Presumed Puzzled

by Parnell Hall

  Henry Firth’s eyes were getting wider and wider. He could sense his plea bargain slipping away. “Ladies, ladies … Do you want to plea-bargain or not?”

  “My client does,” Becky said. “Frankly, I don’t agree, but she’s calling the shots.”

  “So what’s your offer?”

  “All right,” Cora said. “Here’s the deal. Becky doesn’t want to give you anything, but she’s not the one with the thousand-dollar fine. If you could make that go away, I would be very grateful.”

  “It can probably be arranged.”

  “‘Probably’ is not the type of word you want to hear in a plea bargain.”

  “If we reach an agreement, you won’t have to pay.”

  “That’s more like it. Okay, drop the murder charge and I’ll plead guilty to trespassing.”

  Henry Firth’s mouth fell open. He stared at her incredulously. “What?”

  “Yeah,” Cora said. “Like I say, Becky doesn’t want to give you anything, but I’m just a nice girl. See, here’s how I figure. Chief Harper is the chief of police, but I’m just an ordinary citizen. When we went out to Paula Martindale’s house, I pushed my way in ahead of him. Which I had no right to do. That, I believe, would technically make me guilty of trespassing, and if you want to press the issue, I’m willing to concede the charge.”

  “The charge is murder,” Henry Firth said. “I’m willing to listen to a charge of second-degree, or perhaps even manslaughter, but I am not interested in these minor crimes.”

  “That’s too bad,” Cora said. “I’m not guilty of anything more serious.”

  “I might have known this was just one of your charades,” the prosecutor said angrily.

  “Henry, Henry, calm down,” Cora said. “We’re friends. We’re practically family. If I can’t help you one way, I’ll help you another. Tell him, Becky.”

  “You can put Cora on the stand,” Becky said.

  “What?”

  “Call her as your witness. Get her declared hostile. Ask her leading questions.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I didn’t expect you to put her on the stand at all. Are you saying you’d let me cross-examine her before you even present her case?”

  “That’s right.”

  Henry Firth looked at Cora suspiciously.

  “Why?”

  Chapter

  61

  When court reconvened, Henry Firth stood up and addressed the judge. “Your Honor, in view of the fact Cora Felton has decided to cooperate with the prosecution, I would ask that her contempt citation be vacated and her fine rescinded.”

  “Do I understand you have reached an agreement with the defendant’s attorney with regard to reducing the charges?”

  “That is yet to be determined. But we are agreed in principle and would like to proceed.”

  Judge Hobbs blinked. “You have reached a plea-bargain agreement but you wish to proceed with the trial?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The defense has made certain concessions that will allow the trial to reach a speedy conclusion. In view of her cooperation, I would hope that Your Honor would vacate the citation.”

  Cora Felton cleared her throat.

  “The defendant would appear to be on the verge of another citation,” Judge Hobbs said dryly.

  “Not at all, Your Honor,” Becky Baldwin said. “My client is reacting to the word ‘hope.’ My client is not about to concede her rights based on the prosecutor’s wishes, no matter how ardent. She is willing to cooperate with everyone, but she doesn’t want this trial to cost her any more than it already has. It will take her several years to pay off my fee alone.”

  Cora gagged, shuddered, glared daggers at her attorney.

  “That is hardly the concern of the court,” Judge Hobbs said.

  “No, but the administration of justice is,” Henry Firth said. “In the interest of justice, I would like to wipe the slate clean and start again.”

  “Very well. Miss Felton, I will withdraw your fine. But be warned: I could reinstate it at any time. I could even double it.”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Cora said.

  Judge Hobbs took a breath. “Please speak through your attorney.”

  “She understands, Your Honor,” Becky said.

  “Very well. Bring in the jury and call your next witness.”

  When the jurors had filed in and been seated, Henry Firth said, “Your Honor, I call Cora Felton.”

  Whatever Judge Hobbs had been expecting, it was not that. He froze with his mouth open. “I beg your pardon? Did you say Cora Felton?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Miss Felton. Do you realize you are under no obligation to testify?”

  “She does, Your Honor,” Becky said.

  “This is most irregular,” Judge Hobbs said. Then, realizing the jurors were in the room, “Very well. Miss Felton will take the stand.”

  Cora was sworn in and sat on the witness stand.

  “Miss Felton,” Judge Hobbs said, “you understand that you have the right to refuse to answer any question that you feel might tend to incriminate you?”

  “Am I allowed to answer that, Your Honor?”

  “I want you to.”

  “Yes, I understand that. I have a very capable attorney to protect my rights.”

  “And I’m sure she appreciates the recommendation, though this is not the time to be making it. You realize you are waiving your rights not to be called as a witness against yourself?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Very well. Proceed, Mr. Firth.”

  “Your name is Cora Felton?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You are the defendant in this action?”

  “I am.”

  “You’re a hostile witness?”

  “Well, I’m not happy about it.”

  “You’re giving your testimony reluctantly?”

  “I’m in court reluctantly. You think I like being put on trial?”

  “Your Honor, I would ask that you consider Miss Felton a hostile witness.”

  “That’s a strange request, Mr. Firth. She doesn’t have to be on the stand at all.”

