$10,000 in Small, Unmarked Puzzles

by Parnell Hall

  “Uh huh. And how did Melvin get mixed up in the murder?”

  Cora offered the opinion that Chief Harper’s intelligence might compare unfavorably with that of a tree stump.

  “Not an unlikely conclusion,” Harper said. “Melvin’s not from Bakerhaven. The corpse is not from Bakerhaven. And if I may say so, your ex-husband has a reputation for rather unsavory practices.”

  “You may not say so. One of those unsavory practices was marrying me. Which didn’t result in murder. And if anything was ever going to, that would have been it.”

  “Well, in that case, you’d have been the perpetrator.”

  “I was kidding.”

  “So was I. The fact remains, in the current homicide, Melvin is as good a lead as I’ve got.”

  “So arrest him.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “You arrested me.”

  “Melvin hasn’t stolen a car.”

  “Neither have I.”

  “Let’s not go around again. I don’t know if I’d arrest Melvin, but I’d certainly pick him up for questioning if I knew where he was.”

  Cora knew where Melvin was. She bit her lip.

  Whether Chief Harper noticed or not was a moot point. At that moment Becky Baldwin burst into the room.

  “Again?” Becky said. “You arrested her again?”

  “Not for the murder,” Cora said. “For grand theft auto.”

  “What?”

  As Becky listened to the recitation of events, her scowl grew deeper and deeper. “So. Not only have you arrested my client on a spurious charge, but you proceeded to interrogate her outside the presence of her attorney.”

  “Oh, pooh,” Chief Harper said. “The charge was dropped. She could have called you if she wanted. She just didn’t bother.”

  “She shouldn’t have to demand an attorney. One should be offered her. That’s an elementary Miranda rule. Did you inform her she had the right to an attorney?”

  “Dan Finley picked her up. I don’t know what he told her.”

  “A rather serious admission from a chief of police. You not only have no control over your deputies, you don’t even know what they’re doing.”

  “Save it for the jury,” Harper said. “When you barged in here, I was asking Cora about her involvement with one Melvin Crabtree. Perhaps you could be of some help in that area.”

  Becky sucked in her breath. Then she smiled and said, “I certainly could. It is my pleasure to inform you that whatever dealings my client may have had with her ex-husband are clearly none of your damn business.”

  “If it’s connected to a murder, it’s my business.”

  “Well, then you have information I don’t have, Chief. In what way is her ex-husband connected to a murder?”

  “That’s what I’d like to find out.”

  “Well, if you don’t know, you have no business to inquire into her personal matters.”

  “I wasn’t inquiring into her personal matters. I just want to question the gentleman. I was asking if she knew where he was.”

  “I don’t think that’s how you phrased it, Chief,” Cora said. “Or I would have told you quite simply that I didn’t. If I recall correctly, you were asking me what he was up to, and I was telling you I had no idea, I didn’t even know he was in town. Only you didn’t want to take that as an answer.”

  Becky shook her head deploringly. “I can see my client’s already said too much. And you did nothing to discourage her.”

  “That’s part of the Miranda rule I’m not up on. Failure to discourage suspect.”

  “I thought I wasn’t a suspect.”

  “You’re not. Never mind, I’ll talk to your lawyer. Ms. Baldwin. Do you know where Melvin is?”

  “No, I don’t. Which is too bad, because I run my law office largely for the purpose of providing you with information. Unfortunately, I don’t have any. So, if you don’t mind, I’m going to get my client out of here before you decide to arrest her again.”

  Chapter

  27

  “You lied to Chief Harper,” Cora said, as she followed Becky out the door.

  “Don’t be silly. Lawyers never lie to the police. They make statements of fact which subsequently turn out to be false.”

  “It’s a little different,” Cora said. “You told him you didn’t know where Melvin was, when he’s right in your office.”

  “That’s an assumption on your part.”

