The Sudoku Puzzle Murders (9 page)

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Authors: Parnell Hall

BOOK: The Sudoku Puzzle Murders
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“I got good news, Dennis.”
Dennis Pride looked up from his scotch and soda. It was clearly not his first. He saw Cora Felton, scowled. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask the same of you. I have a right to be in this town. You don’t.”
“Is Sherry here? I don’t see Sherry here. The law says a hundred yards.”
“And I know you’re such a stickler for the law, Dennis. Relax. I told you, I got good news.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m not turning you in for robbery.”
“What?”
“Absolutely not. I’m not even going to suggest it to the police. I won’t tell them you’re a suspect. Of course, if they find out on their own, it’s not my fault, there’s nothing I can do.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“The samurai sword you stole from Meachem’s Antique Shop. I’m not going to tell anyone you took it.”
“Hey, what are you trying to pull?”
“Nothing. I told you. I’m not turning you in.”
“Keep your voice down!”
“Why? You didn’t do anything.”
“No, but you’re talking crazy. Someone might get the wrong idea.”
“How can they get the wrong idea? I’m saying you
didn’t
steal it.”
“Shhh!”
“What’s the matter. You
want
people to think you stole it?”
“Damn it!” Dennis hissed. “I didn’t steal any samurai sword!”
“
Samurai
sword? How did you know it was a
samurai
sword?”
“You
said
so!”
“I didn’t say it was a
samurai
sword.”
“You did, too!”
“I assure you I didn’t. But don’t worry. Nobody’s going to double-check you. Your secret’s safe with me.”
Dennis was beside himself, torn between shouting at her and keeping his voice down. “
You
said it was a samurai sword! I didn’t know until
you said so!”
Cora grimaced, shook her head. “No, no, no. You’re really no good at lying. Surprising, since you’ve been married twice. But the fact is you stink. The question isn’t whether I
said
it’s a samurai sword. It’s whether you
think
it is. And you clearly
do
. You’re a bad liar, and you blew it. But don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul.”
“Damn it!”
Cora pulled the auto glass receipt from her purse, smoothed it out on the bar. “Bad move, keeping this receipt. It’s dated, for chrissake. It has the name of the auto glass company that installed your rear window. The evidence indicates you stole the sword from the antique shop, but you were so drunk you left it in the backseat of your car, and someone smashed the glass and took it. That’s what I’m guessing,
and it is, by the way, the
charitable
explanation for your actions. The
un
charitable explanation, the one I’m
not
guessing, is the one where you steal the sword, use it for some nefarious purpose, such as impaling some poor son of a bitch who looked at you funny. When you sobered up you were horrified at what you’d done, figured you’d better start covering your tracks. So you smashed the back window of your car, had it repaired, and left the receipt in your glove compartment. In case someone saw you steal the sword—which was a distinct possibility since you were drunk at the time and didn’t take great precautions—you could claim you had it but someone broke your window, stole it out of your car.”
Dennis wet his lips. Couldn’t think of anything to say.
Cora smiled at him.
“So, aside from that, how are you?”
Cora had the feeling she was being watched. It was an eerie feeling. She’d had it once before, when someone was stalking her. She was sure this time was different, that it was just a feeling, brought on by God knows what. Even so, when she left the bar, she could have sworn someone was there.
Cora pulled her cigarettes out of her purse, lit one up, took a deep drag. Told herself she was being stupid. Yeah, stupid for smoking. But for being on guard?
She glanced surreptitiously around, saw no one. Which didn’t mean no one was there.
Or didn’t mean anyone was.
Cora composed herself, started across the parking lot.
A car pulled in and Hideki got out. He didn’t see her, just went up the steps of the Country Kitchen.
Cora wondered if he might have smashed Dennis’s back window and stolen a samurai sword. Did wondering that count as racial
profiling? Maybe. If so, she was sorry. The thought was enough to keep her from searching his car.
That and the fact he’d locked it.
Damn. Where was a cop when you needed one?
Cora tried to peer through the rear window. Hideki had parked under the streetlight; even so she couldn’t see the floor. Nor could she get into the trunk, which would have been
her
first choice to stash a stolen samurai sword.
Cora went back into the Country Kitchen.
First Selectman Iris Cooper came out of the dining room and swooped down on her. That was the problem with being a celebrity. People knew you. Not exactly a plus for a PI.
Cora stalled Iris off by promising to play bridge later in the week. She watched the first selectman go out the door, then she peered into the bar.
From the look of things, Hideki had just ordered a martini, shaken, not stirred, in finest James Bond tradition. At the far end of the bar, Dennis Pride seemed more interested in his scotch and soda than anything else. He either hadn’t noticed Hideki’s presence, or didn’t care. There were half a dozen bar stools between the two men, most of them occupied. No reason for either man to notice the other. Still, if Hideki had stolen the guy’s sword, he might be somewhat wary of him. Unless he’d stolen it from the backseat without knowing whose car it was.
