Dead Man's Puzzle

by Parnell Hall

  “Is there anything you haven’t investigated?”

  “I’m not really up on the Lindbergh kidnapping.”

  “What were you asking Brooks?”

  “I’m trying to judge how much credence we should give Dennis Pride. It was hard to get him to talk about it, because he’s very angry.”

  “Angry?”

  Cora gave Chief Harper a rundown of her conversation with Mr. Brooks.

  “So, if what you’re saying is true, she may not have known what she saw.”

  “Exactly. But the killer wouldn’t know that. The killer might be lying low, waiting for her to give the alarm. He can’t believe it when she doesn’t. Overmeyer’s body is found, no one is suspicious, it’s ruled a natural death. The killer thinks he’s gotten away with it. Maybe the lady saw him, but so what?”

  “Until you poke around and prove it was murder.”

  “Now you’re saying Mrs. Brooks was my fault?”

  “No, I’m just following your train of thought. Go on. What happens next?”

  “Once the murder is announced, the killer waits for Mrs. Brooks to go to the police. Lo and behold, she doesn’t. The killer wonders why. It happened in the past, she doesn’t connect the fact it’s the same night, but there’s always a chance she might, so she’s gotta go.” Cora shook her head. “See, Chief? That’s the type of logic trips you up.”

  “What type of logic?”

  “Bad logic. No logic. Suspension of logic and replacement with wishful thinking. The killer decides the woman might pose a threat in the future by remembering something she hasn’t remembered yet.”

  “The killer doesn’t know she has problems. The killer thinks she’s a genuine threat.”

  “Same objection. If she isn’t a threat today, why is she a threat tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “That’s your stumbling block. If you can’t figure that out, your theory doesn’t fly.”

  “It’s not my theory,” Harper said irritably. “It’s your theory.”

  “Right. You haven’t got a theory.”

  “Cora.”

  “I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. In this case, it’s probably good. Because all theories are wrong, and can be immediately proven wrong, so embracing one only makes you look stupid.” As Harper started to flare up, Cora said, “Once again, I am using the word you in a nonspecific way. It makes me look stupid, too. Or whoever is expressing a theory.”

  Harper put up his hand. “My head’s hurting. Stop telling me what we haven’t got. Tell me what we have.”

  “I told you. Too many extraneous facts. We got a missing computer. We got a stock-pooling agreement. We got a gun used in a convenience store robbery. Which should mean something, only it isn’t involved in either of our two murders. Instead, we got a poisoning and a throat cut.”

  “Which would indicate two murderers?”

  “No. Merely two murder weapons. Not nearly as bad as two killers.” Cora picked up her coffee cup, reconsidered, set it down again. “Anyway, we have to consider Mr. Brooks.”

  “Why?”

  “Time of death, for one thing.”

  “He was in the city.”

  “So he says. Doesn’t mean he was.”

  “He said he was out drinking with the boys.”

  “Yeah. And the boys will probably back him up on that. Until they find out there’s a murder involved.”

  “Why are you pushing Brooks?”

  “I told you. The time of death.”

  “What about it?”

  “Mrs. Brooks was killed before Dennis Pride blabbed about her on TV. Which means she was killed by someone who didn’t hear Dennis talking about her on TV.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Which blows the motive. You have to say to yourself, what if she wasn’t killed because she was a witness to a crime?”

  “Then you’re back to two crimes happening next door to each other that are totally unconnected.”

  “I didn’t say they were unconnected.”

  “You said she wasn’t killed because she was a witness.”

  “Exactly. But if she was made to look like a witness.”

  “Are you saying . . . ?”

  “Of course I am. Brooks wants to get rid of his wife. He knows he’ll be the number one suspect. So he bumps off the guy next door, and makes it look like his wife was killed because she’s a witness.”

  Harper frowned. “Would that work?”

  “Hell, no. It’s got holes in it you could drive a truck through. But take it as a premise, there might be something there.”

