NYPD Puzzle (11 page)

During his affair with Cora, he had often been disheveled. Flustered. Lovable. A real person. Now he was back with his wife, and had reverted to the role of doctor.

Cora got up with false bravado, trying to pretend it didn’t sting. “Yes, of course, Doctor. I forgot touching dead women’s hair was your personal field of expertise. Please, be my guest.”

Dr. Nathan ignored her, strode across the room, plunked down his medical bag, and bent over the body. He checked for a pulse, felt her forehead.

“She hasn’t been dead long. Where’s EMS?”

“That’s what I was going to ask you,” Harper said.

“I don’t call emergency. Emergency’s called first.”

“Any sign of what killed her?”

Before Barney could answer, the EMS unit came in with a gurney.

“You’re late,” Barney said. “It looks bad when the medical examiner gets to the crime scene ahead of the EMT.”

The emergency crew was young, and the tall one with the crew cut wasn’t a doormat. “Guy had a stroke. What are we supposed to do?”

“Who had a stroke?” Harper said.

“Zak Guilford.”

“Isn’t he dead yet?” Barney snapped.

The EMS crew looked at him in surprise. It was an uncharacteristically unprofessional remark for the veteran medical examiner. “You mean she was still alive?” the taller one said.

“I have no idea. Get her to the morgue and I’ll take a look.”

The EMS crew loaded the body onto the gurney and wheeled it out.

Barney picked up his bag and followed.

“So?” Chief Harper said.

“I’ll let you know.”

“What’s your best guess?”

“Within an hour.”

“She was killed within the last hour?”

“I’ll let you know within an hour.”

Dr. Nathan turned on his heel and left.

Harper watched him go. “Wow.” He turned back to Cora. “You and Barney on good terms?”

“It’s two in the morning, Chief. Everyone’s a little touchy.”

“Even so.”

“Well, I’m not waiting around an hour for an autopsy,” Cora said. “Don’t call me when you get it. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

“You’re going?”

“There’s nothing here to do. The body’s gone and there’s no clues. If there was a clue, dead or alive that woman would have cleaned it up.”

“Cora.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Cora pushed by him, went out the door.

Sam Brogan was still on the front porch. He opened his mouth to say something grouchy, but Cora strode right on by. She hopped in her car, gunned the motor, and sped off.

Cora managed to get as far as the Mobil station before she pulled off the road and collapsed, weeping, on the steering wheel. She killed the lights, prayed Sam Brogan wouldn’t drive by. The car was in the shadows, but even so. Her red Toyota was too distinctive not to be noticed.

Schmuck. That total schmuck. How could he be so heartless? Of course, it was the doctor’s first affair and his first marital reconciliation. He had probably eaten enough humble pie in suffering the tortures of atonement to be ready to strangle a nun, let alone the woman who had put him in that position. It was no surprise he was so rude to her, particularly on the job and in the presence of the chief of police.

Even so.

Cora cried herself out. She rolled down the window, lit a cigarette, and sat there smoking.

A car came down the street. She ducked her head and it went on by. She sat up, watched the taillights disappear down the road, and took another drag on her cigarette.

She thought miserably what a pathetic figure of a woman she was, sitting there alone in the dark, hiding from the world and nursing a disgusting vice.

Chapter

19

Cora got up
late and drove into town. She got a latte and scone at Cushman’s Bake Shop, and wandered down to the police station, munching as she went.

Chief Harper’s face fell when she walked in. “You didn’t get me one?”

“I thought you had yours by now.”

“I finished it.”

“What do you want? A muffin? A scone?”

“It’s all right.”

“No, I’ll get you one. What do you want?”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

Cora shrugged. “Okay, I’ll hold down the office, you go.”

Harper shook his head. “Forget it.”

“Oh, go on, Chief.”

“I can’t
have
another muffin,” he cried in exasperation.

“How come?”

“I’m on a diet.”

Cora looked at him. Grinned. “It’s all right if I bring you a muffin, but you can’t get it for yourself?”

