Read The Sudoku Puzzle Murders Online
Authors: Parnell Hall
The Sudoku Puzzle Murders (7 page)
Cora and Sherry came out of the police station and met Aaron Grant on his way in.
“Aaron!” Sherry said. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to report a crime.”
“What?”
“Evidently Dennis took exception to my car being parked in front of Sherry’s house. He smashed my headlight.”
“You’re kidding!” Cora said.
Aaron pointed. “See for yourself.”
“How come you’re just reporting it now?”
“I didn’t see it.”
“Oh?”
Aaron made a face. “All right, maybe he didn’t smash it then. Maybe he saw it parked in front of the paper.”
“How do you know it was him?”
“Exactly,” Sherry said. “You’re a newsman. You ought to know
the difference between ‘knowing’ something and being able to prove it.”
the difference between ‘knowing’ something and being able to prove it.”
“Yeah, we say
alleged.
Look, Sherry, my car was vandalized. It doesn’t matter who did it, it’s still a crime.”
alleged.
Look, Sherry, my car was vandalized. It doesn’t matter who did it, it’s still a crime.”
“Are you going to say Dennis did it?”
“You mean will I allege it?”
Cora put up her hands. “Kids. This is beneath you. A moron who breaks people’s headlights does not deserve to get his way by causing friction between you. Do you need me to referee?”
Sherry suggested a more stimulating solitary entertainment.
“Nice talk,” Cora said. “Do you suppose you could modulate your tone? We’re about to have company.”
Sherry looked around to find a well-dressed Japanese businessman bearing down on them. He was a handsome young man, with a devil-may-care, cocky attitude, and a scar on his chin.
He strode right by her up to Cora. “Ms. Felton. I have been looking for you. I am still not able to contact your niece.”
“It’s not as hard as you think. That’s her right there. Hideki Takiyama, this is Sherry Carter, and her fiancé, Aaron Grant.”
Hideki’s face broke into an enormous smile. “I am very pleased to meet you. It has been, how do you say, a frustration. Cora says you are the one to whom I must speak business. Has she told you about me?”
“Of course.”
“Perhaps we could all have lunch and on conclusion discuss the matter then.”
Sherry sighed. “Mr. Takiyama—”
“Hideki.”
“We have a little problem.”
“Oh?”
“It’s somewhat embarrassing.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Oh, tell him, for goodness sakes,” Cora said. “Some other guy aced you out.”
Hideki frowned. “Aced me out?”
“Tricked you. Scammed you. Pulled a fast one. On you, and on us, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“Someone called my niece and pretended to be you.”
“Pretended to be me?”
“Not you. He pretended
he
was the publisher she was told would be calling.”
he
was the publisher she was told would be calling.”
Hideki’s eyes blazed. “Aoki Yoshiaki!”
“Can I help you?”
All heads turned to the dapper, young Japanese man who had just come out of Cushman’s Bakeshop with a cappuccino.
Sherry immediately recognized her drinking companion. His smile, which had seemed suave and charismatic, was arrogant and mocking now.
“Ah, Hideki. How nice to see you. You were talking with my author?”
It occurred to Cora that Hideki resembled nothing so much as a cartoon character with steam coming out of his ears. She would not have been surprised to see him explode.
Hideki stepped out in the street to meet the other man. They approached each other like Western gunfighters, then circled like alpha male dogs about to battle over a bitch in heat.
Cora panicked. What if she couldn’t tell them apart? Of course, she could. Though similarly dressed, their features were different. She could pick out Hideki anywhere. Even without the scar.
“You came here to steal my writer,” Hideki charged.
“You came here to steal mine.”
“Which you stole from me.”
“You talk of stealing. I talk of friendly competition.”
“Friendly?”
“Yes. May the best man win.”
Hideki scowled. “Always the English idioms.”
“You do not like how I talk?” Aoki smiled. “Who is the American?”
“You lived here.”
“I was not born here. I am Japanese.”
“You are a thief!”
“You dare to call me that!”
Cora Felton was torn between going into the police station for help, and pulling her gun. It was a toss-up. Brandishing a weapon was much more fun. But holding your new publisher at gunpoint was probably not a course of action many literary agents would be apt to endorse.
“What are you doing!?”
The high-pitched voice froze the two combatants.
A geisha girl came striding across the street. She was stunning, in yards of brightly colored silk, pale makeup, and sculptured black hair. In her Japanese garb she was gorgeous, but at the moment she had a most disapproving look on her face, like a mother about to lecture a naughty child.
