by Parnell Hall
“It’s a bad habit to get into.”
“Oh, yeah? You remember when you used to drink?”
“Not very much.”
“Then let me take my pills.” Becky popped the pills in her mouth and washed them down with a sip of water. “There. The effects should be instantaneous. They’re not, but they should be.”
“I’m glad you’re getting your sense of humor back.”
“I’m not getting anything back. I’m trying to forestall your comments by making my own. At least I don’t get a headache trying to follow them.”
“Are you this open with all your clients, or do you usually pretend you’re vaguely coherent?”
“Most clients wouldn’t get to see me until I choose to see them. You’re the only one comes crashing through the door expecting me to spring into action.”
“Would you be less antagonistic if I weren’t sleeping with Crowley?”
“Will you stop saying that? I have enough trouble defending you without having to prove you’re not a promiscuous lush.”
“I stopped drinking years ago.”
“I rest my case.”
“What?”
“Only people with drinking problems do that.”
“Good point. Wanna go get a drink?”
“What?”
“When I was drinking, the only real cure for a hangover was a good, stiff drink.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
Cora left Becky’s and went over to the police station. Dan Finley was on the phone when she came in. He covered the mouthpiece. “Chief’s at Town Hall.”
Cora nodded and went over to the town hall building.
She figured Dan meant the county clerk’s office. She figured right. The chief was there. So was Sergeant Crowley. The chief was standing around looking glum. Crowley was going over the files.
“What’s he doing here?” Cora said.
Harper grunted. “Better ask him.”
Crowley looked up from the file cabinet. “I’m not having any luck with my crime, so I’m trying to solve yours. Chief thinks I’m stepping on his toes, but I’m not.”
“That may well be,” Cora said. “But I imagine he takes it as a comment on his job.”
“Yeah, well, it isn’t. It’s a comment on mine. I’m getting nowhere. Zip, zero, zilch. What makes it worse, I got six detectives on the case, and we still can’t come up with anything. I’m at a dead end. I’m desperate.” He turned to Harper. “You don’t have six detectives combing through every bit of evidence. So I got a shot at finding something new. Plus, your break-in happened before my murder. The guy may not have had everything worked out yet. He may have been careless. He may have made a mistake.”
“Yes, isn’t that diplomatic,” Harper said. “You know what it looks like? You stay over because you don’t trust me to protect her. You review the evidence because you think I missed something. Bottom line is you don’t think I can do my job.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.”
“What are you doing?” Cora said.
Crowley had taken a drawer out of the file cabinet and set it on the floor. He sat down next to it and pawed through the files. “I’m trying to figure out what there could be in there that would be of interest to someone who wanted to kill somebody in New York.”
“That’s stupid,” Cora said.
“Thanks a lot.” Crowley looked up at Harper. “Is she usually this supportive?”
“That’s nothing. Wait’ll you hit her with a theory.”
“Why is that stupid?” Crowley said.
“New York is incidental. I’m the Bakerhaven connection.”
“First thing I looked for. And I can’t find a thing.”
Cora looked at the file cabinet. “You looked in here for me?”
“Yes.”
“Under Cora Felton?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well, there’s your problem. I wasn’t Cora Felton when I came here. I was Cora Crabtree.”
“What?”
“Legally,” Cora said. She waggled her hand. “Well, semi-legally. Melvin Crabtree is my ex-husband. When I moved here I was still using his name. We were divorced, but he was paying me alimony. Still is, by the way. Anyway, I’m on the books as Cora Crabtree.”
“Why, if you were divorced?”
“Because Sherry was hiding out from her ex-husband, and we didn’t want any records anyone could look up. So I used my married name.”
“Who would know that?”
“The town clerk,” Harper said.
“Right. But why would that get her killed?”
“Well,” Harper said, “if the killer broke in looking for Cora Felton, couldn’t find her, and came back and asked the town clerk why not, then she’d become a liability.”
“Yeah, but if he got the information, why would he break in again?”
“He broke into the police station,” Cora pointed out.
“Yeah, but not to steal your file.”
“Hey, you’re not the only cop to ever arrest me. Lots of cops make mistakes.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Harper said dryly.
“Well, was I guilty?” Cora said. “I’m not saying you didn’t have grounds. I’m saying the charges were dismissed.”
“What charges?” Crowley said.
“That’s not important,” Cora said.
“I’ll be the judge of that. What charges?” When Harper hesitated, he said, “It’s a matter of public record.”
“Then why didn’t you ask for it?”
“I didn’t know it was relevant.”
“It’s not relevant,” Cora said irritably.
“Then why are you trying so hard to suppress it?”
Cora made a face. “I was arrested for murder a few years back.”
“Murder?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t do that one,” Cora said. “So how could it possibly be relevant?”
“Now you’re just playing with me,” Crowley said.
“You see what I have to put up with?” Harper said.
“It’s a wonder you’re still sane.”
