by Parnell Hall
“Disappointing,” Cora said.
“You were hoping for something salacious?”
“I was hoping for something helpful. How do you open the search window?”
“What do you want to search for?”
“Jackie Greystone.”
“Control F.”
Cora opened the window, typed in Jackie Greystone, and hit Search.
The computer lit up like a Christmas tree.
Cora read through the articles. Once again, the name never appeared except in the titles.
“Ah.”
“Ah what?”
“Jackie Greystone was having an affair. At least, according to Leon Bratz. Assuming she’s the unnamed woman appearing in the files conveniently titled ‘Jackie Greystone.’”
“What are the dates on those files?”
“They’re from this year. Largely February and March.”
“In other words, during spring training.”
“Yeah.”
“Which takes place in Florida. Would Matt’s wife go along with him on spring training?”
“I don’t know. It’s a lot of bus tours, and not much fun.”
“According to these articles she was having lots of fun.”
Cora frowned. “Maybe.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“If this is true, how come no one else picked up on it? The other tabloids, for instance. They didn’t get the story, he did. He may not have been big time but he certainly was busy and he came up with the dirt.”
“So what? Why would the tabloids care? It’s not like he copyrighted the idea. If the woman’s having an affair, anyone could print it. And the Enquirer wouldn’t be shy about publishing her name. They’d put it right on the front page. To all intents and purposes it would be their scoop. After all, Bratz Chatz never did mention her name.”
“Well, there’s the laws of libel, for one thing. You print something you can’t prove, it’s going to cost you a lot of money. They can’t just make up stuff off the top of their head, they gotta have a source.”
“They got one. Leon Bratz.”
“No, they don’t,” Cora said. “Because Leon Bratz doesn’t use her name. If he did, their article could be all about the fact her name appeared in his article. They’d sell it with the sexiest picture they could get, and the headline would be MATT GREYSTONE’S WIFE IN STEAMY AFFAIR. They write about how she was named in Leon Bratz’s article. He’d be the source. Their article would be all about his article, but they’d benefit from the headline and the picture and the fact they have national circulation and that headline would be screaming at people from the checkout line in every single supermarket.”
“They couldn’t run it anyway?”
“I don’t know. I’d have to ask Becky Baldwin. I think it would depend on how his column was worded.”
“All right, let’s check them out. Who did he write for?”
“The Tattler.”
Sherry typed it into the browser. “How about that. They have a Web site.” She clicked on the link. “Ah, this is convenient. We don’t even have to be a member. We get a seven-day free trial. And they have an archive. That seems a rather elegant term for their type of trash.”
“I guess they thought calling it ‘landfill’ would be confusing.”
“Anyway, there’s a search window.”
“We can’t search for Jackie Greystone if he didn’t use her name.”
“Yeah. Choose an article you want to search for.”
“All right, how about this: ‘What Yankee ace is honing his fastball in sunny Florida while his wife is working out in New York? Can you guess who’s getting the most action?’”
“Let’s try that one.” Sherry typed “honing his fastball” into the window and hit Search.
There were no hits.
“Try ‘Bratz Chatz 322.’”
“It won’t be listed that way.”
“It might.”
Sherry was right. It wasn’t.
“All right. Take away the number.”
Sherry did a search for Bratz Chatz. There was a whole list going back about a year. The Tattler was a weekly. Bratz Chatz had nearly fifty entries.
“Okay,” Sherry said. “The file was saved on February seventeeth. Here’s Bratz Chatz column for February twentieth.”
Sherry read the column. Cora read over her shoulder.
Sherry clicked the mouse.
“I wasn’t finished,” Cora said.
“There was nothing about Jackie Greystone.”
“He doesn’t use her name.”
“There’s no allusion to an unnamed pitcher’s wife. Anyway, it’s a whole different column.”
The column for the twenty-seventh was no different.
Sherry and Cora checked out all the articles for March, then backtracked and checked out all the articles for February.
“You want me to try April?” Sherry said.
“It’s not going to be there. By April spring training’s over, he’s back in New York, and he’s already hurt his arm.”
“How come there’s no articles about him hurting his arm?” Sherry said.
“Probably because it’s true. What’s the fun in that? A rag like this gets no fun at all covering real news.”
Buddy began barking hysterically and Jennifer yelled, “Doorbell! Doorbell! Doorbell!”
“Someone’s here,” Sherry said.
“No kidding. You could rent that pair out as an alarm system.”
Jennifer ran to the window. “It’s the police!”
“It’s Dan Finley,” Cora said. “Dropping off the puzzle. He better not be planning on waiting while I solve it.”
“You can’t. You have the whatjamacallit.”
“What’s the whatjamacallit?”
“I don’t know. That’s your department.” Sherry opened the front door. “Hi, Dan.”
The young officer came in carrying a manila envelope. “Did I hear your daughter yell ‘It’s the police!’?”
“She’s our early-warning system,” Cora said. “That’s why we were slow answering the door. I was in the bathroom flushing our drugs.”
“I got the puzzle for you.”
