Killer Sudoku (20 page)

Will’s face tightened. “I should think you know me better than that,” he told Liza. “Everyone competes on a level playing field. I don’t play favorites for publicity’s sake. We’ve kept every completed puzzle that got turned in, time-stamped. You obviously know Gemma’s handwriting, so you’ll be able to see that she worked each puzzle out—and you’ll see the pencil marks she made while she was doing it.”

In other words, Will didn’t just give her a puzzle to copy over. Gemma might do that. But somehow, Liza couldn’t see Gemma making all the fiddly marks and erasures involved in duplicating a real solution.

“If she could do so well, how do you explain such poor performance on this puzzle?” Liza asked.

Will shook his head. “She’s—she was—a very strange person, Liza. Maybe she was flying without the benefit of a plane when she did that puzzle. Or maybe she needed a couple of drinks to get into her sudoku groove, and that’s how she did when she was cold sober.”

He raised a hand. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be so flippant about someone who’s just died. So all I can say is that I have no explanation. As far as I could see, she was good, Liza. Maybe not up to your level, or Dunphy’s, or Quirk’s, or Terhune’s, but she was way past novice level. Gemma Vereker didn’t need any help to stay in contention.”

Even with his facial fur, Will looked totally sincere. Liza apologized for her doubts and let him get to work publicizing the postponement and the new final round. She headed down the hallway, taking the opposite direction from her usual post-competition route. In between quick bites of breakfast, she’d given Michael a message for Kevin and Mrs. H., telling them to wait for her in the suite.

As she took a couple of turns, Liza thought,
This must be how Roy Conklin avoids the crowds.

Right now, she was more concerned with avoiding wandering newspeople with camera crews and moronic questions.

The alternate route brought her to a corner of the resort building’s main lobby, not too far from the elevators. As Liza checked out the space for media people, she spotted a familiar figure heading for the reception desk. There was no mistaking that roadkill toupee on Artie Kahn’s head.

He approached the young woman behind the desk and said, “I called a little earlier—I’m Gemma Vereker’s manager.”

The young staffer gave him a serious-faced nod. “I’m afraid I’ll have to refer you to Mr. Fleming, our manager.”

“So the report I heard on the radio is true.” Kahn’s voice was heavy. “Gemma has no close family anymore. Has anyone made arrangements?”

The young woman repeated, “You’ll really have to speak with Mr. Fleming.” In the face of Kahn’s obvious upset, she unbent a little as she picked up her phone. “The police removed the . . . remains. I expect you’ll have to contact the coroner’s office.”

Kahn nodded. “I don’t suppose—Ms. Vereker was coming to discuss some business affairs with me and had some important papers.”

The girl behind the desk shook her head. “I’m afraid the police have sealed her room—”

“Of course,” Artie said quickly. “I was wondering, though, if she might have left them in your safe.”

“The resort maintains safe-deposit facilities for all guests.” The words came out of the receptionist like a well-rehearsed speech. Then she hesitated. “I suppose I could look up—”

A few quick keystrokes, a glance at her computer monitor, and she shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “Ms. Vereker didn’t place anything in our depository.”

Kahn nodded. “I don’t suppose there’s a safe in her suite?”

“No, sir, we encourage all guests to use our secure area.”

Another phrase from her training,
Liza thought as the young woman went back to the reception phone. Moments later, Fergus Fleming appeared.

Liza decided she didn’t need any more lessons in hotel protocol. She stepped over to the elevators and pressed the
Up
button.

Almost immediately, the doors opened to reveal Oliver Roche about to step out. Both he and Liza involuntarily stepped back. But the hotel detective quickly recovered, looming over Liza, eyes glaring, his face so tight the muscles beneath the skin were quivering.

“Think you made a fool of me, huh?” His words came out between clenched teeth. “Maybe Fleming and even Janacek are swallowing your line of guff. But I’ve got your number.”

He pushed past her to join the group by reception.

PART FOUR:

I always think the endgame is where most people encounter the real heartbreak of sudoku. You’ve rocketed past the X-wings, you’ve nailed the wily swordfish in its lair, and now it’s just a case of using the really simple techniques to clean out the few remaining clues down to the one true number in each space.

