NYPD Puzzle
Authors: Parnell Hall
The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way.
Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at:
us.macmillanusa.com/piracy
.
For the NYPD
An
NYPD
Appreciation
On behalf of the NYPD, I would like to thank the following people for helping catch the killer. That may seem strange, since these people actually provided the puzzles used by the killer, but I think we can all agree they were merely setting the killer up.
At any rate, I would like to thank
New York Times
crossword puzzle editor Will Shortz for constructing the sudoku puzzles, frequent
New York Times
contributor Fred Piscop for constructing the crossword puzzles, and American Crossword Puzzle Tournament champion Ellen Ripstein for editing them. Without the help of these three experts, the killer never would have been caught.
Contents
Chapter
1
“Want a job?”
Cora Felton eyed Becky Baldwin suspiciously. “What kind of job?”
“A little detective work?”
“Does it involve blackmail?”
“No.”
“Does it involve my ex-husband?”
“Which one?”
Cora rounded her lips, pointed at Becky. “Oooh. Nice shot. You are really getting quite accomplished. It’s hard to believe you’re only sixteen.”
Becky was in her late twenties; she only
looked
sixteen. Her long blond hair, angel face, and willowy figure belied the fact that she was an accomplished trial lawyer who deserved a wider practice. The only thing that held her back was the fact that Bakerhaven, Connecticut, had virtually no crime, aside from the occasional murder.
“Yeah, yeah,” Becky said. “And I could have had a wonderful career as an attorney if I only had the gumption to leave town.”
“Why don’t you?”
“I don’t want to work for a firm. I want to work for myself.”
“Yeah, but if there
is
no work—”
“There’s work. I have a case. You want in?”
“Is there a crossword puzzle involved?”
“You are the most suspicious person I ever met.”
“That’s an evasion.”
Cora despised crossword puzzles, a rather unfortunate situation for the nationally famous Puzzle Lady, whose benevolent, grandmotherly face appeared on a syndicated daily crossword puzzle and who hawked breakfast cereal to school children on television. She hated crosswords because she couldn’t do them. She was, in fact, a fraud, fronting for her niece. Sherry Carter originally dreamed up the idea as a means of hiding from her abusive ex-husband. Happily, that was no longer necessary; still, revealing to the puzzle-solving, breakfast-eating general population that the lovable icon they had been revering for years was actually the cruciverbal Milli Vanilli was not an option.
“There are no puzzles involved,” Becky promised.
“Or ex-husbands?”
“Your ex-husband Melvin is not involved,” Becky said. “As for the rest, I cannot be expected to keep track of all the men you might have married.”
“I haven’t married anyone in years,” Cora said.
“Really? Are you still seeing Barney Nathan?”
“He went back to his wife,” Cora said, not without a tinge of regret. Her affair with the married doctor had been her only serious entanglement in years. “I thought you knew that.”
Becky smiled. “Actually, I did.”
“Oooh,” Cora said. “The bitchy barb. Snidely done. I like that.”
“Thank you. Will you take the job?”
“Going to tell me who the client is?”
“Sure.”
“Well, that’s a switch. Lately you’ve been holding out on me, keeping me in the dark, treating me as a second-class citizen.”
“Not this time.”
“I’m glad to hear it. What do you want me to do?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
Cora frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“We’re meeting the client tomorrow. Assuming you’re in.”
“You haven’t met the client?”
“I’ve talked to him on the phone.”
“What did he want?”
“To meet me tomorrow.”
“If I killed you, it would be justifiable homicide.
Why
does the client want to meet you tomorrow?”
“That’s the beauty of the whole thing. I have no idea.”
“Then how do you know you need me?”
“I’m psychic.”
“Becky.”
“I’m meeting the client tomorrow. I have no idea why. I want you there.”
“Why?”
“I want a witness.”
“That makes no sense. You can’t have a confidential communication in the presence of a third person. You’re a lawyer, you know that.”
“I may not want to have a confidential communication.”
“With your client?”
“He’s not my client until I say so.”
“He hasn’t hired you yet?”
“He thinks he has.”
“That’s not the point,” Cora said. “The point is, if he hasn’t hired you, he isn’t paying me.”
“When he hires me, he will.”
“And if he doesn’t hire you, I don’t get paid.”
“You’ll get paid.”
“How?”
“
I’ll
pay you.”
Cora looked at her skeptically. “You’ll pay me to sit in on an interview with your client?”
“That’s right.”
“I’ve already pointed out why that’s a dumb idea. And you still want to do it. Let me see if I can figure out why.”
