The Purloined Puzzle

by Parnell Hall

  “We are?”

  “If you don’t believe me, just ask Aaron.”

  “Yes, it is,” Aaron said.

  “Yes, it is what?”

  “Whatever she said.”

  Channel 8 had cut back to the studio, where the news anchors were doing their best not to comment on how uninformative their own report had been. They had just begun to segue into parking problems in Hartford when the picture cut back to Rick Reed. Dan Finley was gone, and Chief Harper had taken his place.

  “This is Rick Reed, live, at the police station in Bakerhaven. I’m talking to Chief Harper, who is spearheading the investigation into the murders. Chief Harper, do I understand there has been a break in the case?”

  “I wouldn’t call it a break, Rick, just a development, and one we thoroughly anticipated. But it’s nice to have it confirmed. The tests on the knife found in the glove compartment of suspect Melvin Crabtree’s car have been completed.”

  “That’s the knife Jason Tripp observed the suspect himself placing there?”

  “Jason Tripp is dead, Rick, and can’t speak for himself. Let’s just say it’s the knife the police recovered after being alerted by Mr. Tripp.”

  “When you say dead, you mean Mr. Tripp has been murdered.”

  “The death was ruled a homicide, but that’s not the point. We now have the results of the tests performed on the knife.”

  “And what do the tests show?”

  “It’s a match. The blood on the knife came from the victim, Fred Winkler.”

  Chapter

  64

  Cora Felton sat in a booth in the bar at the Country Kitchen. On the table in front of her was a fifth of scotch, a fifth of rum, a fifth of tequila, and a fifth of Knob Creek. She sat, head in hands, staring at the bottles.

  Becky Baldwin hurried in the door. The bartender who’d called her pointed to the booth. Becky’s mouth fell open. She rushed over, took in the scene.

  “Oh, my God!”

  Cora said nothing, didn’t even acknowledge her presence.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Thinking.”

  “And drinking?”

  “No.”

  “What are the bottles?”

  “Motivation. These bottles are a forceful reminder of what will happen if I can’t solve the case.”

  “I don’t think they have bars in jail.”

  “They have bars on the cells.”

  “Why are you so upset? You expected the blood on the knife to be from the victim. Someone framed Melvin with the knife. The knife is the murder weapon. It has the victim’s blood. Not a big surprise.”

  “You sound like I should throw a victory parade.”

  “You care for him that much?”

  Cora lunged to her feet. The bottle of tequila fell over. Becky grabbed it before it rolled off the table.

  On the TV over the bar a breaking news banner filled the screen. It gave way to a shot of Rick Reed in front of the police station. The words LIVE, BREAKING NEWS and CHANNEL 8 EXCLUSIVE fought for space along the bottom.

  The man standing next to Rick wore a flashy gray suit and a blue striped tie. He reminded Cora of a three-card monte hustler.

  “Who is that?” Becky said.

  “I have a feeling we’re about to find out.”

  “This is Rick Reed, live, in front of the Bakerhaven police station with a Channel 8 exclusive. I’m talking with Jasper Wasserman, who has some rather startling news regarding the suspect, Melvin Crabtree. Let’s get right to it. Mr. Wasserman, what is your relationship to Melvin Crabtree?”

  “Melvin is my client.”

  Becky’s mouth fell open. “What!”

  “Really?” Rick said. “Are you aware that Rebecca Baldwin is his attorney?”

  “So I understand.”

  “Have you spoken to Miss Baldwin?”

  “I have not yet had that pleasure. I certainly intend to.”

  “Then how can you assume Melvin Crabtree is your client?”

  “He hired me.”

  “I don’t understand. How did you contact Mr. Crabtree?”

  “He called me from jail. Isn’t that something? I must say, it was a first for me.”

  “You never had a client call you from jail?”

  “No.”

  “You don’t take on criminal clients?”

  “Not as a general rule.”

