You said the prosecutor. I asked what did you tell him about me and the town clerk and you said he didn’t ask you. Who asked you about me and the town clerk?”
“Well, that officer.”
“What officer?”
“You know. From New York.”
“Sergeant Crowley of the NYPD?” Cora said accusingly. “You called the New York City police department and told them their murder suspect was involved in another murder up here?”
“I didn’t call him, he called me.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“He’s worried about you. He said you were being followed.”
“So you called Dan Finley and he drove over to our house and scared Sherry silly. So what?”
“He called this morning to ask if there had been any progress.”
“And you said no one’s try
ing to kill her, but she’s involved in killing someone else?”
“That’s not how I phrased it.”
“How did you phrase it?”
“I had to tell him I had my own crime to deal with.”
“And he asked you if I did it?”
“Of course not. He doesn’t think you’re a killer.”
“What was his direct question?”
“He asked if you had anything to do with it.”
“That’s a paraphrase, Chief. What did the guy say?”
Harper took a breath. “‘Is that crazy lady involved in yours too?’”
“Nice. So that’s the direct question you were referring to.”
“I assured him you had nothing to do with it.”
“You told him that nutty old bag is innocent?”
“Cora.”
“And he asked you if I had any relation with the decedent, and you told him I nearly ripped her face off just last week. I’m surprised he hasn’t come looking for me. Oh, that’s right. It’s out of his jurisdiction. What’s the law here, if he wants to haul me in? Would he have to get me extradited?”
“You’re making too much of this.”
“You trot me out as a murder suspect and I’m making too much of it?”
“No one thinks you’re a murder suspect.”
“Do you have any theories about this crime that don’t involve me?” Cora said sarcastically.
“Do you?”
That caught Cora up short. “Chief, I don’t have any theories about this crime at all. The only thing that makes sense is that it’s connected to the break-in, and if you have any idea how, you’re way ahead of me. It’s kind of like playing a game of no-limit poker with no rules, no time limit, no boundaries, and no purpose. Nothing makes any sense.”
“You expect me to disagree?”
“No, but you’re the chief of police running the investigation. I expect you know something.”
“Can you suggest anything I’m not doing?” Chief Harper said through gritted teeth.
“I don’t know. What are you doing?”
“Sam Brogan’s searching the victim’s house. Dan Finley’s searching her office.”
“For what?”
“If we knew, we wouldn’t have to look.”
“How about the murder weapon?”
“We’re not even sure what it is. I mean we say lead pipe, but it could be any similar object from a baseball bat to a tire iron.”
“Great.”
“All that CSI crap made popular by television’s being done, from searching for skin samples under the fingernails in case she managed to claw her assailant, to analyzing the hairs on her clothes to make sure they’re all hers, but just between you and me, I do not expect a solution within sixty minutes including commercials.”
“And you’re questioning—?”
“My own judgment. I have a feeling nothing I’m doing is worth the time.”
“No, I mean who.”
“Besides you? The victim’s friends. Turns out she didn’t have many. Unmarried, lived alone, even her next-door neighbors didn’t know her well. Her coworkers didn’t like her—go figure—and no one hung out with her. Her parents are deceased, she’s got a brother in Oregon who’s not rushing to claim the body. She died intestate, not that there’s any money anyway, her house was a rental, she didn’t seem to own anything valuable.”
“So why kill her?”
“Why indeed. It’s gotta come back to the break-in, but I can’t figure out how. Unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Unless it has something to do with the murder in New York.”
“How could it?”
“I have no idea.”
“Did you suggest this theory to Sergeant Crowley?”
“He suggested it to me.”
Cora’s eyes blazed. “Oh, did he, now?”
Chapter
20
Sergeant Crowley settled back in his desk chair, cocked his head. “I don’t see what you’re so upset about.”
“Oh, really?” Cora said. “You ring up the police chief in my town and, based on no information whatsoever, suggest I might be involved in his murder.”
“That’s not exactly what I said.”
“No, I believe the direct quote was ‘Is that crazy lady involved in yours, too?’”
“Oh, that.”
“Oh, that? Did you really say ‘Oh, that’?”
“It’s not like I said you were the perpetrator.”
“Well, allow me to commend you on your admirable restraint. How’d you like to be hauled into the police chief’s office and asked to explain your nonexistent connection to two murders?”
“Is that what happened?”
“Actually, I wasn’t hauled in, I went of my own accord. Because I wanted to find out if the police had a lead on the murder. I didn’t expect it to be me.”
