Authors: Parnell Hall
Dead Man's Puzzle (16 page)
Dennis jumped a mile and spun around to see who had just clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, for goodness’ sakes!” he said, recognizing Cora.
“What are you doing here?”
“Are you kidding? There’s been another killing.”
“How did you know?”
“Everybody knows. It’s a small town.”
“You don’t live in it.”
Dennis grinned. “Talk to your police chief. I’m not allowed to leave.”
“You’re not staying in town. You’re staying in a motel. There’s no reason you should be here.”
“Oh, yeah? Look around you. You think these people all live within walking distance? There’s cars arriving every minute.”
“How did you hear?”
“None of your business.”
“What?”
Dennis grinned. “I got a lawyer. I’m not supposed to say anything that might get me into trouble. I have to be very selective. I don’t
know
what might get me into trouble.”
Dennis pointed at a hunched figure on the steps of the Town Hall. It was the Geezer. He looked like a predatory bird waiting to swoop down on the spoils of the kill. “See that guy over there? He’s staying in the same motel as me. Why don’t you hassle him?”
Cora’s eyes narrowed. “Did you follow him here?”
Dennis’s smile was cunning. “Ah, I see how your mind goes. Clever, but wrong. I have no idea why he’s here. Maybe he followed me.”
“Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?”
“I already said I’m not going to.”
“Fine. Be that way.”
Cora turned around and marched back to find Chief Harper.
On the way, she spotted Mr. Brooks in the crowd. She hadn’t seen him before. Hadn’t known he was there. She was surprised he cared enough to come.
Cora ducked inside the crime scene ribbon, snagged the chief.
“Dennis is here.”
“And you’re telling me this because . . . ?”
“I thought you left him at the motel.”
“He wasn’t locked in it.”
“I’m wondering how he wound up here.”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“He won’t tell me.”
“Ah.” Chief Harper smiled. “You’re tattling on him. Dennis isn’t playing fair?”
“He won’t talk to me because I have no authority. He’ll talk to you.”
“I can’t wait,” Harper said. “One more piece of junk I have to plow through before I can go home.” He raised his eyebrows. “I thought I sent
you
home.”
“I ran into Dennis.”
“And thought it was worth telling me about. Fine. If you see him again, send him to me and I’ll grill him. That’s just if you happen to see him. Don’t go looking for him. It’s not that important. Go home, get some rest. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Sure, Chief,” Cora said, and went to find Dennis.
She wasn’t exactly disobeying the chief, but she wasn’t exactly obeying him, either. She just wanted to know what Dennis was up to. There were a number of ways to casually bump into him. Cora tried them all. None of them worked.
Dennis was gone.
Cora woke up feeling she’d slept the day away. She hadn’t. It was two in the afternoon, and there was still some day left. She’d have slept that away, too, if Buddy hadn’t barked to go out. Her muttered characterization of him was only half-true: His mother was indeed a bitch, but he himself had been neutered.
Cora let out the dog, let in the dog, fed the dog, wondered why she ever had a dog.
She splashed water on her face, struggled into her clothes, and discovered she was out of cigarettes. Fifteen minutes later, she was stumbling into the nearest convenience store with a face as white as death. If any children had seen her, they would have been put off their morning Granville Grains Corn Toasties for life.
Cora hopped into the car, lit up, and wheezed her way into town.
Harper’s eyes were twinkling when she came in the door. “Get some sleep?”
“A little.”
“Me too. Good thing there was nothing pressing.”
“Well, what time did you get in?”
“Eight.”
“So, you’ve been here most of the day. You must have accomplished a lot.”
“Four cups of coffee, a corn muffin, and a cranberry scone.”
“I knew I’d forgotten something,” Cora said. “So far all I’ve had for breakfast is a cigarette. You want anything?”
“If I have more than two muffins, my wife will kill me.”
“She doesn’t have to know.”
“Isn’t that how your last marriage ended?”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t muffins.”
It was slim pickings that time of the afternoon, but Cora lucked into the last blueberry scone. She plopped it down on Chief Harper’s desk along with a large coffee with cream and sugar.
“Okay,” she said. “The world looks brighter. What have you got?”
“What makes you think I’ve got something?”
“If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be needling me about sleeping late. So whaddya got?”