  “Why are you making an exception in this case?”

  “Well, it’s an exceptional story. I can’t wait to talk to him about it.”

  “You haven’t talked to him?”

  “Not since I got here. He’s in jail.”

  “Have you asked the police to see him?”

  “Yes, I have, and they’re not being very cooperative.”

  “Wait a second. Are you saying the Bakerhaven police are denying you access to your client?”

  “That’s right.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “On the grounds that Becky Baldwin’s his lawyer and she’s forbidden him to speak to anybody else.”

  “Miss Baldwin has forbidden you to approach your client?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why don’t you fire her?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Well, if you can’t work together, he can’t have the two of your fighting over him.”

  “That’s what I said. Melvin doesn’t think it’s a problem. Of course, he’s the one in jail.”

  “Yes, he is. And how do you intend to get him out of jail?”

  “Oh, I don’t think I can do that.”

  “You don’t?”

  “The police aren’t about to let him go. It’s a very serious charge. And the second murder is just the icing on the cake. The fact it happened while he was out on bail for the first murder—I couldn’t have scripted it better myself.”

  “Better? It seems to me like your client’s in a lot of trouble.”

  “Oh, I should think so. I understand the blood on the knife has been shown to have come from the victim. It’s like new damning evidence keeps popping up all the time.”

  “You seem pleased.”

  “Well, it’s not like I bear the man any ill will. And I certainly hope he’s exonerated. It just doesn’t seem that likely.”

  “You think he’ll be convicted?”

  “Certainly not. I’m sure Becky Baldwin is a competent attorney, even if she hasn’t let me into her confidence.”

  Rick Reed frowned. “I don’t understand. Are you contesting your rights?”

  “Well, I hope it doesn’t come to that. I’d like to see Melvin, that’s all.”

  “And there you have it,” Rick Reed said. “In an already bizarre murder case, in another stunning development, we now have two attorneys fighting over the defendant. The client has doubtless changed his mind as to his representation, but how can he make his wishes known when he is forced to speak through his attorney?”

  Mr. Wasserman raised his hand. “Excuse me. Did you say two attorneys fighting over one client?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m not an attorney.”

  Rick Reed blinked. “You’re not?”

  “Don’t be silly. You have to go to law school. Pass the bar.”

  “You said Melvin Crabtree was your client.”

  “Yes, but I’m not his lawyer. I’m his literary agent. I’m representing him in what will surely be a runaway bestseller, Confessions of a Trophy Husband: My Life with the Puzzle Lady by Melvin Crabtree.”

  “Oh, my God!” Cora said.

  “What’s the matter? You knew this was coming.”

  “The penny just dropped.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I know who framed Roger Rabbit.”

  Chapter

  65

  Cora skidded to a stop at the top of the driveway, spewing gravel on the lawn. She got a shovel from the toolshed, went out back to the grove of pines, and dug up the takeout contai
ner. It was easy in the daylight. She took it inside, sat down at the computer in the office, and Googled New York City laundries. The name of a cleaner on the Upper East Side rang a bell. She picked up the phone, gave them a call.

  “Hi. I’m doing my bookkeeping, just came up with an old, unpaid bill. If it’s on my account, I’ll drop by and pay it off. Can you tell me if it is? The number on the account is two three two eight three seven four. Can you check the account? I’ll hold.”

  Cora was on hold for several minutes. She figured she’d struck out. Then the person came back on the line. “What’s that? Melvin Crabtree? Yeah, that’s it. Next time I’m in the neighborhood I’ll swing by.”

  Cora put the handkerchief back in the container, thrust the container into her floppy drawstring purse. She hopped in her car and drove out to the real estate office.

  Judy wasn’t surprised to see her.

  “I hope there’s no hard feelings.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Cora said. “You actually helped me considerably.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Not at all. This case is very confusing, and anything that clarifies the facts is a help.”

  “Yes, but you know what you did.”

