by Parnell Hall
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Becky said. “That is a totally unfounded supposition. Particularly in view of the fact my client has been arrested in one of those homicides. Saying they’re connected has unfortunate connotations.”
“That’s too damn bad,” Chief Harper said. It was indicative of his state of agitation that he did not apologize for the expletive. “I got a killer running around tacking puzzles on her door and leaving messages in Penn Station. And don’t tell me that’s a supposition. If it’s not the killer, it’s someone with a bizarre imagination mirroring the movements of the killer. Now, without implying anyone’s guilt or innocence or even involvement, what the hell do you think it means?”
“Let me get this one, Becky. Chief, I haven’t got a clue. Off the record, I would say while not legally binding, it is entirely likely that the killer is the one who left those notes and that I am being personally taunted. What is not established—and I don’t give a damn about legally binding, I’m talking about from my point of view—I’m not at all convinced that the murder of the town clerk is any way related. Everything about it, from the MO to any possible motive, seems entirely coincidental and not to be inferred.”
“You think it’s a different killer?”
“Why not? The town hall break-in was a week before the New York murder. If the murder of the town clerk is connected to the break-in—and even that is yet to be established—then the two murders may be two separate matters entirely.”
“Did you advance this theory to the New York cop?”
“He’s got his own problems, Chief. He’s not asking me for advice about yours.”
“Yeah, well I am,” Harper said. “Dan Finley and Sam Brogan have been over every inch of the town clerk’s office—and believe me, they weren’t too happy about it, particularly Sam—and they couldn’t come up with anything, which is too bad, because the woman had nothing of her own anyone might want to steal. And she didn’t have close personal friends who might harbor a grudge.”
“It’s certainly refreshing to hear your views on friendship, Chief.”
“Yeah,” Harper said. He turned to Becky. “Let me ask you something. When’s the last time Dennis checked in.”
Becky blinked. “Huh?”
“He’s still on probation, isn’t he? Doesn’t he have to check in with you?”
“Yes, he does. What’s your point?”
“When’s the last time you saw him?”
“He checked in about a month ago. Seemed pretty stable for him. Wasn’t overtly hostile. Didn’t go through the how-much-longer-do-I-have-to-put-up-with-this-crap routine.”
Harper turned to Cora. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“When’s the last time you saw him?”
“Chief, this is a bad idea.”
“What’s a bad idea?”
“That Dennis is in any way connected to the murders.”
“You think Dennis is connected to the murders?”
“No, I think it’s idiotic.”
“The puzzle on Sherry’s door talked about hiding.”
“It’s my door, too, Chief. And it talked about being not at home. I’m the one who wasn’t home.”
“Except that the killer knew why you weren’t at home when he left the message. You’d just gotten through playing railway station games.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake. Tell me, Chief. Is this something the NYPD suggested to you?”
“Why would they do that?”
“Because they don’t understand the situation. You know and I know Dennis had nothing to do with it.”
“How do I know that?”
“Because you’re not an imbecile with a brain the size of a peanut. How do I know the sun’s gonna rise in the morning? You wanna start throwing known facts out the window, how you gonna solve anything?”
“Uh huh,” Harper said. “Well, if you’re convinced the killer’s after you, that simplifies my life. You won’t object to taking precautions.”
“Precautions?”
“Yeah. The killer’s clearly dividing his time between here and New York. Even if you don’t concede he’s responsible for the town clerk, you’ve gotta admit he’s tacking notes to your door taunting you. In which case, you are in danger, and protecting you is my job. So…”
“I’m not going to like this, am I?”
“Why not? You were under police protection in New York.”
“They have facilities. They have personnel.”
“So what? It’s not like we’re putting you up in a safe house. All I’m saying is I want you home before dark.”
Cora’s eyes widened. “Oh, my God. A curfew. You’re giving me a curfew, like I was back in college.”
“You had curfews in college?” Becky said.
“I’m making a point. My point is I’m a big girl and I can take care of myself.”
“Yeah. And you can do it at home with your door locked, and a landline for the cell phone–impaired. I prefer that to you driving around after dark playing tag with a psychotic killer. And so would you. If the killer really was at your house last night, wouldn’t you rather be there, offering your family an armed guard?”
“Didn’t they tell you, Chief? Ballistics has my gun.”
“Oh, I’m sure you have another.”
Cora took a breath. “Fine, Chief. We’ll make a deal. I’ll honor your curfew, and you stop bugging me about Dennis. Because, believe me, it’s the stupidest idea I ever heard.”
Chapter
29
Cora had been to Brenda Wallenstein’s loft on Grand Street only once a long time ago, but that had been enough to make an impression. It was not the type of fashionable loft associated with SoHo now. It was your basic, unfinished sort, rough and ready, a third-floor walk-up single room with the bathtub in the kitchen, if one could call the few appliances scattered at one end a kitchen, and a shower stall on the back wall with a toilet behind. It was the type of establishment Cora would never set foot in unless dating the hottest new folk-rock sensation in the ’60s.
