The Sudoku Puzzle Murders (18 page)

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Authors: Parnell Hall

BOOK: The Sudoku Puzzle Murders
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“This could be a clue,” Chief Harper said.
Cora snorted. “Oh, for Christ’s sake.”
“It’s about persistent lovers.”
“And that’s important because … ?”
“The Japanese triangle.”
“I hope you didn’t characterize it that way in the media.”
“I haven’t even alluded to it. But it’s two guys fighting over a woman.”
“She’s married to one of them.”
“Which makes it worse. The guys have a history. They hate each other’s guts.”
“Exactly.”
“No, not exactly. One stinking poem about persistent ex-lovers has absolutely nothing to do with it.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m not a moron. No offense meant, but what a stupid idea. A
crossword puzzle in a newspaper has sinister connotations for reallife people?”
“Then why did the PI have it?”
“He had something wrapped in it. Like the money.”
“The money wasn’t wrapped in it.”
“Are you sure?”
“I took the money out of the safe first. Then I took out the newspaper.”
“Big deal.”
“Folded open to this page.”
“Yeah, but …”
“But what?”
Cora frowned, took her cigarettes out of her purse.
“Don’t even think about it,” Harper warned.
“But you want my help.”
“No, I don’t want your help. You’re about to try to sell me on some damn fool idea of your own. You want to pitch it, fine, but you’re pitching nicotine free.”
“Steroids in baseball getting to you, Chief.”
Harper sighed. “I like Hank Aaron.”
“Who doesn’t?” Cora pushed the cigarettes back in her purse. “Okay, here’s the deal. You say clue, I say coincidence. Here’s why. I’m the Puzzle Lady. You see a crossword puzzle, you think of me. Well, guess what. The world doesn’t revolve around me. Or crossword puzzles, for that matter. A crossword in the paper doesn’t mean a damn thing.”
“I know. I’m just reacting to the moody-lover thing. This Japanese menage à trois is a powder keg. I mean, they came here, ostensively to hire you. And they’re
still
here. Granted, there’s been a crime. Even so, I can’t help feeling they’re all running around playing emotional games with each other.”
“When did they get here? Saturday?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“The first PI. Walter Krebb. Barney put the time of death at
twenty-four to forty-eight hours before the body was found. So the guy was killed between Friday afternoon and Saturday afternoon. Most likely Friday night.”
Harper picked up the phone. “Hey, Dan. Get Hideki’s B and B on the phone, find out when he checked in. Call the Yoshiakis’ B and B, ask ’em the same thing.” After a pause, Harper said, “’Cause I asked you to. I didn’t say why.” He hung up the phone. “Everyone wants you to justify yourself. You can’t make a move without wondering if you’re right.”
“Dan’s gonna do it?”
“Yeah. Not that it’s gonna help. Like you say, they probably all checked in Saturday.”
Dan called back ten minutes later. Harper scooped up the phone. “Yeah? … Un-huh … . Un-huh … You’re sure? … Okay, thanks, Dan.” He hung up the phone. “Hideki checked in Saturday night.”
“And?”
“Aoki checked in Saturday night.”
“Told you so.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Then why aren’t you happy?”
“Mrs. Yoshiaki didn’t come with her husband. She checked in Friday afternoon.”
“Let’s cut the crap.”
Reiko clearly wasn’t used to being talked to in this manner. She raised her eyebrows, glanced around the dining room. It was nearly empty. The Country Kitchen did light business at lunch. The hardcore drinkers were having burgers in the bar, didn’t spill out into the dining room until happy hour.
“I beg your pardon.”
Cora nodded. “Good English idiom. You’ve assimilated well.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you and the boys. You’ve given me one story and it doesn’t ring true. I was wondering if you’d like to try for two. Or is that the problem?”
Her face froze. “What?”
“Too convoluted? Let me be direct. Have you been playing these boys off against each other for fun and profit?”
“Fun and profit?”
“I just can’t help myself. I will assume a language barrier. That’s
a generous assumption. That you’re really baffled and not just feigning confusion to avoid answering the question.”
Her eyes flicked.
