Puzzled to Death (31 page)

“Yes, he was.”

“What about his wife?”

“No, she wasn’t with him.”

“Do you remember just who
was
here?”

“Certainly. Paul Thornhill, Craig Carmichael, Zelda Zisk. Ned Doowacker, Don Hinkle, and Beverly Platt.”

“What about Judy Vale? Is there any chance she was here?”

Harvey Beerbaum shook his head. “None at all.”

“Do you know what she looks like?” Chief Harper said. “Aside from her picture in the paper?”

“No, that’s all I’ve seen,” Harvey Beerbaum replied. “But surely that’s enough.”

“I assure you it isn’t,” Chief Harper said glumly. “The picture is very misleading. Judy Vale was actually a young woman with green eyes, red hair, and freckles. None of which show in the picture. So I wonder if it’s possible you were mistaken about her not being at the barbecue.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Harvey Beerbaum said. “It was my party. I know who was at it.”

“The people you named are all from out of town?”

“That’s right.”

“Were any Bakerhaven residents at the party? Any at all?”

“No,” Harvey Beerbaum said. He indicated Cora. “I invited her, of course, but she had a family function to attend.”

Cora nodded dolefully, as if she still deeply regretted missing the barbecue, and wondered what particular excuse she’d invented.

“I see,” Chief Harper said. “Now, this barbecue, what time did it break up?”

“It was September. It still stays light out fairly late. People began leaving around eight. I believe by nine everyone was gone.”

“But some left as early as eight?”

“Yes. Some of them had to drive back to New York City. A few stayed over.”

“Would you happen to recall who?”

“No, I wouldn’t. It’s not as if they stayed with me. Why is it important?”

“Ned Doowacker stayed in Bakerhaven. He may have met Judy Vale that night.”

Harvey Beerbaum’s eyes widened. “You suspect
Ned
of these crimes?”

“Not necessarily,” Chief Harper replied. “But if Ned met Judy after your cookout, others may have too. Whether that makes them witnesses or suspects, I don’t know. But I mean to find out.”

“Well, there are only the six of them,” Harvey Beerbaum said. “And only four of them came to the tournament. The other two aren’t here.”

“As far as we know,” Chief Harper said meaningfully.

Now Beerbaum’s eyes narrowed. “You suspect the people I
didn’t
select to be celebrity contestants?”

“It’s a thought,” Chief Harper said. “I don’t know if it occurred to you, but Ned Doowacker took not being picked quite personally. Others might have too.”

“I assure you they didn’t,” Harvey Beerbaum said. “Don Hinkle only came to the barbecue because he happened to be passing through town. And Beverly Platt didn’t want to do it—I actually asked her over Zelda Zisk.”

“Really?” Chief Harper said, perking up. “And does Zelda know that?”

“Of course not,” Harvey Beerbaum said. “You think I want to offend someone?”

“You offended Ned Doowacker.”

“Anything offends Ned,” Harvey Beerbaum said. “He’d have been offended even if he had been picked.”

Cora Felton, who’d been looking for a spot in the conversation to weasel her way in, found it. “Tell me something, Harvey. Did you go out with your friends after your barbecue? Were you in the Rainbow Room that night?”

“Of course not,” Harvey said. “It was my party. I had to clean up.”

Cora could imagine that. Harvey’s puzzle-encrusted living room was fastidious, with nothing out of place.

Except that the glass doors were open a crack, and the wind was whipping through. No wonder it seemed so cold. At first Cora thought she’d imagined it, but now as she watched, the door swung in an inch.

“Harvey,” Cora said. “Your door’s open.”

Harvey frowned. “What?” He turned. “That’s odd. I was sure I locked it. I always lock the doors and windows before I go to bed.”

Harvey got up, went to the glass doors, and locked them.

Only they didn’t lock. Harvey was turning the knob that should have shot the bolt, only it wasn’t catching the other door. Puzzled, he pulled the door open wider, looked outside.

“Oh, my God!” he exclaimed.

Chief Harper was out of his chair like a shot. “What is it?”

“My door. Someone’s broken the lock.”

“Since you locked up tonight?”

“Must have been. The way it is now, the door won’t lock, and I’m sure I locked it.”

Chief Harper spun around, surveyed the living room. Aside from the glass door, there were only two exits from the room: the open entrance to the foyer, where they’d come in, and a closed door on the opposite wall.

“Where’s that door lead to?” he asked.

“My office.”

“Is there another door out of there?”

“No. Just a closet.”

“Where’s the light switch?”

“To the left. Just inside the door.”

Chief Harper crossed to the door. As he went, he drew his gun.

Cora Felton was thrilled. As far as she could remember,
it was the first time she’d seen him draw it. Of course, Cora had her own gun in her purse. She considered pulling it out for backup, decided against it. The chief would be angry, and Harvey would be shocked.

Chief Harper sidled up to the door, taking no chances. He turned the knob, pushed the door open. Reached his hand around, switched on the light.

Cautiously, Chief Harper peered into the room. He saw nothing, but his nostrils detected the faint odor of whiskey in the air. He flailed his arm, waving back Cora Felton, who was creeping up to look. Raising his gun, he edged his way into the room.

Harvey Beerbaum’s office was small and cluttered, with one window, a writing desk, computer desk, typewriter stand, bookcases, file cabinets, and a closet. Unlike the rest of the house, the office was a mess, with books, magazines, and papers everywhere.

It was also freezing. The window was wide open, but there was a screen on it, indicating no one had gotten in or out.

Still, there was that odor of whiskey. Could someone be under the desk? No, a glance showed there was no room.

How about the closet? Could someone be hiding there?

As Chief Harper had the thought, the closet door moved slightly.

Chief Harper’s heart leaped. Adrenaline raced through his veins. Good God, was he actually going to have to shoot someone?