After that experience, the liveried doorman at Brenda’s Upper East Side apartment was a surprise.
So was Brenda. Cora had never cared much for Sherry’s college roommate. Her bubbly good nature toward attractive men always seemed to grate. It was as if the girl were a rival, which was odd, considering the difference in their ages. Of course, her hippie lifestyle made her seem like a contemporary.
Or perhaps it was the chip on her shoulder. Since marrying Sherry’s ex-husband, Dennis, Brenda had become an aggressive bitch, fueled no doubt by her husband’s obsession with his ex-wife, Sherry, a wholly unpleasant situation leading to several restraining orders culminating in the probation that required him to check in with Becky Baldwin once a month. Cora was quite sure the court would not have ordered it had they known the scoundrel had hit on Becky, too.
In any event, Cora was not prepared for the smiling pixie who nearly knocked her down.
“Cora! It is so good to see you. I couldn’t believe you called. It’s been so long.”
Cora took a step back. Brenda was a smaller woman, though what the boys in school would call pleasingly plump, and she was animated. Careless curls framed her round, radiant face. Her brown eyes sparkled. Her lips parted in a welcoming smile. She positively glowed, and—
“Oh, my God! You’re knocked up!”
Brenda beamed and nodded. “That’s right.” She pulled her loose smock around her belly. “Five months.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“I hardly believe it myself. Anyway, come in, come in. Let’s sit down. I find I like to sit down more and more.”
Brenda led Cora into the living room of a tastefully furnished modern apartment and installed her on the couch. Brenda sat opposite in what was obviously her favorite overstuffed chair.
“So, how did it happen?” Cora said.
“The usual way.”
“No, I mean, were you trying?”
/>
“Were we ever.”
“These nice new digs. Is that because of this?”
“No, we’ve been here for a while.”
“Daddy had a change of heart?”
“Dennis went to work for him.”
“I thought he already was working for your father.
Brenda waggled her hand. “There was downtime. He’d feel glum, get back together with the band. Next thing he’d be missing work.”
“And he’s not?”
“He hasn’t been.”
“As far as you know.”
“As far as my father knows.”
“He’s on the road for his job?”
“Some. Not so much anymore. Tell me, how’s your grandniece?”
“Sherry hasn’t told you?”
“I haven’t spoken to Sherry in a while.”
“How come?”
“Didn’t want her to get the wrong idea.”
“What’s the wrong idea?”
“I’m having a baby just because she did.”
“You mean Dennis is having a baby just because she did.”
“And that’s not the case. We were trying before she was.”
“Really?”
“At least we were trying before we knew she was. I mean, we were trying and then we found out she was pregnant, and that was fine, and then she had the baby, and that was fine. I called her and saw pictures of the kid online, and she even brought her into the city once and we walked to Central Park and that was fine.
“And then I got pregnant and I stopped calling her and she stopped calling me. I guess if you have a kid, you’re busy.”
Cora frowned. “You’ve only seen Jennifer once.”
“So?”
“You stopped seeing her after you got pregnant. Jennifer’s over a year old. You only got pregnant five months ago. You must have stopped seeing her before that.”
“Yeah.”
“You stopped seeing her before you got pregnant.”
“No.”
“Wanna review the math?”
Brenda took a breath, exhaled. “I got pregnant before. Had a miscarriage. Another reason I didn’t want to tell Sherry. I know she was pregnant, lost the baby, blamed Dennis for it. She’d immediately jump to the conclusion. Which is so unfair. I had a miscarriage. It happens.”
“But under the circumstances,” Cora said, indicating her swollen belly.
For the first time since she’d answered the door, Brenda’s face twisted into concern. “I didn’t want to talk about it this time. Until we’re sure.” She shrugged helplessly. “And how many months is sure? We’re at five months. Longer than the first time. That was shortly after we found out. Even so. I wouldn’t want to do that to Sherry. And I’m superstitious. I wouldn’t want to jinx myself.”
“Oh, come on.”
“You’re not superstitious?”
“Only about poker.”
Brenda laughed. “You’re a hoot, as ever. Want some tea or coffee?”
“You’re awfully happy.”
“Well, I’ve got reason.”
“Even so.”
From the foyer came the sound of the front door slamming shut.
A handsome, clean-cut, well-groomed young man in a smart, stylish suit and tie came in, and the reason for Brenda’s rapture was clear. She had a young lover, a suitor ardent enough to have been awarded his own key to the apartment, so that he could come and go at will during the day while her husband was gone.
Cora’s smile was smug.
The young man smiled back. “Hello, Cora.”
Her mouth fell open. “Dennis?”
Chapter
30
“It’s not Dennis.”
Sergeant Crowley sounded irritated. “Who is this?”
“Well, I like that,” Cora said.
“Oh, it’s you. I had no idea. No hi, hello, how are ya? I pick up the phone and you say— What did you say?”
“It’s not Dennis.”