  “In this case, not all the time.”

  Johnny Dawson came in. He ignored Cora and flopped his briefcase onto one of the other desks. “I’m showing the house on Clemson,” he said. “Anything you want me to stress?”

  “Closet space,” Judy said. “The closets are unusually large, and there’s quite a few. Keep directing their attention to the inside of the house and away from the fact there’s no view.”

  “Remind me not to buy a house from you,” Cora said.

  “You already did.” Judy held up her hand. “This one’s important, Johnny. Give me a minute and I’ll ride along with you.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Humor me.”

  Cora left Judy and Johnny talking about the property he was about to show and went out to her car. Johnny had parked next to her. Cora pulled the takeout container out of her purse. She popped the passenger-side door on Johnny’s car and spread Melvin’s handkerchief out on the seat. Then she got in her car and went home.

  Chapter

  66

  Becky called an hour later.

  “It’s all gone to hell.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Judy Douglas Knauer found a bloody handkerchief on the front seat of Johnny Dawson’s car.”

  “That’s great.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s a last-ditch desperate effort to frame Johnny Dawson in order to get Melvin out. The police will be coming to see you soon.”

  “I can’t think why.”

  “Well, for one thing, you were in the parking lot of the real estate agent just before they found it, and it couldn’t have been Melvin himself because he’s in jail.”

  “They don’t happen to think it might have been Johnny Dawson?”

  “Guess again. The police traced the laundry mark on the handkerchief to a dry cleaner in New York City. The handkerchief belongs to Melvin Crabtree.”

  “Wow. That certainly looks bad for Melvin, doesn’t it?”

  “You don’t need to sound so happy about it. It also looks bad for you.”

  “I’m not worried. I got a terrific lawyer.”

  “Cora.”

  “You think you could get me some time with your client?”

  “Not unless hell freezes over.”

  “Well, that’s inconvenient. You got time to draw up a contract?”

  “I got nothing but free time. I got two clients I’m defending from felony charges, and a former client suing me for malpractice. It’s every lawyer’s dream.”

  “I’ll be right over.”

  “Just ahead of the posse. If you don’t show up, I’ll know where to look.”

  Cora was cut off by a peremptory banging on the door. She glanced out the window. There was a police car in the driveway.

  “Never mind,” she said. “They’re here now.”

  Chapter

  67

  “Do you realize how much trouble you’re in?” Henry Firth said.

  “You mind if I answer that?” Cora said.

  “I’d prefer if you didn’t,” Becky said.

  “Spoilsport. I’m going to answer it anyway. I don’t think I am in any trouble. I think I am at long last free as a bird. Aside from being under arrest, of course. That’s the only thing that’s put a damper on my day.”

  The prosecutor turned to Becky. “Why is she acting like this?”

  “If I had to hazard a guess, I would say she is fed up with the police handling of this case and has decided to wash her hands of the affair until a more logical course of action is taken.”

  “What about the charge of planting evidence?”

  “I won’t have a legal opinion until I’ve conferred with my client, which I haven’t had a chance to do yet. However, she doesn’t seem too concerned about it, so I’m just trying to stay out of her way. After all, there’s a book agent in town, and I don’t really want her writing a tell-all about a small-town lawyer.”

  “Now there’s an idea,” Cora said.

  “So why don’t you ask your questions, and if anything looks too damning, I’ll throw myself under the bus.”

  “I’m not going to answer questions,” Cora said. “Becky’s concerned enough about growing old without my adding worry lines to her face. But I’m going to talk for a bit, and if anything rings a bell, you might want to make a note.

  “A bloody handkerchief is found in Johnny Dawson’s car. You immediately assume it’s planted. A bloody knife is found in Melvin’s car. You immediately assume it’s his.”

  “The handkerchief had Melvin’s laundry mark,” Henry Firth pointed out.

