by Parnell Hall
Becky smiled. “Unorthodox is a kind assessment, Rick. Some would say bizarre.”
“Let’s say it, then. In all my years of courtroom reporting I have never seen such a bizarre scheme. How did you ever come up with it?”
“Easy, Rick. It was my client’s idea.”
Becky stepped aside and gave the stage to Cora.
“And here’s Cora Felton herself! Congratulations, Miss Felton! How does it feel to have all the charges dropped?”
“Well, it beats hanging.”
“Your attorney says getting on the stand was your idea. How’d you come up with such an outrageous idea?”
“What’s outrageous about it? I figured out the case, I wanted to get on the stand. I saw no reason to drag this out for several days until Becky got up to bat.”
“How did you figure it out?”
“As I said in court, the key was Aaron Grant. There he is, right there, trying to reassure his wife he wasn’t trashing her aunt. Sherry, he’s a good guy, I couldn’t have solved this without him. Aaron’s a good witness. If he saw Paula Martindale in the parking lot, she was there. If he didn’t see Ken Jessup and Luke Haslett, they weren’t. They were lying. And they weren’t lying to give Paula Martindale an alibi, because Aaron Grant did that. They were lying to give themselves one. Or rather to give Ken Jessup one; I doubt if poor Luke Haslett had a clue what was going on. Which was why he had to die.”
“Would you care to explain?”
“Ken Jessup needed an alibi, since he had conspired with Paula Martindale to kill her husband. They were having an affair—ah, sweet love—only Paula couldn’t divorce Roger because he had a rock-solid prenup, and she wanted his money. That’s a guess on the prenup, by the way, but I’ll bet you a nickel. Anyway, Ken Jessup set the stage by pretending to hate her, and he sold it by refusing to alibi her at the mall. It took Luke Haslett to make that alibi stick, tying the nearly-got-run-over story to the burning of the puzzle. Of course he had no idea why. He was telling it because he was paid to, which was okay with him. Luke Haslett was a drunk who would do anything for money. All he had to do was act drunk, which was right in his wheelhouse, and vaguely remember nearly getting run down at the mall and seeing a woman in a car burning something. And he didn’t even have to tell it on the stand. Just informally to the county prosecutor. Which is why he had to die.”
“Why?”
“Because my lawyer’s Becky Baldwin. Luke Haslett could get away with his drunk act in an informal chat with the county prosecutor, but Becky would have eaten him alive.
“So he had to die. Which worked out very nicely for the kidnappers. Because I was the only one with a motive, so of course I got credit. The killer left the Sudoku just to seal the deal. A perfectly good Sudoku, by the way, but meaningless in terms of the murder, except to tie me to it.”
Cora looked directly into the camera. “And as a public service announcement: killers, for God’s sake. When I kill someone, I don’t leave a Sudoku with the body. Not because it would make me look guilty. Because it would make me look stupid. Killers don’t sign their crimes. If they did, it would make life a lot easier for law enforcement. But most killers are smart enough to realize what a bad idea that would be.”
“Miss Felton, is it true you were having an affair with the victim, Roger Martindale?”
“Don’t be silly, Rick.”
“You said so on the stand.”
“I said a lot of things on the stand, Rick. Some of them were true.” Cora made an “oops” gesture, then laughed. “I’m sure Henry Firth didn’t hear me say that.”
“Are you saying you made up the story you told on the witness stand?”
“Rick, didn’t you get the memo? Henry’s standing right here. I just beat a murder rap and a contempt of court citation. You think I wanna take the fall for perjury?”
Rick blinked, confused, not sure what to ask next.
“Rick, let me help you out. Everything I said on the stand was part of a carefully devised plot Becky and I hatched with Henry Firth. I am happy to say that our county prosecutor is more concerned with the administration of justice than he is with his own winning percentage. When he realized Ken Jessup was guilty, he was eager to go along. It was his skillful questioning that brought the story out in just the right way to make Ken Jessup panic and run. Thanks to Chief Harper and the Bakerhaven police force, he didn’t run far. But, as I’m sure you know, flight is an indication of guilt, and Henry Firth will be able to use it when he prosecutes him for the crime.