“Actually, not that much. We ID’d the dead man. Preston Samuels, bartender from New York, trendy Upper East Side bar. Been there three years, steady, good worker, well liked, co-workers express usual shock, etc., etc.” Harper took a breath. “As far as his relationship to Overmeyer, that’s where we hit a stone wall. He’s not related to Overmeyer, he’s related to someone who had a business relationship with Overmeyer. You know how easy that is to trace? I’ve been on the phone with Philip Morris. I’ve been on the phone with stockbrokers. I’ve been on the phone with the Federal Trade Commission. I’ve called in so many political favors Bakerhaven better not need anything for the next twenty years. And as a result of all that, do you know what I found out?”
“Nothing?”
“Bingo, right on the button. I could have gone home, got as much sleep as you, and found out as much about Preston Samuels as I did sitting here.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, Chief. We don’t know what the guy knew. There may have been nothing to get.”
“There was something.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s dead.”
“That’s the obvious conclusion. It doesn’t have to be right.”
“You think he was killed for no reason?”
“No. Not at all. I’m sure there was a reason. We just don’t know enough to figure out what it was.”
“What about the pooling agreement?”
“What about it?”
“What if he found it?”
Cora grimaced. “That only works if the killer is someone who benefits from the pooling agreement, but
doesn’t
benefit from Preston Samuels
having
the pooling agreement.”
“Who would that be?”
“I don’t know that much about stock. According to my broker, I don’t know
anything
about stock. But say the stock is now valuable. Say the person holding it doesn’t want to share. Overmeyer demands an accounting, so he has to go. Enter Preston Samuels. The only living descendant of one of the other three members of the stock-pooling agreement. When he first came to me, he thought someone was bumping stockholders off, and he was afraid he was next. He got cold feet and left before he could tell me what it was all about. After the second murder, he’s determined. He comes back to give me the straight dope. Only he’s silenced before he can spill the beans.”
“And you make fun of my B-movie dialogue.”
“What’s wrong with that scenario?”
“There’s nothing wrong with that scenario. And where does Mrs. Brooks fit in?”
“Innocent bystander. Sees the first crime, and has to go.”
“And where does Overmeyer’s thirty-two-caliber revolver fit into it?”
“It doesn’t. He was a bad guy, who happened to have a gun.”
“Which happened to be a murder weapon?”
“It has a bad history, I must admit. But it doesn’t have to be involved with his death.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I hate it like hell. But we have to take the facts as they are.” Cora nibbled her scone. “So, what did Dennis say?”
“Dennis?”
“Yeah. Last night.”
“I never saw him. Did you send him to me?”
“No. Didn’t see him.”
“He must have left.”
“Did you see him today?”
“No.”
“You mean Dennis has disappeared?”
Harper exhaled. “Dennis is not a high priority at the moment. If he shows up, I’ll have to deal with him. If he doesn’t show up, I’d almost thank him.”
“That’s not what I hoped to hear, Chief. What about Mr. Brooks?”
“What about him?”
“He was at the crime scene last night.”
“So?”
“Isn’t that a little odd? That he’d come all the way down from his house? I mean, even assuming he was awake. Maybe he was troubled and couldn’t sleep, but out driving? That’s a little much. And I can’t imagine anyone calling to tell him.”
“He probably just heard the commotion.”
Cora blinked. “Huh?”
“He wasn’t comfortable staying at the crime scene. And he didn’t want to go back to the motel. He booked a room at the Johnsons’ B and B.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“No reason you should.”
“What about the heirs?”
“What about them?”
“They been around today?”
“As a matter of fact, they haven’t.”
“Isn’t that odd?”
“Odd or not, it’s a blessing.”
“You think they left town?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It would look suspicious. Running away from a murder investigation.”
“Doesn’t mean they wouldn’t do it.”
“Of course not. Just the thought of inheriting a piece of that priceless cabin.”
“Who could resist,” Cora said.
The door flew open, and Brenda Wallenstein burst in. Dennis Pride’s wife, though small of stature, was solidly built. She could be a real spitfire if she wanted.
Apparently, she wanted. She thrust out her chin and demanded, “Where is he?”
“Dennis?” Chief Harper said.
It was an automatic response, and a dreadful mistake. Brenda reacted as if she were being mocked.
“Yes, of course I mean Dennis. Who the hell did you think I meant?”
“He’s staying at a motel up the road.”
“Because you won’t let him leave town. I know. And was there ever anything more idiotic? I was just by the motel, and he’s not there.”
“He’s out.”
“Of course he’s out. If he’s not there, he must be out.”
“Well, did you look—”
“He’s not at the Country Kitchen. He’s not at the Fruit Basket, or whatever you call it.”
