Sinister Sudoku (16 page)

At least she was until Michael removed the cover to reveal a supper of meatballs and spaghetti with lots of piping-hot, steaming tomato sauce.

“Gurk!” Liza said, her hand flying to her mouth. “That’s not exactly what you want to see after stumbling across someone who’s been shot in the head.”

Michael hurriedly covered the plate again. “Oh, man, I hadn’t thought of that. Was it bad?”

“Actually, it was pretty neat.” Liza paused. “That’s ‘neat’ as in ‘not messy,’ not ‘neat’ as in ‘really enjoyable.’ ”

Michael looked surprised. “I’d think a shooting like that would be fairly messy.”

Liza shook her head. “They said the bullet stayed in the skull. Just a little hole—a twenty-two caliber, I think Ted Everard said.”

“Professional assassins use that size bullet. It works well with a silencer.” He saw the look she was giving him and shrugged. “Hey, I write mystery stories. I’m supposed to know this sort of stuff.”

“I don‘t think Sheriff Clements thinks that way.” Liza tried to dredge up exactly what the sheriff and Everard had said. “It could have been a twenty-two or a twenty-five caliber. Clements said it sounded like a Saturday night special.”

“Yeah, there are a lot of cheap guns made in low calibers like that—street guns, usually involved in street crime. I can’t imagine there’s a lot of that in Maiden’s Bay.”

“Well, there was a terrible rash of jack-o-lantern thefts around Halloween,” Liza told him. “But I don’t remember any of them being taken at gunpoint.”

“Let’s go back to the MOM equation. We’ve got another murder happening just days after Chris Dalen was killed,” Michael said.

“So it’s likely the two deaths are connected,” Liza agreed. “Especially since Rod Carlowe is one of the people actively looking for the painting that Chris Dalen hid.”

“People are getting a little crazy about that,” Michael admitted. “Mrs. H. told me she had to chase some nut with a shovel out of her backyard this afternoon.”

“It’s a shame we don’t have pictures of all the people involved in this treasure hunt. Maybe the guy she chased off was Carlowe—or Fritz Tarleton.”

Michael laughed. “I can’t imagine Tarleton with anything as plebeian as a shovel in his hands.” He grew more serious. “Or a Saturday night special, if it comes to that. Vinnie Tanino, well, maybe. You could imagine him getting hold of a cheap, hard-to-trace gun.”

“You suggested that a hit man might use a twenty-two,” Liza pointed out.

She paused for a moment. “Do you think someone like Alvin Hunzinger could get a gun like that?”

Now it was Michael’s turn to look at her. “Why would the lawyer to the stars be going to town with a Saturday night special?”

“He was there, too, barfing all over his car.” All of a sudden, Liza got an errant whiff of meatballs and sauce— and her own stomach began to get queasy again.

“Well, that doesn’t exactly sound like the actions of a cold-blooded killer.” Michael shrugged, his hands palms up. “For that matter, Carlowe used to be a cop, where he could have come across an arsenal’s worth of street weapons. A crooked cop, especially, would have uses for an untraceable gun. Suppose he brought along a small pocket piece for protection, but then the killer somehow got hold of it—”

“Well, that pretty much rules out means. Any of our suspects could have shot him then.” Liza leaned back in her kitchen chair. “I don’t think we’re going to get very far with opportunity. The police will have to check out alibis. What about motive?”

“It looks as though this treasure hunt has gotten deadly serious,” Michael said.

“Does it have to connect to the hunt after all?” Liza suddenly asked.

“I suppose Carlowe could have insulted somebody’s wife, and they went home to get the gun they keep in the dresser drawer.” Michael made a face. “But it seems awfully coincidental.”

“No, no.” Liza made pushing-away gestures. “What if there was some sort of side deal? Buck told us that Carlowewasn’t above using blackmail. Suppose he had something on Tarleton—like that sex tape of his daughter’s? We know that Pops Tarleton was ready to go to extremes for Ritz. He had that boyfriend beaten up.”

“Funny you didn’t mention that to Michelle earlier today,” Michael said.

“We were trying to make Tarleton back off—he was doing the wrong thing, putting pressure on Kevin,” Liza said. “Michelle has a reputation for being tough but fair. Compare that to what we’ve heard about Rod Carlowe.”

