Presumed Puzzled Page 3
“What’s up, Chief?”
“Cora brought in a puzzle. Can you run off a copy for me?”
“Sure. Where’d you get this, Cora?”
“Paula Martindale. Her husband’s missing.”
“And this is a ransom demand? He’s not even listed as missing, Chief.”
“He’s not officially missing,” Harper said. “It hasn’t been twenty-four hours. And it’s not a ransom demand. At least, as far as we know. Cora hasn’t solved it yet.”
“She hasn’t solved it for you, Chief,” Dan said. “But I bet she has in her head. Right, Cora? She can just glance at it and figure out what it must be.”
“You give me way too much credit, Dan. I only got this thing because the chief thinks it’s important.”
“Oh? Why is that, Chief?”
Harper rubbed his forehead. “Dan. Please. I don’t think it’s important. I’m just covering all the bases in case it might be important. Which isn’t likely.”
“Yeah, right, Chief,” Cora said. “Be sure and call me up if you get any more leads that aren’t likely.”
Chapter
8
Cora found Sherry preparing a roast for dinner. The new addition on the house had a kitchen, but Sherry did a lot of her cooking in the old. Jennifer was just as happy in the living room with Buddy as she was in her new playroom, particularly now that she was old enough to have the run of the house. The three-year-old and the dog would go whooping though the breezeway that connected the old and the new, race up the stairs, jump on every bed, pelt down the stairs, and come swooping back. It was a game of which they never seemed to tire.
Cora flopped down at the kitchen table, dug in her drawstring purse, pulled out the folded paper. “Got something for you.”
“Don’t tell me,” Sherry said. “Chief Harper hated it.”
“Hated what?”
“The puzzle.”
“Oh. I didn’t give it to him.”
“You rejected it? I thought you were going to go with it.”
“I am. I just forgot.”
“Forgot? How could you forget?”
“Something came up.” Cora unfolded the crossword puzzle.
“What’s this?”
“Paula Martindale found this at her house. It’s what Chief Harper sent me to get. Of course, he couldn’t tell me that because he knew I wouldn’t go. Anyway, we went a few rounds about it and he’s got a copy to take to Harvey Beerbaum and I’ve got this copy to bring to you. Though that’s not how I phrased it to him.”
“You want me to solve this for you?”
Cora suggested something else Sherry could do with the crossword puzzle.
“That’s not the way to get me to help you,” Sherry said.
“Sorry. Everyone’s giving me a hard time. Chief Harper tricks me into going out to Paula’s house, I have to hear her whine for half an hour because her husband’s gone, then she whips out the crossword puzzle the chief knew about and wanted all along, and I realize I’m being taken advantage of, and used, and made a fool of, plus I’m stuck with a crossword puzzle I can’t solve. And I gotta know what it says before Harvey Beerbaum solves it and Harper wants to know what it means. So if you can take any of that stress off my back, I would be eternally grateful.”
Sherry washed her hands in the sink, dried them on a dish towel. “Gimme.”
Cora passed over the puzzle.
Sherry retrieved a pencil from a drawer Cora wouldn’t have known contained pencils, sat at the kitchen table, and attacked the puzzle.
“Is it a ransom demand?” Cora said.
Sherry shushed her. “You do see I’m only half done?”
“Is it half a ransom demand?”
Sherry finished the puzzle.
Cora snatched it up, read the theme entry. “‘Let this be a stop sign. Don’t touch what’s mine.’”
Sherry looked at Cora. “Chief Harper’s gonna want to know about that.”
“Yeah,” Cora said.
“Aren’t you going to tell him?”
“He’s got a copy of the puzzle. He can always have Harvey solve it.”
“He doesn’t know it’s important.”
“Who says it’s important? I’m certainly not going to go rushing down to the police station like I think it’s important.”
“‘As if.’”
“Huh?”
“‘As if I think it’s important.’”
“Give me a break. Like anyone thinks I care about grammar.”
“‘As if anyone thinks.’”
Cora suggested an activity Sherry could enjoy alone. Luckily, Jennifer and Buddy were in another part of the house.
Cora snatched up the solved puzzle and stomped back to her room. She flung herself down on the bed, grabbed the remote, and snapped on the TV. Some god-awful game show was on. Cora didn’t even bother to change the channel. She picked up the puzzle, moodily studied the solution.
Let this be
A stop sign
Don’t touch
What’s mine
Yeah, that was going to light a fire under the chief.
It was barely an hour later when he called to summon her to the station.
Chapter
9
Cora skidded to a stop in front of the police station, stomped up the steps, pushed open the door.
Dan Finley was busy on the phone. He waved her on toward Harper’s office.
Cora found the chief on the phone. He saw her, slammed it down. “Well, you certainly took your time getting here.”
“Sorry, Chief,” Cora said sarcastically. “I didn’t realize it was urgent. Please forgive me.”
“It’s been over twenty-four hours. Roger Martindale is officially a missing person. Dan’s on the phone trying to trace his car.”
