You Have the Right to Remain Puzzled
Page 14
So, there was no hope for it. Marge fished out her passkey, went to the door, and—
The door was open. Just a crack, but still.
Marge pushed it slightly farther open, called, “Housekeeping.”
No answer. No rustle of anyone turning over in bed. No sound of running water.
Marge pushed the door wider. “Housekeeping.”
The first thing she saw was the bed. It was just the way she’d left it when she made up the room yesterday.
That was odd. Benny Southstreet hadn’t come back. Well, less work for her.
Marge opened the door, stepped inside.
The chairs were gone.
This was not good. This was really not good. Not after she’d let Cora Felton see they were there. Photograph them, even. And figure out how to unlock the door. No, that wasn’t fair—just surmise on her part. But somehow while they photographed the chairs the button on the door had been disengaged. Marge had made a point of locking it again when Cora was watching.
So the missing chairs could hardly be her fault. Because it would have to be someone with a key who took them. Which explained things. Benny Southstreet came back, took his chairs, and left. Forgetting to pull the door tight behind him. Perhaps because he had an armful of chairs. He had left, and someone had parked in his spot, and none of it was her fault.
Except for the briefcase on the desk. He might have taken his chairs, but he’d certainly left his briefcase. Not a bright move, under the circumstances, with the door left unlocked.
So, the guest might not have slept in the bed, but this was still an occupied room. Which needed to be made up. Let’s see . . . The glasses on the tray next to the ice bucket had the protective paper over the top. The bucket was dry. The wastebaskets were empty. Nothing had been touched.
Did he need any soap and towels?
Marge pushed open the bathroom door, stopped, and gasped.
There was a gun on the tile floor next to the bathtub. It was lying on a piece of paper.
A crossword puzzle.
The shower curtain was half-closed.
Marge grabbed it, yanked it open.
Benny Southstreet lay in the bathtub. He was fully clothed. His tie was even tied. His hair was slightly mussed, but his eyes were wide open in a look of weary resignation. Aside from his prone position, he could have been waiting in line at OTB. He was clearly dead.
ACROSS
1 Grounds for a suit
5 “__ Frutti” (Little Richard song)
10 Erie Canal mule
13 African lilies
15 Reaction to, “Pick a cod, any
cod”
16 “¿___ pasa?”
17 Start of a message
19 Beehive State athlete
20 Polo or Garr
21 It’s under foot
22 Feel poorly
23 Classic Ford model
26 Threatening sentence-ender
28 TV broadcast band
29 Message part 2
32 Synthesizer inventor
34 Gets bored with
35 Bio by Molly Ivins
37 Have a couple of eggs?
38 Xerox competitor
42 “I’m OK with it”
45 Iditarod race place
46 Message part 3
50 Links number
51 All told
52 Falls in New York
54 “___ whillikers!”
55 Till bills
58 Hoofbeat sound
59 Easy mark
60 End of message
64 Cobra kin
65 Bungled play
66 Streamlined
67 Fourth of July?
68 Oceans, in poetry
69 Connecticut campus
DOWN
1 Mai ___
2 Long in the tooth
3 Is a fan
4 Basic belief
5 ___ Friday’s (restaurant chain)
6 Big coffee containers
7 Brouhaha
8 Makes fit
9 Lower-ranking
10 Violent gust of wind
11 Pediatric mental disorder
12 Actress Sobieski
14 Lamb, at large
18 North Dakota city
23 ___ the word
24 “Oops!”
25 Jury verdict
27 Small and lively
30 Garbage
31 “Yo, dude!”
33 Enthusiasm
36 Closed, as a sports jacket
39 Confess to less
40 “The Mod Squad” costar Epps
41 Juno, to Greeks
43 Mined over matter?
44 Cager Strickland or Dampier
46 Puzzle cutter-upper
47 On edge
48 Treeless tract
49 Some surrealistic paintings
53 “Holy smokes!”
56 “To be,” to Henri
57 “Cut it out!”
61 Surgery sites, briefly
62 Brooks of “Blazing Saddles”
63 Barely manage, with “out”
THE MOTEL PARKING lot had never been so full, with the police cars, the medical examiner’s car, and the ambulance. Chief Harper wasn’t about to park on the road. He pulled into the last available space, blocking the ambulance, and got out.
Officers Sam Brogan and Dan Finley were there to meet him.
“What have we got, boys?”
Sam popped his gum. “Male, Caucasian, thirty-five to forty-five, black hair, blue eyes—”
Harper had no patience for it. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, you’re not on TV, Sam. What the hell happened?”
Dan Finley chimed in. “Someone popped Benny Southstreet.”
Harper sighed. “If we could hit a happy median.”
Sam frowned. “Huh?”
“Just tell me what happened.”
“The occupant of Unit 12 is dead. The chambermaid went in to make up the room, found him in the bathtub. The doc’s in with him now.”