Swiftly, he crept across the office, thinking hard. The closet door would open out. Did he want to be on the side by the knob? Then the open door would frame him, making him a target. But if he was on the other side of the door, where the hinges were, he’d have to reach all the
way across to grab the knob. And what if the killer started shooting through the door?

He’s a strangler
, Chief Harper reminded himself.
He doesn’t use a gun
.

Chief Harper flattened himself against the wall near the closet door.

The odor of whiskey was stronger.

Chief Harper reached out his hand, grabbed the knob, flung the door wide. With both hands he leveled his gun.

At nothing.

It took a second to see him. There, whimpering on the floor of the closet, curled up in a ball, and reeking of drink.

The intruder.

Craig Carmichael.

R
OGER
W
INNINGTON
, C
RAIG
C
ARMICHAEL’S ATTORNEY
, ran his hand over his bald scalp, frowned, and pointed his finger at Cora Felton and Harvey Beerbaum, who were sitting across from him in Chief Harper’s office. “I’m not comfortable talking in front of
them.
”

“I understand that,” Chief Harper told him. “But seeing as how it’s four
A.M.
, I don’t really want to debate the matter. These people are in charge of the tournament. If your client is willing to withdraw, we have no problem, and these people can go home. If he insists on being allowed to play, then they’ll have to hear him plead his case.”

“He’s not going to plead
anything,
” Roger Winnington retorted. “If this is a murder investigation, I’m not inclined to let my client make a statement. On the other hand, I didn’t drive up from New York to say, ‘No comment.’ It so happens my client would like
very
much to play in this tournament, if such a thing could be worked
out. For that reason, I would like to explore certain possibilities with you.
Hypothetically
, of course.”

“Of course,” Chief Harper said dryly. “But I should warn you. My hypothetical threshold shuts down around two
A.M
. So whatever you gotta say, spit it out quickly, or I’m goin’ home, and your client will spend the rest of the night in that cell back there. Then tomorrow, when the judge wakes up, you can be as hypothetical as you want.”

Roger Winnington fiddled with his tie, which hung loosely around his neck. “Okay, the hypothetical is this:
Suppose
I were to concede my client was guilty of criminal trespass.”

“That’d be a damn small concession on your part, considering where he was found.”

“All right. Suppose the facts are these: My client knows
absolutely
nothing about any murders. Indeed, he is
shocked
and
dismayed
to learn that Mr. Thornhill is the latest victim.” Roger Winnington grimaced. “Though
dismayed
might not do it—he’s truly not really dismayed. And
shocked
might not do it either, because my client might have a
vague
recollection of hearing
someone
say
something
to that effect before he left the bar. Though I am not willing to
concede
the point.”

“God save me,” Chief Harper said. “What
are
you willing to concede?”

“I told you. Absolutely
nothing
. What I’m saying here makes
no
concessions whatsoever, it’s merely
exploring
possibilities.”

“Hurry up and explore ’em or I’m going home.”

“All right, all right, look,” Roger Winnington said. “All of this is off the record, and none of it’s binding against my client. But here’s the deal. Craig didn’t kill anybody, he never would. All he wants to do is win the tournament. He was concerned with his position in the
standings. He was third, but only a few points ahead of the fellow who was fourth. Craig couldn’t bear the thought of that guy beating him. Nor could he bear the thought of losing to the guy who was second, a man who was just a rank amateur. Anyway, he kept drinking and brooding about it until he got good and drunk, and when he got drunk enough he decided to break into this guy’s house to get a peek at the puzzles to give himself an advantage over his competition. Granted, a horrible, shameful thing to do.

“But there are
two
things to consider. One, it is not Craig Carmichael acting here, it is the
whiskey
talking. And, two, Craig
never
saw the puzzles—he was so drunk he couldn’t find them. So there’s no harm done, and no reason why he shouldn’t play.”

“
Attempting
to cheat doesn’t count?” Chief Harper asked. “What planet are you from?”

“You’ll pardon me, Chief, but I thought the legal matters were your business, and the contest was
theirs
. Mr. Beerbaum, my client is not particularly lucid, but he managed to get this across. Exposure in this matter will not just cost him the tournament, he will be ostracized from the crossword-puzzle community. He will never be able to compete again. It would be the equivalent of a life sentence.”

“That’s going a little far,” Harvey Beerbaum protested. “It’s entirely conceivable that in time he might be accepted again.”

Roger Winnington made a face. “I think the key word here is
might
. Do you speak for the crossword-puzzle community?”

“Of course not.”

“There you are. But if you drop him from your tournament, you will in fact be speaking for the crossword-puzzle
community. You will be preempting their power and making a decision best left to
them.
”

“Nonsense,” Harvey Beerbaum said. “We’re running this tournament, and we must enforce the rules. It’s as simple as that.”

“But—”

“Whoa, time out,” Chief Harper interposed. “I’m sorry to interrupt your little tangent, but I happen to have this murder here.”

“Which my client had nothing to do with,” Roger Winnington said. “He was drinking in the bar of a local restaurant. Perhaps you could supply me with the name?”

“The Country Kitchen?”

“Is that the one that looks like a huge log cabin?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Fine. My client was drinking at the Country Kitchen most of the evening. You
should
be able to find people who saw him there.”

“I saw him there,” Cora Felton volunteered. “But what’s it prove? He could have gone out, killed his rival, and come back. He’d still have lots of witnesses who saw him there. But you can’t prove he was there all night.”

The look Roger Winnington gave her was not kind. “I can raise a logical inference,” he said. “Built around the fact no one will have seen him go
out
. But I thought we were just talking off the record here about what’s really what. Off the record, my client didn’t kill anybody. Please don’t quote me on that, but it happens to be a fact. So—”