  “So you called on Mr. Brooks.”

  “I figured it would be nicer than hauling him down to the police station.”

  “And he is a handsome widower.”

  “Why, Chief Harper. I assure you, I never thought such a thing,” Cora waffled. “At least not in connection with killing his wife. I try not to date men who do that. Such a bad precedent, don’t you think?”

  “And according to Mr. Brooks, his wife was brain-damaged from a stroke, and probably couldn’t have ID’d anyone. Even if she had, it wouldn’t have stood up in court. Of course, the killer wouldn’t know that.”

  “No.” Cora’s eyes hardened. “But Dennis would. He went on TV anyway, bragged that he had a witness.”

  Harper’s eyes blazed. “Moron.”

  “Easy, Chief. It’s not good practice to speak ill of the opposing party in a lawsuit.”

  Chapter 43

  Cora was having a bad dream. Old man Overmeyer was dead. And Bozo and Cruella were dancing over the body. And the Geezer was cackling maniacally. And the Hooker was trying to escape without paying. Or being paid, that wasn’t quite clear. And Snively, the Cranky Banker, was making them all stay after class and write, “I will not cheat a relative again.” And Cora was being sent up to the blackboard to solve a giant crossword puzzle that she couldn’t solve, which was frustrating because she needed to be able to solve something, because nothing made any sense, not even when Mrs. Brooks ran around telling everyone exactly what happened, only no one would listen.

  Cora was distracted by an irrelevant bell, which had to be irrelevant because it was so far away, and if it was relevant, it would be right there, loud enough to attract attention.

  Cora sat up in bed. What was that noise?

  She knew what it was. Somewhere in the house, a phone was ringing. Actually, phones were ringing in two places, the kitchen and the office. Neither was close enough to her bedroom to wake her up, but they were an unpleasant background noise, like a dentist’s drill, which had to be stopped.

  Cora flopped out of bed, stumbled down the hall to the office, and snatched up the phone.

  “Yeah?” she growled.

  “Miss Felton?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know who this is?”

  “You woke me out of a sound sleep.”

  “I’m sorry. Do you know who this is?”

  Cora blinked, welcomed the return of her senses. “Yes.”

  “I need to see you.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  “What time is it?”

  “One-thirty.”

  “Oh.” Cora took a breath. “I’m glad you called. I’ve been looking for you.”

  “I need to see you. Meet me at the Town Hall.”

  “You’ve gotta be kidding.”

  “I’m not kidding. I need to talk to you.”

  “You can tell me on the phone.”

  “No. It’s gotta be in person.”

  Under normal circumstances, Cora would have gone into her you’re-a-moron-tell-me-the-missing-piece-of-the-puzzle-before-you-get-killed rant. But she still didn’t know who the guy was. If he hung up the phone, she’d have lost him. “Okay. When?”

  “An hour from now. In front of the Town Hall.”

  “An hour?”

  “Best I can do.”

  Cora hung up the phone. Considered calling Chief
Harper. She’d get points for clueing him in, demerits for calling him after midnight. It would depend on what the guy had to say. If he had no more info than he’d originally given her, the meeting was worthless. Most meetings of the sort were. No, the only reason for calling the chief would be if she was in any danger. And she wasn’t in any danger, not even at two in the morning, not with a fully loaded revolver in her purse.

  It was fully loaded, wasn’t it?

  Cora fished out the gun, flipped open the cylinder, and spun it. Fully loaded. She knew it would be. If her worthless husband Melvin taught her one thing, it was always reload. She could never think of Melvin without remembering the advice fondly.

  And wishing the gun were aimed at him.

  Cora lit a cigarette and stumbled around the bedroom looking for her clothes.

  Chapter 44

  The Town Hall was dark. There was no one on the steps. No car parked out front. That was a subtle indication no one was there.

  Of course, she was a few minutes early. Fifteen minutes, actually. Did that seem overeager?