  “I would like to ask leading questions.”

  “You may ask them. If Ms. Baldwin objects, her objection will be sustained.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor. Miss Felton, were you having an affair with the decedent, Roger Martindale?”

  “Sure.”

  A loud murmur greeted that announcement.

  “I beg your pardon,” Henry Firth said. “Did you say you were having an affair?”

  “Sure, I was. I mean, come on, look at his wife. The poor guy needed some amusement.”

  “Did you see him at the Fifty-seventh Street hotel?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did you ever see his wife there?”

  “Yeah. The last time I went. I saw her staking out the lobby. So I didn’t go in. I called Roger, told him all bets were off, and to get the hell out of there.”

  “Did you see him again after that?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “How about the twenty-four hours before his death when he was declared a missing person: Did you see him then?”

  “No. The first I knew he was missing was when Chief Harper called me and asked me to intercede with Paula Martindale. He said he couldn’t act on the complaint because it hadn’t been twenty-four hours, but he’d appreciate it if I’d look into it.”

  “Which you did?”

  “I talked to the wife. Who presented me with a crossword. Which Chief Harper knew she had. I still haven’t forgiven him for that.”

  “This is not the puzzle Paula Martindale burned at the mall?”

  “No. This is another puzzle entirely. A puzzle Paula Martindale got the day before her husband was killed. It said, ‘Let this be a stop sign, don’t touch what’s mine.’”
/>   “Did the crossword have any bearing on the case?”

  “It confused it.”

  “How?”

  “It implied he was having an affair. And it was, in fact, a crossword puzzle. Which was naturally attributed to me.” Cora cocked her head. “I would imagine the only reason you haven’t introduced it in this case is the killer neglected to upload it onto my computer. Which was a real oversight. If I’d made up the puzzles, both of them should be there.”

  “Where were you at the time of the murder?”

  Cora made a face. “Unfortunately, my alibi is not as good as Paula Martindale’s. I was out at the old Dairy Queen.”

  “Was anyone else out there?”

  “It’s been closed for years. Before I moved to town.”

  “What were you doing there?”

  “I got a phone call, telling me to go.”

  “From whom?”

  “I don’t know. It was a man’s voice. It sounded disguised. Said if I wanted to see Roger Martindale again, I should park behind the Dairy Queen and I would be contacted.”

  “Which you did?”

  “It was tricky. I’d just had a phone call from Chief Harper, telling me Roger Martindale had been put on the missing persons list and asking me to come to the station.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him I’d be right there.”

  “But you didn’t go?”

  “No. I went to the Dairy Queen first. I hung out as long as I dared. When no one showed up, I went to the police station to meet the chief.”

  “Did you tell anyone about this phone call asking you to go to the Dairy Queen?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Including your lawyer?”

  Cora shook her head. “I figured it would muddy the waters. I had no idea why I’d gotten the call. But it wasn’t relevant to Paula Martindale’s defense. And I didn’t want to bring it up.”

  “Why not?”

  “I was having an affair with Roger Martindale. I had hoped it wouldn’t come out. When it did, Paula fired Becky, and I became the defendant. It certainly didn’t seem a good thing to mention then.”

  “But you’re mentioning it now.”

  “Well, I saw a chance to get out of a thousand-dollar fine.”

  “Surely that’s not the only reason.”

  “I happen to be innocent, and the only way to prove it is telling the truth.”

  “Isn’t that always the case?”

  “How can you say that? You’re a prosecutor.”

  The remark drew a laugh. Judge Hobbs banged the gavel. “Miss Felton, try to confine yourself to answering the questions, not sparring with the prosecutor.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “How long did you wait at the Dairy Queen?”

  “Not long. Then I hung it up and went to meet the chief. We went out to the decedent’s house.”

  “What happened when you got there?”

  “The door was open. I pushed my way in. Chief Harper wouldn’t have approved, but I didn’t wait for him. I was upset, and I went right in.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Paula Martindale came out of the living room covered with blood, holding a knife. Chief Harper ordered her to drop it. When she didn’t comply, he pulled his gun.”

  “What happened then?”

  “She still didn’t drop it. I grabbed her arm and twisted. That did the trick. She dropped the knife. I restrained her, and Chief Harper pushed by us into the living room.”

  “Did you see for yourself?”

  “Yes, I did. I wrestled Paula Martindale to the door, looked in. Her husband was dead on the floor. Blood was everywhere.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “I was stunned. I thought it was my fault. Paula Martindale had found out her husband was having an affair, flipped out, and killed him. It was a shock to find out she couldn’t have done it.”

  “Just a minute. You are stating, on the witness stand, under oath, that in your opinion Paula Martindale did not do it?”

  “Of course she didn’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Aaron Grant wouldn’t lie. He can place her at the mall at the time of the murder.”

  “You’re willing to concede that? Even though it might be your best defense?”

  “My best defense is the truth. And that’s the truth. Paula Martindale didn’t do it.”