“I see enough of that registered,” Cora said. “You know what I’m talking about. So. You, Hideki, Aoki. What’s the real story? Did you start with Aoki and go back to Aoki? Did you start with Hideki and wind up with Aoki? Have you been bouncing back and forth between the two since the dawn of time?”
“Dawn of time?”
Cora waggled her fingers. “Huh-uh. Not going to work anymore. You got the gist. Anything else is window dressing.”
“Window dressing?”
“Now, stop that. Your husband is in jail. You want to get him out.”
“Yes, of course.”
“No, not of course. I’ve had husbands I’d have
left
in jail. Damn near all of them, now that I think of it. Why’d you come here early?”
“Early?”
“I’ll give you that one. I threw the change of subject at you. To Bakerhaven. You came here before your husband. Why?”
“To rent the room.”
“Come on. You could do that on the phone.”
“To see that everything was all right.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“My husband is a precise man. He likes everything just so.”
“And if it hadn’t been?”
“I would have refused to take the room.”
“For that you came a whole day early?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Why couldn’t you change the room the next day if it was unsuitable?”
“Aoki wouldn’t do that.”
“Why?”
“It would not be honorable.”
“But stealing another man’s woman is?”
Her mouth fell open. “You are impertinent.”
“I didn’t mean you. I meant me. Your husband stole me away from Hideki.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is. I’ve got a signed contract to prove it.”
“You don’t belong to Hideki. My husband had just as much right—”
Cora put up her hand. “Never mind. I don’t care. You came here to rent a room?”
“Yes.”
“And Hideki was not here?”
“No. Why would he be?”
“To see you.”
“Hideki would not do that.”
“Why? Because it wouldn’t be honorable?”
“You are mocking me?”
“A little. Why don’t you come off your high horse and tell me what’s going on?”
“My high horse?”
“You’re either very dense or very bright. I can’t tell which. Most men don’t care. Not when you look like you do. Have they always fought over you? Ever since this all began?”
“They do not fight over me.”
“Yeah.” Cora sighed. “Okay, that’s about it.”
“Can you help my husband?”
“I’ll give it my best shot.” Cora frowned, considered. “Can you tell me one more thing?”
“What’s that?”
“Who cuts your hair?”
The trendy salon on East Eighty-sixth Street was the type Cora only would have walked into with a gun to her head. The stylist working in the window had blond spikes in haphazard directions, and a stud in her nose. With pointy scissors she was attacking the head of a thirtysomething brunette woman who clearly needed a dramatic statement to take away from too much nose and chin. Whatever the stylist was going for Cora had no idea, but she was sure it would be ultramodern and costly.
Cora went in the shop, discovered there were three more stylists working within. A young woman with her hair knotted incongruously around a stubby pencil said, “May I help you?”
“I’ll like to get my hair cut.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No. I was told to ask for Mitzi. Is she free?”
Free did not describe it. Mitzi cost as much as a high-priced call girl. She had a physique like a soda straw, short-clipped hair, and a
squeaky voice. She could have been a boy named Mitzi, assuming he was a castrato.
After a brief plea bargain (“Just a trim.” “Leave it to me.”), Mitzi snatched up her scissors, and Cora plunged into the task at hand.
Luckily, Mitzi helped her.
“You asked for me?”
“You were recommended.”
“By who?”
Cora almost said, “By whom.” She caught herself, said, “By Reiko.”
“She recommended me? How sweet.”
“Have you been cutting her hair long?”
“A couple of years.”
“Oh? She’s in New York that much?”
“They’re back and forth.”
“They?”
“She and her husband.”
“Oh, him.”
“Yeah. Him.”
“Have they been getting along?”
“Why do you say that?”
“The way you said, ‘Him.’” Cora winked at the woman. “I’ve been married a few times myself, so I know.”
“Do you, now?” Mitzi frowned. “You look familiar. Have you been in here before?”
“First time.”
“You sure?”
“I’d remember.”
“I got the feeling I—Oh, my God! You’re the Puzzle Lady!”
“Shhh! I’m incognito.”
“You used to do those breakfast cereal commercials.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Wow, this is exciting. Not that we don’t get famous people. Cindy had Jennifer Aniston once. Before the breakup.”
