The Crossword Murder (27 page)

“Had a wife and couldn't keep her.”

Belle jerked her head up to see Peter Kingsworth's large frame filling the doorway. His charm and bright smile had vanished; instead, his face had assumed a wolfish, sinister stare.

“I'm surprised,” he said. “I expected you to guess my identity sooner. ‘Peter, Peter, Pumpkin-Eater. Had a wife and couldn't keep her.' Sorry about this, Belle. I don't think I can keep you either.”

CHAPTER 35

“I
'M AFRAID YOU'RE
a little too smart for your own good,” Peter said. “Who would have guessed anyone as pretty as you would have brains?” The muscles in his neck and jaw were stretched tight and the tension in his face forced his eyes into a vicious squint. “I thought my phone calls last night might have put a scare in you. Obviously I was wrong … You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?”

Belle pushed the chair away from the desk, putting as much distance as possible between herself and Peter. “I don't know what you're talking about,” she managed in a voice that cracked with fear. “These puzzles don't prove a single fact … We should forget the entire matter …”

“Peter, Peter, Pumpkin-Eater …? Tommy-Boy loved that stupid phrase. Every time he saw me he used it. He thought he was so witty—as if he was the only person in the whole world to have ever said it to me. Ha! I've been listening to that idiotic nursery rhyme ever since I can remember. Tommy shortened it over the years; pared it down to plain ‘Pumpkin.' You have no idea how annoying something like that can become.”

“Listen, Peter, I don't want these crossword puzzles. You can keep them. I only came here to study Briephs' artwork. I believe some of the pieces are stolen. Mrs. Briephs wishes them returned to their rightful owners.”

Peter laughed slowly and shook his head from side to side. “Oh, they're stolen, that's for sure. That much of it you've got right. But I sincerely doubt the old lady knows anything about it—let alone wants them returned. In fact, I doubt anyone even knows you're here.”

“That's not true,” Belle bluffed. “I told you, the police gave me the key. They're expecting it back this afternoon. If I don't return it, they'll come looking, I'm sure.”

Again Peter laughed at Belle's attempted lie. “That's about as far from the truth as you can get. I radioed the police. They asked me to look out after the place, remember? Lever told me no one was expected for several days. I offered to remove the crime-scene tape, but he said the investigation wasn't finished.”

Peter lifted his right hand. In it he held a four-foot length of heavy nylon rope. “I would be following police orders if I had to use extreme measures to stop a
burglary
in progress.” He jerked the rope between his hands. “But there would be too many questions to answer if I did that … No, I think the only solution is to send you to the bottom of the ocean. Then, I'll be home free.”

Belle began searching her brain for a way to stall for time and find an escape route. She glanced around the room. Peter took a step toward her, and she blurted out, “How did you discover that these pieces were stolen?”

He stopped advancing. “Everyone thinks I'm nothing but a big, brawny sea dog … that I don't understand anything … don't see things … But I caught the two of them, Roth and Tom-Boy, right in the marina parking lot. They looked like a couple of low-rent double agents out of a cheesy spy movie. Rather than just handing this package to Tommy, Roth has to throw his coat over it like he's some kind of
Get Smart
agent. I played dumb; made it look like I hadn't seen anything. But it didn't take a genius to figure out the two of them were up to something shady. And a couple of times I even ferried Roth out to Windword with packages. He held them like they contained eggs. Afraid to set them down in my boat. Any dope could have guessed what they were.”

“Bulldog Roth swiped these pieces?”

“No. Someone as slick as Roth would never steal them himself. He's just a high-class fence. He brought them back to the U.S. under diplomatic immunity. No one searches his bags. He can bring anything he wants into the country. These guys get away with murder.”

“I don't understand,” Belle said, avoiding eye contact with Peter for fear it would incite him to action. “I mean, what did Roth get out of it?”

“I think Tommy had something on the Bulldog, and was blackmailing him into bringing the stuff back for him … That's where I got my own clever idea.” There was a hint of pride in Peter's voice when he said this.

“What idea was that?”