“Boys, boys, I’m glad you’re having fun at my expense, but you’re missing the point. We’re getting far afield. Just when things seemed promising. The killer breaks in here, looks for my file, doesn’t find it. Questions the clerk, learns my file is Crabtree. By rights he should break in again, but he doesn’t. Instead he kills the town clerk. Why does he do that?”
“So the town clerk can’t identify him,” Harper said.
“Yes, yes,” Cora said impatiently. “That’s gotta be the motive. The killer breaks in, can’t find what he’s looking for. He asks the town clerk, kills the town clerk. Doesn’t make use of the information. Therefore the premise is wrong. The killer doesn’t go back to the town clerk for more information. The killer gets all the information he needs during the break-in. Now, how can that be?”
“Maybe he knew you were Crabtree before he broke in,” Crowley said.
Cora made a face. Next thing she knew, they’d be pinning it on Melvin. “That doesn’t make sense. If he knew that much about me, why would he need to see my file?”
“I don’t know, but I mean to find out,” Crowley said. He clambered to his feet, pulled open the file cabinet drawer marked C, took out a file. “Let’s see. Connors? No. C-R. Closer to the end. Here we go. Let’s see. Cranwell, no. Ah! Here we are. Crabtree, Cora.” He examined the file. “Appears all right. So, who would know if anything’s missing?” He nodded ironically in answer to his own question. “The town clerk.”
His cell phone rang. He muttered an imprecation, jerked it out of his pocket, and flipped it open. “Crowley … What!… You’re kidding. I’ll be right there!”
He flipped the cell phone shut.
“What’s the matter?” Cora said.
“My apartment’s been robbed.”
Chapter
37
“I should have seen this com
ing,” Cora said.
“Oh, really?” Crowley said. He swerved around an SUV, rocketed down the Merritt Parkway.
“The killer broke into my house. The killer broke into the police station. It’s only logical he’d break into your apartment, too.”
“Why is that logical? He had no reason to break into my apartment.”
“He had no reason to break into my house.”
“Yes, he did. He left the crossword puzzle.”
“Yeah, but why did he have to break in? He could have sent it in the mail. He could have taped it to the door like he did the last time.”
“He wanted to put it on your computer.”
“Why? One way or another, it’s the same damn puzzle.”
“He’s making a point.”
“What point?”
“That he could do it.”
“Why isn’t he making the same point with you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Exactly. The problem is we’re trying to outthink this guy, and he may not be thinking. He may be just acting on impulse.”
Crowley made a face and told another motorist what he thought of his driving skills.
“Why don’t you put the siren on?”
“I don’t like to do that.”
“Why not?”
“It would be abuse of power.”
“And going ninety isn’t?”
“Hey, you watch your ethics, I’ll watch mine.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“At least I’m not pretending to be a police officer.”
“Oh, low blow. If I cared, I’d be insulted.”
“That’s what I figured,” Crowley said. “Anyway, I’m speeding to catch a murderer.”
“He’s long gone.”
“Then I’m not going fast enough.” Crowley weaved in and out of a couple of cars dawdling in the passing lane. It occurred to Cora the cars were probably dawdling at around seventy, and were darn glad the police car wasn’t after them.
Crowley went down the West Side Highway as if it were the Indianapolis Speedway, cut off three lanes of heavy uptown traffic swerving onto West Twelfth Street, and flung the car through a series of frequent turns that sent pedestrians diving for cover.
Two cops were standing on the curb in front of his apartment. Crowley managed to miss them. He left Cora in the car and got out.
“All right, Officers, what have we got?”
The fatter cop was chewing gum. “We responded to a report of a burglary at this address. Found signs of a break-in, but no evidence that anything had been stolen.”
“What signs of a break-in?”
“Front door had been pried with a crowbar, large screwdriver, or the claws of a hammer.”
“You found it broken open?”
“We found it locked.”
“How’d you get in?”
“Super let us in with a key. Apartment had not been ransacked, there were no obvious signs it had been searched. There was no way to tell if anything had been taken. We phoned it in, were instructed to wait here for you.”
“You knew it was my apartment?”
“Not when we went in. All we had was the apartment number.” He jerked his thumb at the other cop. “Officer Blake found your name on a piece of mail. We got out and called in.”
“You’re sure the perpetrator isn’t still in the apartment?”
The cop looked pained by the question. “First thing we do, we secure the premises. Trust me, no one’s there.”
Crowley nodded. “Thanks, Officers. You can go.”
“We have to file a report.”
“Go ahead and file one.”
“We have to verify if anything’s missing.”
“You said nothing was.”
“We have to check with the owner.”
Crowley smiled. “Officer, we’re dealing with a guy who likes to get inside people’s heads. He’s more apt to leave something than take it. If he had, I think you’d’ve have found it, but by all means, let’s take a look.”
Crowley got Cora out of the car. “Miss Felton, right this way. Officers, this is one of the victims. Her house was broken into. If it’s the same guy, she should know.”
