by Parnell Hall
“I didn’t mean now,” Cora said.
“If you mean tomorrow morning, that’s what I’ll be doing. I’m a police officer. I have a job.”
“I meant police work for me.”
“Cora, since I’ve met you, it seems like nearly fifty percent of all my police work is for you.”
“See?” Stephanie said. “I told you he wouldn’t mind.”
Crowley looked from one to the other. “You guys are ganging up on me? That doesn’t seem right somehow.”
“Oh, don’t be an old grumpus,” Stephanie said. “Wait’ll you hear Cora’s theory.”
“Cora has a theory? I might have known.”
“I think you’ll like it,” Cora said.
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Crowley said.
“Hold your ridicule until you know what it is,” Stephanie said.
“You mean it’s that good?”
“No, it’s that bad,” Cora said. “But it will give you lots of ammunition to slam me with.”
Crowley sipped his whiskey. “Okay, what’s your theory?”
“It’s a little complicated.”
“Is it a little convoluted?”
“Very,” Stephanie said. “But if you can’t follow it, Cora can explain in words of one syllable.”
“Okay. Give it a shot.”
“Okay,” Cora said. “Here’s my theory. Brittany Wells did not kill Hank Wells.”
“I thought that was pretty well established.”
“Billy the Bug didn’t kill him, either.”
“Who did?”
“To reach that conclusion you have to understand the background.”
“God save me.”
“This whole thing started when Brittany Wells got it in her head Hank Wells was trying to kill her for the insurance money. She was way off base, of course. The insurance policy was on him, not her. Nonetheless, she became convinced he was having an affair. So she hired me and Becky to find out if it was true.”
“It wasn’t,” Crowley said.
“Yes and no.”
He frowned. “What does that mean?”
“He wasn’t having an affair with the woman we thought he was. But he was having an affair.”
“With who?”
“An oral hygienist named Wendy Ross.”
“How do you know that?”
“Actually, Stephanie found out for me.”
“What!”
“I hope you don’t mind. It was something I couldn’t do for myself, and as you keep pointing out, you have your own work. Anyway, Brittany wasn’t entirely paranoid. Her husband was acting funny. And he really was having an affair.
“And,” Cora said, “guess how Brittany Wells got the idea in the first place? Watching Double Indemnity on TV one night.”
“So what?”
“She watched it with her husband. It was his idea. And he pointed out how stupid the guy in the movie was not to hire a private detective to see if his wife was having an affair.
“So when Brittany becomes suspicious, as a result no doubt of clues carefully left for her—lipstick on a collar, or whatever other cliché telltale signs Hank comes up with—she goes straight to Becky Baldwin to see if it’s true.
“So I enter the picture and follow Hank Wells to Madeline Greer. Only she’s a dead end. At least that’s your opinion, and you can’t be wrong all the time.”
“Is it necessary to beat me up, or is that just an added perk?”
“Sorry. Couldn’t help it. Anyway, Madeline Greer is a dead end, at least from our point of view. Which doesn’t suit Hank’s plans any. She was meant to be the jackpot. To sell the idea, she’s provided with a crossword puzzle, just in case her other qualifications in that department come up short. Now the stage is set for the money scene. Hank Wells is blown up in a car in broad daylight. It is supposed to look like he blew himself up accidently trying to rig a car bomb. Which might have worked, if remnants of the remote-control device hadn’t been found in the wreckage. Now it’s clearly murder, and Brittany Wells could have done it, despite the fact she was in the police station at the very moment the car blew up. Because otherwise she has a perfect alibi—she was in fear for her life, and she hired me to be her bodyguard. There I am, perfect patsy. The worst of which is I have to spend the whole morning with Brittany Wells at the mall.”
“Wait a minute. You’re saying you were hired to provide an alibi for Brittany Wells?”
“Exactly. Why else am I there? Like her husband’s really going to kill her at the mall?”
“You’re ratting out your own client? You’re saying Brittany Wells set this up?”