  “A pretty good one, seeing as how that’s where he said he’d be. He said a lot that I failed to communicate to Chief Harper. I may have even made statements of fact which may subsequently turn out to be false.”

  “Yes, well that wasn’t one of them,” Becky said, “unless you have information I don’t have.”

  “Don’t be silly. Melvin’s your client. He’s in your office. You can spin it any way you like, but that happens to be the case.”

  “Well, that will certainly make things easier. Let’s go have a little talk with him, shall we?”

  Becky led the way up the stairs, flung open the office door.

  Cora pushed by her, stopped dead.

  The office was empty.

  “Where is he?” Cora asked.

  “I have no idea. I know you find that concept hard to grasp. Just because you suspect everyone of lying doesn’t mean some people aren’t telling the truth.”

  “Melvin isn’t here?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I don’t believe it. How could you let him out of your sight?”

  “I really have no control over the man.”

  “He’s your client.”

  “He’s not my client. He’s not here. Deal with it.”

  Cora slumped into a chair, rubbed her forehead. “Oh, my God.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Don’t you see what this does? I was going to make the drop. Melvin was going to stay with you. So if someone picks up the money it couldn’t be Melvin.”

  “It isn’t Melvin.”

  “There’s no way to prove it now.”

  “I don’t need you to prove it. I just need you to do the job.” Becky sat at her desk, shook her head. “What the hell do you mean stealing a car? If Iris Cooper hadn’t withdrawn the complaint, you’d be in jail.”

  “I only stole a car because you stole my car keys.”

  “To keep you from following me. For all the good it did.”

  “Yeah. So I wouldn’t find out your client was Melvin, which I found out anyway, which you’re still trying to deny. Look, Becky, this whole lack of trust thing is getting us nowhere. Don’t you realize I can be much more valuable to you if I know the game?”

  “That’s debatable. Right now I’m not even sure I can use you to make the drop.”

  Cora’s face fell. “What are you talking about?”

  “You keep getting arrested. You may not realize it, but that’s one good way of calling attention to yourself. And this is not the type of thing you wanna hire a brass band.”

  Cora’d had enough. “Fine. You make the drop.”

  Becky’s mouth fell open. “What?”

  “I’m tired of being pushed around. If you’re not happy, do it yourself.”

  “I can’t do it myself.”

  “Then quit grousing and let’s talk this over. So, Melvin’s your client.”

  “I’m not prepared to admit that.”

  “Well, he did.”

  “Huh?”

  “You may have scruples, but Melvin doesn’t. He says up front he’s your client. He admits it’s largely an attempt to get into your pants.”

  “Melvin said he’s the client?”

  “Of course he did. Kind of hard to deny after handing over the cash. On the other hand, he claims he doesn’t know anything about the man in the Dumpster. That doesn’t figure. After all, somebody’s got to know him.” Cora leaned back in her chair and lit a cigarette. “So you can see why I’m rapidly losing interest in this whole operation. As far as I was conce
rned, the only good thing about making the drop was Melvin would be in your office when I made it, so if anyone messed with the money it couldn’t be him. Now that we’ve eliminated the possibility, there hardly seems much point.”

  “Tell it to the blackmailer.”

  “If there is a blackmailer. If it isn’t all Melvin.”

  “Including the man in the Dumpster?”

  Cora grimaced. “That’s the whole thing. That’s just not Melvin’s style.”

  “Whereas blackmail is right up his alley?”

  “Yeah, only he’s much more suited as the blackmailer than the blackmailee.”

  “He’s neither one.”

  “Gee, that has a familiar ring to it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That’s a statement of fact which, unfortunately, may later prove to be false.”

  “Yeah, yeah, fine. You gonna make the drop or not?”

  “You’re dorked if I don’t. It’s too late to get someone else.”

  “That’s what comes of getting arrested. You run out of time.”

  “You don’t have anyone else, do you? I’ve got you over a barrel. I’m not sure what that means. Though the thought of you spread-eagled on top of a barrel certainly has interesting connotations.”