“I can’t keep buying muffins. My wife would kill me. On the other hand, if someone gives me one…”

“And you complain about my reasoning,” Cora said. She sat down, pulled the top off her latte, took a big gulp. “Ahhh. Life feels good again. Here, Chief, have a sip.”

“I can’t drink your coffee.”

“Oh, don’t be such a gentleman.”

“I’m not being a gentleman. I can’t drink the milk.”

“Oh. Bad stomach.”

“I didn’t have it till you came to town.”

“That’s hardly fair, Chief. As you pointed out, I’ve been here since the dawn of time.”

“Aw, hell.” Harper heaved himself out of his chair, walked out the door. He was back in five minutes with a cup of black coffee and a blueberry muffin. He sat down, leveled his finger at Cora. “You didn’t see me eat this.”

“Eat what?”

“Atta girl.”

Harper took a bite of muffin. “Like to know about our murder?”

“It’s a murder?”

“Oh, yeah. Blunt object. Like a lead pipe.”

“Professor Plum in the study?”

“Yeah. Someone coshed her over the head. That answers that question. Why she would let a man with a lead pipe into her living room at two in the morning is another matter.”

“Maybe the killer put her there.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know. Sense of composition? Get her away from the front door?”

“Why?”

“It was open. If she was there, someone might have seen her.”

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to close the door?”

“Maybe he wanted it open.”

“Why?”

“To air the place out for spring cleaning? How the hell should I know?” Cora took a sip of latte. “When was she killed?”

“Like the doc said, within the last hour. At least, that’s when she died. She could have been coshed earlier.”

“You mean lay there awhile and then died?”

“It’s possible.”

“While she was waiting for the EMS unit?”

“Don’t start with me.”

“Just making an observation.”

“Yeah, well, you got a newspaper reporter in the family.”

“You think I went home last night, woke him up? I haven’t even seen him this morning.”

“You wouldn’t give him a hot tip on that angle of the story?”

“Hadn’t occurred to me. Now that you mention it…”

“Don’t mess with me, Cora. I’m not having a good time here.”

“Hadn’t noticed.”

Harper took a bite of muffin, chewed it around. “Anyway, it’s official. She was murdered. So, any thoughts?”

“I think it’s a pretty stupid crime.”

“You think she was assaulted?”

“Only if the killer had an icepick,” Cora said. Harper gave her a look. “No, I don’t think she was sexually assaulted. I think she was just killed. It doesn’t look like a robbery. Nothing seems to be taken. It seems a rather pointless crime.”

“Except she was a witness in the town hall break-in.”

“A witness to what? She didn’t see anything. She didn’t know anything.”

“Maybe the killer thought she did.”

“Why? What would make him think that?”

“The fact we questioned her.”

“That makes no sense at all. The killer finds out we questioned the town clerk, says, ‘Gee, I’d better kill her in case she knows something she didn’t mention to the police the first time they questioned her that she might mention the second time’? What kind of a person thinks like that?”

“A paranoid killer?” Harper said. “All right, put it like that, it sounds silly.”

“No kidding. And, no, I don’t think it’s connected to the murder in New York.”

“How’d you know I was going to ask you that?”

“I know how you think. And, no, I don’t think it is, unless there’s some crossword puzzle or sudoku you’re holding out on me.”

“There isn’t.”

“Then I don’t see it. The motive is different. The means of death is different. The location is different. The gender of the victim is different. I can’t think of a single similarity except both of the victims are dead.”

“They’re both connected to you.”

Cora stared at the chief. “Excuse
me
?”

“You found the body in New York, and you picked a fight with this woman just the other day.”

“Picked a fight?”

“Let’s not quibble. The point is, you questioned her in the course of a police investigation. That makes two police investigations you’ve been involved with. In both cases, one of the participants wound up dead.”

“Both of the victims used
toilet paper,
and in each case they wound up dead.”

“Your interrogation of the town clerk was quite heated. I practically had to pull you away from her.”

“Does that make me a suspect? Should I be calling Becky Baldwin here?”

“You have the right to an attorney. I can’t imagine why you would need one.”

“Then stop playing up my motive.”

“I didn’t say it was a motive.”

