Murder with a Twist (16 page)

Unfortunately, that knowledge didn't help me much in figuring out that night's crime puzzle. I think I was too focused on the real case and Davey's smiling, innocent, cherubic face. Unless we found him soon, I had a feeling little Davey Cooper would be haunting my dreams for a long time to come.

A
fter a few minutes of whispered consultation between Tad Amundsen and Cora, it was Tad who presented the night's case. But before he did so, Cora prepped us.

“This case is designed to see if you can pick out the killer or killers from a limited number of suspects, based on the facts that we give you. You are allowed to ask questions. Tad and I are the only ones who know the answer. So the rest of you are all welcome to play.”

Cora looked over toward Tad and gave him a little nod. He nodded back, looked at the sheaf of papers in his hands, and began describing the night's crime scene.

“Listen very carefully to the details I'm about to give you,” he told us. “You may want to take notes so you can remember everything, because all the knowledge you need to solve this crime is in what I'm about to tell you.”

Everyone at the table had pens and paper of some sort to write on. I, however, did not and didn't get any. I don't know if it's because of my synesthesia or if it's just a random trait of mine, but I have an excellent memory.

“You are welcome to ask questions at any point if you want to further clarify things,” Tad went on. “Are we ready?” He looked around the table and we all either nodded or mumbled some form of assent. “Okay then, here we go. It's a cold, frigid evening in February when the police are called to the home of a successful, wealthy novelist.”

Carter scoffed and rolled his eyes. I suspect that at this point in Carter's writing career, the idea of a financially successful novelist seemed like an unreachable dream. Tad ignored Carter's nonverbal commentary and continued.

“We'll call our novelist Harvey Winters. Harvey's second wife, Patricia, is hosting a dinner at their house for a group of her friends, all of whom are struggling, undiscovered artists. The police are called to the house by Patricia a mere half hour after the gathering is underway because she and the other attendees heard a gunshot coming from Harvey's study and found the door was locked from the inside. After knocking and calling out to Harvey without any answer, Patricia heads outside to see if she can look or get in through any of the windows to the study. But all of the curtains are closed and none of the windows are open and, after returning to the house, Patricia calls the police.

“Patricia tells the police when they arrive that Harvey often locked his study door from the inside with a keyless dead bolt, to keep her from barging in on him uninvited, because he needed uninterrupted focus in order to produce his bestselling works. What's more, she said that sometimes Harvey would stay in there for days at a time without coming out. The study had its own bathroom, a comfortable couch for sleeping, and a kitchenette that could provide Harvey with plenty of food and drink during his epic lock-ins.

“Patricia tells the police that on this particular night, Harvey had gone into his study just before the first guest arrived, though he had gone to hide as much as he had to write, since he didn't like his wife's friends and wanted nothing to do with them or the dinner. Patricia assumes Harvey used the dead bolt to make sure none of the guests would inadvertently wander in on him.

“The police break down the door and discover that the dead bolt had, in fact, been thrown. Inside, they find Harvey sitting in a chair behind his desk, dead. There is one bullet hole in his forehead, and the desk chair, which swivels, is turned at a ninety-degree angle so that the man's left side is leaning against the desk and his right side is facing a wall behind the desk. The desk is situated several feet in front of this wall and faces the opposing wall, which has a fireplace built into it. The fireplace is located directly across from the desk and there is a fire burning in it. Patricia tells the police that Harvey always lit the fireplace in the wintertime, claiming that staring into the flames often helped his creative process. In fact, she had laid the wood for tonight's fire herself, as a goodwill gesture to Harvey for letting her have her friends over. Hanging over the fireplace is a portrait of Harvey that was painted by a professional artist.

“The police are quite puzzled since it's obvious Harvey was shot, but there is no gun anywhere near the body, nor are they able to find one anywhere else in the room. All the windows are locked from the inside and there is no other way in or out of the room.”

Joe Signoriello interrupted at this point and asked, “What about the chimney? Could someone have gone in or out using the chimney?”

