“What has nine numbers?” Cora said. “Come on, kids, help me here.”
“Aaron’s in a funk,” Sherry told her.
“I’m not in a funk. I just don’t understand it.”
“What don’t you understand?”
“A guy gets caught with a murder weapon and the police let him go.”
“He wasn’t caught with it,” Sherry said.
“He stole it.”
“That’s entirely different.”
“Why are you defending him?”
“I’m
not
defending him. I just don’t think he did it. Do you?”
“I didn’t say I thought he did it.”
“No. You just want him locked up. Whether he did it or not.”
“Sherry—”
“Hey, hey,” Cora said. “You two cut it out. Ex-husbands are a pain. I ought to know, I’ve had enough of ’em. Granted, none were as
bad as Dennis. With the possible exception of Melvin. Anyway, you kids are never gonna get divorced. You know why? You fight too well. You’re too evenly matched. You’re too good at it. It would be a waste of good old-fashioned brain power. Now, that being said, shut up for a minute and give me some help.”
“Help with what?”
“With the numbers. The stinking, lousy numbers. The numbers that should mean something but don’t.”
“I’m no good with numbers,” Sherry said.
“Yeah,” Aaron said. “You need a numerologist. Like the guys on the TV show.”
“What TV show.”
“Numbers.”
“They’re actors.”
“So?”
“They can’t help me. I need a real number person. And even that won’t help. I don’t have to understand the number. I just have know what it is.”
“Did you break it down?” Sherry said.
“How?”
“I don’t know. It’s nine numbers. What if it’s three groups of three.”
“Okay, let’s try that,” Cora said. “That gives me five-one-eight, three-two-seven, nine-four-six.”
“Maybe it’s a phone number.”
“How can it be a phone number?”
“Five-one-eight is the area code. The rest is the phone number.”
“That’s only six numbers. A phone number’s seven numbers.”
“How about a zero?” Sherry suggested.
“Where?”
“I don’t know. But a zero means nothing. Adding a zero wouldn’t change anything.”
“Adding a zero would give you the same number.”
“I don’t mean add it. Use it. As the seventh number.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“It changes the number. Makes it ten times bigger.”
“So what, if it’s a phone number? Why are we arguing. Just try it.”
Cora dialed the number.
“It didn’t go through.”
“Did you dial one first?”
“If I dialed one first, it would be two ones.”
“The one you dial first doesn’t count.”
“The one I dial doesn’t count. The zero I dial doesn’t count. I’m dialing all these numbers that don’t count.”
“Dial it,” Sherry said. “How can it hurt?”
“If I wind up with a seventy-two-dollar phone call to Australia, let’s remember you said that.”
The number didn’t go through.
“Wanna try moving the zero?”
“I don’t think we even have a valid area code.”
“So, could it be a license plate number?” Aaron suggested.
“They’re not that long.”
“They’re close to it. What’s New York now? Three digits, then four more. That’s seven digits.”
“Some of which are letters. We’re talking nine digits, all numbers. You see any license plates look like that?”
“Okay,” Sherry said. “We broke it up into three groups of three. Suppose that’s not it? Suppose it’s two and then three and then four? Five-one, eight-three-two, seven-nine-four-six. The last seven digits could be a phone number. The first two could be something else.”
“Such as what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, that doesn’t look like any number I ever saw.”
“How about five-one-eight, three-two-seven-nine, four-six?” Aaron said. “Like it’s a phone number, and forty-six is the extension?”
“Then what’s the area code?”
“That’s a problem.”
“Wait a minute!” Cora said. “How about one of those whatchamacallits? You know, a substitution code? Where numbers stand for letters?”
Sherry shook her head. “Not long enough. Unless you had a decoder ring, you could never solve it. Not with only nine numbers, all different.”
“Decoder ring?” Cora said. “Isn’t that a little before your time?”
“I know words,” Sherry said. “Sorry it doesn’t help.”
“Yeah.”
Cora picked up a pencil, jotted the number down, and stared at it. “All right, you son of a bitch. What are you trying to tell me?”
Chief Harper groped for the phone. “Hello?”
“Chief. Wake up. It’s Cora.”
“Who?”
“I think I got it.”
“Got what?”
“Honey, what is it?”
“Go back to sleep, dear.”
“I thought I heard the phone.”
“You did. I got it. Go to sleep.”
“Chief—”
“You woke my wife.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t know the meaning of the word.”
“It’s the numbers.”
“What about ’em?”
“I got it.”
“You know what it is?”
“I know what it must be.”
“Then you
don’t
know what it is?”
“I have a theory.”