“Well, if you’re going to nitpick about the wording.”

“Cora. It’s me. Calm down. I don’t think you killed anyone. I’m just pointing out the way it looks to other people.”

“People? You’re spreading it around I didn’t like the victim?”

“Well, if I’m asked the direct question.”

“Who’s asking you direct questions?”

“I got a call from Henry Firth.”

“Of course you did. He’s the prosecutor, he wants someone to prosecute. So, you trotted me out as a suspect?”

“Of course not.”

“So what’s Ratface got to do with it?”

“Nothing. You just wanted to know who’s asking me questions.”

“Chief. I asked you if you were telling people about me and the victim. You said if you were asked a direct question. I said who’s asking direct questions, you said Ratface.”

“I did not say Ratface.”

“You said the prosecutor. I asked what did you tell him about me and the town clerk and you said he didn’t ask you.
Who
asked you about me and the town clerk?”

“Well, that officer.”

“What officer?”

“You know. From New York.”

“Sergeant Crowley of the NYPD?” Cora said accusingly. “You called the New York City police department and told them their murder suspect was involved in another murder up here?”

“I didn’t call him, he called me.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“He’s worried about you. He said you were being followed.”

“So you called Dan Finley and he drove over to our house and scared Sherry silly. So what?”

“He called this morning to ask if there had been any progress.”

“And you said no one’s trying to kill her, but she’s involved in killing someone else?”

“That’s not how I phrased it.”

“How did you phrase it?”

“I had to tell him I had my own crime to deal with.”

“And he asked you if I did it?”

“Of course not. He doesn’t think you’re a killer.”

“What
was
his direct question?”

“He asked if you had anything to do with it.”

“That’s a paraphrase, Chief. What did the guy
say
?”

Harper took a breath. “‘Is that crazy lady involved in yours too?’”

“Nice. So that’s the direct question you were referring to.”

“I assured him you had nothing to do with it.”

“You told him that nutty old bag is innocent?”

“Cora.”

“And he asked you if I had any relation with the decedent, and you told him I nearly ripped her face off just last week. I’m surprised he hasn’t come looking for me. Oh, that’s right. It’s out of his jurisdiction. What’s the law here, if he wants to haul me in? Would he have to get me extradited?”

“You’re making too much of this.”

“You trot me out as a murder suspect and
I’m
making too much of it?”

“No one thinks you’re a murder suspect.”

“Do you have any theories about this crime that
don’t
involve me?” Cora said sarcastically.

“Do you?”

That caught Cora up short. “Chief, I don’t have any theories about this crime at all. The only thing that makes sense is that it’s connected to the break-in, and if you have any idea how, you’re way ahead of me. It’s kind of like playing a game of no-limit poker with no rules, no time limit, no boundaries, and no purpose. Nothing makes any sense.”

“You expect me to disagree?”

“No, but you’re the chief of police running the investigation. I expect you know something.”

“Can you suggest anything I’m not doing?” Chief Harper said through gritted teeth.

“I don’t know. What are you doing?”

“Sam Brogan’s searching the victim’s house. Dan Finley’s searching her office.”

“For what?”

“If we knew, we wouldn’t have to look.”

“How about the murder weapon?”

“We’re not even sure what it is. I mean we say lead pipe, but it could be any similar object from a baseball bat to a tire iron.”

“Great.”

“All that
CSI
crap made popular by television’s being done, from searching for skin samples under the fingernails in case she managed to claw her assailant, to analyzing the hairs on her clothes to make sure they’re all hers, but just between you and me, I do not expect a solution within sixty minutes including commercials.”

“And you’re questioning—?”

“My own judgment. I have a feeling nothing I’m doing is worth the time.”

“No, I mean who.”

“Besides you? The victim’s friends. Turns out she didn’t have many. Unmarried, lived alone, even her next-door neighbors didn’t know her well. Her coworkers didn’t like her—go figure—and no one hung out with her. Her parents are deceased, she’s got a brother in Oregon who’s not rushing to claim the body. She died intestate, not that there’s any money anyway, her house was a rental, she didn’t seem to own anything valuable.”