NYPD Puzzle (15 page)

“Who was that?” Crowley said. He put his arm around her shoulders, pulled her onto his chest.

“That was my niece. My lawyer and the chief of police were there, too.”

“Popular girl.”

“I really appreciate the special consideration, Sergeant. Or are you this cordial with all your murder suspects?”

“You do have a way with words, don’t you?”

“Yes and no.”

“Right. Good thing the last message wasn’t a puzzle.”

“Yeah. Funny about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Almost as if he knew.”

Crowley frowned. “I don’t get you.”

“As if the killer was taunting me with the knowledge I can’t do puzzles.”

“How would he know that?”

“I don’t know. That’s what’s scary.”

“The whole thing’s scary. I get a message in a coffee shop. The one we went to on the spur of the moment. That means he was right there following us.”

“I got the implication, Sergeant. I’m not good with puzzles, but simple deductions aren’t beyond me.”

“The point is, if he followed us there, he probably followed us here.”

“You’re a cop. I assume you have police locks.”

“The apartment’s secure. Just stay away from the windows with the fire escape.”

“Which ones are those?”

“The living room.”

“So far we haven’t needed the living room.” Cora traced a pattern on the sergeant’s chest. “I wonder if it was as big a shock for him as it was for me.”

“What?”

“Finding out you lived in the West Village.”

“Hey, I used to be a hippie.”

“You’re too young to be a hippie.”

“There were hippies in the seventies.”

“There was disco in the seventies.”

“Even so.”

“You have a bong?”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“You’re the one making the claim.”

“I’m a cop. I’m not claiming a bong. I got a Jimi Hendrix poster.”

“Oooh. Can I touch you?”

“Silly question.”

“Yeah. I like the way you sidestepped my
other
question.”

“What question?”

“Standard treatment, or should I consider myself flattered?”

“Don’t be silly.”

“I’m coming off a bad breakup. A one-night stand isn’t out of the question. I just want to know if it is.”

“Oh.”

“Well. That answers the question.”

“Sorry. I never considered.”

“Exactly.” Cora took a breath. “Don’t mean to be a downer. I’m actually having a good time. So, any theories on the case?”

“I would say you’re practically exonerated.”

“I like your screening process. Glad I passed.”

“The killer targeted you. The only question is was he targeting you before the first crime or after?”

“He left puzzles at the first crime.”

“Yes, he did.”

“And he sent puzzles.”

“He sent them to me, not you,” Crowley said.

“They were meant for me.”

“How do you know?”

Cora frowned. “Wait a minute. What are you saying?”

“Maybe you just happened to be along.”

“Oh, give me a break.”

“Take this as a premise: He left puzzles for the cops. You walk in on the first crime, scare the killer away. The killer tails you to see what your angle is. He follows you home, gets your address, your license plate, traces ’em, finds out who you are.”

“He knew that already.”

“That’s one theory. We’re working on the theory he didn’t. What happens next? He sends a puzzle to me—not you, me—because I’m the cop in charge. He sends me a puzzle, tails me when I leave work. Sends me a puzzle in the restaurant.”

“Then why is the message in the locker not a puzzle?”

“I can’t solve ’em. Last puzzle he gave me I took forever to get it solved. He’s tired, he doesn’t want to wait around. He says, screw it, I’ll just send him the message.”

She shook her head. “No good.”

“Why not?”

“He had to put the message in the locker before he sent you the puzzle. The one you took so long to solve. The puzzle gives you the number of the locker.”

“Actually, the sudoku gives me the number of the locker.”

“Huh?”

“He gives me the puzzle first, sending me to a locker. Any locker. Then he figures out what message he wants to send me. He makes up the message, puts it in the locker, then creates a sudoku that gives me the number and combination of that locker.”

Cora blinked.

“Couldn’t he do that?” Crowley said.

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t you create sudoku? Or does someone do that for you, too?”

“I create my own sudoku. I just never created one to yield three particular numbers in a column.”

“Could it be done?”

“It probably could. I just never tried.”

“There you are.”

“Still doesn’t fly,” Cora said.

“Why not?”

“He put the message in the locker because you can’t solve puzzles. But he still sent you a sudoku.”

“Some people can do number puzzles but not word puzzles.”

“You say he found out you can’t do crosswords by following you and observing you. By the time he observed that, he’s already put the message in the locker.”

“Suppose he put
another
puzzle in the locker,” Crowley said. “While I’m running around trying to solve the puzzle, he realizes I’m going to take forever, so he runs up to Penn Station, takes the puzzle out of the locker, and replaces it with a simple message.”

“Oh, my God!” Cora said.

“What?”

“Your mind is more convoluted than mine.”

“I take it as a compliment.”

“You take it any way you like. It doesn’t mean I happen to agree with your logic. It makes a lot more sense he was following me. He sees you present me with the puzzle in the restaurant. When I don’t solve it, he says, ‘Oh, my God, she can’t do it,’ and he rushes up to Penn Station and swaps out a simple message.”

“But he’s still counting on you to solve the sudoku?”

“It’s your example. If it works for you, it works for me.”

“Maybe,” Crowley said. “On the other hand.”

“What other hand?”

“How many people are there that know you can’t do crosswords but can do sudoku?”

“Oh, come on.”

“There’s a few, aren’t there?”