  Cora drove on by, took a left down a side street onto Old Oak Road, circled around, and came out on Main Street next to the vet. Buddy needed shots. They’d been sending Cora reminders. Since she always got the mail when she was coming home, not when she was going out, that wasn’t much help. But she really should take him.

  Cora drove down Main Street. A block from the Town Hall, she pulled off to the side and cut the lights.

  Was she being paranoid? Or cautious?

  Cora stuck her hand in her purse, gripped the gun.

  Cautious. Definitely cautious. She wanted to see the man before he saw her. She might be walking into a trap.

  Absolutely not.

  The man who called her was not dangerous.

  She didn’t want to one-up the man by coming last, she just didn’t want to put herself one down by coming first. By making it too easy for him to feed her any more lies.

  Assuming what he told her before were lies. Which she had no reason to assume. But why would he call her at one-thirty at night if it wasn’t important? And how could it be important if he was just reiterating what he’d already said? No, it was important only if he was contradicting what he’d already said. If he was coming up with a variation on what he’d already said. Bringing up some point he’d deliberately withheld.

  If she had to get that out of him, she had to play her cards right. An experienced poker player, Cora was used to disguising the value of her hand.

  At the moment, her best play was lying low.

  She checked her watch. Two-twenty. Time was just dragging on. She wished she could risk a smoke. She’d seen too many old movies where private eyes on stakeout blew their cover by lighting up. It would be just her luck to have that happen. Or to have her mystery caller turn out to be a private eye hired by the other side to keep tabs on her.

  Worse still, he could turn out to be the killer. Who lured her here to do her in. Why, she had no idea. It wasn’t as though she was about to solve the crime. Frankly, she didn’t have a clue.

  But the killer didn’t have to know that. The killer might have left behind a broad trail that she simply wasn’t following.

  That was a depressing prospect. Getting killed and being dumb.

  There was a full moon lighting up the Town Hall from the clock tower down to the steps. No one was there. No one was standing there, no one was hiding there. Someone could be inside the front door, but that would be a neat trick, because the Town Hall was locked.

  Cora’s mystery man would have to drive up, unless he suddenly appeared around the corner of the building. A possibility, but why he’d be waiting out back was hard to fathom. Unless he, too, didn’t want to appear overeager. Could he be behind the Town Hall?

  Cora looked at her watch. Two-thirty. Give him a minute? Hell, no. She was on time. He was late.

  Cora started the car, drove up to the Town Hall, parked with her headlights on the door. She switched off the engine, left on the lights, and got out. She walked casually in front of the headlights from one side of the building to the other.

  Okay, schmuck. I’m here. Your move.

  He didn’t make it.

  Cora waited impatiently while the time clicked over.

  Two thirty-five.

  Cora heaved a sigh. Much as she wanted to see the guy, she wasn’t standing there all night. She’d give it a once-over, and she was out of there.

  Cora started around the Town Hall. She didn’t have a flashlight, but the moon was enough to assure her the back parking lot was empty.

  Only it wasn’t.

  At the far corner of the building, a dark sedan was parked.

  Cora sucked in her breath, reached for her gun.

  Should she go back and get her car?

  She should if the guy was driving off. But why would he? After coming all this way to see her. That made no sense. But why hang out in the parking lot? Was he all right?

  Cora crept up on the car. It was empty. She tried the door, but it was locked. Likewise the passenger side.

  She checked the license plate. The car was from New York. Presumably the driver couldn’t be far. Unless the lot was a drop where people carpooled. Did that even make sense? Cora couldn’t tell. She was beyond the point where sense was a real issue.

  She continued around the edge of the building and stopped dead.

  The man who had called on her at her house lay sprawled out on the ground. He had a look on his face. At first glance, Cora couldn’t tell what it was. Then it clicked.

  Surprise. The man was surprised about something.

  Cora figured it was probably the fact that his throat had been cut.

  Chapter 45

  Chief Harper was too sleepy to hone his sarcasm, but he gave it his best shot. “So, you didn’t wanna call me at one-thirty in the morning, you chose to call me at three.”

