NYPD Puzzle (8 page)

“The phone was under the seat. I figured you’d be pissed if I was driving Mountain Road at ninety miles an hour while groping under the seat.”

“But you got the license number?”

Becky smiled. “See, Sherry? She wasn’t worried about me. She was afraid she wouldn’t get her license number.”

“Yeah,” Sherry said. She put her cup down on the coffee table, cocked her head at Cora. “So, you wanna address the elephant in the room?”

“Why, Sherry Carter! Becky may be your rival, but don’t you think that’s a little harsh?”

“That’s feeble, even for you, Cora.” Sherry shook her head pityingly. “You must be really worried.”

“Wrong elephant?”

“You got arrested for murder.”

“Oh. That pachyderm.”

“Were you going to get to that?”

“I figured by now you and Becky had hashed it over and planned my defense.”

“From what Becky tells me, your defense is pretty straightforward. The police compare a bullet from your gun to the bullet in the body and have to concede you didn’t fire the fatal shot.”

“For this I pay you a huge retainer,” Cora told Becky.

“Glad you brought it up,” Becky said.

“I shouldn’t pay you anything. You let the guy get away.”

“I got the plate. Of course, it may not mean anything.”

“How can it not mean something? What was the guy doing if he wasn’t following us?”

“He was on his way home.”

“So when he sees a car behind him, he naturally pulls a one-eighty and proceeds to ditch you.”

“It’s late, he was tired, he missed his turn. When he realized it, he tried to make up the time.”

“You really believe that?”

Becky shrugged. “I’m a lawyer. I just have to create reasonable doubt.”

“It’s not funny, Becky. I thought he might have got you.”

“An insurance salesman from Bakerhaven?”

“If that’s what he is,” Cora said.

But she didn’t believe it.

Chapter

14

Cora walked into
the police station and dropped a piece of paper on Officer Dan Finley’s desk. “Got time to run a license plate?”

“Will it get me into trouble?”

“When have I ever got you into trouble?”

“All the time. You hold out on me and I’m in trouble for not getting you to talk. You talk, and I’m in trouble for listening.”

“Gee, Dan. What brought this on?”

“Chief wants to see you.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been trying to call you all morning.”

“I wasn’t home.”

“I figured that when you didn’t answer your phone and Sherry answered hers and said you weren’t there.”

“You bothered Sherry?”

“The chief really wants to talk to you. He can’t, and he’s blaming me.”

“Well, now you’re the golden boy. You found me. Pick up the phone, tell him I’m on my way in.”

Dan picked up the receiver.

“While I’m talking to him, you can trace that plate.”

“Cora.”

“Too busy?” Cora picked up the number, turned toward the front door. “I can come back later.”

Dan snatched the paper out of her hand.

Cora went into the office. Chief Harper was on the phone. “She’s here now,” he said, and slammed it down.

“Finley?”

Harper gave her a look.

“The kid’s persistent. Tracked me like a bloodhound.”

“Damn it, Cora, where have you been?”

“Why do I think you know?”

“I got a call from the NYPD. A Sergeant Crowley, I believe it is. Wanted to know if I have any control over the good citizens of Bakerhaven. Seems one of them drove to New York yesterday and shot someone.”

“I don’t know how these rumors get started.”

“Were you or were you not arrested for murder yesterday?”

“You say that as if it were a bad thing. It’s no crime to be arrested. You’re innocent until proven guilty.”

“I’m not interested in the technical merits of the case. Did you or not shoot a man?”

“Would I do something like that?”

“Yes. Repeatedly.”

“But I wouldn’t kill anyone.”

“I beg to differ. Would you like me to refresh your memory?”

“I never shot anyone in cold blood. That’s what we’re talking about here. A cold-blooded, premeditated crime. As my lawyer will have no problem demonstrating.”

“Where have you been all morning?”

“Ducking phone calls.”

“Cora.”

“I’ve been driving around trying to think. Which isn’t easy. You try getting arrested for murder.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Do I have to instruct you again? Anyone can be arrested. It is no indication that they have committed a crime.”

Harper exhaled, shook his head. “I’m too tired to spar. Would you mind telling me what’s going on?”