And if Dennis
had
had a sword stolen from his car, wouldn’t that make him wary of Hideki? Or would he, too, be reluctant to stoop to racial profiling? Somehow, Cora doubted Dennis would possess such scruples. More than likely he was brooding into his drink, and hadn’t even noticed Hideki was there.
Cora glanced up and spotted the private eye.
He was sitting at the far end of the bar. A nondescript businessman in a suit and tie, nursing his drink. A perfectly ordinary addition to a restaurant bar. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing alarming, nothing to put one on one’s guard. Cora only noticed him because he looked away. That was his one mistake.
It could have been simple eye avoidance, but it wasn’t. Cora knew the difference. In the course of her many marriages, affairs, flirtations, and everything in between, Cora could spot a simple eye avoidance as well as the next gal. She knew the difference between that and someone who had been caught red-handed and was checking her out. More than one husband had put private detectives on her trail, hoping to limit the amount of the alimony; Cora made short work of them. There was one poor soul she had finessed out of his car keys and his Wallet. Rather embarrassing for the unfortunate man when the police responded to her anonymous 911 call.
The guy at the end of the bar didn’t look anything like that slob. But they had the same moves.
Cora felt a sudden rush of adrenaline. Excellent. She wasn’t losing it. Her instincts were right after all. She was back on her game. She could feel her mind racing.
The guy was a gumshoe, that made sense. But Cora didn’t think he was after her. He’d been watching her, sure, because she was there. But she wasn’t the primary target. That made no sense. Who’d pay somebody to watch her?
Hideki, on the other hand, filled the bill. Two rivals trying to oneup each other. It’s only logical that one might hire a PI.
Cora frowned.
Except for one thing.
She had felt she was being watched
before
Hideki drove in. That made no sense. Unless the PI anticipated his arrival, got there first. In which case he would have to know Hideki’s schedule. Was that possible? Not likely. Then why was he there?
As Cora was wondering that, a young woman came in from the dining room. Lithe, slim, attractive, in tan cashmere sweater and gray velvet pants. She looked so different than she had wearing yards and yards of silk that Cora didn’t recognize her until she skipped up to the bar, threw her arms around Hideki, and kissed him on the cheek.
Of course. That’s why the PI was there before Hideki. He was following Hideki’s wife.
But why was
she
there? She hadn’t come in with her husband. She was already there when he arrived.
As if on cue, Aoki Yoshiaki came in from the dining room. Uh-oh.
Reiko had been out with Aoki. Hideki had unexpectedly shown up. Was Aoki smooth enough to pretend he was there alone?
He wasn’t about to. Aoki strode right up and stood glaring at Hideki, jaw to jaw.
Dennis, roused from the moody contemplation of his liquor, pushed away from the bar, lurched over, and stuck his finger in Aoki’s chest. “You!” he declared. “You keep away from my wife!”
Hideki, greatly amused, laughed in Aoki’s face.
Reiko threw her hands in the air, and stormed off.
Hideki waggled his finger at Aoki, grinned in fiendish delight, and followed Reiko out.
Aoki flung Dennis aside, and charged after his rival.
Dennis crashed into a table and fell to the floor amid a shower of silverware. As he staggered to his feet, Cora realized he was even drunker than she had thought. He took a second to get his bearings, then made for the door.
Oddly enough, the PI also decided it was time to be going.
The bar had emptied out in seconds. The bartender looked nonplused.
“Probably something you said,” Cora told him.
Outside, Dennis was fumbling with his keys, trying to unlock the door of his car. He didn’t seem to be having much success.
A Japanese soap opera was taking place on the far side of the parking lot. As there were no subtitles, Cora could not tell what was being said, but she could imagine.
The private eye was headed in the opposite direction, most likely to his car. Cora hesitated a moment, torn. A juicy love triangle was hard to ignore, but she knew who the players were. The gumshoe was the mystery guest.
Cora tried to appear casual and not be seen, which, it occurred to
her, were diametrically opposed. If you weren’t seen, how could you appear casual? Method acting, Cora rummaged in her purse for her keys as she followed the PI across the lot.
Behind her, car doors slammed, engines roared, and headlights popped on.
The PI picked up the pace, practically sprinted for his car.
Cora followed.
Prayed it would be light enough to see the license plate.
It wasn’t.
The PI’s nondescript American car was parked in the shadows. The license plate wasn’t visible at all.
The PI started the car, switched on the lights.
Hot damn!
He had a license plate light.
It was a New York plate. As he backed up, Cora could see the number.