“Any sign of a weapon?”
“There was a gun on the floor. I photographed it and bagged it.”
“Was he shot?”
Sam shrugged. “Ask the doc. I didn’t see a bullet hole. But there’s blood under his head.”
“If he was shot, any chance it was self-inflicted?”
“I don’t know. But if I ever climb into the tub and shoot myself, I promise I’ll leave a note.”
“And there wasn’t?”
“Not as such.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“There was a crossword puzzle.” Dan Finley seemed proud of the announcement.
Harper groaned. “Tell me there wasn’t.”
“Yeah, there was,” Sam said. “Right under the gun. I bagged it too.”
“In the same bag?”
“No. Separate bags. Was that wasteful? Should I have been more thrifty?”
Harper ignored the sarcasm. “You dust the place for prints?”
“I will when the doc gets done leaving his.”
“Now, Sam, Barney Nathan’s a pro.”
“Yeah, sure. I got his prints on file for elimination, all the same.”
“Any witnesses?”
“Chambermaid who found him.” Sam jerked his thumb.
Harper looked, saw a young woman in front of the motel office being comforted by an elderly couple.
“That’s the owners of the place,” Sam said. “They don’t know squat and the chambermaid’s hysterical. Wanna talk to her?”
“Guess I better.” Harper walked over. “Hi there. You the owners?”
The man looked close to ninety, with lonesome wisps of hair, and sagging skin that hung as loose as his flannel shirt and fishing vest. “That’s right.”
His wife, just as thin but hard as nails, jumped in. “How long you gonna tie up the parking lot? Guests can’t get in and out, and no one’s gonna rent a room.”
“One of your guests is dead, ma’am.”<
br />
“Well, I didn’t do it,” the woman groused. “It’s not our fault, either, but whaddya wanna bet some damn shyster decides to sue?”
“That’s out of my hands, ma’am.” Harper turned to the chambermaid. “You’re the one who found him?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, that’s gotta be a shock. You feel up to talking about it?”
Marge had recovered some of her composure. Still, she had been dreading the questions. “I guess so.”
“How’d you come to find him?”
“I was doing my job. Cleaning the rooms. I got to his. I didn’t know whether he was there. The car was out front, but there was no DO NOT DISTURBsign. So I knocked.”
“And?” the Chief prompted.
“And the door was open. Just an inch or two, but definitely unlocked. I pushed it farther open, called, ‘Housekeeping.’ ” She stole a look at the elderly owners, as if not wanting to say the wrong thing in front of them. “Which is what I’m supposed to do. The guests shouldn’t be disturbed, but the rooms have to be cleaned.”
“I understand. What did you do?”
“No one seemed to be there, so I went in.”
“What did you find?”
“The first thing I saw was the bed was made. Hadn’t been slept in. Just the way I left it yesterday.”
“Could it have been slept in and made?”
“It could, but I don’t think so. The bed was made perfectly, the way a chambermaid would make it, with the top sheet folded over and the blankets tucked in. A guest wouldn’t bother.”
“You thought the guest never came home?”
“At least never slept there. That was my first thought. The bed hadn’t been slept in.”
“So you didn’t have to make up the room.”
“Right. I just had to check if he needed new towels. I went in the bathroom and there he was.”
“Must have been a shock. Did you have any idea who might have done this?”
“Not at all.”
“You work here every day?”
“Five days a week.”
“Anyone ever visit him? As far as you know. He ever have company in his room?”
Marge chose her words carefully. “As far as I know, he never let anyone into his room.”
Harper wasn’t happy with that answer. He was sure the girl wasn’t lying, but still. Why had she hesitated?
Before Chief Harper could frame another question the Channel 8 News van came screeching up, and on-camera reporter Rick Reed, young, handsome, and bright as your average fireplug, emerged, followed by a camera crew.
“Chief Harper,” he cried. “What have we got here? Wait. Don’t tell me. Hang on a minute.” Rick squared his shoulders, faced the camera. “This is Rick Reed, Channel 8 News, live, at the Four Seasons Motel, where a grisly find in one of the units hints of a potential tragedy.” Rick paused for a second, to see if that made any sense. Wasn’t sure. He plunged ahead. “Chief Harper, what can you tell us? Do we have a homicide here?”
“It’s too soon to say.”
“Yes, but is it true someone has been killed?”
“We don’t want to jump to any conclusions.”
“Of course not. You were talking to that young woman. Is she a witness?”
“She’s an employee.” Eager to deflect the news team from the chambermaid, Chief Harper led Rick Reed in the direction of the unit. “A man was discovered dead in Unit 12. The doctor is examining the body now to see if there is any sign of foul play.”
“What is the chance that there was?”
Chief Harper smiled. “Well, there’s three police cars here. You do the math.”
