Ghost Sudoku (19 page)

“That has everything to do with a different political pressure on Langdon,” Kevin replied. “He’s not just the DA. He leads a faction of Killamook politicians who aren’t exactly on the same page with John Jacob when it comes to the next generation of leadership for the machine.”

“You mean, he wants to take over after the old man retires rather than having this ‘J.J. the younger’ character take the reins,” Michael said.

Kevin nodded. “So if this deal works, John Jacob is out of the way, and Cy is the guy who saved the machine. What’s that line they used to say about politics? ‘To the victor—’ ”

“ ‘Goes the spoils,’ ” Liza finished. “The only thing is, this missing money may spoil Langdon’s angry-lover scenario.”

“Maybe that’s one of the embarrassments the DA wants to sweep under the rug,” Michael suggested.

“Still sounds kind of weird,” Liza said, shaking her head.

“Or desperate,” Kevin added with a frown.

They put aside further discussion at the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. Liza looked out the front window to see Mrs. H.’s Oldsmobile coming to a stop.

“Well, here come our professional consultants,” she reported. “I guess we can ask them.”

Alvin, Buck, and Mrs. Halvorsen entered and said hello to Kevin. “So, were you having a little party while we were out?” Mrs. H. asked with a laugh.

“Shades of high school,” Michael muttered.

Liza explained why she’d invited Kevin over and brought the others up to date on the latest wrinkle in the case.

Michael looked at Buck and Alvin. “So what does it mean when the DA goes off on his own like this? Kevin suggested that it was politics—that this Langdon character was getting rid of the boss so he could step up.”

“Politics is always possible, whenever the DA is elected.” Buck frowned in thought. “Or he could just be playing hardball. I’ve seen prosecutors put together a funky case on one family member to squeeze something out of another.”

“So what are you suggesting?” Liza asked. “Langdon is actually going after J.J.—but he’s arresting the old man instead?”

“Maybe the DA wants to see what happens,” Foreman suggested. “From what we’ve seen, the father has motive—Redbourne was having a fling with the wife. But from what you just told me, the son had the knowledge of the crime scene to try and fake a suicide.”

Alvin spoke up. “Whoever the prosecutor is after, his case seems awfully weak. Any halfway competent defense attorney could kick it to pieces.” A speculative gleam appeared in his eyes. “I wonder if these Pauncecombes are looking for representation . . .”

“Alvin,” Michael warned, “I don’t think Michelle Markson would look kindly on the idea of you acting as mouthpiece for the enemy.”

The so-called Lawyer to the Stars quailed at that possibility.

Mrs. Halvorsen looked up from the couch, where she’d sat down to organize a stack of signed petitions on the coffee table. “Those Pauncecombes may be big shots, but they’re not good men.”

She glanced over at Liza and Kevin. “Do either of you know how the first Mrs. Pauncecombe passed away?”

Liza dredged through her memories. “I was in seventh or eighth grade, I think. J.J.’s mom died in a car accident, didn’t she?”

Mrs. H. nodded with a sour expression. “Yes, that’s all that nice people would say.”

“Are you suggesting that there was foul play involved?” Buck Foreman immediately had his cop face on, gearing up to investigate a twenty-something-year-old cover-up and murder.

“What?” Mrs. H. looked momentarily taken aback, then gave a sarcastic laugh. “No, I’m not suggesting that she was killed. I’m saying she was smashed.”

She shook her head. “My Albert, God rest his soul, would do anything his company asked him to do—even if that meant taking me out for an evening of rubber chicken at some political do. And at every one of those I went to, Edith Pauncecombe wound up falling-down drunk.”

She made a face. “Nobody noticed, of course, or so we pretended. It would be bad manners. But people talked about it—and other things.

“The father would chase anything in a skirt. I can remember him making the rounds in dining rooms, his tuxedo a little too tight, his face red, a scotch on the rocks in one hand and a cigarette in the other, just certain he was irresistible. The son turned out the same way.”

Tell me about it
, Liza thought, remembering what Kevin had just said about their high school days.