“What’s not Dennis?”
“Dennis Pride. Ex-husband of my niece, Sherry. You were wondering if he could have made up the crossword puzzle.”
“I was?”
“You asked me about it.”
“I did? Yeah, I guess I did. It wasn’t a high priority.”
“Did you mention it to my chief of police?”
“Why?”
“Because he seems to have got the same idea. I understand he had a phone call from you.”
“Right.”
“Did you mention Dennis?”
“I may have asked about interested parties. I don’t think I used the name Dennis. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is now Chief Harper’s got it in his head, and it’s a stupid idea, and I’ve got to kill it.”
“So, kill it.”
“How can I kill it if you keep bringing it up?”
“I can’t even begin to follow that logic, but I’ll play along. Why is it a stupider idea than the last time you told me it was a stupid idea? Aside from the fact your police chief has it.”
“That’s the point. He pestered me so much, I figured I’d better do something about it. So I went and called on Dennis’s current wife.”
“How come?”
“He used to beat his first wife. So I wanted to see if he was beating his second.”
“He beat his wife?”
“Don’t go off on that tangent. The point is I checked him out. She’s five months pregnant. They’ve moved from a grungy loft to an upscale East Side apartment. He’s quit his rock band, gone back to work for her father. Cut his hair, cleaned up his act, bought some new clothes. He’s gone from the ne’er-do-well son-in-law to the company golden boy. He’s being fast-tracked as the next executive vice-president.”
“And you know this because?”
“I saw him. He showed up and talked to me. He’s a whole different person. I know there are psycho killers who can appear perfectly nice and no one would ever suspect them, but this isn’t that. He’s relaxed, happy. And he’s not kidding himself, either. He’s going to a therapist and an anger management group. Granted, it’s like the pod people replaced him with a different Dennis, but, hey, I like the pod people.”
“Is that what you called me for?”
“Well, I thought you should know.”
“Well, now I know.”
There was a pause.
“So,” Cora said. “Isn’t there anything you want to ask me?”
“Like what?”
“Well…” She paused again. “I’m in the city.”
“Huh?”
“I came in to see Dennis. So, I’m here.”
“Good.”
“Yes and no.”
“What do you mean?”
“I gotta get back.”
“Why?”
“I got a curfew.”
“What?”
“Chief Harper doesn’t want me out after dark.”
“You gotta be kidding.”
“Hey, it’s your fault. You’re the one who didn’t want me to go home.”
“I had ulterior motives.”
“I’m glad to hear it. The point is, if the New York police feel I need protective custody, then he does, too.”
“You want me to put you under protective custody?”
“No, I gotta be home.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s the whole damn Dennis bit. The killer tacked a crossword to my door. Chief Harper’s got it in his head that it could be meant for Sherry.”
“Because she’s the real Puzzle Lady?”
“He doesn’t know that. He figures it’s for her because the killer knew I was in New York but he left the puzzle there anyway. So if she’s the target, he wants me there to protect her.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake. Can’t the cops do it?”
“There’s three cops in the whole town. Counting him. They can do drive-bys.”
“That’s stupid.”
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“I agree. You wanna call the chief and talk him out of it? Anyway, I gotta be home by dark.”
“Too bad.”
“Yeah. So, how about it?”
“How about what?”
“Do you do matinees?”
Chapter
31
Cora, dosing contentedly, groped for the phone, pulled the receiver toward her, and rested it on the pillow.
“Couldn’t keep from calling me, could you?” she murmured.
“Why shouldn’t I call you?” Chief Harper said.
For Cora, who thought it was Crowley, that was a rude awakening. She had a moment of panic, wondering how badly she’d given herself away, but quickly covered. “Hey, I’m home, I’m home, like a good girl. You don’t have to check up on me.”
“I wasn’t checking up on you. There’s been another one.”
“Another murder?”
“Another break-in.”
“At town hall?”
“No.”
“You gonna make me play Twenty Questions? What did he break into this time?”
“The police station.”
* * *
A rather exasperated Chief Harper was watching Dan Finley photographing his desk. It was clearly a new one for the young officer, who’d never dusted a desk in the police station before.
“I’m getting a lot of fingerprints, Chief, but they’re probably yours.”
“You contaminating crime scenes again, Chief?” Cora said.
“There you are! You took your time getting here.”
“I was in bed.”
“This early?”
“I haven’t been getting much sleep. Anyway, I’m glad you got your priorities straight.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You want me home guarding Sherry. Unless you need my help.”
“You didn’t have to come.”
“And yet you’re pissed off I took so long.”
Harper glared at Cora. Took a deep breath. “Okay, I deserved that. But it’s embarrassing having the police station broken into.”
“You’re right. Maybe I should call Aaron.”
“Don’t kid about it.” Harper leveled his finger at Dan Finley. “And if you call Rick Reed—”
“I haven’t called anyone. Except you.”
“Okay, Chief. I didn’t really want to get up. You got me down here, what’s the story?”