The Sudoku Puzzle Murders (12 page)

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Authors: Parnell Hall

BOOK: The Sudoku Puzzle Murders
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“You touched it,” Chief Harper said.
“Of course I touched it. How was I going to pick it up if I didn’t touch it.”
“But, but, but …”
“Come on, Chief. I fell on a piece of paper. I picked it up and looked at it. It was this. If I’d known in advance it was this, I could have avoided touching it. But my powers of omniscience are not what they used to be.”
“Could you not touch it anymore?”
“Sure. You’ll notice I’m holding it by my thumb and forefinger. If you have an evidence bag, I’d be glad to slip it in.” Cora smiled. “Perhaps a small kitchen garbage bag?”
“Dan?”
“I gotta ditch the murder weapon, Chief.”
“I hope nobody heard you say that.”
Dan locked the samurai sword in the trunk of his police car, came back with an evidence bag. Cora slipped the crossword puzzle in.
“Fine,” Chief Harper said, drily. “Now that we’ve preserved your fingerprints, is there anything you’d like to tell us?”
“You note this puzzle is ripped?”
“I do.”
“And there are two types of perforation. In the middle of the puzzle there’s a short, clean cut, as if it had been stuck on the sword. And the other perforation, extending from the edge of the straight cut to the edge of the paper, is jagged and irregular.”
“From which you infer?”
“The same thing you do. The crossword puzzle and the sudoku were impaled on the sword and the sword was plunged into the victim. The sudoku stayed stuck to the sword. The crossword puzzle tore free.”
“Why?”
Cora shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never stabbed anyone with a sword with a paper impaled on it. But if the guy didn’t want to be stabbed—it might surprise you how few people do these days—in the course of resisting he might have torn the puzzle loose. There’s some evidence he resisted in the fact he tried to pull the sword out of his chest.”
“Then why isn’t the crossword puzzle bloody?”
“Huh?”
“If he pulled it off the sword. I mean, look at his hands.”
“I’m assuming he pulled it off
before
slicing his fingers to the bone.”
“Really? If you had a sword in your chest, would you pull the paper off it first, or try to take it out? What’s your theory there?”
“My theory is he tried to avoid having the sword
put
in his chest. In flailing to avoid that, he dislodged the puzzle.”
“I suppose,” Harper said.
“What’s the matter?” Cora asked.
“I liked it better with just the sudoku.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’ve got the Japanese publishers in town. And you’ve been asked to do a sudoku book. The sudoku is a nice touch. The crossword puzzle seems like overkill.”
Cora’s eyes widened. “Are you suggesting I threw in a crossword puzzle of my own just because I was disappointed to find a sudoku?”
“I’m not saying that.”
“Well, what
are
you saying?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, let me know if you figure it out,” Cora said. “Meanwhile, when you get the evidence processed, send me copies of the puzzle and the sudoku. By then you’ll have a lot more information. Maybe we can figure out what this is all about.”
Cora went to look for Sherry. Rick Reed tried for an interview, but Cora waved him off. “I got nothing for you, Rick. Not even a good ‘no comment.’”
Cora found Sherry standing by the road looking forlorn. “Where’s Aaron?”
“He went back to the paper to write up the story.”
“You didn’t tag along?”
“He’s working.”
“You’ve tagged along before.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re saying I shouldn’t ask?”
“Does the word
butt out
ring a bell?”
“That’s two words. As I’m sure you know.”
A car pulled up and Brenda Wallenstein exploded from it. She’d been crying and her eyeliner was running. Her red hair stuck out from the sides of her head like a circus clown’s.
“Is it him?” Brenda cried. “I can’t take it! You gotta tell me! Is it him?”
“You mean Dennis?” Cora said.
“Yes, Dennis. You mean it isn’t? Or it is?”
“It’s not Dennis,” Cora said. “It’s some private eye.”
Brenda stopped in mid-histrionics. “Oh, thank God! Oh, my goodness! Sherry, I’m so sorry. He didn’t come home. I don’t know where he is.”
“When’s the last you heard from him?” Cora asked.
“Yesterday morning. When he left for work. He had appointments all day. I didn’t expect him until late. It got later and later. I almost called.”
“Called?” Cora said.
“You. The house. I know how obsessive he gets. But I didn’t. I figured he was with the boys.”
“The boys?”
“The band. When he gets depressed, he sneaks off and plays with the band. It’s like therapy, really.”