“How’s he doing that?”
“He’s covering every garage within the vicinity of Martindale’s office looking for any tan Chrysler not picked up in over twenty-four hours.”
“What if it’s a monthly rental?”
“That will be easier. The license will be on record.”
“Dan’s doing this alone?”
“NYPD’s helping him. It shouldn’t take long.”
“I take it you don’t need me to man the phone,” Cora said ironically.
“Harvey solved the puzzle. I think you’ll find it interesting.”
“You don’t think I solved the puzzle?”
“No, I think you did. But if you want to pretend you’re not interested I have a copy of Harvey’s solved puzzle for you.”
“You called me in here to look at a puzzle that’s already solved?”
“I called you in here because the solution is: ‘Let this be a stop sign. Don’t touch what’s mine.’ That seemed pretty significant in light of the situation. At least, it does to me. I’d be delighted to have you point out the error in my deductions.”
“How about I point out the error in your deduction that I’m going to do that?”
Dan Finley burst in the door. “Got it, Chief!”
“You found the car?”
“Yes and no.”
“Dan!” Chief Harper and Cora snapped the word out together. It was hard to tell who sounded more impatient.
“I found out where it was. It was picked up over an hour ago.”
“By the guy who left it?”
“By the guy with the claim ticket. The garage man seemed miffed I might want more than that.”
“You call his wife yet?”
“No, I came to tell you.”
Harper consulted a paper on his desk, picked up the phone, punched in a number. He let it ring several times and hung up.
“Now she’s missing. You say he picked up his car an hour ago?”
“Closer to two.”
Harper nodded. “Think I’ll take a ride out there.”
“Why?” Cora said.
“Find out what happened.”
“Of course,” Cora said. “Whe
n he was lost, you couldn’t care less. Now that he’s found, you can’t wait to investigate.”
“A guy disappeared long enough to get listed as a missing person. I wanna make sure he understands we don’t appreciate that. He’d better have a good explanation, or there’s gonna be hell to pay. It’s not the same as filing a false police report—I’m not sure exactly what it is—but I don’t like it, and I want to be damn sure he knows it.”
“This I gotta see,” Cora said.
Harper looked at her. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. I want to see if you really are going to tear him a new one, or if you’re just acting tough in front of Dan.”
“Thanks. I think I can handle this myself.”
“Nice try, Chief. After using me as a cat’s paw, you’re not going to deprive me of the fun stuff.”
Cora followed Chief Harper out to the Martindale house.
Two cars were parked out front.
“Looks like he’s home,” Cora said.
“Looks like they both are. Maybe he’s just too busy explaining to answer the phone.”
As they went up the walk, Cora said, “Look.”
“What?”
“The front door’s open. You wanna ring the bell or walk in?”
“Ring the bell.”
“Killjoy. How about both at once?”
Before Harper could stop her Cora rang the bell and pushed the door further open as chimes sounded in the house.
“Damn it,” Harper said, following her in.
Paula Martindale stumbled into the foyer. Her eyes were wide, frantic.
A carving knife in her hand dripped blood.
She looked at Cora, then at Chief Harper, then back at Cora again. She appeared utterly overwhelmed. “Something happened to Roger!”
“Put down the knife,” Harper said.
Paula looked at the knife in her hand, seemed to see it for the first time. Instead of dropping it, she raised it like a dagger.
Chief Harper drew his gun.
Cora stepped in front of him, grabbed Paula’s arm.
Paula tried to pull away.
Cora twisted her arm.
The knife clattered to the floor.
Cora grabbed Paula in a bear hug, held her tight.
Chief Harper pushed by them into the living room.
Cora wrestled Paula to the living room door.
Roger Martindale lay in the middle of the white plush carpet.
His chest had been hacked open with a carving knife.
There was blood everywhere.
Chapter
10
“I didn’t do it.”
“Who asked you?”
Paula stared at Becky Baldwin. “Don’t you want to know I’m innocent?”
“They’re all innocent,” Becky said. “It’s a rule of law. You’re presumed innocent until proven guilty.”
“I’m not talking about rules of law. I’m telling you a fact. The fact is, I didn’t do it.”
“I want you to stop saying that.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to say anything. You have the right to remain silent. Use it. If the police ask you a question, you say, ‘My lawyer told me not to talk to you,’ or ‘I refuse to answer on advice of counsel,’ or however you want to phrase it. Just don’t answer the damn question. You tell ’em you didn’t do it, you’ve answered a question for ’em, and it becomes that much easier for them to get you to answer another.”
“But—”
“And stop thinking. You don’t have to plan your defense. I do. You have to talk to me. Answer the questions I ask you. And only the questions I ask you. Because I don’t want to compromise your defense by having you swear to something I know isn’t true.”
“Fine. What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to shut the hell up. I want you to not try to account for the fact you were found in the house with your dead husband holding a blood-stained carving knife.”