“Yes, but they’re not suspects,” Cora said irritably. “That makes even less sense than the other thing you said.”

“Why?”

“If they already know that, why do they leave the puzzle to begin with?”

“To let you know it’s for you. They know you’ll get it solved somehow. When it takes forever, they get impatient and don’t want to wait.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“Even so. Who knows you can’t do puzzles and can do sudoku?”

“My niece and her husband know I can’t make up or solve the puzzles but I make up sudoku. My attorney and the crossword expert in Bakerhaven know I can’t solve puzzles, but think I construct them.”

“Anyone else?”

“My niece’s ex-husband knows the whole schmear. But he hasn’t been around in ages.”

“That doesn’t wipe him out.”

“He’s not a killer. He’s evil enough, but he doesn’t have the nerve.”

“Could he make up the puzzles?”

“I don’t know about sudoku.”

“But he could do the crosswords?”

“He’s not worth considering.”

“But he could do it?”

“This is a very bad tangent, Sergeant,” Cora said. She peeked under the sheet. “I think I’ll have to distract you.”

He tousled her hair. Smiled. “Distract away.”

Chapter

26

Sherry’s eyes snapped
open in the middle of the night. Aaron was snoring loudly. There was no sound over the baby monitor, so Jennifer was sleeping. There was no other sound.

Sherry’s eyes flicked around the room. The digital clock said
3:30.
The little moonlight peeking through the edge of the curtains was enough to assure her there was no one in the room. And yet something had woken her up.

Sherry swung her legs over the side of the bed, padded barefoot to the door. She opened it, peered down the hall. It was dark except for the night-light in front of Jennifer’s room. The door was ajar, just the way she’d left it. Everything was fine. Still Sherry tiptoed down the hall, pushed Jennifer’s door open, and peered in.

The baby stirred, gurgled, turned over.

Sherry stepped back into the hallway and closed the door, leaving it ajar as before.

Had she dreamed she heard something and woken up? Could dreams do that? Or was she just jumpy because of Cora? Cora wasn’t even here. Could Cora have come home? Not at three thirty in the morning. Not if she was under police protection. Even if she was released from police protection, they wouldn’t let her drive home.

Sherry went to the window, peered out. Couldn’t see Cora’s car. Unless it was in the shadows, behind Aaron’s, where it couldn’t be seen. But why would she park there?

Had she locked the door? The doors to the addition were locked, but what about the door to the main house? Had Cora left it open when she left?

No, what was she thinking of? Becky had been over. And Chief Harper. They’d come in that door. She was the last one in the main house. She’d locked it when she left. Hadn’t she? Or had she? Had the news that the killer was in the city made her careless?

Things were coming fast. Things that didn’t make sense.

Sherry felt an apprehension she hadn’t had since her ex-husband, Dennis, was plaguing her. But he was over that now, happily reconciled with his long-suffering wife, Brenda, and thinking of settling down and raising a family. Even that made Sherry uneasy. She couldn’t shake the nagging doubt he was doing it only because she had, in a fierce competition to show that he, too, could move on, find roots, offer stability.

Sherry shook her head to clear it. Good God, she thought angrily. It wasn’t fair that Cora’s shenanigans could get her in this mindset.

Was Cora really to blame for someone following her? Well, probably. Cora ruffled feathers in one way or another. People always wanted to take her down a peg. A problem, now that she had a family, a baby, something to protect.

Sherry knew rationally that didn’t really happen. This was just a delayed reaction to the scare she’d had shortly after Jennifer was born, when a psychopath had seen fit to punish Cora by punishing her. Not the sort of thing that happened in the normal course of events. In
any
course of events. Traumatic, yes, but as the counselors had said, it was important to move past that, see it for what it was, put it in perspective. The image never leaves you, but it doesn’t mean that you are likely to be consumed by fire.

Sherry went to the front door. It appeared locked, but unfortunately it was one of those locks that from the inside you couldn’t tell. From the inside the knob turned and the door opened whether the door was locked or not. The only way to tell was to open the door and twist the knob from the outside.

Sherry didn’t like doing that. It wasn’t like in the city, where you could look out a peephole at the person on the stoop. Country doors were solid. Sherry looked out the front window. There was no one on the half of the stoop she could see. That was the problem with the window. It gave you a clear view of anyone to the right of the door, but anyone to the left …

Sherry shook her head again angrily. There was no one there. All she had to do was make sure the door was locked so she could go back to sleep. No big deal.

Sherry twisted the knob, pulled the door open. There was no one there. She exhaled, realized she’d been holding her breath. She almost didn’t want to try the outside knob. If it was unlocked, she’d never get back to sleep. She’d keep hearing things. She’d probably search the house.

Sherry took another deep breath. Reached out, twisted the knob.

It was locked.

Of course, he could have locked it on his way out.

Stop it! It’s locked, it’s nothing, go back to sleep.

Sherry was about to close the door when something caught her eye. There was something on the door. Small, rectangular, white. She stepped out on the stoop and looked.

It was an envelope. Taped to the door with masking tape.

Sherry reached up and pulled it down. The masking tape came away easily, was clearly fresh. Of course, it had to be, since it wasn’t there when Becky and the chief had come in.

Clutching the envelope, Sherry stepped back inside, slammed the door. Her heart racing, she looked to see what was in the envelope, dreading what it might be. She reached in, pulled it out.

It was a crossword puzzle.