“What’s your point?”
“You suggested it.”
“Because it’s there. You can’t fault me for saying something that’s true. You’re like a defense attorney gets all huffy when I call his client armed just ’cause the creep’s carrying a gun.”
“But he’s fine with you calling him a creep?”
“Did you just come in here to bawl me out?”
“Well, it is fun,” Cora said, “but I was hoping you would have something to contribute.”
“With regard to your crime? I don’t know anything about it.”
“And yet you accuse me of it to the chief.”
“I thought you were done griping about that.”
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Well, could you get over it? I happen to have work to do.”
“Fine,” Cora said. “Forget the Connecticut crime. Let’s talk NYPD. How you coming with the murder case here?”
“The department frowns on discussing ongoing investigations with murder suspects.”
“Right. I’m apt to take something you say out of context, and my clever attorney will use it to beat the rap. And if you think that is a possibility even remotely worth considering, then I despair of you ever solving this crime.”
“I’m not too hopeful myself,” Crowley said.
Cora stared at him. “What?”
“Evidence is not piling up for me. Usually, you dig into a guy’s background, you learn a lot. That is not the case with the late Charles Kessington.”
“Oh?”
“The decedent is one of the least interesting people who ever lived. No profession, no skills, and no job. The only thing he had was money, and the only thing he did to get it was have parents who died young. He never married, didn’t have a girlfriend, or any close friends at all. He had no hobbies or outside interests that might have thrown him among people. Apparently, his wildest outings were going to the movies or the theater alone. He went to NYU, dropped out when his parents died. Apparently they were the only thing keeping him there.”
“How much money did he have?”
“Millions. I don’t know how many millions, but I understand it’s less than a billion. On the other hand, when you say ‘less than a billion,’ you’re talking about an awful lot of money.”
“And that’s not a motive right there. Who inherits, for Christ’s sake?”
“He has no heirs. No close relations. No valued friends. His money goes to charity.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. So unless I wanna pin this crime on the American Cancer Society, I’m out of luck.”
“He left it all to them?”
“Yes, he did. In a will drawn up by the same lawyer who drew up his parents’ wills, who, as you can probably guess, both died of cancer. Now,” Crowley said, “the question is, why would a man like that hire the services of an attractive young attorney from out of town?”
Cora shrugged. “You got me.”
“Exactly.”
She wrinkled up her nose. “Huh?”
“There are
no other suspects. All I’ve got is you.”
“Oh, come on. Haven’t you cleared me by now. When it turned out my gun didn’t fire the fatal bullet.”
“Funny thing about that.”
“You find that funny? What, anything in my favor is just laughable?”
“I mean funny you should mention it. Turns out the ballistics report was inconclusive.”
Cora’s heart sank. “What?”
“The fatal bullet was badly damaged. Hit bone or something. Bounced around in there. Made a real mess. Anyway, ballistics can’t match it up with a bullet fired from your gun. On the other hand, ballistics can’t find conclusive proof it wasn’t fired from your gun.”
“You gotta be kidding.”
“Hey, these things happen. I’m sure that hotshot attorney of yours will have a fun time cross-examining the expert.”
“I’m going to trial?”
“I certainly hope not. But no one’s dismissing the charges either.”
“You didn’t feel this important enough to mention?”
“I think someone’s informing your attorney. Has she been trying to get in touch with you?”
“I don’t have a cell phone.”
“Well, in that case, I’m glad you came in. I was going to call you anyway.”
“Why? So you can haul me into court and arraign me, now I can’t prove my innocence?”
“No, nothing like that. I’ve got something I think will interest you.”
Crowley pulled open his desk drawer, took out a plastic evidence bag with an envelope in it. “This arrived in the mail this morning.” He slid it across the desk. “As you can see, it’s addressed to me personally here at the station.”
“I assume there was a letter in it?”
“You assume wrong. The only thing in it was this.” Crowley pulled out another evidence bag, placed it next to the first.
Cora felt a sense of foreboding. A knot tightened in her stomach. She reached out for the evidence bag, took a look.
It was a crossword puzzle. It had clearly been in the envelope. The creases of the folds were evident. It had been unfolded, but it had not been solved.
“I figure it was meant for you,” Crowley said.
“Did it say it was meant for me?”
“Like I said, there was nothing else in the envelope.”
“Then you’re making a wild assumption. There’s no reason to believe it has anything to do with me at all.”