“I just picked it up—”
Becky put her hand over her mouth. “Are you dumb? Do you not hear what I say? I tell you to not account for the carving knife, you start accounting for the carving knife. I understand. You’re upset. You’ve had a traumatic experience. I’m going to have a doctor look at you and he’s going to declare you in no shape to answer questions.”
“How do you know he’ll do that?”
“Because he has to live in this town, and I can make his life a living hell. Don’t worry about things you can’t control. Because you can’t. You are not in charge. You are relieved of responsibility. You have placed yourself in my hands, and I am acting in your best interests. It is not necessary for you to control everything that I do. Nor is it desirable. Your best course of action right now is none. Sit down, shut up, do as you are told.”
“But—”
“Shut up and listen. You’ve been arrested for murder. Your husband is dead. A wife is always the most likely killer. When she’s clutching a bloody knife, the likelihood escalates. The police are not apt to be looking for anyone else. As if that weren’t bad enough, he didn’t come home last night, you were hysterical and reported to the police. He’s been missing for twenty-four hours. The next time he shows up he’s lying on your living room floor in a pool of blood, and you’re holding the knife. You better have a pretty good explanation.”
“I thought you didn’t want me to talk.”
“I don’t want you to talk to the police. Eventually, you’re going to have to talk to me. And you’re probably going to have to talk to a jury.”
“Jury?”
“What did you think they do with killers, slap them on the wrist? Short of someone confessing to this crime, you’re it. I’ll give you the best defense I can, but there’s some things I need to know. Chief Harper called you to say he’d located your husband. You didn’t answer the phone, which is why he went out there. Where were you when he called?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“It’s not a case of personal preference. You have to say.”
“Where I was has nothing to do with anything.”
“Are you kidding me? Your husband was out with another woman. He came home and you jumped all over him, demanded to know where he’d been. You didn’t like his answers and he didn’t like your questions. You wouldn’t let up, and he slapped you around.”
“You trying to get me off on self-defense?”
“I must say it crossed my mind.”
“Forget it. It’s one thing to want to run my defense. When you start pleading me out, you’re through.”
“You start trying to run your own defense, you’re through. Self-defense is not pleading you out. Self-defense is one of many strategies that may be employed in attempting to get a jury to bring back a verdict of not guilty. The operative words are ‘not guilty.’ Pleading you out means agreeing you are guilty of a lesser charge, like involuntary manslaughter or assault with a deadly kitchen implement.”
Paula scowled. “Are you trying to get me to fire you?”
“Yes!” Becky said. “I happen to desperately need the work, but the damage my reputation will take for mounting a ludicrous defense for a moronic murder client isn’t worth it. If you’re going to be that much of a jerk, hire someone else.”
Paula looked at her hard for a moment, then shrugged. “Fine, play it your way. I’m not going to tell you where I was, but I’m not going to tell the police, either. So leave it at that and move on.”
Becky took a deep breath, considered, reached a decision. “Okay. Have it your way. This afternoon after work your husband picked up the car. He didn’t go to work, but he picked it up the same time as if he had. He got in the car and drove home, which I assume would take between an hour and an hour and a half.”
“So?”
“That would put him at your house at six thirty. Assuming he left the garage at five o’clock. What happened when he got there?”
“I wasn’t ther
e.”
“Where were you?”
Paula said nothing, set her lips in a firm line.
“I’ve never been married to a man who stayed out all night,” Becky said. “But I can imagine. You’re waiting for the guy to get home. Suddenly, you up and leave. That’s a tough one to sell to a jury. Even if you say where you went. If you don’t, then it’s impossible. But have it your way. You weren’t there when he got home. What happened when you got home?”
“I walked into the living room. There he was on the rug. I couldn’t believe it. The rug is white. Pure white. I took such care with that rug. To keep it clean. It stood out. The red splatters.”
“What did you do?”
“I was stunned. I just stared at him. And then I saw his chest heave. A slight movement. Like he was breathing. I rushed to him. Knelt down. A knife was sticking out of his stomach. Not his chest. His stomach. I thought, Maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s why he’s still alive. It hadn’t hit a vital organ. Stabbed in the belly, not in the heart. I grabbed the knife, jerked it out. The blood oozed out. From where the knife had been. I realized that’s what I had seen. Not the chest heaving. It was the seeping blood.
“I heard a noise from the front door. I had no idea who it was. I didn’t even know what it was. I stood up, stumbled in that direction. I went out in the foyer and there was the police.”
Chapter
11
Becky came out of the interrogation room.
Cora was waiting to pounce. “What did she say?”
“She didn’t do it.”
“Gee, that’s a shock. What did she say about where she was?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Damn it, Becky—”
“I can’t tell you because I don’t know. She wouldn’t say.”
“You’re her lawyer.”
“I pointed that out.”
“You should have let me go in there.”
“I can’t have a confidential conversation in the presence of a third person. You know that.”
“You really think she was going to say something you don’t want to reveal?”
“She might.”
“Like what?”
“Like she killed her husband.”