Tad shook his head. “Good question, but the answer is no. The only opening in the fireplace is at the top of the firebox and it's a damper that covers a pipe too small for anyone to use as a point of egress. Plus, there is a fire burning in the fireplace and, upon closer examination, it appears the fire has been burning for some time because there is a bed of hot cinders beneath the logs on the grate.

“From the angle of the shot, the police are able to determine that the bullet was fired from somewhere in front of Harvey and that it had a slight upward trajectory. But because the chair Harvey is sitting in swivels very easily, and there is no exit wound, they can't be sure what direction Harvey was facing at the time he was shot. They realize the chair might well have turned simply from the energy of the shot hitting Harvey, or from the slumping of his body. The shot might also have been fired while Harvey was standing in front of the chair, causing him to fall into it. Therefore the police cannot tell with any certainty from where in the room the shot was fired.”

“A classic locked-room mystery,” Carter said with a smile. “I like it. And if the solution is a believable, logical one, I might want to steal it and use it in one of my books.”

“First you have to solve it,” Cora said. “But when you do, I think you'll agree that the solution is a logical one. We fed this scenario into the crime-solving computer program my company has been working on and asked it to come up with some probable suspects. The program posed certain questions about possible experiences, knowledge, and characteristics any of the suspects might have that would fit with plausible explanations for the scenario. We then used those details to develop a list of suspects.”

“Interesting,” Carter said. “If that program of yours doesn't work for solving real crimes, I might want to borrow it for creating some fake ones for my books.”

“It will cost you,” Cora said with an enigmatic smile.

Tiny, who up until now had simply been sitting quietly and listening, leaned across the table and pinned Cora with his eyes. “You have a computer program dat can help solve crimes?” he asked.

“Sort of,” Cora said. “It's still being developed and it has a lot of quirks. Right now it's better at reverse engineering a scenario like the one we're using here tonight. When we've tried to use it on real crimes, the results have been iffy, to say the least.”

“How much psychological information have you plugged into it?” Sam asked.

“Not much,” Cora admitted. “So far my programmer has spent most of his time working on the analysis of evidence and the proximity any of the potential suspects have to the crime scene and any collected evidence. We have also played around with motive, to some extent, but, to be honest, that's an area that's largely lacking at the moment . . . that, and the emotions that might color a potential suspect's motivations. So far, the program is very scientific and analytical in the way it conducts its calculations. It could use a human touch.”

“I'd be happy to help with that,” Sam offered. “Most of my work has been focused on criminal and other types of abnormal psychology.”

“That would be great,” Cora said with enthusiasm. “That could be just the piece we need to make this program complete.”

“It will cost you, of course,” Sam added with a wink, “though I suppose we could work out a trade of some sort, one that would include my writer friend Carter here.”

Cora gave him a crooked, grudging smile. “Well played,” she said. “Well played indeed. I'm sure we can work something out.”

Tiny said, “Do you t'ink dis program of yours could help me solve my sister's murder?”

Cora gave him an apologetic look. “We can try, Tiny, but I don't want you to get your hopes up too high. When we tried to use it to solve the murder of that woman whose body was found in the alley behind the bar a few weeks ago, the lead suspect by a large margin was Mack. And several of us at this table were on that list as well, so I don't think it's very reliable yet.”

“But will you try?” Tiny asked. “I'll give you all the information I have. I've spent twelve years looking for her killer, and I have a t'ick file full of suspects, evidence, time frames, dates . . . all dat dere kind of stuff. If we plug it into your program, who knows what might pop out.”

“Sure,” Cora said, smiling at Tiny. “We'll do it. Bring me your file tomorrow and we'll get started on it right away. Maybe Mack here can talk her new detective boyfriend into sharing some evidence from the old police file, too.”

After casting a malevolent glare at Cora for her boyfriend remark, I gave Tiny's arm a gentle squeeze. I knew all too well the frustration and anger he was feeling. “I talked to Detective Albright about it already,” I told him. “He's pretty tied up with his current case, but he said he'd look into it the first chance he gets.”

“We'll all help in any way we can,” Sam offered, and everyone else at the table nodded their agreement.