“I’ll run it back as soon as I’m done.”
“That’s not what the chief wants to hear.”
“I can’t run it back before I’m done.”
“Yeah, look,” Dan said. “The chief is not happy about this. We got a high-profile murder case. Rick Reed’s footage is going to get national exposure because Matt Greystone’s involved. The chief’s gotta give him a sound bite that doesn’t make us look like clowns. Anything you can contribute would be helpful.”
“When’s he going on the air?”
“It’s big news. It’s on the air all the time. On CNN the force looks none too sharp. We’d love to give ’em something to get them to change the breaking news banner.”
“What is it now?”
“‘POLICE STYMIED.’”
“Don’t worry, Dan,” Sherry said. “We won’t leave you hanging. Cora was helping me with something on the computer. We don’t have to finish it now. Just let us log out and she’ll be right with you. Sit down, take a break. Jennifer and Buddy will entertain you. Jennifer, what do we say to the policeman?”
“You’ll never take me alive, copper!”
Dan burst out laughing. “Thank you. I needed that.”
“We’ll only be a minute,” Sherry said. She grabbed Cora by the arm and pulled her into the office. “Give me the puzzle.”
Cora dug it out of the envelope. Sherry sat at the desk, grabbed a pencil, began filling in the grid.
“He’s going to come walking in here,” Cora said.
“No, he’s not.” Sherry set the pencil down, dashed out to the living room where Dan Finley was looking at his watch. “She’ll be done in a minute. Can I get you something to drink?”
“I really don’t have time.”
“Hang in there, I’
ll urge her along.”
Sherry darted back to the office, grabbed the pencil, finished filling in the grid. “There you go.”
“Mind if I see that?” Cora said. “I should at least know what it says.”
“Sure.”
Cora grabbed the puzzle, read the theme answer.
“I CAN AVOID
MISTAKES
IF I CHECK
HIS BRAKES.”
Chapter
31
Cora burst into Becky Baldwin’s office to find the lawyer closeted with her client.
“What’s going on?” Cora said.
“Excuse me?” Becky said. “I’m in my office with my client. What’s going on with you?”
“Was there anything funny about the accident?”
Jackie Greystone blinked. “Funny? Are you kidding me? It’s the tragedy of his life.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it. Is there any chance it wasn’t an accident?”
“Hang on,” Becky said. “You can’t come in here and question my client. What the hell are you talking about?”
“The crossword puzzle found at the murder scene. The solution says to check his brakes. Is there any chance Matt’s brakes were tampered with?”
“Of course not. Why would they be?”
“Did anyone check? After the accident. Did anyone check his brakes?”
“I have no idea.”
“Where’s the car now?”
“It was towed away after the accident. I’m not sure where.”
Cora snatched up the phone from Becky’s desk, punched in a number. “Crowley, Cora. I need a favor.”
“I just did you a favor,” Crowley said. “If you need another one it means you’re in trouble. Which means I’m probably in trouble. What the hell happened now?”
“Nothing like that. I’m just checking out a car accident. Beginning of April.”
“April second,” Jackie volunteered.
“April second. Single-car accident. Vehicle operated by one Matt Greystone. Can you pull the accident report, see if anyone inspected the brakes?”
“Why?”
“The crossword puzzle suggested it.”
There was a silence on the line.
Cora covered the mouthpiece, said, “He’s making up my eulogy.”
“Aren’t the Bakerhaven police doing this?”
“They may not have it yet.”
“You held out on them?”
“No, but I may have beaten Dan Finley back to town. Come on, Sergeant, be a sport. Pull the accident report.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me Sergeant when you’re asking me to break the law.”
“I’m at Becky Baldwin’s,” Cora said, and hung up the phone. “All right, let’s talk turkey. Your husband was injured in a car crash. There is evidence someone might have tampered with the brakes. That raises it from an accident to attempted murder. People go to great lengths to cover up attempted murder. They even resort to murder. If someone attempted to kill Matt, the most likely suspect is always the wife. He just signed a multimillion-dollar contract. You won’t get all of it if he’s dead, but you’d get enough to be a very wealthy widow.”
“Wait a minute,” Becky said. “You come in here and accuse my client of murder.”
“Not at all,” Cora said. “I come in here and lay out the facts that might convince a misguided policeman that your client had committed murder. Now then, is there anything your client might say by way of explanation that you wouldn’t want me to hear?”
Becky looked at her client. The consternation on Jackie’s face told the story. “I better hear it first. Why don’t you take a walk?”
“I’ll be right outside in case the phone rings.”
Cora got as far as the door before it did.
Becky snatched up the phone. “Hello?… Yes, this is Cora Felton’s answering service.… Hi, Sergeant … Yes, she’s right here.”
Cora grabbed the phone out of Becky’s hand. “What did you find?”
“I have the accident report.”
“Just like that?”
“Perkins is very efficient. I’m not sure how he does it, but he does.”
“Any mention of the brakes?”