“Or should I say crimes. Since he’s guilty of the Luke Haslett murder as well. Prosecuting him shouldn’t be a problem. The way I understand it, Paula Martindale is falling all over herself to distance herself from Ken Jessup, and in all likelihood the two of them will try to pin it on each other.
“But that’s Henry Firth’s business, not mine,” Cora said, stepping aside and giving the prosecutor the stage.
“Mr. Firth,” Rick Reed said, “congratulations on a brilliant scheme. I understand Ken Jessup has been arrested for the murder. Do you think you’ll have any trouble getting a conviction?”
Henry Firth smiled good-naturedly. “Well, third time’s the charm, Rick.”
The remark drew an appreciative laugh.
Cora tugged at Becky’s arm. “Whaddya say we slip away and leave Henry in the spotlight?”
“Nice of you.”
“Prudent of me,” Cora said. “The fewer questions I have to answer, the better. Come on, buy you a drink.”
They drove out to the Country Kitchen. On the TV over the bar Henry Firth was still holding forth.
The bartender had been watching. He looked up when they came in. “Oh, hi. Congratulations!”
“Thanks,” Cora said, “but we’ve had enough of Henry Firth.”
“You want me to turn it off?”
“No, but we’ll take a booth.”
“And a scotch on the rocks,” Becky said.
“And a virgin rum and Coke,” Cora said.
The bartender frowned. “What’s that?”
“A rum and Coke without the rum. Make it Diet.”
Cora and Becky flopped down in a booth.
“How long do you think he’ll talk?” Becky said.
“Hey, I tried to give you the spotlight; you wouldn’t take it.”
“It was your show.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, kid. You defended two murder suspects for the same crime and got them both off. Talk about a win-win.”
“They happened to be innocent.”
“Like that’s a deal breaker. You know how many innocent men are on death row?”
“None that I’ve defended.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Cora said, as the bartender set down the scotch and Diet Coke.
“I don’t mean to be inquisitive,” Becky said, “but now that you’re not on TV talking in front of the prosecutor, how much of what you said on the stand was true?”
“Like what?”
“The phone call from the killer, on Roger Martindale’s cell phone, telling you to go to the Dairy Queen.”
“You didn’t buy that?”
“You told me a very convincing story about a computer scammer from India. Was that a lie?”
“Well, let’s put it this way,” Cora said. “At least one of those stories was.”
“I’m talking about the one you told on the stand.”
“Ah, the perjury.”
“Was it perjury?”
“I thought you didn’t ask your clients if they’re guilty.”
“You’re not my client. The case is over. You haven’t been charged with anything.”
“For which I am very grateful.”
“Come on, Cora. Did you go out to the Dairy Queen?”
“Of course I did.”
“You got the phone call?”
“Well, I didn’t go for soft-serve ice cream.”
“And the computer scammer from India was a lie?”
“You couldn’t have told me you went to the Dairy Queen?”
“You were planning my defense. I didn’t want to clutter it up with the facts.”
Becky sighed. “It’s just us girls together. Can I let my hair down?”
“I thought we were doing that.”
“I mean literally.” Becky unpinned her hair and shook it out. It fell in blond curls from being pinned up.
“Ah, the retro look. Or is it current? I can never keep up with fashion. Anyway, it’s a whole new look for you. You might consider a change of hairstyle.”
“I might at that,” Becky said. “A few weeks ago I was considering a change of profession.”
“You don’t have to worry about that now. You’re famous. Retainers will start pouring in.”
Becky’s cell phone rang.
“See? There’s your next client now.”
Becky picked up the phone. “Becky Baldwin … Oh, hi … Thanks … She’s right here.”