  “Couldn’t help yourself, could you? Of course it had Melvin’s laundry mark. Otherwise it wouldn’t be a good plant.

  “The question now is, are the clues real or bogus? The answer is, as you’ve just pointed out, a little of both. The clues are grounded in reality but not real.

  “The same thing with the puzzles. They get attributed to me, though you know that isn’t true. The first puzzle arrived before anyone was killed. Who was I trying to protect Melvin from then? I didn’t even know he was in town.

  “The fact is, this latest clue you have doesn’t pass the smell test. You can only link it to me by implication. I used to be married to the man, therefore I had his handkerchief. I went out to see Judy Douglas Knauer, therefore I had his handkerchief. He’s been charged with the crime, therefore I had his handkerchief. The handkerchief had the blood of the victim, therefore I had his handkerchief.”

  “How do you know it’s the victim’s blood?”

  “If it isn’t, what are we talking about? Are you accusing me of planting a totally irrelevant handkerchief in Johnny Dawson’s car?”

  Henry Firth frowned.

  Cora pressed her advantage. “This handkerchief is very bad news for you. Because you’re the one who has to explain it. Did I plant it in Johnny Dawson’s car to frame Johnny Dawson? Did I plant it in Johnny Dawson’s car to frame Melvin? Did I plant it in Johnny Dawson’s car not realizing it was Melvin’s? How is that possible? In that case, where did I get it?

  “I’m not explaining any of these things. You have to figure out what you’re accusing me of? What are you accusing me of? Do you even have a clue?”

  Cora chuckled and shook her head. “Boy. Wouldn’t like to be in your shoes right now.”

  Chapter

  68

  “All right,” Cora said, “let’s draw up that contract.”

  “What contract?” Becky said.

  “The contract with Melvin.”

  “Melvin won’t honor a contract.”

  “That’s why you have to make it legally binding.”

  “Melvin won’t care.”

  “No, but his publisher will.”

  Becky frown
ed. “What are you talking about?”

  “I have to tell you something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You know that I can’t solve crossword puzzles?”

  “Of course I do. That’s the reason we have Harvey Beerbaum in our lives.”

  “I can’t construct them either.”

  “No kidding.”

  “No, I really can’t. Sherry does all the constructing. I just put my name on the—” Cora broke off, looked at Becky. “How did you mean that?”

  “Cora, I’m a lawyer. Did you really think I couldn’t figure out you weren’t doing the crossword puzzles? Particularly after you admitted you couldn’t solve them.”

  “You knew?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you didn’t let on.”

  “I’m a lawyer. And a friend.”

  “Do you know how that makes me feel?”

  “No. how does it make you feel?”

  “Stupid.”

  “Welcome to the club.”

  “What club? You knew. You were playing me.”

  “Instead of the other way around.”

  “Well, when you put it that way.”

  “Cora. This is no big deal. If you wanna pretend you’re an opera singer, I bet you could bluff your way through it. The only one who could possibly care is Granville Grains, and I’m already preparing your legal defenses in case they find out and are pissed. There’s two murder charges against Melvin and God knows how many charges against you. And I’d kind of like to deal with them first.”

  “Fine,” Cora said. “So hone your legal mind, grab a pencil, and let’s bang out that contract.”

  Chapter

  69

  Cora drove out to the real estate agency, but Johnny Dawson had just left. She caught him on Holcomb Lane, pulled alongside at the overpass, and ran him off the road.

  He came up madder than a wet hen. “Keep away from me or I’ll call the cops.”

  “Call ’em if you like. You got nothing to fear from me. I know you think I’m out to get you. I’m trying to solve a murder. Just between you and me, I don’t think you did it. If you don’t think you did it, then we concur, there’s no reason we shouldn’t get along.”

  “What do you want?”

  “That’s the spirit. That’s the attitude that’s going to get you through this. All I want’s a little conversation. It didn’t used to be so hard to get a man to talk to me. I guess I’m losing my charm.”