NYPD Puzzle (21 page)

“Why? One way or another, it’s the same damn puzzle.”

“He’s making a point.”

“What point?”

“That he could do it.”

“Why isn’t he making the same point with you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Exactly. The problem is we’re trying to outthink this guy, and he may not be thinking. He may be just acting on impulse.”

Crowley made a face and told another motorist what he thought of his driving skills.

“Why don’t you put the siren on?”

“I don’t like to do that.”

“Why not?”

“It would be abuse of power.”

“And going ninety isn’t?”

“Hey, you watch your ethics, I’ll watch mine.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“At least I’m not pretending to be a police officer.”

“Oh, low blow. If I cared, I’d be insulted.”

“That’s what I figured,” Crowley said. “Anyway, I’m speeding to catch a murderer.”

“He’s long gone.”

“Then I’m not going fast enough.” Crowley weaved in and out of a couple of cars dawdling in the passing lane. It occurred to Cora the cars were probably dawdling at around seventy, and were darn glad the police car wasn’t after them.

Crowley went down the West Side Highway as if it were the Indianapolis Speedway, cut off three lanes of heavy uptown traffic swerving onto West Twelfth Street, and flung the car through a series of frequent turns that sent pedestrians diving for cover.

Two cops were standing on the curb in front of his apartment. Crowley managed to miss them. He left Cora in the car and got out.

“All right, Officers, what have we got?”

The fatter cop was chewing gum. “We responded to a report of a burglary at this address. Found signs of a break-in, but no evidence that anything had been stolen.”

“What signs of a break-in?”

“Front door had been pried with a crowbar, large screwdriver, or the claws of a hammer.”

“You found it broken open?”

“We found it locked.”

“How’d you get in?”

“Super let us in with a key. Apartment had not been ransacked, there were no obvious signs it had been searched. There was no way to tell if anything had been taken. We phoned it in, were instructed to wait here for you.”

“You knew it was my apartment?”

“Not when we went in. All we had was the apartment number.” He jerked his thumb at the other cop. “Officer Blake found your name on a piece of mail. We got out and called in.”

“You’re sure the perpetrator isn’t still in the apartment?”

The cop looked pained by the question. “First thing we do, we secure the premises. Trust me, no one’s there.”

Crowley nodded. “Thanks, Officers. You can go.”

“We have to file a report.”

“Go ahead and file one.”

“We have to verify if anything’s missing.”

“You said nothing was.”

“We have to check with the owner.”

Crowley smiled. “Officer, we’re dealing with a guy who likes to get inside people’s heads. He’s more apt to leave something than take it. If he had, I think you’d’ve have found it, but by all means, let’s take a look.”

Crowley got Cora out of the car. “Miss Felton, right this way. Officers, this is one of the victims. Her house was broken into. If it’s the same guy, she should know.”

Upstairs, Crowley examined the damage to the door.

“Well, I can see where it’s been pried, all right, but the hardware’s all in place. If he got the door open, I don’t know how he got it back in such good shape.” Crowley whipped out his keys, turned one on the door. “Lock seems okay. Dead bolt’s in place. Was it locked like this when you got here?”

“That’s right.”

“A full twist? The super didn’t just give the key a quarter turn and it clicks open? A full three-sixty, moving the dead bolt, then the extra quarter?”

“Absolutely. I watched him do it. He stuck the key in the lock, turned it a full three-sixty degrees plus the quarter. Lock clicked open.”

“Right you are.” Crowley pushed the door open and strode in.

Cora hadn’t realized what an anachronism the apartment was before, but with the eyes of the officers on it she did now. The Jimi Hendrix poster, for instance. Did these guys even know who Jimi Hendrix was?

“Okay,” Crowley said. “I’m not searching my apartment, but I can tell you right off the bat nothing’s missing. It’s not the guy’s MO. And if he left me something, he’d want it to be found. Go ahead and file your report. If two days from now I notice my hundred-thousand-dollar cuff links are missing, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

The officers nodded and left. When they were gone, Cora said, “You sure nothing’s missing?”

“No.”

“Wanna search the place?”

“Not particularly.”

“What do you want to do?”

Crowley smiled. “Oh, we’ll think of something.”

Chapter

38

“Cora nuzzled her
head against Crowley’s chest. “You know,” she murmured, we’re not any closer to solving this.”

Crowley shrugged. “Who cares?”

“That’s the nicest thing you ever said to me.”

“Even when I let you go?”

“That was pretty nice. But I think you did it more for shock value. You have a bit of a theatrical flair.”

“Please. You’ll get me drummed off the force.”

“You prefer the dumb-cop image?”

“It’s less trouble.”

“How’d a guy like you get to be a cop, anyway?”

“John Jay College of Criminal Justice.”

“Come on. You know what I mean.”

“That’s your hippie mentality talking. You grew up thinking cops are pigs and wonder why anyone could want to be one.”

“This from a guy with a Jimi Hendrix poster on the wall.”

“Again with stereotypes and labels. I happen to like his music.” Crowley scrunched up in bed. “Mind if I get a beer?”

“Mind if I smoke?”

“Disgusting habit.”

“And drinking isn’t?”

“You used to drink.”

“I forgot. You read my file.”

“We’re not exactly strangers.”

“That subject never came up.”

“Not even at dinner?”

“The burger joint you took me to didn’t have a wine list.”

“I thought you liked burger joints.”

“I do.”

“Then what are we arguing about?”

“I don’t know,” Cora said. “It’s too idyllic. Maybe I want to spoil it.”

“Why?”

“Before it gets spoiled.” Cora smiled. “Sorry. A shrink would have a field day with me. I had a groom get killed on me. I’m a little gun-shy.”