“And you let him?” Sherry said.
Brenda’s face darkened. “Oh, you’re a fine one to talk. And what did
you
let him do, when
you
were his wife?”
Rick Reed, having struck out with everyone else, descended on Brenda. “And here we have Brenda Wallenstein Pride, of the Wallenstein Textiles Wallensteins. Ms. Wallenstein, what brings you all here from New York City? Had you heard of the crime?”
Brenda greeted Rick with an expletive not usually heard on television. The young reporter blanched, and veered into one of his more awkward segues, which, for Rick Reed, was saying something.
“Well done,” Cora told Brenda. “I must remember that for future interviews.”
“Could everyone stop joking,” Brenda said. “I’m worried. Where is Dennis?”
Chief Harper came walking up just in time to encounter a seriously discombobulated Rick Reed. The reporter latched onto him like a lifeline, aiming camera, microphone, and question in his direction.
“Chief Harper. Rick Reed, channel eight news. Do you have an official statement? Can you shed some light on the situation?”
“Yes, I can. A man has been found dead. His identity is being
withheld pending notification of next of kin. But it appears he is not a resident of Bakerhaven. According to the identification on the body, he’s from New York City.”
Brenda, despite assurances it wasn’t Dennis, let out a little moan.
“The decedent appears to have met with foul play,” Harper went on. “We’re not ruling out murder. Though it could also have been manslaughter, or even accidental death.”
“What about suicide?” Rick asked.
“I would say it was very unlikely it was suicide.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you asked.”
Rick flushed. “No, I mean—”
“That’s all we have at the present time,” Chief Harper said. “I’ll give you an update just as soon as we get it.”
Brenda descended on Chief Harper. “You said he’s from New York. But it’s not Dennis.”
“No. It’s not Dennis. Didn’t Cora tell you?”
“Yes.”
“I take it Dennis is missing?”
“Since yesterday.”
“I’ll keep an eye out. But I imagine he’s home by now.”
“He shouldn’t be. He has work.”
“You know you’re not making much sense?”
“I’m upset.”
“I noticed.”
While they were talking a police cruiser pulled up and Dan Finley got out.
“What’s he doing back?” Harper said. “He’s supposed to be on his way to the lab.”
Dan went around the cruiser and opened the back door.
Dennis Pride climbed out. He was unshaven, his long hair was matted and greasy, his eyes were bloodshot. His suit looked like he’d slept in it. His loosely knotted tie hung from his neck like a noose.
Dan took him by the arm, pulled him from the car.
Channel 8, slow on the uptake, had just swiveled around. The cameraman made up for it by zooming in for a nice close-up on his wrists.
Dennis was wearing handcuffs.
And there was blood on his hands.
Chief Harper sighed and rubbed his head. “What a nightmare.”
Cora tipped back in her chair and pulled the cigarettes out of her drawstring purse. “That’s putting it mildly, Chief.”
“You can’t smoke in here.”
“Yes, I can. You’re in trouble and you need my help. If I can’t smoke, I’ll leave. Your move.” She lit her cigarette, blew out the match.
Harper ignored it. “What are they doing in there?”
“Who? Becky and Dennis? Well, seeing as how he just got arrested for murder and she’s a lawyer, they’re probably discussing that. Of course, he could be just trying to date her up. These married men have so few morals.”
“Do you think he did it?”
“No, and neither do you. You arrested him on circumstantial evidence that looks bad. But that’s it. If you came up with a motive, that would be different. But you can’t, so you won’t, so it’s not going to fly. He’s not a killer. He’s a sniveling punk wife-beater. But kill someone? He wouldn’t have the guts.”
“Even if he was drunk?”
Cora grimaced. “That’s the only joker in the deck. People do a lot of things when they’re drunk. I should know. I’d have at least one less husband if it weren’t for liquor.” She frowned. “I suppose it’s one
fewer
husband. Less would imply lopping off a limb or two. Which isn’t that bad an idea.”
“Becky’s going to say charge him or release him,” Chief Harper said glumly.
“So release him.”
“There’s too much evidence against him. He was passed out in his car a half a mile from the crime scene with blood on his hands. Plus he stole the sword.”
“You don’t know that.”
“It’s
your
theory.”
“My theory is someone stole the sword from
him.”
“Even so. The prosecutor won’t release him.”
“Who, Ratface?”