Of course she’d never remember it. One of the joys of getting old. Cora dug in her purse, came out with a pen and a piece of paper.
The pen didn’t work. Cursing, she thrust it back in her purse, with the other pens that didn’t work, and fumbled for another usable one, all the time reciting the license plate number in her head. She found a pencil that broke, another pen that didn’t work (possibly the same one), finally a stubby, gnarled nub of a pencil with a little exposed lead. She scribbled the number, 99 percent sure she’d gotten it right.
By the time she was done, the Japanese trio and Dennis and the detective were long gone.
Cora went back in the Country Kitchen and called the police.
Chief Harper looked sick to his stomach, not surprising since he’d been called back to his office late in the evening, and was slugging down the remnants of the sludge that passed for coffee in the police station urn. Still, it might have been what Cora had just told him.
“Do you know in how many ways I don’t like this?”
“I can imagine a few.”
“I should think you would. You have no hard evidence, only assumptions.”
“You could pick him up on suspicion.”
“Suspicion of what? Getting a car window fixed? Having long hair?”
“You could put him in a lineup. See if Mrs. Clemson could identify him.”
“How’s she going to identify him? All she saw was his hair.”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“You want me to put him in a lineup with four guys with short hair, see if she picks him? That’s going to be conclusive.”
“So put him in a lineup with four guys with long hair.”
“Sure. You know any rock bands in town? There aren’t any, outside of the high school. You want me to put him in a lineup with four high school kids? His attorney would have a field day with that.”
“What about the PI?”
“What about him?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know who he is?”
“Why do I feel like I’ll get in trouble if I do?”
“He’s from New York. Probably Manhattan.”
“What makes you say that.”
“The other one was.”
Harper groaned. “I don’t like what you’ve been saying, and that I like least. You’re saying maybe he’s taking over for the dead PI?”
Cora shrugged. “Where there’s a dead PI there’s a career opportunity.”
“That I would not like at all. It would mean his job security was poor at best.”
“Anyway, wouldn’t you like to know who he is?”
“You found out?”
“No, but you can. Here’s his license number.”
“How’d you get his license number?”
“I managed to be out in the parking lot when he left.”
“When was that?”
“When Hideki and his wife drove off.”
“He followed her?”
“Among others.”
“He followed someone else?”
“No. He was among the people
following
Hideki and his wife.”
“What do you mean?”
“Dennis Pride followed them, too.”
“Dennis? Why?”
“Maybe he wanted his samurai sword back.”
“Do you have any grounds for making that statement?”
“I don’t have any grounds for making
any
of these statements. I
certainly wouldn’t want to be quoted on them. Or on any of the assumptions I’ve been making.”
“Such as?”
“Such as Aoki hired the private eye to keep tabs on Hideki.”
“I thought the private eye was there when Hideki came in.”
“Yeah, but his wife was already there.”
“That’s somewhat convoluted.”
“What?”
“The private eye hired to tail a guy instead tails his wife.”
“Look. I just got there myself. So I’m making deductions.”
“No kidding.”
“I’m just saying it’s not as illogical as you make it seem.”
“What’s logical about it?”
“Okay, say the PI tails Hideki and his wife to the Country Kitchen. They go in and order drinks. Hideki says, ‘Oh, hell, I left my wallet at the b-and-b. Stay here, I’ll go get it.’ The detective, not wanting to tail him there and back, hangs out at the bar. Mrs. Hideki goes to the can, spots Aoki in the dining room, and, being the biggest flirt this side of Tokyo joins him for dessert. Meanwhile, Dennis comes in and starts drinking, I search his car and find the auto glass receipt.”
Harper put up his hand. “I don’t want to hear this.”
“What, you think he’s gonna make a complaint? I go in and have a little talk with Dennis, designed, I hope, to send him home. I come out just in time to see Hideki go in, where he is joined by his wife and followed by half the population of western Connecticut.”
“You didn’t follow them?”
“I would have needed a parade permit. It was like the whole parking lot took off.”
“In what order?”
“Beats me. I was busy getting the license plate number.”
“So the PI was last?”
“Probably Dennis. The PI’d want to edge him out, no matter which Asian he was tailing.”
“You didn’t see?”
“I had to write the plate number. The pencil broke. I couldn’t find one in my purse, and I had to keep repeating the damn numbers—” Cora broke off angrily. “What difference does it make? I didn’t see. So sue me.”
Harper frowned. “And you think the PI was hired by Aoki?”
“I have no idea. But you could start by finding out who he is.” Cora tapped the license number on Chief Harper’s desk. “This is the guy’s car. Unless, of course, it’s a rental. In which case, you might have to lean on Hertz a little. But that shouldn’t be so hard for a big time police chief like you.”
Harper sighed. “You know, when you walked in the door I was actually glad to see you.”

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