Cora looked at her inquiringly.
“Sergeant Crowley.”
Cora took the phone. “Hello?”
“Hear you didn’t do this one,” Crowley said.
“Well, they didn’t get me for it.”
“That’s what matters. No one cares who’s guilty. It’s all about the conviction rate.”
“I said something like that on TV.”
“Sorry. We don’t get Channel Eight.”
“It didn’t go national?”
“It didn’t go live national. It’ll probably make the news cycle.”
“I hope they use Becky. She needs the work.”
“Hey, I’m right here,” Becky said.
“Too bad you’re camera-shy and ugly.”
“Yeah,” Crowley said. “You’re a TV producer trying to decide between her and Henry Firth. Whose face do you put on the screen?”
“The giant rat?” Cora said.
“Anyway, I just wanted to say how glad I am you’re innocent. Now I can stop sweating the accessory after the fact, withholding evidence, and conspiring to conceal a crime charges, just for buying you a pizza.”
“I wasn’t gonna give you up, no matter how sweet a deal they offered me.”
“Atta girl. Someone wants to say hi.”
After a moment, Stephanie came on the phone. “Hey, I hear you got off by going on the stand and admitting you’re a slut.”
“Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time,” Cora said.
“It’s a brilliant tactic. Distract ’em with sex, and then sell ’em on some dopey idea. What was yours?”
“That I didn’t do it.”
“Brilliant! It’s a wonder more defendants don’t use it. So, if you’re not going to jail, why don’t you swing down our way; we’ll have a victory dinner.”
“Sounds good,” Cora said. She got off the phone, handed it back to Becky.
“Did I hear you compare me to a giant rat?” Becky said.
“I implied you looked better.”
“Thanks a lot. I assume you were referring to Henry Firth as Ratface?”
“What gave it away?”
“I’m surprised. You two were so chummy on TV, I really expected you to start dating.”
“He’s married.”
“What’s your point?”
“It’s hard to think of Henry Firth as a catch. And not just for his looks. I’d hate to lose him as an adversary.”
“You guys worked well together.”
“Once he came around. Which he wouldn’t have done without your legal guidance.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Becky said.
“You allowed us to discuss the case without violating anyone’s rights. Particularly mine. Henry Firth isn’t too dumb to realize that. He should be a little more cooperative the next time you two tangle.”
“I’m not dating Henry Firth.”
“I meant in court.”
“I know. So, what you said to Rick Reed.”
“Did I say something actionable?”
“No. About having an affair with Roger Martindale. That you’d lied about it on the stand.”
“Well, I had to deflect him. Otherwise, he’d have asked the follow-up.”
“Was that a lie?”
“Was what a lie? Did I lie to Rick Reed about lying on the stand? That’s the same as asking if I lied on the stand.”
“Yes, it is.”
“That would be perjury.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, and the whole bit,” Becky said. “Have it your own way.” She took a sip of scotch. “Look, I buy your whole explanation up to a point. What I don’t understand is how did Paula know to frame you in the first place?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, she framed you for having an affair with her husband. How did she know that?”
Cora sighed. “Because I’m getting old.”
Becky frowned. “What?”
“I’m not as good as I think I am. Like Ratface said in his opening statement, bad luck for Paula Martindale, I’m a trained investigator. I saw her before she saw me. It sounded good and I bought it. But it isn’t true. I saw Paula Martindale and she saw me. But she was cool enough not to let on. I don’t know if she’d decided to frame me then, but this is a vicious, scheming woman, and she figured she’d get me one way or another.”
“And you didn’t notice her being nasty to you at the bridge table?”
“Who could tell? She’s nasty to everyone at the bridge table. The woman has a sick, convoluted mind.”
Becky was suddenly busy looking elsewhere.
Cora’s eyes blazed. “Oh, is that how you see me?”
“It was only the word ‘convoluted.’ Go on. Paula knew it was you, but she didn’t let on to you or her husband.”