“Do you have to call him that?”
“Only when he’s doing something annoying. Henry Firth has a habit of doing annoying things. So he reminds me of a rat.”
“You’re not helping. You sit there smoking, and you’re not helping.”
“What do you want me to do, talk you through it? Okay, what have you got from the New York cops?”
“Not much. They checked out his office. There’s nothing to indicate he was recently hired. So, we can assume he was
very
recently hired, most likely in cash, by people who wish to remain anonymous.” Harper shrugged. “I suppose that would have to include Dennis.”
“Yeah,” Cora said sarcastically. “If you want to pay a guy a lot of money to drive out in the country so you could kill him.”
“I admit I’m thin on motive.”
“It’s not your problem, Chief. If Henry Firth wants to prosecute,
he’s
the moron.”
“And I’m stuck gathering facts to bolster the case.”
“And suppressing the ones that don’t?”
“That’s not fair.”
“My point exactly.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Harper scowled. “The problem with police work is once you a throw a lawyer into the mix it’s so adversarial no one wants to back down. You’re on one side, they’re on the other. The lawyer won’t let the client talk. The prosecutor won’t let the client go. It’s a stalemate. They dig in their heels, and nothing gets done.”
“Sometimes they make a deal.”
“Yeah, right,” Chief Harper scoffed. “Like Becky Baldwin’s ever going to make a deal.”
Becky came out of the interrogation room. “Henry Firth around?”
“No. Why?”
“I want to make a deal.”
Becky Baldwin smiled for the TV camera. “That’s right. My client, Dennis Pride, is cooperating with the police. He’s made a full statement. That’s why he is being released at this time.”
“I heard rumors of a plea bargain,” Rick Reed said.
“You heard wrong. Dennis hasn’t pled guilty to anything. All charges against him have been dropped.”
“And what charges were those?”
“Good point,” Becky said. “Actually, he was never charged with anything. He was detained for questioning, he cooperated fully, and he’s been released.”
“Then why was he promised immunity?” Rick Reed persisted. Becky smiled. “May I ask your source?”
“That is the rumor going around. That Dennis Pride only made a statement
after
he was promised immunity.”
“Which should in no way reflect on Dennis Pride,” Becky said with a smile. “Look, since you’ve brought the matter up, I’m Mr. Pride’s attorney. I wish to cooperate with the authorities just as
much as he does. But, as his attorney, I cannot allow him to do anything that might jeopardize his rights. Mr. Pride is currently on probation. I can’t let him do or say anything that might violate the terms of that probation. Which includes being found guilty of any misdemeanor, however minor. I therefore obtained from the prosecutor, Henry Firth, a grant of immunity from any crime, technical or otherwise, excluding murder, with which Mr. Pride might conceivably be charged. Mr. Pride made a full, frank, and open disclosure, and was released from custody.”
“But what did he say?”
“I am not at liberty to divulge the details of an ongoing murder investigation. You’ll have to direct your questions to Henry Firth.”
“But—”
“Thank you very much,” Becky said, and strode away.
“And there you have it,” Rick Reed summed up. “A shocking, stunning, and dramatic statement from Dennis Pride’s lawyer. A statement that leaves as many questions unanswered as …” Rick, lost for a conclusion, finished lamely, “ … as it actually answers. Dennis Pride, who was not available for the interview, is back on the streets, after having been picked up for the murder of Lester Mathews. He must have had quite a story. This is Rick Reed, channel eight news.”
Sherry muted the commercial.
“Quite a story, indeed. I wonder what the son of a bitch said,” Aaron grumbled.
“Aaron,” Sherry said.
“He’s getting away with murder,” Aaron said bluntly. “He’s sold Becky Baldwin on some cock-and-bull story, and now she’s peddling it.”
“That’s not fair.”
“To whom? Him or Becky Baldwin.”
“Becky’s a smart attorney. Of course she got him immunity. That’s her job.”
“She didn’t get him immunity for murder.”
“He’s not a killer.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Aaron, you’re upset. You don’t like him, I get that. Don’t overreact.”
“I’m not overreacting. Here’s a guy who beat you. Now he’s arrested for murder. And
I’m
overreacting.”
Cora Felton came in the front door. “Hey, kids. What’s up?” “Nothing,” Aaron muttered.
Cora shot Sherry an inquiring look.
“The police released Dennis and Aaron’s upset,” Sherry said.