  “I need you to do it. I can’t get anyone else.”

  “And if I refused? Unless you told me who your client was?”

  “I’d have to call your bluff. And we’d both sit here while the time ran out.”

  “That doesn’t sound very satisfactory.” Cora cocked her head. “You got the money?”

  “You know I got the money.”

  “I’m not taking anything for granted. If you got the money, I want to see it.”

  Becky opened her desk drawer, pulled out a manila envelope.

  “You leave ten grand lying around in your desk?”

  “No one knows it’s here.”

  “Melvin knows it’s here.”

  “Melvin’s not going to take it.”

  Cora shook her head, pityingly. “And you kid me about him messing up my head.”

  “Fine. I don’t want to argue about it. The point is, he didn’t take it. The money is here.”

  “Open the envelope.”

  “It’s sealed.”

  “I know it’s sealed. I don’t want it sealed.”

  “The money’s there.”

  “You’ll pardon me if I don’t take your assurance. You’re not the one running around in the dark with it. If I get shot over this, it damn well better be real.”

  “It’s real.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  Becky glared at Cora. Exhaled. Picked up the manila envelope. She took out a letter opener, inserted it under the flap.

  “Don’t be a dope,” Cora said. She snatched the envelope, ripped it open. “It’s a plain envelope. You rip it up, you use a new one.”

  “If I’ve got a new one.”

  “It’s a law office. You’ve got a new one.”

  Cora dumped the money out on the desk. It was two packets of bills, tied with rubber bands. She picked one up, looked. “Hmm. Hundreds.”

  “So?”

  “I thought they wanted small, unmarked bills.”

  “They’re unmarked.”

  “They’re hundreds.”

  “Yes, they are.”

  “That’s not small.”

  “It’s the best I can do.”

  “It’s not wise to cross a blackmailer.”

  “You’re right,” Becky said. “Could you change these for me before you drop them off?”

  “No, I couldn’t. I’m just pointing out, you’re asked to bring one thing, you’re bringing something else. Only you’re not bringing it, you’re making me bring it. It’s a rather uncomfortable position to be in. When I’m dealing with a blackmailer, I like to be careful not to piss him off.”

  “You’re not meeting the blackmailer.”

  “Yeah, but what if from his vantage point, the blackmailer watching me make the drop says, ‘Wow, that’s not big enough to hold ten grand. Think I’ll kill the bitch.’”

  “Then you shoot the blackmailer dead.”

  “What?”

  “No one can blame you because it’s legitimate self-defense.”

  “Running around the cemetery in the dead of night with ten grand in my pocket?”

  “You got lost on your way to the bank.”

  Cora looked at her sharply. “Becky, what’s up? This is not like you. You don’t sound like yourself. You know what you sound like? You sound like me. It’s like doing something illegal has blown every fuse in your nervous system and made you a little loopy. You know what your problem is? You’re a small-town lawyer. You haven’t had enough guilty clients. If you worked for a big Manhattan firm with clients in organized crime, you’d do stuff like this and think nothing of it. Hell, you’d be doing worse stuff than this if the client was an investment bank.”

  Becky took a breath. “All right, Cora. Look. I got a situation here. I’m doing the best I can. You wanna help me or not?”

  Cora studied Becky’s face. The young lawyer was clearly troubled. She chucked her on the arm. “Don’t worry, kid. I got your back.”

  Chapter

  28

  The cemetery gate was closed. Cora had forgotten it would be. It had been some time since she’d been there. After dark you had to go over the wall.

  Cora didn’t want to go over the wall. She wasn’t dressed for it. For climbing a stone wall she wanted to be wearing jeans or sweatpants, not hiking her skirt up and scratching her bare legs over rough stone. But there was no help for it. Cora didn’t want to be the first woman in the world to run home and change in the middle of a blackmail payment.