  “And you claim you didn’t, either?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You can see how it would look like you did? Chief Harper calls you, tells you Roger Martindale is on his way home. Instead of going to meet Chief Harper, you go somewhere else, right after phone records prove you got a call from Roger Martindale’s cell. You show up late for your meeting with the chief, you accompany him to Paula Martindale’s house, and at the first opportunity you manage to smear yourself with blood, just in case Chief Harper should notice you have blood on your clothes.”

  “My, I must be very clever. But this always was a particularly clever crime.”

  “In what way?”

  “Look at the way I was framed. The killer doesn’t just frame me, the killer frames me so it doesn’t look like a frame. How does the killer do that? By leaving the crossword puzzle, which would be attributed to me if it weren’t so incredibly stupid to think I would leave one. The killer gets around that by making it look initially like someone else committed the crime. But a bluff is only good if you carry it through. The killer carried it through to the point of having Paula Martindale arrested and tried for the murder. It’s only after she’s in court that the devastating evidence against me comes out. When it does, you take the puzzle at face value, because now it’s a stupid frame-up once removed.

  “Leaving a Sudoku with Luke Haslett is really pushing it. But that’s okay, because it’s the secondary murder, which the judge most likely won’t let come into the trial anyway. And by the time I’m on trial for killing him, the prosecutor will have some sort of conviction in this case, so when he tries that case I’ll be presumed guilty.

  “I got to admit, it’s a pretty clever plan, making it look so bad for Paula Martindale she can’t help but be arrested for it. Covered in blood, holding a knife? Come on. That’s a really dangerous step to take, and I’m sure the killer wouldn’t have done it if Paula didn’t have such a perfect alibi.

  “But that was carefully planned, too.”

  “How?”

  “Simple. Ken Jessup, who hates her guts, sees her sitting in her car. Naturally, he wouldn’t want to admit it, but being a Milquetoast, he’d be too cowardly to lie about it. He places her at the mall, but at no particular time.

  “Luke Haslett nails it. He saw her burn the puzzle.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Henry Firth said. “You said, ‘the puzzle’?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Your attorney objected to the word ‘puzzle’ as assuming facts not in evidence. We’ve been referring to it as ‘the paper.’”

  “Yeah, I know. But everyone in this courtroom knows it was a puzzle. Let’s call it ‘the puzzle.’ He saw Paula Martindale burn the puzzle. And he almost got run over by Ken Jessup. Tying those two things together puts Paula Martindale in the parking lot at the time of the crime. Voilà, she could not do it.

  “My first thought was that story was false, both witnesses were phony, somehow the testimony was trumped up to make it look like Paula Martindale was at the mall, when in actuality she was at home killing her husband. But that was dead wrong. There was another witness, Aaron Grant, who saw her there at the exact time of the crime, burning the puzzle, just like Luke Haslett said. Suddenly, instead of two iffy witnesses who could be lying or mistaken, Paula has three rock-solid alibi witnesses, absolutely conclusive proof that she could not have done it.”

  “Are you saying she did it anyway?”

  “Of course not. Aaron Grant wouldn’t lie. And he wouldn’t be mistaken, either. He’s a newsman. H
e gets things right. If he says she was at the mall, she was at the mall. Which pretty much settled things.

  “Only one thing bothered me. Well, actually, several things—I was about to go down for a murder rap. I mean, one thing about her alibi. And that was Aaron Grant. He was the perfect witness. No one could possibly doubt him. Paula Martindale was off the hook.

  “What bothered me was Ken Jessup and Luke Haslett. They were terrible witnesses. If she had Aaron Grant, why did she need them?”

  “She didn’t know she had Aaron Grant,” Henry Firth pointed out. “She just saw him in court.”

  “Yeah, and if you believe that, I’d like to get you at the poker table. She knew about him all along. In which case, why did she need Ken Jessup and Luke Haslett to alibi her?

  “It took me a while to realize that they weren’t.”

  Henry Firth frowned. “What?”

  “They weren’t alibiing her. She was alibiing them. So that everyone would be convinced that Ken Jessup was at the mall watching her in the parking lot instead of at her house killing her husband.”

  The courtroom burst into a babble of voices.

  Judge Hobbs banged the gavel. “Order! Order! Bailiff, is the witness Ken Jessup in court?”

  “He got up and went out a few minutes ago, Your Honor.”

  Chief Harper headed for the door as the court went wild.

  Chapter

  62

  “Bombshells in Bakerhaven!” Rick Reed declared from the steps of the county courthouse. “In one stunning twist after another, the trial of Puzzle Lady Cora Felton for the murder of Roger Martindale came to an unexpected conclusion as crusading prosecutor Henry Firth dismissed all charges against Miss Felton. In an unprecedented move, at least one this courtroom journalist has never seen before, the defendant dazzlingly doubled as a prosecution witness and laid out the plans of the plot.”

  Sherry Carter, watching from the crowd, whispered, “Alliteration-happy, isn’t he?”

  “That’s what bothers you?” Aaron Grant said. “He just described himself as a courtroom journalist.”

  “Shh!”

  Rick Reed tried to point the microphone at Cora Felton, but she skillfully pushed Becky Baldwin ahead.

  “Ms. Baldwin,” Rick said, hastily improvising, “you just secured a dismissal in your client’s case. How did you ever come up with such an unorthodox defense?”