“No. No mention of any mechanical difficulty whatsoever. The phrases ‘misjudged the turn,’ ‘lost control,’ and ‘failed to keep the vehicle on the road’ were used. The report places the responsibility for the accident entirely on the driver. There are no contributing factors cited such as weather, road conditions, or visibility.”
“Did they check the brakes?”
“There was no mention of the brakes.”
“That wasn’t my question. Did the police check them?”
“Police don’t check brakes. Mechanics check brakes.”
“Did the mechanic check the brakes?”
“It’s not part of the accident report.”
“Why not?”
“If the mechanic had found something, it would be part of the accident report.”
“Are you having Perkins follow up on this?”
“No, I’m having Perkins follow up on the murder in my jurisdiction. Would you like me to explain to you why that’s more important than a three-month-old, nonfatal accident where there’s no suspicion of foul play?”
“You’re a sergeant, for Christ’s sake. Can’t you spare one officer to interview the mechanic? It doesn’t have to be Perkins. You’d do it if Chief Harper asked you.”
“Yeah, but he won’t.”
“Why not?”
“The accident was in upstate New York. According to the report, the car was towed to a garage in Rye. That’s about as close to Bakerhaven as it is to here. I’m sure the Bakerhaven police will want to check it out themselves.”
“A garage in Rye?”
“Yeah.”
“What garage?”
Chapter
32
Bill’s Body Shop was right off Route 287. Cora drove by the pumps and pulled up next to a rack of used tires.
In the first bay a mechanic was working on the underside of a Subaru up on a lift. Cora caught his attention, said, “You the mechanic?”
The guy looked at her like what did she think he was, a piano tuner?
“You work here three months ago?”
“What if I did?”
“I’d like to talk to you.”
“Talk to the boss.”
“I already did.”
“You ask him if I worked here three months ago?”
Cora hesitated.
He grinned. “Got you. Yeah, lady, I worked here three months ago. And I’d like to be working here three months from now. Anyone wants to ask about work that’s been done, they see the boss.”
“Where is he?”
“In the store.”
Cora went into the station. It was the type of place she dubbed an “inconvenience store,” a service station with just enough soda and incidentals not to have anything you’re looking for.
The man behind the counter was watching a small TV on the wall. It looked like the monitor from a surveillance system. A loose wire hung in a loop from the TV out the side window. Cora figured the guy was stealing cable from the house next door.
“What can I do for you?” the guy said.
The garage was one of those places where you prepay for gas. He clearly expected her to say something like, “Put twenty dollars on pump three.”
“I’m investigating an accident,” Cora said.
The guy could not have looked more surprised if she hit him over the head with a shovel. “What accident?”
“You had a car towed here three months ago.”
“I have a lot of cars towed in here. That’s what we do.”
“This one you’d remember.”
“Why?”
“It belonged to Matt Greystone.”
“Yeah, that was a shock. No one said nothing, then I look at the name on the registration. They said to check it for m
echanical failure. That’s a joke.”
“Why?”
“Head-on collision. Car’s a twisted wreck. You could tell if a tire blew, but whether it caused the accident or was the result of it is hard to say. No, you list the damage. Then you come in later with your cops and your lawyers and your insurance adjusters. And if the car hasn’t been hauled off for junk you can inspect it again.”
“Were the brakes cut?”
“What?
“The brake hoses. Were they cut?”
“If the cables had been cut, Donnie would have said so.”
“Did he check?”
“Of course he checked?”
“Why? Are cut brake hoses a common cause of accidents?”
“Look, lady, you want to ask questions, fine. You don’t like the answers, I’m not going to argue with you.”
“Where’s the car now?”
“Out back.”
“It’s still here?”
“He didn’t want it repaired, he just wanted it junked. We’re a body shop. The rear end’s in good condition, I can use it for parts.”
“Did you sell the brakes?”
“Don’t get a lot of calls for used brakes.”
“So you could check them now.”
“I could, but I’m not gonna.”
“Why not?”
“Because no one’s paying me to.”
“Fair enough. A hundred bucks if you do it right now.”
“That’s not a lot of money.”
“No, but it’s what you can get. When the police show up you’ll have to do it, and you won’t get a dime.”
He came out from behind the counter, banged out the door, and walked over to the service bay. “Hey, Donnie. Pull the Greystone car in here and check the brakes.”
Donnie looked surprised. “I’d have to put it on the lift.”
“So put it on the lift.”
“There’s a car on the lift.”
“Take it down. When you get it up there, see if the brake lines have been cut.”
“Why would the brake lines be cut?”
“They wouldn’t. So check if they are, and tell the lady what we already know.”
Donnie jerked his thumb at the car on the lift. “I’ll have to put the tires back on.”
“I don’t care how you do it, just get it done.”
Donnie looked at Cora as if she were something he had just scraped off his shoe. He grabbed an air gun and bolted the tires back on with lug nuts. For all his bellyaching it took about two minutes. He lowered the lift, backed the car off, hopped in the wrecker, and towed the Greystone car around. The only hard part was backing it onto the lift. He accomplished it with insolent skill, unhooked the tow truck, lifted the wreck in the air.