  Cora put her hands on the top on the wall, hopped, pushed, and managed to get waist-high to the top. She rolled onto her stomach and threw her legs over the other side.

  And came down in a heap.

  Great. If the blackmailer saw her, he’d think he was blackmailing a klutz.

  That started a funny train of thought. Did the blackmailer know who the client was? He must know it wasn’t Becky. But did he know it wasn’t her?

  No, that made no sense. How could the blackmailer know something that could ruin you, and not know who you are?

  So the blackmailer would know she was a paid functionary. He just didn’t have to know what a low-level, ill-informed lackey she was. He must think she knew something. After all, she had a reputation. She was the goddamned Puzzle Lady. He would not expect her to be clueless.

  She wasn’t clueless. She had directions. She knew exactly where she was going.

  Of course, that was starting from the main gate. Not from lying sprawled out at the bottom of the wall.

  Cora brushed herself off, made her way through the dark over to the main gate. It didn’t take bumping into too many gravestones for her to realize she should have brought a flashlight. How was she to know there would be no moon, and it would be a cloudy, starless night?

  Cora reached the gate. She leaned against it, fumbled in her purse for her directions. She hoped she could see her directions. She had her lighter, but those things always ran out on you when you most needed them, and—

  The gate swung open and Cora went over on her back.

  She sprang to her feet, furious.

  Unlocked? The gate was unlocked? Nonsense. The gate was never unlocked. It had a huge, iron lock, right in the middle. They always locked it.

  Cora frowned. Or was she wrong about that? Was it actually a chain and padlock? It had been a long time, and she couldn’t remember.

  Was she getting old?

  Cora took out the directions, careful not to lean on the gate again. She spun the dial on the lighter. It took two times to catch, not a good sign.

  “‘Proceed straight up the road, turn left at the tomb of Jablowsky.’”

  Cora snorted in disgust. Well, that was great. They couldn’t tell you how f
ar? There you were, flicking your Bic at every gravestone on the path.

  On the other hand, tomb sounded more substantial than your ordinary, run-of-the-mill grave. She could skip the smaller stones. She could always come back to them. Assuming she had time.

  Cora looked at her watch. Of course, she couldn’t see it. She spun the wheel on the cigarette lighter. Again, it took two spins.

  So. Eight forty-five. She had fifteen minutes. Enough time, if she knew where she was going. Not enough time to get lost. She should have come here by daylight, plotted the course. She would have, if she hadn’t been out getting arrested.

  Cora hurried along.

  Tomb?

  Tomb?

  Tomb?

  Nothing she was passing could have qualified as a tomb.

  She shone her light on a phallic-shaped obelisk, but that wasn’t it.

  In the distance, a dark form loomed large. At least relatively large. It was square-shaped, not taller than she was. Could this be it?

  It was. The front of the square had a locked iron door with the inscription, MALCOLM JABLOWSKY. Cora wondered if he was in.

  She turned left, started counting graves. She reached twelve, but were they counting that small one slightly out of line? That would certainly make a difference. If she miscounted, she would be in the wrong row.

  But only one row off, she told herself.

  Only there the problem multiplied. Seventeen up in this row might not be the same distance as seventeen up in the other. You got a few gaps in the line and it throws off your count. If you’re wrong about one, you’re wrong about the other.

  Six, Cora counted. Six is really five, because the one out of line doesn’t count. If I’m wrong, no one dies. Just someone’s reputation.

  Consoled, Cora plunged ahead.

  Cora checked the directions. It wasn’t seventeen up. It was only nine. Then right, and four graves to Pinehurst. That was good in that she could check the name on the grave. On the other hand, by turning right, she was going back in the direction from whence she’d come. Granted, nine graves higher, even so it was annoying.

  The lighter flickered and went out. Cora wondered if that was just the wind, or if the damn thing had just run out of gas. She was torn between flicking it again to see, and not wanting to waste it.