NYPD Puzzle (14 page)

Read NYPD Puzzle Online

Authors: Parnell Hall

“Oh? What is it?”

The waiter handed him an envelope.

“What the hell,” Crowley said.

Cora leaned over to see.

On the envelope was handwritten in capital letters:
TO SERGEANT CROWLEY. (THIRD BOOTH ON THE LEFT)

Crowley flipped it over. It wasn’t sealed. He reached in, pulled out a sheet of paper. Unfolded it.

It was a sudoku.

Chapter

“It was a
kid.”

“What kid?”

“I don’t know,” the waiter said. “Some kid left it on the counter.”

“Did you see him?” Crowley said.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t paying any attention. It wasn’t for me.”

“Did he speak to the cashier?”

“You’ll have to ask him.”

“Same one that’s on now?”

“Should be. Shift hasn’t changed.”

Cora got up. “Let’s go.”

“You want your check?”

“Up front,” Crowley said, and hurried to catch up.

Cora was already cross-examining the cashier, who was old, set in his ways, did not take kindly to the suggestion he should have been more observant. “Just a kid. He left the letter on the counter and went out.”

“What did he look like?” Cora said.

“A kid.”

“How old was he?”

“We don’t sell alcohol. I didn’t card him.”

Crowley flashed his badge. “It’s a police matter, buster. Perhaps you could cooperate.”

“I could if I knew anything.”

“You could give me a better guess at his age. Was he twelve? Was he twenty?”

“He was grown. Aside from that, I couldn’t say.”

“Could he have been twenty-five?”

“Sure.”

“Did he say anything?”

“If he did, I didn’t hear it. As far as I know, he just put the letter on the counter and left.”

“What was he wearing?”

“I didn’t notice.”

“Was he naked?” Cora said.

The cashier rolled his eyes. What an idiot. “Of course not.”

“How could you tell?”

He blinked. Considered. “Good point. He was probably wearing something like jeans and a T-shirt.”

“Any logo on the T-shirt?”

“Hey, I’m not even sure it was a T-shirt.”

Cora turned to Crowley. “That’s all we’re going to get. Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Penn Station. Come on.”

Cora went out the front door. The cashier tapped his finger on the bill. By the time Crowley paid, Cora was in the street, trying to hail a cab.

“Forget it. I have my police car.”

“You don’t have it here.”

“No problem.” Crowley whipped out his cell phone. “Perkins. I need my car.”

“A cab would be faster,” Cora said.

“Like hell. I can use my siren, go through lights.”

“Really? This isn’t high-speed pursuit. We’re just going to the train station.”

“On the other hand, maybe we’re racing the guy there.”

“While we’re waiting, I’ll solve the sudoku.” She whipped out the puzzle. “I need something hard,” she muttered.

“I beg your pardon?”

“To write on. My God, you miss a million double entendres and come up with that.”

“Huh?”

Cora fished a section of the
New York Times
out of a trash can on the corner, leaned against a parked car, and attacked the sudoku.

Crowley watched in amazement. “You got all those numbers already?”

“They’re easy. I’m working on the hard ones.”

“What are the hard ones?”

“The ones I can’t solve with you talking to me.”

Crowley shut up and let her concentrate.

Cora whizzed through the rest of the sudoku.

“Okay, what have we got?” Crowley said.

“More locker numbers and more combinations.”

“If that’s what it is.”

“Hey, I don’t give guarantees. I just solve sudoku.”

“Isn’t it ‘sudokus’?”

“No, it’s the singular plural.”

“What?”

“Like deer. You can have one deer or three deer.”

“You mean like, ‘dear, dear, dear’?” Crowley said, shaking his head.

“Serves me right for picking that example,” Cora said.

“Huh?”

Perkins drove up in Crowley’s car. “What’s up, Sarge?”

“Back to Penn Station. Looks like we were wrong.”

“Want me to come?”

“No. Hold down the fort.”

Crowley and Cora hopped into the car.

Perkins watched them go. He seemed miffed Cora got to go and he didn’t.

“Shouldn’t we have brought him along to wait in the car?” Cora said.

“Why?”

“So you wouldn’t have to park it.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Crowley said.

Crowley drove up in front of Penn Station and left the car in a bus stop, next to a fireplug, blocking a crosswalk.

“Handy being a cop,” Cora said as they walked to the station.

“It does have its perks. Doesn’t get me on TV, though.”

They went through the main entrance to Madison Square Garden, which shared the space with the station below. Cora recalled when it was renovated in the ’60s, creating chaos and inspiring wags to intone, “Lead us not into Penn Station.”

“Well, there’s the ticket windows,” Cora said. “Where’s the lockers?”

“Around the back.”

“I thought lockers went out after 9/11.”

“Suitcase size did. These are smaller.”

“How much smaller?”

“Too small to hold a bomb.”

“Then what good are they?”

“Thinking of blowing something up?”

“Seriously.”

“Stash your ticket. Passport. Emergency cash in case you get mugged.”

“Wow. That’ll bring in the tourists. You should market that as a sales pitch.”

They found a bank of lockers around the back next to the men’s room.

“Do you suppose there’s another bank of lockers near the ladies’?” Cora said.

“Not if Perkins wants to keep his job. He’s the one who said the numbers didn’t go up that high.”