“Just hear her out,” Stephanie said. She shook her head at Cora. “I told you this wouldn’t be easy.”
“Yeah,” Cora said. “Men never listen. Anyway, Hank is killed; the policy is found; lo and behold, it isn’t on her; it’s on him. Now Brittany can collect on the policy, unless of course she killed him. Which wouldn’t have been a problem if the remote-control device hadn’t been found. Now it’s clearly murder, and Brittany stands to take the rap.” Cora gestured with her right hand. “Enter Billy the Bug.”
Crowley frowned. “I thought you said Billy didn’t do it.”
“He didn’t. But if Brittany did, she doesn’t collect. There’s gotta be a fall guy. So Billy kills himself, after confessing by computer. By computer, for God’s sake, instead of a signed suicide note? Of course they’re a little more difficult to produce.”
“You’re saying Billy was murdered, too?”
“Of course. And the crimes are very similar.”
“Similar?” Crowley said. “One’s a firebombing and one’s a hanging.”
“But there is one glaring similarity. In both cases I am Brittany Wells’ alibi. I am hired as her bodyguard, and I am with her at the time of the crime. In Hank Wells’ case there was some wiggle room, thanks to the remote device. But in Billy’s case there was no manipulating the time of death, no rigging an automatic hanging device. Brittany Wells couldn’t have done it. She’s innocent; Billy’s guilty; she gets the money.”
“So how did she do it?”
“She didn’t. Brittany Wells is my client. Innocent as a newborn babe. And almost as intelligent.”
Crowley tossed off his drink, reached for the whiskey bottle. “Okay, Cora. You told me how Brittany did it. Now you told me she didn’t. I know you get a big kick out of withholding the punch line, but my patience is at an end. Tell me who did it, or I’m going to hit you with this bottle.”
“Actually, it’s fairly obvious when you consider Hank Wells robbed a liquor store wearing an Iron Man mask.”
“What!”
“Chief Harper didn’t tell you? That’s because he has no proof. But, trust me, you can take it to the bank.”
“I don’t care. I’m in no mood to figure anything out. I wanna know who killed Hank Wells.”
Cora told him.
Chapter
65
Crowley came into the kitchen where Stephanie and Cora were making a fresh pot of coffee. “She’s on the move.”
“Now?” Stephanie said. “We ordered Thai.”
“Call ’em back and cancel.”
“It’s too late.”
“Is it really too late, or are you just saying that because you’re hungry?”
“By the time we get done talking about it, it will be too late.”
“Stephanie.”
Crowley’s cell phone rang. He flipped it on. “Yeah?… Okay, I’m on my way.” He clicked it off again. “You girls stay and eat. I gotta go.”
“Like hell,” Cora said.
The doorbell rang.
“Oh, great,” Crowley said. “We’ll grab it on the way.”
“You can’t eat Thai food in a car,” Stephanie said.
“Just watch me.”
The three of them thundered downstairs, tipped the deliveryman, and picked up an order of pad thai, coconut-crusted shrimp, chive pancakes, and curry pu
ffs.
Crowley’s car was parked next to the fireplug out front. Cora hesitated before getting in.
“You sit up front,” Stephanie said. “You’re the detective. I’m the sidekick.”
They got in the car and Crowley took off.
Cora turned around in the front seat. “You know the problem with this? I don’t think there is a comic-book equivalent of our crime-fighting team.”
“Isn’t there Lois Lane and Lana Lang?”
“What, and he’s Superman?” Cora scoffed.
Stephanie giggled.
“Must you?” Crowley said.
“Oh, shove a shrimp in his mouth,” Stephanie said.
Perkins’ voice crackled over the radio. “She’s headed for the West Side Highway.”
“If she’s headed for Connecticut, you gotta call Chief Harper,” Cora said.
“Thanks,” Crowley said. “I never would have thought of it.”
“Is he always this rude, or just when he has women to impress?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Stephanie said. “When I’m around, he’s always trying to impress me. How’s the shrimp?”