She strode up to the two men, heaved a huge breath, let it out like a fire-breathing dragon, and launched into a tirade of the most staccato Japanese Cora had ever heard outside of a nail salon.
The effect was dazzling. Both men wilted like steamed spinach. Every bit of macho posturing vanished instantly. What could only be sputtered apologies were cut short as the woman, brooking no nonsense, dismissed Aoki with a wave of her hand, and watched imperiously as he slunk off in the direction from which he’d come, then wheeled on Hideki, spewing an unbroken stream of invective.
When the woman had bitch-slapped the poor man silly, she stretched out her arm, pointed in the opposite direction from which Aoki had gone.
Docilely, and without a word, Hideki walked away
The woman watched him go, then turned to the others. “I humbly beg your pardon. My husband is a fool. His friend is an idiot.”
“His friend?” Cora said.
She waved her hand. “They fight. But they are old friends. They just want to win.”
“You mean like the contract?” Sherry said.
The woman sized her up. “You are the one who signed the contract?”
“Yes. I’m Sherry Carter.”
“I am Reiko.” She nodded, briefly. “I must apologize for this unfortunate misunderstanding. But it is not your problem. They will work it out.”
She curtsied, crossed the street, and went up the steps of the town library.
“Who’s that?” Aaron said.
“That’s Hideki’s wife,” Cora said. “Didn’t you see how she talked to him.”
“Oh, you can tell they’re married by the way the wife abuses the husband?” Aaron said.
“Thanks a bunch, Cora,” Sherry said dryly.
Cora shrugged. “Hey, I’m happily divorced. Don’t let me rain on your parade. Now, before this kabuki group did its little neo-Noh drama, Aaron was headed for the police station. I’m not sure it’s necessary or even desirable, but if you insist on reporting an act of vandalism, I would strongly urge that no husbands, living or dead, need be suggested as the proximate cause. The simple report in itself will raise the wariness of the local constabulary, such that the presence of any unlawful, unwelcome, or unauthorized individual will be thoroughly discouraged.”
Sherry’s mouth was open. “Watch your language, Cora. You’re starting to sound like me.”
Cora flung herself into a chair in front of Chief Harper’s desk, and declared, “I’ve been here too long!”
The chief looked up in surprise. “You just got here.”
“I mean in Bakerhaven. In Connecticut. In this hellhole that passes for a town.”
“Hey! That’s my hellhole you’re talking about.”
“I’m a New York girl, born and bred. Proud of it. And everything about it. Well, maybe not the Knicks. But I believe in my inalienable right to cuss out a cabdriver who cuts me off. You know what I mean?”
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about. You want to go out and come in again, I’ll pretend this never happened?”
“I feel old. Addled. Like I’ve fallen down in the muck and mire and stagnated.”
“Does this have anything remotely to do with a police matter?”
“I went to New York last night to check out the dead guy’s office.”
“You broke into his office?”
“That’s not the type of question you want to ask me. Because, if I had, and I told you, you’d have to turn me in. Or you’d be guilty of suppressing evidence. Be a hell of a mess. Luckily, I didn’t, so you’re in the clear. But just for future reference.”
“What
did
you do?”
did
you do?”
Cora grimaced. “Not a great question, either. Of course, it’s easier to evade, fabricate, and/or lie about.”
“Why are you giving me a hard time?”
“I’m frustrated, and I’m taking it out on you. Anyway, here’s the deal. I figure since the police had no luck with Walter Krebb’s phone records, maybe whoever hired him was a walk-in off the street.”
“Wait a minute. How do you know they had no luck with his phone records?”
“If they had they’d have told you. And you’d have told me.”
“You’re not officially part of this investigation.”
“Still, you would and you didn’t. So I drove into Manhattan to check his office. It’s a second-floor walk-up on Broadway. As luck would have it, there’s a newsstand right out front, so I buy a
Daily News
, a fifty-cent investment to ingratiate myself. If I had a client, I’d put it on my expense account. I chat the guy up, bring the conversation back to last week, ask him if he happened to see an Asian guy go in. He just stares at me like I’m some hick from the sticks, which is what I felt like. Then he laughed in my face.”
Daily News
, a fifty-cent investment to ingratiate myself. If I had a client, I’d put it on my expense account. I chat the guy up, bring the conversation back to last week, ask him if he happened to see an Asian guy go in. He just stares at me like I’m some hick from the sticks, which is what I felt like. Then he laughed in my face.”
“That’s rather rude.”
“We were in front of a sushi bar.”