“No. She read him the riot act but claimed she didn’t see anyone. Which led him to make up the whole business-meetings excuse. Which is where Ken Jessup got it. You see how it all folds back in on itself?” Cora shook her head. “I should have known the minute I saw that crossword puzzle on her coffee table.”
“What?”
“The first one. When Chief Harper sent me out there. That was the first step in her elaborate frame. She tells the chief about the puzzle, which all but ensures he’ll send me to talk to her. I’ve never been to the house, and she wants me there, sitting in the living room, leaving fingerprints and finding the puzzle. She mentions it casually, as if it wasn’t that important, so no one will notice she didn’t solve that one but zipped right through the next one, sending her to the mall. Did that bother you?”
“No.”
“It didn’t bother me, either. The second puzzle had a message on the top, telling her it was important. The end result is, once I’m accused of the crime, they all come tumbling down on me.”
“How’d she know the desk clerk would identify you?”
“She didn’t. I’m sure she had some backup plan. But she made damn sure he’d identify her. Walking to the elevator, watching the numbers, checking what floor it stopped on, and then not going up.”
“Wait a minute. You’re saying she already planned to kill her husband then?”
“Of course she had.”
“How? If she just caught you at the hotel?”
“I’m sure it wasn’t the first time.” Cora grimaced. “That’s what I mean about getting old. She followed him to the hotel, spotted me, kept quiet about it. Laid her plans. Then, when she was all set, she follows him, lets me spot her, and gives the desk clerk an eyeful.
“Which brings us to D-Day. Ken Jessup meets his buddy after work, takes him out for a drink, makes sure he has plenty, and slips him a mickey.”
“Slips him a mickey?”
“Sorry. I got carried away. He plies him with alcohol and Ativan and stashes him for safekeeping, most likely in the trunk of his car. Next day he picks up Roger’s car from the garage with the claim check from his
wallet, correctly assuming the garage man won’t notice who’s taking it. He drives it home to Roger’s, parks it in the driveway, walks to his car, which he’s stashed nearby. He drives to the house, pulls Roger out of the trunk, which isn’t hard, the poor guy’s still drunk and disoriented. He wrestles him inside and hacks him up with the butcher knife Paula’s conveniently left in the living room.
“He calls me on Roger’s cell phone, sending me to the Dairy Queen. Of course he uses a different phone to send Aaron Grant to Walmart. Paula’s waiting for Aaron to drive up, so she can scout out the perfect place to park and stage her puzzle-burning act.”
Becky took a sip of scotch. “How do you know all this?”
“I don’t. I’m making it up. With any luck, Henry Firth will figure it out.”
“Gonna help him?”
“I don’t know. After all, he did try to convict me of murder.”
“Cora! You’re not going to let them get away with it.”
“Of course not. If Ratface has trouble, I’m sure you could point him in the right direction. It would sound better coming from an attorney than from the defendant.”
Becky set down her scotch. “Cora Felton. If you start rumors about me and Henry Firth…”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Cora said.
“Oh, really?”
“Sure.” Cora took a pull of her virgin rum and Coke. “I’m still working on the rumors about you and Aaron Grant.”
About the Author
Parnell Hall has been an actor, screenwriter, and singer/songwriter. He is a former president of the Private Eye Writers of America and a member of Sisters in Crime. He has been a finalist for an Edgar, two Lefty, and three Shamus Awards. Hall lives in New York City.
Visit his Web site at www.ParnellHall.com. Or sign up for email updates here.
Also by Parnell Hall
Puzzled Indemnity
NYPD Puzzle
Arsenic and Old Puzzles
$10,000 in Small, Unmarked Puzzles
The KenKen Killings
The Puzzle Lady vs. the Sudoku Lady
Dead Man’s Puzzle
You Have the Right to Remain Puzzled
Stalking the Puzzle Lady
And a Puzzle to Die On
With This Puzzle, I Thee Kill