“The Wicker Basket.”
“He’s not there. He’s not at his lawyer’s. He’s not at her place.”
“You went by my house?”
“Of course I did. All the likely spots. And he’s not there. He’s not anywhere. And you’re making him stay in town, and people are getting killed. He’s got nothing to do with it. Nothing. And you know it. But you’re keeping him here where he’s in danger. Now he’s nowhere to be found, and how do I know something hasn’t happened to him?”
“Don’t be silly,” Chief Harper said.
“Oh, that’s silly? You don’t know who the killer is. The next person Dennis talks to could be him.”
“I understand you’re upset. But, believe me, Dennis is in no danger.”
“Of course you’d take that attitude. He’s suing you. Why should you lift a finger to help him?”
“I assure you, that’s not the case.”
“Is he suing you?”
“Yes.”
“Are you helping him?”
“Ms. Wallenstein—”
“Mrs. Pride.”
“Sorry. Mrs. Pride.”
Brenda stuck out her chin. “So, where is he?”
Dennis Pride sipped coffee from a paper cup and felt like a real PI. Except for the fact he’d been doing it for two hours and had to go to the bathroom. He wasn’t sure how real PIs handled that. Particularly in midtown Manhattan, where there were no facilities whatsoever, even if he had the time to use them. But he couldn’t because then he might lose his quarry, and he wouldn’t know whether he had or not, and what would be the point?
The other thing bothering Dennis was his car. He’d had to put it in a garage. There was no standing in midtown, and the same cop had asked him to move on twice. What if the guy he was following was parked in a different garage?
There was a lot of PI stuff Dennis wasn’t up on. He was a poor PI, just as he was a poor husband, a poor ex-husband, a poor front man for his band. But he was determined to prove himself in his ex-wife’s eyes, a hopeless task.
Dennis was standing there, holding his coffee cup, teetering back and forth from one foot to another, and worrying about his garage, when George Brooks came out.
Dennis almost missed him. Not that he wasn’t watching the door, but he was so used to people going in and out that the guy just didn’t register. Brooks came walking right at him before he had a clue.
Dennis immediately fell all over himself, dropping the coffee cup, ducking into a doorway, and doing everything in his power to make himself conspicuous. Lucky for him Brooks was preoccupied. He went right by Dennis without giving him so much as a glance.
Brooks was heading for the garage where Dennis was parked. If Brooks was getting his car, Dennis could get his, too. In fact, since he’d parked after Brooks, they’d probably bring his car out first. Piece of cake.
Brooks went right on by the garage, headed for Times Square. Was he getting on the subway? Why should he take the subway if he had a car? It was five o’clock, work was over, he should be heading home.
Dennis followed Brooks down into the subway station. Brooks went straight to the turnstile. Luckily Dennis had a MetroCard, or Brooks might have gotten away while he bought one. Dennis sailed right through just ten yards behind.
Several subway lines converged at Times Square, so Brooks could be going anywhere. He chose the Broadway IRT No. 1 downtown. The train was packed, as it always was at rush hour. Dennis didn’t want to go in the same door as Brooks and be plastered up against him, but if he went in the door at the end of the car, he might not see him get out.
Dennis chose the end door. He’d hop out at each station, hop back on if Brooks didn’t get off.
This plan was immediately thwarted when the train stopped at 34th Street Penn Station and the doors opened on the other side of the car. Luckily, lots of people were getting out, and Dennis was able to push his way to the door, ascertain that Brooks was not one of them. Indeed, when the door closed, Dennis could see Brooks, who had crossed the car himself and was standing in a similar position by the center door.
Hopping on and off the train, Dennis followed Brooks to Sheridan Square, in the heart of Greenwich Village, where diagonal streets cut through everything and the intersection of 10th and 4th streets had blown more than one young mind.
Dennis hung back, followed Brooks to a brownstone on Charles Street. It was divided, as many town houses were, into several apartments. Brooks stepped up to a row of buttons, rang one, and was buzzed in.
So. What would a PI do now? Push random buttons until someone buzzed him in? No, the people he rang would open their apartment doors. What would he tell them?
It occurred to Dennis that he wasn’t cut out for PI work.
He had just had that thought when Brooks appeared in the front window on the first floor.
Hot damn!
Now, if he could just figure out who Brooks came to see. Maybe the name was on the doorbell. If he could tell which one—
No need.
Talk about beginner’s luck.
As Dennis watched, the owner of the apartment came into view.