“My little blackmail scam. I guess there's no harm in telling you about it. You won't be around much longer … See, I figured, what's good for the goose is good for the gander. If Briephs was blackmailing Roth, why shouldn't I do the same to Tommy-Boy? He antes up, or I go to the customs people and tell them about the hot artwork. Pretty much everything here came in from Turkey or Lebanon. I checked that out on my own—looked it up in a book.”

“So that's why he was withdrawing that two hundred dollars on a regular basis. Why the bus depot?”

“That's where my drop was; in the lockers on the lower level. He didn't know it was me who was threatening to expose him. I was pretty clever about that. I made a bunch of notes from torn-up puzzles that looked like a real dummy had created them … and then kept changing the amounts from a few grand to five hundred to two hundred bucks to keep the creep guessing … My scheme would have lasted a long time if Tommy hadn't stiffed me last Friday. He broke the rules …”

Without thinking, Belle blurted, “But he made an ATM withdrawal just before he died.”

“So he said. But I went to the usual drop and came away empty-handed. That's when I decided to up the ante and confront the cretin. I thought Tom-Boy would be real surprised, but he told me he'd already guessed my identity … said he had put my name in his puzzles … like a form of life insurance in case something ‘ugly' happened. I didn't believe him.”

“Until PUMPKIN showed up in Monday's newspaper.”

The word made Peter's head jerk back. “Pumpkin!” he spat out. “Exactly! That's when I figured old Tom-Boy'd been telling the truth. I knew I had to get rid of the other puzzles, but that stupid JaneAlice outsmarted me.”

Belle continued to glance surreptitiously around the room. Peter stood directly between her and the only exit. “JaneAlice has regained consciousness, Peter. If you don't believe me, call St. Joseph's. You know she'll identify you, don't you? Lieutenant Lever was on his way to interview her when I left the hospital.”

“Don't you worry about old Miss Miller. Besides, Lever didn't mention anything about her describing her assailant.” He tugged at the rope again. “I thought I'd finished her off in the garage. I'll be more careful next time.”

Belle stood and started to work her way out from behind the desk.

“Where do you think you're going?” Peter demanded with a flick of the rope.

“Just over here.” She pointed to the far corner of the room and the stone carving of a griffin. “I think I saw this piece in a museum in Cyprus three or four years ago … It's a sacred griffin, very rare …” She casually crossed the office and picked up the mythical beast. It weighed close to fifteen pounds, but Belle juggled it back and forth in her hands in an attempt to make it seem lighter. “So, what kind of dirt do you think Thompson had on Roth?”

“I don't know, but it must have been good.”

Belle continued to play with the stone griffin. “Why did you kill him, Peter?”

“Who? Tommy? Like I said, because he stiffed me. I went to the bus depot as usual, opened the locker we always used and came up empty.”

“Maybe someone found the key and beat you to it?”

Peter slapped the nylon rope across the desk and shouted, “That's not my problem! It was Briephs' responsibility to see that the money was there! That's why I came looking for him.” He twisted the rope tightly around his hands, making the veins in his forearms pop out from beneath his leathery skin. “Look at all this stuff! He could afford to cough up a lot more than he did. What's three thousand dollars to a guy like Thompson Briephs? I mean, just look at this … this weird house … that car of his … He has all these expensive things and what do I have? Nothing!”

“But he wouldn't pay last Friday, would he?”

“No! He refused … threatened to expose me as a blackmailer, said he'd tell people what I do down on Congress Street … I couldn't let him … I'd be ruined here at the yacht club.”

Belle stared at the floor and shook her head as though in sympathy while Peter began walking toward her.

“And now it's you,” he said. “You're the one who's got to go. Why didn't you stay away?”

Peter pulled the rope taut between his clenched hands and continued to approach Belle. When he was within two feet he raised the rope to chest level. “I hate to do this,” he said. “You're so pretty.”

Belle pulled the griffin close to her chest and waited for Peter to take his final step toward her. At the exact moment he had the rope behind her neck, Belle flung the statue at his foot.