“Okay, okay,” Michael frowned. “But if Tarleton runs true to
his
reputation, he’d have passed the job on to his security guy, Jim McShane.”

“Another former cop who could have gotten hold of a street gun,” Liza pointed out.

“Yeah, but it’s one thing to order a beating put on someone, quite another to order a killing. If Tarleton wanted to keep from being blackmailed by Carlowe, would he put himself in the power of McShane? I don’t think so.”

“So who else might Carlowe have been trying to get over on?” Liza asked. “Frankie Basso?”

“Trying to put the screws to Fat Frankie? I don’t think so—unless Carlowe had a bad case of death wish.”

“Well,” Liza pointed out, “that’s what he got.”

“And he was working for Conn Lezat.” Michael stopped. “Unless Carlowe was running a scam on his own client.”

“A stand-up guy like Rod Carlowe? Perish the thought.” Liza’s lightheartedly sarcastic expression faded. “Suppose Carlowe was the one who killed Chris Dalen. But before Dalen died, he gave away some information—maybe not the location of the painting itself, but enough to put one of the searchers ahead in the treasure hunt.”

Michael slowly nodded. “How would he use that clue for his own profit? If it’s not conclusive, it might not lead him to the Mondrian. Then Carlowe would have killed Dalen for nothing. I suppose he might try to sell whatever he got from Dalen. If it didn’t pan out, well, caveat emptor.”

“‘Let the buyer beware,’” Liza echoed. “Or he could have been holding up Lezat for more money.”

“It’s possible that he’d been spotted dealing with one of the other enemy camps. That would be taken as betraying Lezat,” Michael pointed out.

Liza shook her head in disbelief. “And who would have seen that? Who’s working for Lezat out here? Alvin Hunzinger? Can you really see him as the triggerman? Slamming people with legal paper, yes, he’s good at that. But shooting someone? He caves when Michelle gives him a dirty look.”

“Better men than he have done that,” Michael said.

“Oh, come on,” Liza argued. “It’s like believing in the Killer Bunny Rabbit.”

Michael only shrugged. “Fine. But rabbits have pretty sharp teeth.”

Then that annoying little voice in the back of Liza’s head chimed in.
And did you notice? Alvin was at the scene of the crime when the police arrived.

Liza did her best to quash that aggravating voice by resolutely doing something practical. “I guess I should call Ava.”

“That’s right,” Michael said. “You have another first-person report.”

And you’ll have to tell her about Alvin,
that damned mental voice chimed in.

Liza put all her attention to calling up the
Oregon Daily
.

“Well, you’re getting a bit better,” Ava greeted her. “But the idea of working for a newspaper is that you’re supposed to call the moment you see news, not sometime afterward.”

Of course, Ava had her sources in the local force. Somebody would have seen Liza on the scene and let Ava know. “You’re making me sorry I called in at all,” Liza replied. “If you don’t need my story—”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t think we do this time around,” Ava told her. “Sheriff Clements moved very quickly—Vinnie Tanino is already in custody.”

“Tanino?” Liza glanced over at Michael, remembering his comment about professional assassins. Had Vinnie Tanlines tried his luck as a hit man? “How did they get on to him so quickly?”

“I don’t know how carefully you looked in the back of Carlowe’s Taurus,” Ava began.

“Not very,” Liza said quickly. “He was lying there with a hole in his head.”

“Well, besides Carlowe, there was a portable DVD player.”

“Did they get a look at what was in it?” Liza asked, visions of Ritz Tarleton’s scandalous sex antics turning up.

“No,” Ava answered, “because nothing was in it. The player was lying there, open and empty, but the cops managed to lift a fingerprint off the Eject button. It didn’t take them very long to discover that Tanino’s right index finger was a perfect match.”

“Bad news for Vinnie Tanlines,” Liza said.

“But good news for us.” Ava’s voice took on a gloating tone. “This is well before the paper goes to press. We have time to design a killer front page and do the whole package. I had Murph working on a background piece about Tanino’s criminal career just in case.”

“Well, if you’re happy, I’m happy,” Liza told her. “Especially if you don’t need anything from me.”

“You’re off the hook,” Ava said. “But next time—”

“Right, right.” Liza said some hasty good-byes and hung up. Then she turned to Michael and gave him the whole story.