“Couldn’t it wait till morning?”
“Sure,” Cora said, and hung up.
Her phone rang a minute later.
“We got disconnected,” Harper said.
“I thought we were going to wait until morning.”
“I’m awake.”
“I can tell.”
“My wife is awake. Which means I won’t be going back to sleep any time soon.”
“I don’t suppose you want to go into the office, either.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, it could be a bank account number. But it isn’t. At least, no bank account around here. The prefix is wrong. Of course, if it turns out to be some account in the Cayman Islands, that’s another story. But, barring that—” “Cora.” “Sorry. I drank too much coffee trying to stay awake.” “You’re wired on caffeine?”
“That doesn’t make me wrong.”
“No. But it makes you do stupid things. Like calling me in the middle of the night.”
“Sorry, Chief, won’t happen again,” Cora said, and hung up. Her phone rang ten seconds later.
Cora answered, “Hello?”
“Stop hanging up the phone,” Harper growled. “I got enough problems without you playing games.”
“Make up your mind, Chief. You want to talk to me or not?”
“Right now I’d like to wring your neck. I’m awake. I don’t wanna be. Tell me what you called to tell me, so I can get back to sleep.”
“We’re grouping the numbers wrong. Like bank accounts and area codes. I think I finally grouped ’em right.”
“Okay. And what is that.”
“Five-one-eight, three-two, seven-nine-four-six.”
The IRS agent was icy as could be. Which was hardly fair, since Chief Harper hadn’t wakened him up at four in the morning, but had called him from the police station the next day. This did not please Chief Harper, nor did the fact he had Cora Felton perched on a chair in his office waiting to see how he’d do with the IRS. Striking out with a government minion in front of the Puzzle Lady was not the way the chief wanted to start his day. Even the blueberry ginger muffin from Cushman’s Bakeshop wasn’t enough to counteract that.
“I’m the chief of police. I’m conducting a murder investigation. I need this Social Security number traced.”
The IRS agent wasn’t impressed. “So you say. You’re just a disembodied voice on the phone. How do I know you’re even a cop?”
“Look,” Harper said. “It’s not like I couldn’t get this information. A search engine on my computer will provide it for forty-nine dollars. I just can’t justify a charge like that in my department’s expenses. Some IRS agent would want to know why I am paying for information to which I am legally entitled.”
“If you’d like to fill out an official request for information regarding a U.S. taxpayer, I’ll require proof of identity, proof of occupation, proof of the legitimacy of the request …”
“Look, Norman. Excuse me, that is your name, isn’t it? Norman Jenks? Extension six-four-two? I’m Chief Harper of the Bakerhaven police force. I’m investigating the murder of Lester Mathews. I’m going to hang up the phone now. Please call information, ask for the Bakerhaven police department. Call that number and ask for the chief of police. When I answer the phone, establishing that I
am
the Bakerhaven chief of police, let me know whose Social Security number this is. That way you’ll be aiding a police investigation instead of obstructing one. Your lawyer can tell you the difference.”
Harper hung up the phone.
“That sounded like a threat,” Cora said.
“I hope he heard it that way. You really think it’s a Social Security number?”
“I don’t know what else it could be.”
“That’s hardly conclusive.”
“Nothing’s conclusive, Chief.”
“You got any idea whose Social Security number this is?”
“Actually, I do.”
“Really? How is that?”
“Something someone said.”
“Now you got me interested. Who said what?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Why not?”
“I could be wrong.”
“You could be wrong about who said what?”
“No. Just what it meant.”
“You mean it might not be the number?”
“That’s right.”
It was.
The IRS agent called fifteen minutes later. His lawyer must have read him the riot act, because the man was rather chastened.
“I traced the number for you.”
“Good.”
“You will make note of the fact the IRS is cooperating fully with your investigation, and has done everything in its power to help?”
“Of course.”
“On the other hand, you will remember that you officially requested this information, and that it was not given out with reckless disregard, but only provided in the course of a legal investigation, to which we were compelled to comply?”
“You’re a prince. Who is it?”
“A Mr. Hideki Takiyama.”
Hideki Takiyama was outraged. His face was red, making his scar even more pronounced. He drew back, tilted up his chin. “I do not understand.”
“I”m sorry,” Chief Harper said.”We need to ask you a few questions.”
“Why?”
“Your name has come up in connection with the murder of this private investigator.”
“My name?”
“Yes.”
“How? I do not know this man. Do I need a lawyer?”
“Do you?”
“I do not know. Tell me, please, what you mean.”
“Some of the clues point to you.”
“Point?”
“If you would just come down to the station.”