Smooth sailing—until you hit a rock. You’re down to a single 3 in the space at one end of a row, and there’s a space with the same single number at the other end. That means that somewhere in one of the other seventy-nine spaces, maybe twenty moves ago, you made a mistake.

This is sudoku, after all. You can’t have more than one solution . . .

 

—Excerpt from
Sudo-cues
by Liza K

Liza jumped into the elevator and stabbed at the button with her finger. She didn’t let out her breath until the doors closed. Then she flopped back against the far wall, glad the car was empty. She rode up to her floor and walked directly to her suite.

Michael had the door open even as she slipped in her key card.

“Sorry,” he said at Liza’s startled expression. “We’ve been sort of sitting on the edge of our seats here.”

When she got inside and saw the others all gathered around the telephone, Liza had a sudden hunch. “Is Michelle on the speaker?” she asked in a low voice.

Not low enough. “Liza? You took your time.” Michelle’s voice sounded all too familiar, even if it seemed to be coming from the bottom of a barrel.

“About this business with Gemma.” Michelle had more important fish to fry rather than waste time with small talk. “I appreciate how quickly you let me know.”

Liza had called her partner as soon as she and Michael left Gemma’s room. Just the thought of Michelle’s reaction to being out of the loop on such important information left Liza shuddering.

“I thought we might discuss the latest developments in the case, and I asked Buck to join in.” Michelle’s tone just about said out loud, “Time to bring out the big guns.”

“Hey, Liza.” Buck’s deep voice came over the connection. “Can’t have been nice finding another dead body.”

“What’s strange is how Gemma got that way.” Liza explained what they’d found under the bed.

“Kind of early in the year for tumbleweed,” Buck said.

“How would you know that?” Michael couldn’t help his question.

“Got a friend who has the same allergy—not as bad as Ms. Vereker’s, though,” Buck replied. “The trouble period comes in late summer. So we might have an angle to work—where the hell did this thing come from?”

“Here’s another angle,” Liza suggested. “We never really publicized Gemma’s allergic attack on the set of that Western.”

“That’s true. Gemma had reached an age where she felt a little—vulnerable—admitting to any physical problems,” Michelle said. “Although she didn’t mind playing up the back spasms from her rather athletic love scene in that noir mystery.”

“Difference between a physical defect and a sports injury.” Buck’s tone was remarkably dry as he spoke.

“The thing is, it’s not well known,” Liza argued. “I don’t think our killer went online to Celebrity Allergies Dot Com—”

“Wouldn’t bet on that not existing,” Buck warned. “Lot of strange websites out there.”

“Huh.” Kevin spoke up. “So the killer knows about sudoku pros and movie stars. Not much overlap there.”

“Certainly not on the same website,” Michael agreed with a frown. “And the killer would have to learn about Gemma’s allergy pretty damn quick. Unlike the others, she came in as a bit of a surprise.”

“Thanks for those very interesting conjectures,” Michelle said in her “let’s move on” voice. “What can you tell me about suspects?”

“My favorite seems to have died already,” Liza admitted. “Babs Basset had a vested interest in causing trouble.” She sighed. “With Babs dead, the two front-runners would be Will Singleton and Dunphy. They both have fairly strong motives for killing her. But I have a hard time believing that either of them would go in for wholesale murder just to get one person.”

“And Dunphy sort of disqualified himself with that allergy attack at Gemma’s door,” Michael put in.

“Sounds bad for your friend Will,” Michelle said.

“Will Singleton has put his heart and soul into this tournament for two years. He hopes to turn it into a national event. It will be part of his legacy. I can’t see him trashing it—”

“There’s no such thing as bad publicity,” Michelle said.

“It wouldn’t exactly be good publicity for him to end up in prison for murder,” Liza retorted.

“Well, do you have any other suspects?”

“There’s one,” Michael offered. He repeated his idea about Roche trying to be a hero, failing, and trying to cover it up.

“That’s very much a screenwriter’s theory,” Michelle said.

“Do you have anything to back it up?” Buck asked. “Any connection to the last two deaths?”