“Sorry. I forgot.”

“That’s right. You know that, too.” Cora changed the subject. “Did you mean what you said to those cops?”

“What?”

“You don’t think the killer left anything.”

“That’s right.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“In the first place, I don’t think he got in. If he had, he’d want me to know it. He’d leave something to let me know what a bright boy he was, that locks can’t stop him.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. But it would be obvious. Unless he planted a bug. You know, some sort of surveillance equipment.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Cora said. Still, she couldn’t help stealing a glance at the light fixture over the bed.

“You’re pretty calm about this,” Crowley said.

“I don’t think we’re in any danger.”

“Why not?”

“If this guy wanted to hurt me, he’d hurt me. It’s not like he hasn’t had the chance. He followed me back to Bakerhaven. As far as he knew, I was a sitting duck. If he wanted me dead, I’d be dead. He doesn’t want me dead. He wants to play with me.”

“So do I,” Crowley said.

Cora giggled. “Hang on, big boy. We’re solving a crime here.”

The phone rang.

Crowley rolled over and picked it up. He rolled back, said, “Hello?… Oh. Hi …
What?
”

Crowley sat straight up in bed, dumping Cora off him. “Broke in how?… Did you call the cops?… Yes, I know you called me. I mean the cops.… What do you mean, it’s for me?… You’re kidding!… Hang on, I’ll be right there.”

“Who was that?” Cora said.

Crowley looked at her, heaved a sigh. “My wife.”

Chapter

39

Becky found Cora
at a table in the back drinking a grande latte.

“What are we doing in Starbucks?” Becky said.

“Drinking coffee.”

“Why couldn’t we meet in the Country Kitchen?”

“I didn’t want to be in a bar.”

“Why not?”

“If I was in a bar, I might drink.”

“Why?”

“He’s married.”

Becky’s eyes widened. She sank down at the table. “Crowley’s married?”

“Go ahead. Say I told you so.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You thought it.”

“You’re a complicated person.”

“Why don’t you get a coffee.”

“Do they have Irish coffee?”

“You can probably get it without the whiskey.”

“What’s Irish about that?”

Becky got a latte, came back, and sat down. She took a sip, grimaced, probably because it wasn’t scotch.

“So he’s married.”

“Well, he’s separated, but they’re still legally married.”

“Is it an amicable separation?”

“Not anymore.”

“You mean she caught you with him?”

“Not exactly.”

Cora told Becky about the phone call.

“He broke into Crowley’s wife’s house?”

“Since they’re not divorced, technically the house is still his.”

“He thought Crowley lived there?”

“No, he broke into his apartment, too. A least he tried to. When he couldn’t get in, he had to improvise.”

“Why’d he break into the house?”

“I don’t know. I’m not on a first name basis with Mrs. Crowley, so I didn’t go along to find out. I came back here to drown my sorrows in a cappuccino.”

“If they’re really separated, it’s just the same as if they’re divorced.”

“Oh, yeah? Clearly you’re not a divorce lawyer. If I’d known your views on the subject, I wouldn’t have let you handle my alimony hearing against Melvin.”

“You know what I mean. They’ve moved on. It’s not like they have feelings for each other.”

“If that were true, he wouldn’t have jumped at the chance when I said I wouldn’t go.”

“Oh, really? Can you think of
any
ex-husband who’d like to bring his current girlfriend along to meet his ex-wife?”

“Sure. Melvin. He loved to rub your nose in it.”

“All I’m saying is, you don’t have to go from elation to despair in the blink of an eye. It’s a surprise, it’s not a disaster.”

“Hey, trust me, sweetie. When you’ve been married as many times as I have, you know a disaster when you see one.”

Becky’s cell phone rang. She pulled it out, flipped it open. “Hello?… Yeah, this is Becky Baldwin.… Yeah, she’s here.” Becky covered the phone. “It’s the disaster.”

“I’m not here.”

“I said you were.”

“I don’t want to talk to him.”

Becky uncovered the phone. “She’s playing hard to get.”

Cora scowled. “Give me that.” She snatched the phone out of her hand. “Crowley? Why are you calling my lawyer?”

“Well, you don’t have a cell phone.”

“I’m surprised you remembered.”

“Why?”

“You’re very forgetful. How’s your wife?”

“Cora.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t meet her, but I didn’t want to cramp your style.”

“Susan’s freaked out. A killer broke into her house.”

“Yeah. A killer broke into mine. Funny. We have something in common.”

“In her case, it came out of the blue. She has no connection with me anymore, doesn’t know what I’m doing, and had no idea I was being harassed by a killer.”

“Among other things.”

“Anyway, there’s no doubt it’s our guy, and no doubt he was in the house.”

“Don’t tell me.”

“That’s right. He left a crossword puzzle taped to the refrigerator. Has Becky got a fax?”

“Not in Starbucks.”

“What are you doing in Starbucks?”

“You’re a detective and you can’t figure out what we’re doing in Starbucks?”

“Okay, give me Becky’s fax number and I’ll send it to her office. I’ll get it solved here, you get it solved there. See if you can figure out what it means. If there’s any reason it was sent to the house.”

“Oh, I’ll be looking for that,” Cora said. She passed the phone over to Becky. “Give him your fax number.”

Becky, who’d heard only Cora’s side of the conversation, said, “Why?”

“He wants to send you a Valentine. He fancies himself a lady killer.”

Becky gave Crowley the number.

“Okay,” Cora said. “Let’s go over to your office and get the puzzle.”

“What puzzle?”

Cora filled Becky in on their way to the office. The fax was already there. Becky pulled it out of the machine and handed it to Cora. “What do you think?”