“To die for.”
“Didn’t I tell you. Want some pad thai?”
“Sure. They put in forks?”
“They put in one. We’ll have to pass it around.”
“They thought one person ordered all of this?”
The radio crackled. “She’s taking the Cross County/G.W. Bridge exit.”
“‘Cross County’ probably means Connecticut,” Cora said.
It crackled again. “She’s taking the bridge. Upper level.”
“She’s going to Jersey,” Cora said.
“No kidding,” Crowley said.
“You know anyone in Jersey?”
“Bruce Springsteen.”
“He a cop?”
“Not that I recall.”
Crowley picked up the phone and called the cops while Cora and Stephanie ate pad thai.
“New Jersey State Police.”
“This is Sergeant Crowley, NYPD, following a murder suspect into your jurisdiction. I’m going to need backup to make an arrest.”
“You want us to arrest a fugitive?”
“She’s not a fugitive. This is not a high-speed pursuit. She’s just a suspect in a murder.”
“She’s wanted for murder in New York?”
“Actually, it’s a Connecticut homicide.”
“I’ll need authorization. Who’s the Connecticut officer on the case?”
“The Connecticut officer is not with me. I have an eyewitness to make the ID.”
“Who’s the officer in charge? I’ll give him a call.”
“You can’t call the officer in charge,” Crowley said in exasperation. “This is not his surveillance.”
“So you call him, have him authorize it.”
“He won’t authorize it.”
“Why not?”
“Because he arrested someone else for the crime.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sakes!” Cora grabbed the phone from Crowley and launched into a two-minute tirade at the end of which the chastened New Jersey officer promised to get right on it and call back.
“My God!” Stephanie said. “I thought I knew every curse word in the book. But half of those I’d never heard before.”
“I may have made ’em up,” Cora admitted.
The radio crackled. “She’s taking the Route Four exit.”
“Copy that.”
“‘Copy that’?” Cora said. “Did you really say ‘copy that’?”
“Haven’t you ever been in a police car before?”
“You arrested me, if you’ll recall.”
“I didn’t make the arrest.”
“It was your case.”
“Kids,” Stephanie said. “Shouldn’t you be telling the Jersey cops where we’re going?”
“Not till I have to,” Crowley said. “They’re liable to swoop in and tip our hand.”
“Yeah,” Cora said. “Their idea of clandestine surveillance is probably with sirens and lights.”
“Coming up on Seventeen, signaling for a right-hand turn.”
“Maybe she’s going to Ikea,” Cora said.
“Oh, great. We could get some Swedish meatballs.”
“She’s taking Seventeen South.”
“Damn. Looks like we’re stuck with Thai.”
Crowley swooped into the turn. Coming out of the loop, Cora could see Perkins’ car up ahead. “There’s Perkins.”
“Yup. Can you spot our girl?”
“I’m sure you taught him well, so she’s not in the car in front of him. And he’d want a good visual, so she’s not in the same lane. Second or third car up ahead on the right fits the description.”
Crowley clicked the radio. “Got you, Perkins. Which one is she?”
“Tan Prius two cars up in the right-hand lane.”
“Do I get a gold star?” Cora said.
“No, Stephanie does.”
“Why?”
“For not asking so many questions.”
“Oh! Nice zinger. Score one for the sergeant. Too bad, though. I was about to give you a forkful of pad thai.”
The right-hand signal of the Prius started blinking. They were coming up on a fast-food restaurant.
“If she drove all this way to go to Burger King, I’m gonna be pissed,” Cora said.
“Oh the other hand, we could get a Whopper,” Stephanie said.
“If you don’t knock it off, it’s the last time I take you girls anywhere.”
“Oh, tough stuff,” Cora said.
The Prius drove on by Burger King, pulled into the motel parking lot next door.
Perkins drove by and pulled into a mini-mall.
Crowley turned in to Burger King.