“Maybe that would have been different if Edith had anything to say about it, but of course, she wasn’t there.” Mrs. Halvorsen shook her head. “She may have driven into a tree, but that was because her husband drove her to drink with all his floozies.”

“Do you think John Jacob cheats on Brandy?” The words just sort of popped out of Liza’s mouth.

Mrs. H. raised her eyebrows in a “Who knows?” gesture. “That’s what I hear. Although I also hear that she’s not the type to sit pining—or drinking—at home. What’s sauce for the goober—”

“I think that’s ‘goose,’ ” Alvin put in.

“I mean, you know that she and the son had a thing—of course you do, you were in school together,” Mrs. H. said to Kevin and Liza. “Well, rumor has it that they still get together, although that sounds a bit tacky to me.”

“So let me guess—did this Brandy wind up being voted Miss Popularity?” Buck asked.

“Actually, she wound up student vice president,” Liza growled.

“Well, it seems as if there’s a lot of stuff hiding in the bushes,” Alvin said. “I guess we can expect this indictment to flush some of it out.”

“From the stink it’s going to raise, it might be better if it all went out the sewage pipes,” Kevin muttered.

I guess he’s thinking about his pal Ray and indiscretion on the other side,
Liza thought.

“Well, at least we won’t be hearing about any of this on the late-night shows tonight,” she said. “They probably wrapped taping before Langdon made his announcement.”

“Yeah,” Michael said, “but there’s always tomorrow.”

The group broke up. Mrs. H. and her lodgers settled in for the evening, Kevin went home, and Liza and Michael walked next door.

As soon as she was safely in her kitchen, Liza went to the phone and punched in the number for the local sheriff’s office. She knew that Bert Clements sometimes hid out in the Maiden’s Bay substation when he wanted to avoid publicity.

All she got was a busy signal.

Sure,
she thought grimly,
every media outlet for at least a hundred miles around probably wants a statement from him.

For a long moment, she considered heading downtown and sneaking in through the back door at City Hall. No, that might just give Oscar Smutz another chance to beat his drums.

Then Liza realized she might have another backdoor access to how Sheriff Clements was taking the district attorney’s ploy.

She punched in the number for Ted Everard’s cell phone.

“Why, Liza, what a surprise,” Ted said when he heard her voice. “Are you sure you’re okay? Your dialing finger is all right? I expected you to call and try to pump me for info right after this Langdon character announced his end run.”

Liza decided to ignore his sarcasm and get right into it. “Did you speak to the sheriff? What did he say?”

“As it happens, Sheriff Clements was busily trying to pick my brains—or rather, see if any of my CID experience could help him search for this money that Chad Redbourne made off with. I was making a few suggestions—not very confidently—about checking the grounds around Redbourne’s house when Brenna Ross came in and turned on the TV.”

“How did Clements take it?”

“Let’s just say if I had an egg I wanted to fry, I could have used his forehead. Of course, he hadn’t rushed round to Langdon with this money thing. Said he wanted to nail it down before he talked to the county attorney.”

“Translated, he knew Langdon was a fairly big wheel in the machine and didn’t want the boys in Killamook to know that he knew about the money.”

“Another case of the right hand not wanting the left hand to know what was going on,” Ted agreed. “Langdon will want to quash any further investigation. If word of the money motive gets out, it will make his case look even weaker.”

“Not to mention making him look pretty foolish,” Liza said. “So is Clements still pushing on with the case?”

“He didn’t exactly confide in me,” Ted replied. “But I got the impression he had several deputies—people he thought he could trust—out pursuing leads.”

“It’s probably better if he doesn’t find the money,” Liza observed. “Once that news gets out, the politicians will all suspect one another of killing Chad and grabbing his loot.”

Ted laughed. “If this indictment is anything to go on, they’ve started clawing at one another already.” He paused. “So, do I get another invitation to lunch or something? I can stop by to talk to Clements and get all the latest dope.”

Liza glanced through the kitchen door into the living room, where Michael sat making himself at home on the sofa, wielding the TV remote as if their almost-finalized divorce had never happened. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that—or how she felt about going out with Ted right now.

“Um, got to check my schedule,” she said.