“T'ank you,” Tiny said. There was the hint of a crack in his voice, as if his emotions were about to get the better of him. Interestingly, I saw that hint of emotion quite literally in an image that flashed through my mind: a pilsner glass filled with some dark brown liquid, which suddenly cracked in half, spilling its contents.

“Great,” Tad said with a smile. “Now that that's settled, can we get back to the case at hand?”

“Sorry I sidetracked ya,” Tiny said.

“No problem,” Tad assured him. “Okay, back to the crime scene and our list of suspects. After interrogating all of the guests at the house, the police determine that the killer has to be someone who was in the house at the time of the murder. There is fresh snow on the ground outside and, other than the footprints leading from the cars parked in the circular driveway up to the front door and Patricia's footprints outside the windows of Harvey's study, there is no evidence of anyone being anywhere else outside the house. Everyone present for the dinner heard the shot and while they generally agree on when it occurred, there are some slight variations—no more than a minute or two—in the actual times given by each suspect. The guests were all enjoying a cocktail hour when they heard the shot and hadn't yet sat down to eat. Because none of them had ever been to the rather grand house before, they were all milling about taking self-guided tours or doing other things, as you'll soon see.

“The first suspect is Patricia, who stands to inherit Harvey's fortune. The police learn when they talk to some of the other guests that Harvey and Patricia's relationship has been very strained of late and there is a rumor that Patricia has taken a lover. Patricia fancies herself an artist, although her works, which are sculptures done in wood and clay, have thus far not struck a chord with the buying public. She has no job experience or talents, just her looks and figure, which won her the role of the victim's trophy wife. Patricia states she was in the living room at the time of the shot, showing some of her own art pieces to two of the guests.

“One of those two guests is Michael, a divorced, fortyish gentleman who is an unpublished novelist. He owns a store that sells magic tricks, costumes, and party favors, and he sometimes does magic shows at parties. The police learn that Michael has a motive when they discover that he accused Harvey of stealing one of his stories and publishing it as his own after Michael sent Harvey one of his manuscripts for evaluation. Michael sued Harvey but was eventually forced to drop the suit because he could no longer afford the legal fees after Harvey's lawyers filed a slew of paperwork that would have meant hours and hours of legal representation for Michael.

“The second guest who was reportedly with Patricia is a woman named Angela who the police discover also has a reason to want Harvey dead. Patricia tells the police that Harvey thought most of her artist friends were hacks, including Patricia herself, and despite Patricia's requests, he refused to underwrite any of them, including his own wife. But then Angela tells the police that Harvey had approached her in secret a year ago and told her that, unlike the others in the group, he thought her watercolor paintings had promise. He offered to set her up with the owner of a gallery in New York that he knew, and to sponsor her for a year while she worked on creating more pieces. Based on that, Angela quit her job and spent what little savings she had on more art supplies in preparation for her year of work. But at the last minute, she discovered that Harvey's real goal had been to get her in bed with him. Once she'd slept with him a couple of times, he swore he'd never promised her anything and told her that her art was crap. He then dumped her like a load of stinky trash. She hasn't been able to get another job, which has led to her falling behind on her mortgage, and now the bank is foreclosing on her house.”

“Sounds like Harvey was a creep who deserved to die,” Frank said.

“No one deserves to die,” Tiny said, and the group fell silent for several seconds.

Finally Holly said, “Even if the guy was a creep, it doesn't give anyone the right to kill him.”

“Let's remember that this is a made-up scenario,” I cautioned, flashing back on the look Cindy Whitaker had given me yesterday. Did she deserve to die for what she had done? The woman had ruined one life and taken another, all in the name of selfish greed. Was Hammurabi's Code the way to handle things? Should the old rule of an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth determine one's fate? Should one's life be forfeited for the taking of another's, assuming it's done out of greed or some other selfish motive as opposed to self-defense? I realized that my own answer to that question had changed after my father was killed, at least for a while. During those first few months, I was filled with anger and an overwhelming desire for revenge. If I had known at the time who killed him, would I have taken justice into my own hands? I couldn't be 100 percent sure, but I feared I might have, and that scared the hell out of me. I shoved those thoughts aside and shifted my focus back to Tad and the suspects in our made-up case.