Upstairs, Crowley examined the damage to the door.
“Well, I can see where it’s been pried, all right, but the hardware’s all in place. If he got the door open, I don’t know how he got it back in such good shape.” Crowley whipped out his keys, turned one on the door. “Lock seems okay. Dead bolt’s in place. Was it locked like this when you got here?”
“That’s right.”
“A full twist? The super didn’t just give the key a quarter turn and it clicks open? A full three-sixty, moving the dead bolt, then the extra quarter?”
“Absolutely. I watched him do it. He stuck the key in the lock, turned it a full three-sixty degrees plus the quarter. Lock clicked open.”
“Right you are.” Crowley pushed the door open and strode in.
Cora hadn’t realized what an anachronism the apartment was before, but with the eyes of the officers on it she did now. The Jimi Hendrix poster, for instance. Did these guys even know who Jimi Hendrix was?
“Okay,” Crowley said. “I’m not searching my apartment, but I can tell you right off the bat nothing’s missing. It’s not the guy’s MO. And if he left me something, he’d want it to be found. Go ahead and file your report. If two days from now I notice my hundred-thousand-dollar cuff links are missing, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
The officers nodded and left. When they were gone, Cora said, “You sure nothing’s missing?”
“No.”
“Wanna search the place?”
“Not particularly.”
“What do you want to do?”
Crowley smiled. “Oh, we’ll think of something.”
Chapter
38
“Cora nuzzled her head against Crowley’s chest. “You know,” she murmured, we’re not any closer to solving this.”
Crowley shrugged. “Who cares?”
“That’s the nicest thing you ever said to me.”
“Even when I let you go?”
“That was pretty nice. But I think you did it more for shock value. You have a bit of a theatrical flair.”
“Please. You’ll get me drummed off the force.”
“You prefer the dumb-cop image?”
“It’s less trouble.”
“How’d a guy like you get to be a cop, anyway?”
“John Jay College of Criminal Justice.”
“Come on. You know what I mean.”
“That’s your hippie mentality talking. You grew up thinking cops are pigs and wonder why anyone could want to be one.”
“This from a guy with a Jimi Hendrix poster on the wall.”
“Again with stereotypes and labels. I happen to like his music.” Crowley scrunched up in bed. “Mind if I get a beer?”
“Mind if I smoke?”
“Disgusting habit.”
“And drinking isn’t?”
“You used to drink.”
“I forgot. You read my file.”
“We’re not exactly strangers.”
“That subject never came up.”
“Not even at dinner?”
“The burger joint you took me to didn’t have a wine list.”
“I thought you liked burger joints.”
“I do.”
“Then what are we arguing about?”
“I don’t know,” Cora said. “It’s too idyllic. Maybe I want to spoil it.”
“Why?”
“Before it gets spoiled.” Cora smiled. “Sorry. A shrink would have a field day with me. I had a groom get killed on me. I’m a little gun-shy.”
“Sorry. I forgot.”
“That’s right. You know that, too.” Cora changed the subject. “Did you mean what you said to those cops?”
“What?”
“You don’t think the killer left anythi
ng.”
“That’s right.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“In the first place, I don’t think he got in. If he had, he’d want me to know it. He’d leave something to let me know what a bright boy he was, that locks can’t stop him.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. But it would be obvious. Unless he planted a bug. You know, some sort of surveillance equipment.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Cora said. Still, she couldn’t help stealing a glance at the light fixture over the bed.
“You’re pretty calm about this,” Crowley said.
“I don’t think we’re in any danger.”
“Why not?”
“If this guy wanted to hurt me, he’d hurt me. It’s not like he hasn’t had the chance. He followed me back to Bakerhaven. As far as he knew, I was a sitting duck. If he wanted me dead, I’d be dead. He doesn’t want me dead. He wants to play with me.”
“So do I,” Crowley said.
Cora giggled. “Hang on, big boy. We’re solving a crime here.”
The phone rang.
Crowley rolled over and picked it up. He rolled back, said, “Hello?… Oh. Hi … What?”
Crowley sat straight up in bed, dumping Cora off him. “Broke in how?… Did you call the cops?… Yes, I know you called me. I mean the cops.… What do you mean, it’s for me?… You’re kidding!… Hang on, I’ll be right there.”
“Who was that?” Cora said.
Crowley looked at her, heaved a sigh. “My wife.”
Chapter
39
Becky found Cora at a table in the back drinking a grande latte.
“What are we doing in Starbucks?” Becky said.
“Drinking coffee.”
“Why couldn’t we meet in the Country Kitchen?”
“I didn’t want to be in a bar.”
“Why not?”
“If I was in a bar, I might drink.”
“Why?”
“He’s married.”
Becky’s eyes widened. She sank down at the table. “Crowley’s married?”
“Go ahead. Say I told you so.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You thought it.”
“You’re a complicated person.”
“Why don’t you get a coffee.”
“Do they have Irish coffee?”
“You can probably get it without the whiskey.”