Cora didn’t ask which breakup, tried to steer the conversation gently back on point. “She never had marital problems, did she?”
“Who?”
“Reiko.”
“Of course, I wouldn’t talk about that,” Mitzi said, and proceeded to do so.
In the next fifteen minutes Cora learned everything there was to know about the Japanese triangle.
It existed, all right. Reiko might deny it to Cora. Or to the police. But not to her hairdresser.
The men were mortal enemies, head over heels in love. Not that she led them on. But how could she help it? After the elaborate plans they laid. Hideki luring her husband to Boston for a bogus meeting with Stephen King. Her husband deliberately ensnaring Hideki in a lawsuit to frustrate the publication of an anthology of short stories. Hideki bribing the driver of Aoki’s car service to get stuck in rush hour traffic. On and on and on. An endless tale of love and deceit.
But nothing on murder.
Nothing of violence.
Nothing suggesting a crime.
“Do you think her husband knows?” Cora asked.
“He has to. The way things are.”
“Did she ever say he did?”
“She never said so, no.”
“Is it possible he knows, but doesn’t let on?”
Mitzi laughed. “Aoki? No way!”
“Why do you say that?”
“He’s got a
temper.
” Mitzi rolled her eyes. “He looks so polite and mild-mannered, but, if things aren’t perfect, believe me, he lets her know.”
“Really?” Cora pursed her lips. “Has she ever come in bruised?”
“Bruised?”
“You know what I mean. Did he ever hurt her?”
Mitzi’s smile was enormous. “Hurt
her
? You gotta be kidding.”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s why she gets her hair cut here. It’s in the neighborhood.”
Cora frowned. “Neighborhood of what?”
“Her jujitsu class.” Mitzi chuckled. “Reiko isn’t exactly helpless. She’s a fourth-degree black belt.”
Kyoto Martial Arts was a second-story walk-up over a flower shop on Lexington Avenue. A dozen youngsters ranging in age from eight to eighteen were being tutored in the fine art of flinging each other in all directions by an aging blond beach boy in a white uniform with a black belt. The children wore white uniforms with belts of various colors such as white, green, brown, and even one black. The black belt was worn by a skinny kid who couldn’t have been more than twelve. When his turn came, he walked forward, bowed to an older, stockier kid in a green belt, and proceeded to toss him over his shoulder as if he were a sack of meal. One of the young mothers sitting at the side of the room beamed. Another looked horrified.
Cora waited until the class was over to approach the beach boy. Bad move. She was cut off by the mothers, who mobbed him while their kids were getting changed. At the same time, more kids were coming in and heading for the locker room, to change for the next class.
Cora squeezed in amongst the young mothers, flashed her most winning smile. “Excuse me. I’d like to talk to you about a class.”
The beach boy tore himself away from an obviously smitten thirtysomething mother, looked at Cora, and did a double take. “For your grandson?” he inquired.
Cora didn’t kill him, which she thought showed admirable restraint. “No. I want to talk to you about a class you teach.”
He was trying not to stare, like he’d never seen a slightly older person before. “I don’t understand.”
Of course you don’t, you mindless twit
, hovered on the tip of Cora’s tongue. She bit it back, said, “It’s about one of your students. I need to know how much she knows.”
He frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“The kids have different colored belts. That means they passed different levels, right?”
“Of course.”
“Does that reflect a degree of skill, or just the fact they paid to take the course?”
“Now, look here.”
“No offense meant. But I need to know what your students are capable of. There’s a young woman name Reiko. Is she one of your students?”
“Why?”
“I’m interested in her expertise. If she were attacked, would she be able to defend herself?”
He looked insulted. “Of course.”
“Even against someone stronger? She would know techniques that would let her win?”
“I would put her up against someone who didn’t know jujitsu any day of the week.”
“What about weapons? Is she familiar with weapons? And how to use them?”
“Sure.”
“A samurai sword, for instance. Could she kill someone with a samurai sword?”
He laughed.
“You find that funny?”
“She wouldn’t
need
a samurai sword.” The beach boy practically smirked. “Reiko could kill someone who had a samurai sword.”

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