“Do I need my lawyer present?”

“What in the world for?”

“I don’t know. Were you planning on blabbing to the New York cops? Call that sergeant back, get a few brownie points?”

“Hadn’t crossed my mind.” Harper shrugged. “Has now.”

“Come on, Chief. Let’s not posture. I’ll say the word ‘hypothetical’ and we’ll talk off the record.”

“Is it that bad?”

“No, that’s the whole point. It’s not bad at all. But with other cops involved, things can get a little sticky.” Cora fished her cigarettes out of her purse. “Solve your break-in?”

“You can’t smoke in here.”

“You want me to ignore my lawyer’s advice, bad-mouth the New York cops, and solve your illegal entry for you, you can damn well let me smoke.” Before the chief could protest, she fired one up. “It’s lit, Chief. Throw me out if you want.”

“You gonna tell me what happened?”

“I’ll tell you what
might
have happened. And if it goes any further, I’ll deny it.”

“Cora.”

“Relax, Chief. It’s not that bad.”

Cora gave Chief Harper an expurgated version of what had happened. She left out the bit about playing chicken at midnight out past Jackson Corners. Even without that episode, there was a lot to tell.

“It’s a wonder you’re not in jail,” Harper said.

“I wondered about that myself. I figured the NYPD called you and you put in a good word.”

Harper shook his head. “First I heard about it was this morning. And the word I put in was not good.”

On the way out, Dan Finley handed Cora Felton a folded piece of paper.

“What’s this?”

“Your plate number. Maybe you can do something with it. I couldn’t.”

“What?”

“Plate’s not registered.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It’s an unregistered number. No one has it.”

“Someone does.”

“If you say so. Any chance you got the number wrong?”

“Absolutely not,” Cora said, but she wondered how well Becky could have written it while driving with one hand.

“Anyway, I can’t help you with the plate. As far as the registry of motor vehicles is concerned, it doesn’t exist.”

“Who would have an unregistered plate?”

“No one.”

“How about an undercover cop?”

Dan shook his head.

“Why not?”

“An undercover cop would have an
untraceable
plate.”

“What’s the difference?”

“An untraceable plate is registered to a person who doesn’t exist. Or to an address that doesn’t exist. Or to a car that doesn’t exist. It’s registered, it’s just registered wrong. Anyone tracing the plate won’t find anything suspicious. It would have layers and layers of insulation. It would take a real investigation just to find out the plate was bogus.”

Dan was enjoying showing off. “An unregistered plate, you try to trace it, it isn’t registered at all, you know right away it’s phony.”

“Where’d you learn that?” Cora said.

Dan flushed. “Actually, it was on this cop show.”

“Right.”

“But you get the point. As soon as the plate doesn’t exist, you know it couldn’t be some little old lady from the local bridge club.”

“I play bridge,” Cora said.

Dan’s mouth fell open. “Not that young women don’t play bridge. Or men,” he added lamely.

Cora went out, sat in her car, and thought that over. Things were adding up, and she didn’t like what they were adding up to. She and Becky had been followed home by a car with an unregistered plate. Whatever the reason, it was scary as hell. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make sure he wasn’t identified. Or she, Cora thought, echoing Dan Finley’s PC nod to sexism, though she didn’t really think the driver was a woman. The killer was a man.

At least she was pretty sure he was a man. All she really saw was a figure dressed entirely in black who had his back to her, and who had sprinted away with a stocking over his face.

And a gun in his hand. That was fairly distracting. Kept her from noticing any anatomical clues as to the weapon-wielder’s gender.

But was the driver the killer? Or was he, despite what Dan might have seen on TV, an undercover officer keeping tabs on the suspects?

Either way, Cora didn’t like it.

Chapter

15

“Are you following
me?”

Sergeant Crowley cocked his head at Cora. “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s a simple enough question, Sergeant, even for a police officer. But let me break it down for you. Are you having me tailed? Have you authorized surveillance? Are detectives from your department, or any other department, or any other policemen that you know of, following me around to see what I do?”

“Wow,” Crowley said.

Cora grimaced. “‘Wow’ was not the response I was hoping for.”

“You were hoping for a denial?”