“Well, Tanino didn’t particularly strike me as a criminal genius,” Michael said. “Now that they’ve got him for Carlowe’s murder, they’ll try all the harder to connect him to the Dalen case as well. I bet the sheriff is happy to wind up the local crime wave—what are you doing?” he interrupted himself as Liza hauled out her coat again.

“I’m going down to City Hall,” she explained, pulling on the waxed jacket. “My friend Alvin is stuck down there.”
And,
she thought,
I might get more of the story than I would talking to Ava—or reading her paper.

Michael got his coat, and they both went out the door. He stood on the path to Mrs. Halvorsen’s house, waving as Liza drove off.

Most of the stores along Main Street were dark by now. Liza had an easy time parking, but she remained in her car, watching the front of City Hall. Other times she’d come here after a new development in a murder case to find a media circus in full cry. Tonight, though, there were only a couple of acts.

A chauffeured limo sat on the curb in front of the building, parked between two news vans.
Maybe Alvin has already arranged for a ride out of town,
Liza thought. Only one camera was actually out, busily recording a very thin, rather chilled-looking local reporter speaking in front of the building.

Why does she have to do that?
Liza wondered.
Why not let her give her report in a nice, warm studio? Do they have to justify the cost of the vans and crews? Or is this how they tell all us couch potatoes that the station is always on the move, looking for news?

By the time the young woman was done, her lips were blue as she climbed back into the van. Liza took advantage of the lull in the action to pull on an unflattering woolen hat and, using that as a camouflage, walk into City Hall.

Liza yanked off her disguise and stepped up to the duty desk. Despite her hat hair, the deputy behind the desk recognized her. So did Alvin Hunzinger, who waved to her from the bench where he was sitting with a man who looked like central casting’s idea of a major executive, from the distinguished silver hair in the four-hundred-dollar coif to the camel-hair coat.

I guess he explains the limo outside. It would make the perfect prop for him,
Liza’s irreverent side suggested. Then she recognized the face atop all the other accoutrements. That was Fritz Tarleton, and he was trying to do some sort of deal with Alvin. The Tarleton behind Tarleton Tours gave Liza the kind of look his daughter reserved for those annoying little people. But Alvin rose and walked over to Liza.

“I hear you’re off the hook for Carlowe’s murder,” she said with a smile.

He returned it. “As if there were any doubt. I did get to be the object of a spirited bidding war. Mr. Tarleton and that Tanino fellow were both interested in my services.”

“I can understand why Tanino would want your services,” Liza began.

“Even though he couldn’t really afford them,” Alvin said. “He tried to offer me a credit card with another name on it.”

“But Tarleton?”

The lawyer shrugged. “He was concerned for his head of security, who is still inside with the forces of law and order.”

“Why?” Liza asked. “I thought they had Tanino dead to rights.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Tanino doesn’t think so.” Alvin raised a hand to his ear. As if on cue, Vinnie Tanino’s voice echoed from the interrogation room in the rear. “I tolja, I didn’t do nothing.” There was a brief pause as someone else must have spoken—in a lower tone of voice.

“Yeah, awright, so I got into Carlowe’s car. I mean, that PI’s been nosin’ around lookin’ for the painting. I seen a chance to see what he’d got. How was I supposed to know there was a stiff in the back?”

Another brief pause was followed by an even more agitated outburst from Vinnie Tanlines. “Dammit, I looked in the DVD player after I checked Carlowe for a pulse. Had to take my glove off for that. He was gone, and the player was empty. So I got outta there—fast. But I did call you guys.”

Liza stared at Alvin. “So, Tanino’s going to try and fight it? Even though that fingerprint puts him right at the crime scene?”

Alvin shrugged. “In my professional opinion, the police have only a circumstantial case so far. Maybe they can develop more, but at this point, any competent attorney could get Mr. Tanino acquitted.”

Liza would have liked to discuss that at more length. But this was the moment a large, pink-faced man emerged from the corridor leading to the interrogation room and the cells. He did a double take as he glanced over at the bench where Fritz Tarleton was sitting. “Boss! What are you doing here? You had that meeting up in Portland—”

“I cut it short when I heard about what happened here.” Tarleton glanced into the rear area. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble for you.”