“Yeah,” Cora said. “I was there.”
“What’s the story?”
“Well, this is not for publication.”
“Here we go again!” Aaron stormed.
“Yeah, life’s not fair. We get that. Here’s the scoop. Dennis is a bad boy. He’s violated his probation six ways from Sunday. He comes around, he gets drunk, he obsesses on certain crossword puzzle constructors who shall be nameless. Becky’s gotta get that wiped clean, and Ratface is glad to wipe it. So Becky gets immunity to everything but murder. As soon as she does, Dennis cops to stealing a samurai sword from an antique shop.”
“What?!” Aaron cried.
“Turns out there’s a ninety-nine percent chance that sword is the murder weapon, so it’s a real good crime to have immunity on.”
“But he doesn’t have immunity to murder.”
“No, he claims the sword was stolen from him.”
“Give me a break!”
“Says it was taken from his car. Points to a receipt from an auto glass shop to back his story.”
“But he had blood on his hands.”
“Yes, he did. And DNA tests will probably confirm it’s the victim’s blood.” Cora shook her head. “But it practically screams
frame-up. Dan found him passed out in his car with bloody hands. But there was no blood anywhere else. Not on the door handles. Not on the steering wheel. The car was half a mile from the crime scene. There’s no way he drove it half a mile without smearing blood around. All the evidence would seem to indicate the killer found him passed out in his car, and couldn’t resist trying to frame him by smearing his hands with blood.”
“And I can’t print any of this?” Aaron said incredulously.
“Not on my say-so. But now you know the story, there’s nothing to stop you from collecting those facts on your own.”
Aaron looked exasperated for a moment, then slammed out the door.
“You sure lit a fire under him,” Sherry said.
“I wanted to talk to you alone. Has he been in a funk all day, or just since Dennis got out of jail?”
“He was just as gloomy when Dennis was in. I’m tired of taking a hit for my ex.”
“Dennis is more ex than most guys have to deal with.” Cora flopped down on the couch. “I need a smoke. Oh, hell! I left my purse in the car.”
“Did you look at the puzzle?” Sherry asked.
“Never had a chance. Lemme get my purse.”
Cora heaved herself to her feet and went out the door. She was back a minute later.
“It’s not there.”
“What?”
“My purse. It’s not in the car.”
“You mean someone took it?”
“Unless I—Uh-oh!”
“What?”
“I must have left it in Chief Harper’s office.”
“With the puzzle in it?”
“And my cigarettes.”
“I don’t have another copy.”
“I don’t have another cigarette.” Cora rubbed her head. “This is awful. If Chief Harper looks in my purse I’m screwed.
And
I’m having a nicotine fit.”
“I don’t think the chief’s the type of guy to go through a woman’s purse.”
“You wanna bet your freedom on it?”
“Oh, come on.”
“Well, whaddya think they do with people who tamper with evidence? Slap ’em on the wrist? At least you didn’t
knowingly
do it. You’re an unwitting dupe. If this blows up,
I’m
the one going to jail. The only way
you’re
going to jail, is if we
both
go to jail. In which case, I’m going in disgrace as the unfrocked Puzzle Lady.”
The phone rang.
Sherry padded into the kitchen, picked it up. “Hello … Just a minute.” She covered the receiver. “It’s Harper.”
Cora snatched the phone from Sherry. “Hi, Chief.”
“Cora. You left your purse here.”
“I just realized that.”
“Want to come over and get it?”
“Now?”
“Well, we got the crossword puzzle back from the lab. I thought you’d be interested.”
“Oh.”
“Particularly since all the fingerprints on it turn out to be yours.”
“Sorry, Chief. If I’d known what it was …”
“Yes, of course. Anyway, you could solve it and pick up your purse at the same time.”
“Solve it and pick up my purse at the same time,” Cora repeated for Sherry’s benefit, motioning for help.
“Fax the puzzle,” Sherry said.
“Excuse me a minute, Chief. What was that, Sherry?”
“You were going to run me into town and I’m not ready yet,” Sherry said loudly enough for the chief to hear. “Have him fax you the puzzle, you can solve it while you’re waiting.”
“Okay. Chief—”
“I heard, I heard,” Harper said. “I’ll fax you the puzzle.”
“Can you do that?”
“Sure. What’s your fax number?”
“Hang on.” Cora covered the phone, hissed, “Sherry! Do we have a fax number?”

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