“I was hoping for an answer. Preferably an honest answer, but even a lie would be better than ‘wow.’”

Crowley exhaled, shook his head. “You’re an exhausting woman.”

“That’s what my ex-husband Frank said. It’s one of the reasons he became my ex-husband.”

“Is that why you’re not married?”

“No. Frank was several husbands ago. Don’t change the subject. Look. I’ve never had a case with you before. I don’t know how you work. Letting me go with what you had on me was not exactly by the book. Even my lawyer couldn’t understand it, and for a woman who looks like a centerfold, she’s pretty damn sharp.”

“What’s this about someone following you?”

“Someone followed me home, and it wasn’t a stray puppy dog.”

“Who was it?”

“Still acting like it wasn’t you? Interesting.”

“If someone’s following you, I’d like to know.”

“Why?”

“Don’t be silly. It could be a lead.”

“And you have so few.”

Crowley exhaled through his teeth. It occurred to Cora he could use some dental work. “I let you go because I don’t want to waste my time on you. I got a murder to solve. You didn’t kill the guy. You had no reason, and with your lawyer making a stink about the ballistics evidence, it’s a cinch the bullet isn’t going to match. On the other hand, if someone’s taking an interest in you, it’s something I should know.”

“You’ve almost got me convinced it isn’t you.”

“You want me to take a polygraph?”

Cora smiled. “That could be a pretty good bluff.”

“I told you. I don’t bluff.”

“Just what someone bluffing would say.”

Crowley waggled his fingers next to his temples. “Snakes. You got snakes in your head. Okay, lady. You say you’re being followed. You got anything concrete to go on? I don’t suppose you got the plate?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

Cora took out the license plate number, passed it over.

“This is a Connecticut plate,” Crowley said.

“Sorry. I know you can’t trace them.”

“Yeah.” Crowley snatched up the phone. “Perkins. Trace a license for me. Connecticut plate, number two, seven, nine, three, eight.” He hung up with a flourish.

“Showoff,” Cora said. “You’re saying you
can
trace a Connecticut plate?”

Crowley shrugged. “Just routine.”

“Oh, yeah? Bet you fifty bucks you can’t trace that plate.”

“I don’t want to take your money.”

Cora nodded. “I understand. Little much on a sergeant’s salary.”

Crowley exhaled again. “You’re on, lady.”

They shook hands.

The phone rang.

“Fast enough for you?” Crowley said. He scooped it up. “Okay, Perkins, what you got?” The smile froze on his face. “Run that by me again.” He listened, said, “Double check it.… No. I’m sure you did. Do it again.” He hung up the phone.

Cora cocked her head, smiled. “Earful of cider?”

Crowley scowled. “What?”

“Never saw
Guys and Dolls
? Sky Masterson tells Nathan Detroit what his father told him to do if a man ever offered to wager he could make the jack of spades jump up out of the deck and squirt cider in his ear: ‘Do not bet this man, my son, or you will wind up with an earful of cider.’”

Once more, Crowley let out a breath. Cora could practically see steam. “I got hustled.”

“Big-time. At least you’re quick on the uptake.”

Crowley looked pained. “You going to make me pay off a sucker bet?”

“They’re the only ones I make.”

The sergeant whipped out a billfold. He made sure Cora couldn’t see how much was in it while he took out a ten and two twenties.

Cora stuck the bills in her purse. “The plate’s unregistered. To get your fifty bucks back, tell me who issues unregistered plates.”

“Love to. Can’t do it.”

“Why not?”

“No one does. Do I win the bet?”

“What bet? I didn’t bet you. I offered money for service. You can’t provide the service.”

Crowley leaned back in his desk chair, studied Cora thoughtfully. “I don’t know why you’re torturing me. I let you go.”

“Yes, you did. But I know damn well you’re ready to arrest me again on the slightest provocation.”

“I ought to arrest you for gambling.”

Cora grinned. “Oh, that would look good in court. I can just hear you on the witness stand explaining how it happened.”

“While you’re in such a good mood, I wonder if you’d mind taking a look at the crossword puzzle?”

“Why? No one could solve it?”

“Oh, they solved it. They just couldn’t make anything out of it.”