“Well, he was the big cheerleader to get Liza arrested when Babs Basset died,” Michael said. “She turned that around, but—”

“He threatened me,” Liza said.

That got the room pretty quiet as everyone stared at her. For all she knew, Michelle and Buck were staring at their phone, too.

“When was this?” Kevin wanted to know.

“Just now as I was getting in the elevator. I thought his head was about to explode when he stuck his face in mine and said he had—”

Her voice changed as she finished, “My ‘number.’ ”

Liza dug in her pocket and brought out the slightly crumpled copy of Gemma Vereker’s messed-up puzzle.

Michael bent forward to peer. “Is that the puzzle you copied from Gemma’s room?”

“What puzzle is this?” Michelle’s tone sharpened.

Liza explained about spotting the puzzle torn from the magazine with its catalog of rookie mistakes, and Will’s assurance that Gemma’s skills were much better than that.

“And you believe him?” Michelle asked.

“Boy, are you giving him a bum rap,” Liza said. “He’s a murderer, a liar . . .” She broke off. “Yes, I do.”

Kevin frowned. “So why would she make such basic mistakes?”

“Maybe she had a number she needed to remember—a number she didn’t want anyone to find,” Liza said slowly. “You remember what Detective Janacek asked us, Michael?”

He nodded. “He wanted to know if the room was just naturally messy, or if it could have been searched.”

“Could somebody have tossed the place?” Buck’s voice came over the speaker.

“I’m not sure,” Liza admitted.

“But it could have been,” Michael said more quickly. “And if so, it’s a number the killer never got.”

“What exactly are these numbers?” Michelle impatiently jumped ahead.

Liza consulted her copy. “Okay, two, three, five, three again, eight, one, nine, two, and five.”

“Too long for a telephone number,” Buck commented.

“Unless the last two numbers are an extension,” Michael said. “It couldn’t be in New York or L.A.—you have to start off with area codes.”

Kevin nodded. “Where she took off and where she landed.”

“The puzzle came from an in-flight magazine,” Liza added. “Gemma had to write this down after she got on the plane.”

“And she was met at the airport by a car that took her directly to Rancho Pacificano.” Michael shrugged.

Over the speaker they heard the tickety-tack of computer keys being manipulated. “Just checking whether these could be ten-digit phone numbers with a number missing,” Buck said. “But neither 235 nor, reading backward, 529 are valid area codes.”

“Unless that’s the part where the number was dropped. Are you sure you got all of them, Liza?” Michelle pressed.

Taking a deep breath, Liza looked hard at the scrap of paper in her hands. “The puzzle is symmetrical. That means I didn’t mistake an answer for a clue . . .”

Michelle’s annoyed sigh was loud enough to carry over the speaker phone. “In English, Liza.”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“So what could it be?” Buck mused aloud. “Passcode, account number—”

That stirred a memory. “The resort here has safe-deposit boxes for the guests.”

“Oh?” Michelle said.

Liza shrugged. “Unfortunately, Gemma didn’t put anything in to be secured.”

“And how did you find this out?” Michelle wanted to know.

“By overhearing,” Liza answered. “Artie Kahn was at the front desk, making inquiries.”

“Doing more work for Gemma now that she’s dead than he ever did while she was alive.” Michelle sniffed.

Liza paid no attention, looking at the somewhat scrunched puzzle in her hand. “I don’t know if it makes a difference, but the first three numbers are all in the top third of the puzzle. The next four are in the second third, and they come in pairs. The last two are in the last two boxes of the puzzle, separated but near to one another.”

Buck spoke after a moment of silence. “That would make . . . 235, 38, 19, and maybe 25.”

“Well, there’s a 235 almost under our noses,” Michael said. “We’re on the second floor of the building, aren’t we?”

Mrs. Halvorsen spoke up. “Room 206.”

“Suite 206, actually,” Liza corrected as she got up, grabbed Michael’s arm, and headed for the door. “Room 235 can’t be that far away.”

The main resort building was large and rambling, flinging off wings apparently at random.

Most likely to provide better views for the rooms,
Liza thought.