“Keeping her bracketed,” Crowley said.
Cora nodded. “Old Indian trick. Can you say that anymore, or is it politically incorrect?”
“Probably,” Stephanie said. “Everything else is.”
The Prius pulled to a stop. Wendy Ross got out and knocked on the door of unit six.
Crowley whipped out his cell phone and called the cops. “Damn it!”
“What?”
“Got no cell-phone service.” Crowley hopped out of the car and walked around the lot until he found a spot where his call went through. He was back in a minute.
“You get ’em?” Cora said.
“Yeah. They’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”
“We could get a pizza delivered sooner.”
“Yeah, if we had cell-phone service.”
“You gonna stop ’em if they leave?” Cora said.
Crowley shook his head. “I got no jurisdiction.”
“I do,” Cora said. She reached in her purse, pulled out her gun.
“Put that away,” Crowley said. “Are you trying to get arrested?”
“No, I did that. It wasn’t as much fun as I thought.”
The New Jersey cops were there in the ten minutes. The officer in charge was young and chisel jawed with piercing eyes and rock-hard abs, just the type to take charge and challenge Crowley to a pissing contest.
The cop surprised her when he let Crowley explain the situation and said, “How you wanna play it?” Cora would have married him on the spot.
Crowley pointed to Cora. “This woman’s an eyewitness. I thought she’d knock and say, ‘Maid service.’ When they opened the door we’d push in and make the arrest.”
“And if they say, ‘Go away; we don’t need anything’?”
“We kick the door down or get the key from the manager.”
He shrugged. “Works for me.”
It worked for Crowley, too. Cora knocked and said, “Maid service,” the oral hygienist opened the door, and the cops swarmed in and arrested the killer.
Hank Wells.
Chapter
66
Chief Harper was on the phone when Cora, Crowley, and Stephanie came in. He acknowle
dged their presence with a nod and continued the conversation, his side of which consisted largely of saying “Uh-huh.” Finally he hung up the phone. “That was Henry Firth. Becky Baldwin wants to know how he can justify charging her client with the murder of a man I currently have under arrest.”
“Aw,” Cora said. “Poor Ratface.”
“It’s not funny, Cora. You mind telling me what the hell happened?”
“The key was the dentist,” Cora said. “The minute I knew Hank Wells’ girlfriend was an oral hygienist, it all fell into place.”
“All what fell into place?” Harper said. “I’m going to have to make a statement, and I don’t know what I’m going to say. This would appear to be the most convoluted crime in history. That’s from what I understand, and I don’t understand much. You wanna fill in the blanks?”
“Was that a crossword allusion, Chief? You make too many crossword puzzle allusions, people are going to think I solved the case.”
“You did solve the case. I don’t mind people knowing that. I do mind them knowing I don’t know what the hell you solved.”
“Hank Wells killed himself. At least he made it look like he killed himself.” Cora frowned. “I don’t mean he made it look like he killed himself. I mean he made it look like someone else killed him. First his wife, then Billy the Bug. See, this was a very simple crime dressed up as a very elaborate crime. And all because of the movie Double Indemnity. Which, by the way, Hank Wells watched with his wife on Turner Classic Movies.”
“Is that important?”
“Actually, it is. The movie helped him commit the crime. At the same time, it forced him to dress it up with all these convoluted twists.”
Harper turned to Sergeant Crowley. “You buy all this?”
“Yeah, I do. But only because I’ve had it explained to me. Even then it wasn’t easy.”
“It helps if you suspend disbelief. Not to mention reason and sanity,” Stephanie said.
“Pardon me, but who are you?” Harper said.
“My biggest fan,” Cora said.
“I’m Stephanie. Pay attention to the Double Indemnity bit, Chief. It’s rather good.”
“What about the movie?” Harper said.
“Hank watched the movie with his wife,” Cora said. “He did it deliberately, and for a reason. To put the idea in her head that he intended to murder her for the insurance money.”
“Why would he want to do that?”