Peter howled in pain and dropped the rope. His facial muscles contorted as he reached for his injured foot, which she was pretty sure was broken. Belle jabbed his shoulder with her fist sending him toppling to the floor. She jumped over his prone body and raced for the door. Peter reached out with one long arm to grab her ankle, just missing. She could almost feel his fingers pawing the air.

In the outer office, Belle slammed the door shut and frantically tried to lock it. Failing that, she grabbed a freestanding bookcase and sent it tumbling to the floor, kicking the books in an attempt to form a wedge but soon realizing it would offer little resistance to someone of Peter's size. She could hear him struggling to his feet. He began shouting obscenities, finally calling out, “You can run but you can't hide. I know this place like the back of my hand. I came to all of Tommy's little parties!”

Belle ran into the next room and down the corridor. Behind her she could hear Peter bashing his shoulder against the office door. She continued into the fountain room and watched the statue of Athena slowly turning in place. “Which way? Which door do I take?” she cried as she glanced around the room and the three remaining archways. “Which one? How do I get out of here?”

Belle began turning in a circle. “Clockwise, I traveled clockwise.” She stood still and remained perfectly quiet. She could no longer remember through which door she'd entered. The sound of water dripping into the pool seemed to grow louder and louder until her ears ached. She tried to attune her hearing to any noise Peter might make, but she heard nothing outside of the dripping water.

“You can't hide from me!” Peter's voice suddenly echoed from the stone walls. It was impossible to tell from which direction the words came. Belle could hear his footsteps, a discordant clip-clop as he hobbled on his broken foot, and then a slapping sound, as he whipped his nylon rope against the damp walls. “You can't run far!” he cried. This was followed with a ringing laugh.

Peter was getting closer, but Belle was unable to determine through which archway he'd emerge. She pointed her finger around the room. “One potato, two potato, three potato, four.” She dropped her hand and raced through the last archway she'd pointed to but she found herself in another long and empty corridor. “Oh, no,” she groaned. She knew she was either headed back toward Peter, or toward the stone altar she'd found earlier. Again, she listened intently. Peter's footsteps were definitely behind her. It was too late to turn back.

Belle ran the length of the corridor and through the arched doorway at the far end. As expected, she emerged staring at the ancient stone altar. “This time I keep my bearings,” she murmured. There was an exit in each corner of the room. Belle had entered from one. She studied the other three and opted for the one directly opposite. She scurried around the altar and through the opening. The room before her was dimly lit, but she immediately realized there was no way out—other than going back to the altar chamber.

“So you've decided to visit Tommy's sacred site?” Somewhere behind her, Peter's voice reverberated off the wall while his hobbling footsteps grew ever louder.

Belle rubbed her palms together. They were dripping with sweat. Five seconds later Peter entered the altar room and froze, listening for Belle. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, and tried to limit her breathing for fear the sound would give her away.

“One potato, two potato? That's how you made up your mind, wasn't it? Sound travels for miles in here.” Peter laughed. “I'm a man of the sea, Belle. I can't be so carefree. I set my course based on knowledge because my life depends upon it.” Again he laughed. “If I have to find a lost boat, I speculate on how the navigator made his decision. You? You create word games. Your decisions will be based on linear thinking. Across and down. Horizontal and vertical. That's why you've been so easy to follow … I know exactly what choices you'll make.”

Peter fell silent. Belle could hear him breathing. She remained motionless; pressing her hand against her heart in an attempt to silence it.

“The pain in my foot is pretty bad, Belle. I'm going to have to hurt you, too, when I catch you. It's only fair, don't you think? … But let's return to your predictability. We can discuss pain later … Now, I have a choice of three archways. The average man wouldn't know where to start, but I do. I look at the across and down and I tell myself Annabella Graham doesn't sneak out sideways, does she? No. She goes straight across.”

Belle nearly screamed when she heard Peter's decision, but terror had frozen her vocal chords. She stood and listened as Peter's irregular footsteps began their final approach. Get your bearings, she thought. Calm down, get your bearings and run. You can outrun him!