Cora whipped out a pack of cigarettes.
“You can’t smoke in here.”
“I can if I’m doing a job and not getting paid.”
“You’ll get paid.”
“Interesting,” Cora mused. “Why would you pay me money just to come to your office? Ah! That’s it! The meeting is not in your office.”
“No.”
“Where is the meeting?”
“In New York City.”
Cora grinned. “Where in New York City?”
“Manhattan, actually.”
“That’s not what I meant. Are you meeting the client in his office at work?”
“No.”
“You’re meeting the client in his apartment.”
“Actually—”
“In the apartment he shares with his wife who isn’t home.”
“No, I believe he’s a bachelor.”
“And you’re meeting him in his bachelor apartment?”
“Actually, it’s a penthouse.”
“Ah! Of course! And what wonderful connotations that has—thank you, Bob Guccione.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Oh, why should that be a problem?” Cora said ironically. “Let me see if I understand this: A young man is attempting to lure you up to his apartment with the offer of a job. You want me along, not for my keen insight, my astute judgment of character, or my impressive detective skills. You want me along because I’m tough as nails and have a gun in my purse.”
“So?” Becky said. “What if I do?”
Cora smiled. “I like that.”
Chapter
2
Jennifer toddled across
the lawn and wrapped her muddy arms around Cora’s leg.
“Sherry,” Cora protested. “Look what she’s doing.”
Sherry Carter, lounging in a lawn chair, said, “You wanted her to walk.”
“I wanted her to walk
around.
I didn’t want her to walk around
me.
”
Sherry wasn’t impressed. “You can drop the gruff-aunt act. You know you love her.”
“I’d love her more if she were holding onto
your
leg.”
A car came up the driveway.
“Oh, look, it’s Daddy,” Sherry said.
Jennifer shrieked, “Daddy!” and took off across the lawn.
“What are you trying to do, teach her to run in front of cars?” Cora said.
“Relax. By the time she gets to the driveway, Aaron could have gone to the store and back.”
Jennifer was indeed making rather slow progress, but not for want of trying. She would rush forward, fall on her face, pick herself up again, and repeat, having gained, if not wisdom, at least another fresh layer of dirt.
Aaron got out of the car to meet her. The young reporter wore a sports shirt, open at the neck. His clean khaki pants seemed an excellent target.
He held out his arms. “Come to Daddy!”
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Cora warned.
“He knows what he’s asking,” Sherry said. “He’s asking me to do a laundry.”
Jennifer fell into Daddy’s arms. He lifted her up, spun her around.
“Don’t get her dizzy,” Cora said.
“You’re worse than a mother hen,” Sherry told her.
“She’s just jealous,” Aaron said. “You want me to spin you, Cora?”
“Just try it, buster.”
“Cora got a job,” Sherry said.
“Oh?”
“Becky Baldwin’s chaperone.”
“Bodyguard,” Cora said.
“If you say so.”
“Chaperones don’t carry guns.”
Aaron walked over to them, bouncing the baby on his hip. “What are you talking about?”
Cora filled him in on her assignment for Becky Baldwin.
“Sounds like fun,” Aaron said.
“Fun? How can it possibly be fun?”
“It’s in New York. Your appointment’s in the afternoon, isn’t it? Why don’t you get theater tickets?”
“Are you suggesting I take Becky Baldwin to the theater?”
“Sure. Take her to
The Book of Mormon.
”
“I don’t date women.”
“Like that’s the only problem,” Sherry said. “You can’t get tickets to
The Book of Mormon.
”
“Sure you can.”
“Not on the same day.”
“Hey, I’m a reporter. Let me see what I can do.”
“You’re going to get press passes?” Cora said. “I am not writing a damn review.”
A car turned into the driveway.
“What is this, a convention?”
“It’s Chief Harper,” Sherry said. “I wonder what he wants.”
Chief Harper pulled up behind Aaron and got out of the car. The chief had on his relaxed, friendly face, the one he wore in between cases, particularly cases involving Cora Felton. Cora had assisted the chief in a number of investigations, and while he appreciated her help, she exasperated him no end by evading direct questions, usually because she had something to conceal.
“Hi, Chief,” Cora said. “Come to see my grandniece?”
Chief Harper belatedly took note of the baby. He leaned in, said, “Well, now, she is cute, isn’t she?”
Jennifer tried to grab his tie.
He took a prudent step backwards. “And quick, too.”
“Good work, Chief. We’re trying to teach her to keep away from cops.”