Chief Harper suppressed a grin, which made it worse.
“Oh, go on, laugh at me,” Cora said. “The fact is, I used to think like a New Yorker, and now I don’t think at all.”
“Like the rest of us yokels?”
“No offense meant, but it’s pretty damn embarrassing.”
“Yeah,” Harper said. “Why were you looking for an Asian man to begin with?”
“Are you kidding me? Two Japanese publishers hate each other.
What’s more natural than one would hire a PI to keep tabs on the other?”
What’s more natural than one would hire a PI to keep tabs on the other?”
“Nothing. Except for the murder. Is it your contention this guy got killed over a bunch of puzzle books? Or do you just like the idea of people fighting over you?”
“I have no idea why the guy got killed. For all I know, the reason he got killed may have nothing to do with the reason he was hired. But something has to make sense. I gotta play the cards I’m dealt.”
“So, what’s your theory now?”
Cora waggled her hand. “It’s not quite formulated.”
“No kidding. How much did they pay you for this book?”
“Not that much.”
“How much is not that much?”
“I’d have to look at the contract.”
“Oh?”
“It’s a Japanese contract. Sherry signed it. I don’t know if it’s in dollars, or euros, or yen. I trust her implicitly, and I’m sure we got a good deal.”
“You don’t know how much you’re making?”
“Sue me. I’m bad at business matters. What’s your point?”
“My point is, how is this worth hiring a PI? Doesn’t the cost outweigh the benefits? I mean, I’m assuming if you signed a six-figure deal you’d know about it.”
“You got that right.”
“So how does that make sense?”
“I don’t know. But a samurai sword is missing, and there’s Japanese men in town.” Cora put up her hands. “Not that I’m pointing any fingers.”
Harper frowned.
“You made any progress on the sword?” Cora said. “You ask the neighbors if they’d seen any Asians skulking around.”
“Cora, you can’t say that!”
“Why not?”
“It’s prejudiced, politically incorrect, and sounds awful.”
“Why? If we were looking for a blond, teenage girl, would it be wrong to ask the neighbors if they’d seen any blond, teenage girls skulking around?”
“We don’t know we’re looking for an Asian. You just think that because of the samurai sword.”
“Okay. The stolen goods is the star quarterback’s high school letter sweater. Can we ask about blond, teenage girls?”
“I’m not sure you could get away with
blond
.”
blond
.”
“You know, Chief, you’re going to great lengths not to answer the question.”
“What question?”
“Did any of the neighbors see someone skulking around the antique shop?”
“People don’t like to tell a policeman they saw someone skulking. It brings up why didn’t they report it at the time.”
“What’s the bottom line, Chief?”
Harper sighed. “No one saw any Asians.”
“You
asked
them?”
asked
them?”
“Don’t quote me.”
“You gave me all that trouble and then I find you asked them?”
“I didn’t phrase it as bluntly as you did.”
“You mean you didn’t use the word
skulking
?”
skulking
?”
“I don’t believe I did.”
“So no one saw any Asians. Did anyone see anyone else?”
“Mrs. Clemson, across the street, thought she heard tires screech. Maybe ten-thirty at night. You have to take what she says with a grain of salt. She’s a widow, and she’s jumpy.”
“And you call me politically incorrect?”
“Hey. She’s a widow. And she’s jumpy. I’m not saying it’s cause and effect.”
“What’s cause and effect?”
“That she’s jumpy because she’s a widow.”
“Really?” Cora smiled sweetly. “What did the woman say?”
“She thought she heard a squeal of brakes. Like a car stopped short. But she was in bed watching TV. By the time she got up and went to the window, the only car in sight was parked across the street.”
“In front of the antique shop?”
“No, the next house down. But she thought she saw a drunk walking along the sidewalk.”
“A drunk?”
“That was her impression. She didn’t stay to watch. She made sure her front door was locked and went back to bed.”
“So,” Cora said, “you figure if someone drove by the antique shop, saw a sword in the window they wanted to steal, slammed on the brakes, parked the car, and went back to check it out, that could be the drunk the widow saw that night. Any chance the drunk was Asian?”
“Perfectly good chance. There’s also a perfectly good chance he was sober. And a perfectly good chance he had nothing to do with the car
or
the antique shop.”
or
the antique shop.”
“I don’t suppose you got a description of the car?”
“That would be a correct assumption. Of course, this all took place after the murder, so it doesn’t really matter.”
“You’re right,” Cora said, judiciously. “It certainly doesn’t.”
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