Chief Harper had found Hideki at his bed-and-breakfast. The
Jacobsons seemed more than a little interested in their lodger’s affairs. Having him questioned by Chief Harper with Cora in tow was almost too good to be true, unless it prevented him from paying his bill.
“I will come to the station because I wish to cooperate. But I do not understand.”
In Hideki’s case, coming down to the station meant walking a block and a half. During the trip he made a call on his cell phone. Chief Harper and Cora couldn’t hear who he called, but Becky Baldwin met them at the police station door.
“You arrested my client?” Becky said.
“He’s your client?”
“Yes, he is.”
“I thought you client was Dennis Pride.”
“He’s also my client.”
“That’s a conflict of interest.”
“Not at all. You arrested my client, Dennis Pride. You saw the error of your ways and let him go. He isn’t charged with anything. He has nothing to do with this crime. So I’m perfectly free to represent Mr. Takiyama. Who also isn’t charged with this crime.” Becky raised her eyebrows at Chief Harper. “Is he?”
“We just want to talk to him.”
“Is that the editorial
we,
the prosecutorial
we,
or you and Cora Felton? Who has very little legal standing.”
“We just want to discuss the facts.”
“I’d be glad to hear your version of them.”
A crowd was gathering from among the people going in and out of Cushman’s Bakeshop.
“Why don’t we continue this inside,” Harper said.
“Interrogation room, or office?” Becky asked as the chief ushered them in.
“Office,” Harper said. “No one’s taking anything down. This is just a casual conversation.”
When they were all seated, Becky said, “All right. What are we talking about?”
“The second murder. Lester Mathews. Found stabbed with a samurai sword.”
Becky grimaced. “Here I must point out the word
samurai
is certainly inflammatory. Seeing as how my client is Japanese.”
“Funny you should mention it,” Cora said.
Becky looked at her in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”
Chief Harper looked pained. “If I could do this my own way.”
“Oh, phooey,” Cora said. “Stop dragging it out. We’re talking about something Aoki said about Hideki.”
Hideki’s eyes blazed. “
Aoki
said something about me?”
Becky frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Hideki was born in the United States. Granted, he’s lived most of his life in Japan. But, technically, that makes him an American citizen. That’s what Aoki meant, wasn’t it? As an American citizen, he has a Social Security number. His Social Security number is five-one-eight, three-two, seven-nine-four-six. Which is too bad.”
“Why?”
Cora passed over the copy of the sudoku with the middle line circled. “This was found on the body.”
Hideki was incensed. “I didn’t do it!”
“No one is saying you did it.”
“Yes, you are! You are saying the evidence says it was me.”
“No, we’re saying the evidence says it was your Social Security number. It doesn’t mean you did it. It only means there’s just an umpty-billion-to-one chance that this was a coincidence.” Cora smiled. “You see why that’s a problem.”
“It’s not a problem,” Becky said. “If what you say is true—”
“You doubt our word?”
“No. I’m just being a lawyer and not stipulating to anything that hasn’t been proven. But, if that’s the case, it means my client is being framed. It means someone went to a great deal of trouble to frame
him. I certainly hope the police will bend every effort toward finding out who that might be.”
“You think you are being framed, Mr. Takiyama?”
“Of course I am being framed! Why would I write my own number? It is ridiculous!”
“Who would want to frame you?”
“Do you have to ask?”
“Oh,” Harper said. “You think it should be obvious?”
“I am not making accusations,” Hideki said. “I trust the police to do their job.”
“I don’t,” Becky said. “No offense meant, but I’m not trusting anything. I want assurances that everything will be done, and I also want to see the results of that labor. If there are no results, I would like a damn good explanation of why there aren’t.”
“Easy there,” Chief Harper said. “No one’s trying to pull a fast one here. I ask the man who might be the person framing him. He doesn’t want to tell me, that’s fine. But then don’t blame me for not knowing. It appears that Mr. Takiyama’s Social Security number was used to connect him to a crime. Whether it was used by him or by some other person is open to discussion. I have heard an argument advanced why it wouldn’t be him. I have not heard any argument advanced why it might be someone else. I know you wouldn’t want to make a false accusation, and you’re all falling all over each other to make sure that doesn’t happen, but between you, me, and the lamppost, I would be far more inclined to pursue the prosecution of a third party if I were given some indication of who that third party might be.”
“Your objection is noted,” Becky said. “May I ask if my client is being charged with anything?”
“I’ll have to check with the prosecutor.”
“You do that.” Becky smiled. “If you do it quickly enough, I won’t charge you with false arrest.”