Rick Reed lowered the microphone impatiently. “I can’t use a remark like that on the air.”
“I thought you were live.”
“We’re live on tape.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I was live when I said it.”
Harper smiled. “Were you really?”
The soundman was waving frantically for Rick’s attention. “We are live,” he hissed.
“What?”
“We’re live!”
“That’s right,” Rick Reed said, picking up the cue. “We are coming to you, live, from the scene of a tragedy. The discovery of a dead body in Unit 12 of the Four Seasons Motel. Wait! I think I see the medical examiner now.”
Barney Nathan came out of Unit 12, as usual in his trademark red bow tie.
Rick Reed stepped forward eagerly. “This is Rick Reed, Channel 8 News, bringing you a live, exclusive interview with Dr. Barney Nathan.”
Chief Harper grabbed the doctor by the shoulders and marched him aside.
“Just as soon as he’s talked to the chief of police,” Rick finished lamely. He brightened immediately as the Emergency Medical Team bumped a gurney out of the motel room door. “Hang on! They’re bringing out the body now!”
While the news crew shot the departure of the corpse, Chief Harper conferred with the doctor.
“Okay, Barney, what have you got?”
“He was killed sometime yesterday.”
“Killed?”
“Murder or suicide. But it’s a violent death.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Bullet wound in the head just above the hairline. Whether it’s self-inflicted is your call.”
“Could it have been?”
“It could have.”
“Do you think it was?”
Barney tugged at his bow tie. “I couldn’t give you a medical opinion on that.”
“How about a nonmedical opinion?”
“A guy fully dressed climbs into a bathtub and shoots himself? What’s the point?”
“You could say that about any suicide.”
“I mean climbing into the bathtub. A man about to shoot himself isn’t concerned with getting blood on the carpet.”
“Did he?”
“Get blood on the carpet?” Barney shook his head. “Not at all. Not a lot of blood in the bathtub, either.”
“What do you make of that?”
“Guy didn’t bleed much.” At Harper’s look, the doctor shrugged. “It happens.”
“Could he have been shot through a pillow or a towel that soaked up the blood?”
“Not in this case. You got powder burns around the wound. Of course, if you didn’t, it couldn’t be suicide, it would have to be murder.”
“Anything else? That would indicate it wasn’t suicide?”
“Wound’s in the back of the head, not the temple. You could do it, but it would be awkward. And the gun would wind up in the bathtub, not on the floor.”
The ambulance doors slammed.
Barney Nathan glanced in that direction, said, “Well, gotta go do my autopsy. I suppose you want the bullet.”
“Try not to scratch it any more than you have to.”
“You mean I shouldn’t dig it out with a butter knife? Thanks for the tip.”
“And avoid Rick Reed if you can.”
“My pleasure.”
When the news crew descended on the doctor, he smiled and kept going. Undaunted, Rick Reed pounced on the chief. “I’m here with Chief Dale Harper, who just finished with the medical examiner. Anything to report, Chief?”
“The doctor is accompanying the body to the morgue to perform an autopsy.”
“Autopsy? Then it was a murder?”
“That’s what the autopsy will determine.”
“Well, what did the doctor say?”
A blast from the ambulance siren drowned out any possible answer.
Chief Harper looked, said, “Oh, hell, I’m blocking the ambulance,” and went to move his car. He took advantage of the camera crew filming the departure of the corpse to sneak back to the crime scene.
Dan Finley popped out of the motel room door. “The place is lousy with prints.”
Chief Harper groaned. “You auditioning for a cop show, Dan? Don’t tell me about it, just dust ’em
and lift ’em.”
“There’s an awful lot of ’em.”
“So I gather. Just get on with it.”
“There’s prints on the gun.”
Harper’s eyes widened. “You lifted prints from the gun?”
“Three beauties. We’ll be able to get a match.”
Harper pulled Dan aside and lowered his voice. “You label the prints from the gun?”
“Of course.”
“Well, double-check ’em. Some smart defense attorney’s gonna claim they jumped around.”
Dan smiled. “Who’s doing the tough-guy lingo now, Chief?”
“Take the gun and the prints and run them down to the lab. I want a ballistics report, and I mean now.”
“I gotta get the bullet from the doc.”
“Pick it up on your way.”
“What about the crime scene?”
“Sam can finish up. You get on down to the lab.”
“Right.” Dan Finley gathered up the evidence, hopped in his police car, and took off.
Watching Dan go, Chief Harper felt a tremendous rush of adrenaline. He had to compose himself, put on his best poker face before walking past the TV crews. It wasn’t easy.
Finding prints on the murder weapon was an incredible break.
Now if he could just match ’em up.
MR. WILBUR PARKED out on the road, strode through the parking lot, and glared at the crime-scene ribbon across the door to Unit 12 as if it were an inconvenience placed there primarily to tick him off.