As she said the word “schedule,” her eyes fell on her computer in the corner, standing like a silent reproach to her failure to work consistently on her column. Her brain made another connection, though.

“Did you ever turn up Chad’s collection of sudoku puzzles?” Liza asked.

That threw Ted off his stride. “His what?”

“Chad was quite the sudoku fan,” Liza explained.

“Yeah, I got a certain inkling of that from his computers,” Ted said.

“Chad created a whole bunch of puzzles—enough to publish as a good-sized book,” Liza told Ted. “He had them collected as little booklets with the pages stapled together.”

“As you know, I enjoy a good sudoku as much as the next citizen of—what do you call it in your column?—Sudoku Nation,” Ted said. “If they had been in his desk, I’m sure I’d have noticed.”

“That’s where he had them.” Liza frowned, then her eyes opened wide. “But if he was leaving town, I bet he’d be taking them with him.”

“Clements didn’t mention them—I’m pretty sure he’d have kidded me about them—and about you.” Ted tried to pass over his own loaded comment. “Maybe they disappeared with his million and change.”

Liza had to laugh at that. “Yeah—his treasure.” She couldn’t help sounding a little wistful as she went on. “Still, would you mind asking about them—and if I could get some copies if they turn up? I’d like to put a couple in some columns—it’s not often you get sudoku with a news hook, and it would make a nice remembrance for Chad.”

Ted sighed. “Right. I’ll inquire after getting a bunch of sudoku puzzles for you while subtly getting all the dope on how Sheriff Clements is proceeding with his secret investigation.” He paused. “And if I succeed at that, I should get more than a lousy lunch. Now we’re getting into the romantic dinner and drive bracket—and not at the Killamook Inn. I won’t be able to enjoy my meal with Kevin Shepard glaring at me from the doorway.”

“I’m not promising anything,” Liza hedged. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

“Yeah, yeah, always a good excuse,” Ted groused. “I’ll talk to you if I find out anything. Take it easy, Liza.”

 

 

Ruthlessly shutting out Michael, the television, and her own thoughts, Liza managed to grind out a couple of decent sudoku. They weren’t the most elegant puzzles she’d ever created, but they were certainly good enough for publication.

I wonder if Chad Redbourne’s puzzles would be good enough to publish,
she thought as she printed out final copies of her creations. After all, she’d gotten only a quick look at them there in his office. But the sheer bulk of the booklets suggested that some of Chad’s output would be decent enough to see print.

Liza took the printouts over to Michael, intending to ask him to check them out. She blinked in surprise when she discovered the late news already on.

Michael recognized her expression and smiled. “Nothing much happened while you were visiting Sudoku Nation. Just a couple of foreign disasters, natural and political.”

Even as he spoke, Cy Landgon’s face appeared on the screen, announcing the indictment of John Jacob Pauncecombe. Then came the inevitable response, delivered by J.J. “We’re shocked and disgusted by this obviously political prosecution—no,
persecution
—of my father, who has devoted his life to public service for Killamook County. Dad will meet with the DA tomorrow to show just how baseless these charges are.”

The bald, bulldog-faced reporter they’d seen earlier in the evening appeared on the screen, looking a little nonplussed. “John Jacob Pauncecombe is presently in seclusion, but his wife asked to make a statement.”

A teary-eyed Brandy Pauncecombe popped into focus. “The man I loved most in the world has been taken from me.”

“That’s laying it on pretty thick for a philandering husband,” Michael quipped.

“And I do not intend to give any help to his murderer,” Brandy went on, despite a quivering lip. “From now on, I’m going back to my maiden name of D’Alessandro.”

Liza stared as the newscast went to commercial. “Did she just say what I think she said?”

“Spouses can’t be forced to testify against one another,” Michael said. “But it looks as if she’s conducted the trial already.”

“Trial, hell,” Liza replied. “She’s pushing for an execution.”

 

 

 

As Liza predicted, the late-night shows had no jokes or comments about developments in the case—they’d filmed too early in the afternoon. All they had was one host apologizing that there was no exciting news from “Killacrook—excuse me,
Killamook
County.”