  “I found a corpse, Chief. It’s hard to overlook a corpse.”

  “He wasn’t a corpse at one-thirty in the morning.”

  “No. He was a voice on the phone.”

  “The voice of the man we’ve been looking for. The man connected with the stock-pooling agreement. And you didn’t think that was important enough to pass along?”

  “At one-thirty in the morning?”

  “It might have saved his life.”

  “Yeah, but then we’d never know.”

  “What?”

  “We’d never know it saved his life. Because he wouldn’t be dead, so we wouldn’t know he was going to be killed, so we wouldn’t know we’d saved him from anything.”

  “Please. I haven’t had my coffee.”

  “And you’re not gonna, unless someone fetches some. Wanna ask Dan?”

  Dan Finley and Sam Brogan were processing the crime scene, such as it was. They’d put up crime scene ribbons around the back of the parking lot, stretching from the victim’s car to either end of the Town Hall. The body lay just outside that triangle, so they had to set up a traffic cone and make a rhombus.

  Barney Nathan had pronounced the guy, and the ambulance was on the way. Dan and Sam were trying to get into the car. They weren’t having much luck.

  “Guy has to get killed three in the morning?” Sam said, grouchy as ever. “Doesn’t anyone ever die in the afternoon?”

  “I don’t think he did it just to spite you,” Cora said.

  “He might as well have. I’m down to my last stick of gum.” Sam popped it noisily.

  Cora had visions of the crime scene going unprocessed if the officer had run out.

  A crowd from the neighboring houses was slowly gathering. Harmon Overmeyer and Snively were among them. The Cranky Banker wore a blue bathrobe. Cora wondered if it concealed pin-striped pajamas. Three-piece pin-striped pajamas. Cora remembered they were staying at bed-and-breakfasts, wondered if they were nearby. It would explain their presence. Otherwise, they had no reason to be there.

  Unless one of them killed him.
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  Which didn’t seem likely.

  “Who is it?” the Cranky Banker demanded of no one in particular. Not surprisingly, he got no answer.

  Harvey Beerbaum pushed his way through the crowd. The little cruciverbalist was animated for the time of night. “We got another murder?”

  “Yes, we do.”

  “Any chance it’s a suicide?”

  “Guy had his throat slit.”

  “That rules it out?”

  “Ever try to cut your own throat?”

  “It can’t be done?”

  “Well, if you did, you’d have trouble getting rid of the razor.”

  “Oh.”

  “What are you doing here, Harvey?”

  “I thought there might be a crossword puzzle.”

  “Oh?”

  “Since there was with the other body, I thought there might be with this one.”

  “There doesn’t seem to be.”

  “And there wasn’t one with Mrs. Brooks’s body?”

  “No, Harvey.”

  “Chief Harper didn’t call. I didn’t know if that was because there wasn’t a puzzle, or because he brought it to you.”

  “He didn’t bring it to me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why?”

  “For thinking that. I just feel like an outsider. It’s nice to be involved.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “You don’t live here, Harvey. You live on the other side of town.”

  “So?”

  “How’d you know about the murder?”

  Harvey’s eyes widened. “You don’t suspect me of the crime?”

  “Of course not, Harvey. I’m just wondering how you heard.”

  “All right. I bribed Sam Brogan to tip me off.”

  “Sam? Why not Dan?”

  “I tried Dan. Seems he’s in the doghouse for one thing or another. He didn’t want to take the risk. Sam was happy to oblige.”

  “Happy? Sam?”

  Harvey giggled. “You’re right. It’s an oxymoron.”

  Cora waggled her finger. “Now, you be careful, Harvey Beerbaum, or I’ll tell Sam you called him that.”

  “I’m going to take a look. Maybe there’s something they haven’t found.”

  Harvey pushed his way toward the crime scene ribbon. Cora turned her attention back to the gathering crowd.