“Well, if he’s right, we don’t have many possibilities.” Cora pointed to the sudoku. “Just 163 and 361.”

Crowley frowned. “Wait a minute. 728’s a washout, and 594, but what about 495?”

Cora shook her head. “It won’t be. You’re looking at the solved puzzle. But 4, 9, and 5 are all given to you as part of the puzzle. This guy’s not going to give us the answer without making us solve the damn thing.”

“Maybe. But if 163 and 361 don’t work, we’ll have to try it.”

“Let’s hope not.”

They found locker 163. Cora tried the combination 361 on it. She pulled at the locker door, shook her head.

“Nope. That’s not it. Let’s try the other way around. Where’s locker 361?”

Locker 361 was in the second row from the bottom. Cora tried its number in reverse.

The locker clicked open.

“Bingo!”

Cora reached in, pulled out an envelope. “Uh oh. If there’s a crossword in here, I’m going to flip out.”

“You and me both,” Crowley said. “But I’ll bet you it is.”

It wasn’t.

It was a single sheet of paper with two typewritten words:

Having fun?

Chapter

Chief Harper was
surprised to see Becky Baldwin’s car in the driveway. Cora’s car wasn’t there. It occurred to him Sherry must be using it. Only Aaron’s car wasn’t there either, and they wouldn’t leave Jennifer alone. Could Becky Baldwin be babysitting? That seemed unlikely. The chief couldn’t imagine the fashion model attorney burping a baby, let alone changing a diaper. Unless Cora was in charge, an even more bizarre concept. It simply didn’t compute.

Sherry answered the door. “Hi, Chief, we’re just having dessert and coffee. Care for a cup?”

She ushered him into the living room, where the baby was crawling on the rug with a number of plastic toys strewn around her. Becky sat on the couch with a cup of coffee and what appeared to be a piece of pecan pie on the table.

“Where’s Cora?” Harper said.

“Good question,” Sherry said. “I was hoping you’d know. How about it? A piece of pecan pie?”

“It’s very good,” Becky said.

“I try to avoid sweets, but I have a weakness for pecan pie.”

“So whaddaya say?”

“I’m on a diet.”

“If I can blow my diet, you can,” Becky said.

“Fine, fine,” Harper said. “Gimme some pie. Where’s Cora? I’ve been trying to call her all day, but the line’s been busy.”

“Jennifer knocked the phone off the hook. I didn’t realize it until Becky came over. Jennifer doesn’t do things like that, but she’s got a sore throat and she’s cranky.”

“Not cranky!” Jennifer said. She punctuated the statement by hurling a plastic pig.

“Cora hasn’t been home?” Harper persisted.

“You didn’t see her? I thought she was going to see you.”

“That was a long time ago. She took off, and I haven’t seen her since.”

“I haven’t either,” Becky said. “I couldn’t get through. I finally came over.”

“Damn,” Harper said. He noticed the baby, said, “Excuse me.”

“You forget who she lives with, Chief. She’s heard worse.”

“You’ve got no idea where she is?”

“She doesn’t have a cell phone. Why are you looking for her?”

“Oh. We got the autopsy report on Mae Hendricks. Nothing urgent about it, but when I couldn’t reach her I got worried. She was being followed. Not that I think there’s any real danger,” Harper hastened to add.

“Thanks for the reassurance, I feel much better now,” Sherry said ironically. She ducked into the kitchen to get the chief some pie.

Becky looked up from the couch. “You worried?”

“Of course I’m worried. Are you?”

“You think I’m over here eating pecan pie for my figure?” She shook her head. “Cora has no sense of restraint. Hell, Cora has no sense. You tell her something’s dangerous, she takes it as an invitation to plunge right in.”

Sherry came back from the kitchen with a slice of pie and a cup of coffee. “Sit down, Chief. Milk and sugar’s on the coffee table.”

Harper sat down next to Becky, sipped his coffee.

“What
did
the autopsy say?” Becky asked.

“If I tell you, you promise not to cross-examine me about it in court?”

“How can I do that?”

“I’m kidding. The autopsy showed what we already know. She was killed by a blow to the back of the head, most likely between the hours of twelve and one.”

“Based on what?”

“Based on a bunch of factors you can cross-examine Barney Nathan on. That’s the saving grace here. It wouldn’t surprise me if they included stomach contents and temperature of the body, but that’s not my department, I don’t have to defend it.”

The phone rang.

Sherry went into the kitchen, grabbed the receiver off the wall. “Cora!” she said. With the long cord, she stepped back into the living room. “Everybody’s looking for you.”

“Is that Cora? I wanna talk to her,” Harper said.

“Me, too,” Becky said.

“The phone was off the hook. Jennifer knocked it over.”

“I wanna talk to her,” Harper said.

“Yeah, that’s the chief. Becky’s here, too. They came over when they couldn’t get through.” Sherry looked up from the phone. “Cora says hello.”

“Let me talk to her.”

“Let
me
talk to her.”

“We were worried. After all, you were being followed.… Really?… Are you sure
we’re
safe?”

“What happened to her?” Harper said.

Sherry waved her hand. “I can’t hear. Everybody’s talking at me. How do you know?… Oh, that’s not good.”

“What’s not good?” Becky said.

“Okay, I’ll tell them.”