by Parnell Hall
“You think I should commit some crime to attract his attention?”
“I wouldn’t put it past you. So, what’s the real problem?”
Cora scowled. “That’s the real problem. I get to the City, Crowley’s at work. I stake out an office building, tail this numbnuts around till he gets in his car, and follow him back to Bakerhaven. Wonderful. We accomplish no useful purpose except getting me the hell out of New York. If on the other hand, the guy is fooling around, I get to hang out and watch him do it.”
“That’s not exactly in the job description.”
“It would be if I could swing it. And I still gotta follow him home, don’t I?”
“I suppose so.”
“So,” Cora said. “You’ll pardon me if I seem somewhat negative, but just between you and me, what’s the upside?”
“Are you kidding?” Becky smiled. “I got a retainer.”
Chapter
11
There was no reason to call Crowley again, so Cora did. “Hey, big boy, how’s police biz?”
“Cora. This is getting to be a habit.”
“Yeah. I keep staking guys out and you keep having police work.”
“You kill him and I’ll come arrest you.”
“That’s practically what Becky said.”
“How is your lawyer?”
“Employed. That’s why I’m here. To see if anyone’s having sex in New York City.”
There was a slight pause before Crowley said, “What’s the verdict?”
“Nothing so far. I’m ever hopeful.”
“What’s your plan?”
“I don’t have a plan. Just marching orders. Stake out the son of a bitch and see where he goes.”
“Sounds like typical PI work.”
“You ever do it?”
“You kidding me? I’m a sergeant. I got detectives to do it.”
“Got one I could use for this?”
“Sorry. That’s the type of scandal would get me suspended.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want any scandal, would we?”
Another short pause before, “Good luck with your stakeout.”
“No such thing,” Cora said. “If I don’t find anything, I failed. If I find it, I’m out of a job.”
Crowley chuckled. “You have a way with words.” He was one of the few people who knew Cora was an out-and-out fraud. “As long as they don’t involve a puzzle.”
“Well, good to talk to you,” Cora said. “Maybe one of these days we’ll hook up.”
“That would be nice. You get off early, give me a call,” Crowley said, and hung up.
Cora drove up Sixth Avenue in a much better mood. That was a vast improvement on yesterday’s phone call. She wasn’t getting to see him, but he’d sounded friendly, welcoming. Yesterday he’d sounded hassled. Yeah, a big improvement.
Maybe she’d have better luck with Brittany’s hubby, too.
Chapter
12
Hank Wells came out of his office building with a lilt in his step, which was not exactly how Cora would have described it. For her money, he looked like a guy who hoped to get lucky.
So did she.
Cora wondered if he’d head for the drugstore again. He didn’t. He stepped out in the street to hail a cab.
Cora smiled. For once the gods were with her. There was no way he was getting a cab first. The cab would have to go by her to pick him up.
Sure enough, Cora nailed the first cab up Sixth Avenue. The driver had a thick accent and no vowels in his name. He turned around and grunted something, most likely, “Where to?”
Cora pointed. “See that man trying to hail a cab?”
The driver pointed, said something indistinguishable.
“That’s right,” Cora said.
The driver kicked the cab in gear, started straight toward Hank.
“Stop!” Cora screamed.
The startled driver slammed on the brakes, skidded toward the curb, and nearly knocked a bike messenger into a baby carriage. He pulled the cab to a stop and turned around in his seat to see why his passenger had suddenly lost her mind.
The outraged cry caught in his throat. His eyes widened. He pointed his finger at her. “Puzzle Lady! You Puzzle Lady!” His face broke into an idiotic grin.
Cora couldn’t believe it. A fan.
“That’s right. And I’m on the job. I’m supposed to follow that guy and see where he goes. Can you help me do that?”
Cora was a little concerned about how that might translate, but she needn’t have worried. The cabbie nodded enthusiastically and turned to size up his quarry, who had just flagged down a second cab.
The cabbie had no problem tagging along, though he drove Cora crazy constantly turning around to grin at her while piloting the cab up Sixth Avenue with one hand. When he ran the light at 56th Street after losing half a block with his no-look driving, Cora couldn’t wait for the guy to drop her safely at the garage.
She never got the chance. At the corner of 83rd Street Hank’s cab swung a left off Broadway, crossed West End Avenue, and headed for Riverside Drive. Halfway down the block the cab stopped and Hank got out.
“Pull up here,” Cora said.
Her cabbie looked betrayed. They were about fifty yards behind, his quarry was leaving, and she was dismissing his services. Well, what did he expect her to do? Invite him to leave his cab and tag along?
There was twelve bucks on the meter. Cora gave the cabbie fifteen and got out.
He didn’t drive off. Cora snorted in exasperation. She didn’t have time to deal with him. Hank was going somewhere and she had to follow. A nosy cabbie was the last thing she needed.
Cora walked casually down the block keeping Hank in sight. It was a slightly iffy proposition. If he saw her, he’d recognize her. Bakerhaven was a small town. He’d have seen her somewhere or know her from TV. But the odds of him turning in her direction were slim. He’d told the cabbie where to stop. Where he was going would be right there.
It was. Hank went across the street and up the steps of a brownstone. There was a row of buttons next to the door. He pushed one, was buzzed inside.
In this instance, Cora had to admit, she was lucky it was winter. It was dark out and there were lights in the windows. At least in two of the apartments, on the second and third floors. The first and fourth floors were dark.
Cora wondered if they were floor-through apartments or if the floors were divided up. She wasn’t close enough to see the buttons. How many were there? Should she cross and take a look?
Not yet. She held her place, watched the windows from across the street. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the cabbie, inching up the street. She thrust out her hand, palm up. The cabbie stopped. Cora didn’t look at him, continued watching the building, praying for a miracle.
Her prayers were answered. A face appeared in the third-floor window. It was Hank. A moment later, a slender woman’s arm reached up and pulled the shade.
Jackpot! Brittany Wells was right. Hubby did have a sweetie on the side; he was hanging out with her whenever he could. That’s why he had a garage in the neighborhood. It wasn’t just that it was cheaper than a midtown garage. It was where he needed his car.
The importance of Becky Baldwin checking out the double-indemnity clause had suddenly multiplied.
Cora wondered if she should report in. It seemed like a bad idea. For one thing, she didn’t have a cell phone. For another, she had queasy visions of New York Post headlines like LOVE NEST BLOODBATH. Much as Becky needed the work, defending Brittany Wells from a multiple-homicide rap probably wasn’t what she had in mind. Particularly with a guilty client. What was she going to do, plead the unwritten law?
Besides, Cora didn’t even know who the woman was. Any disclosure at this point would be premature.
There was nothing to stop Cora from crossing the street and looking at the doorbells.
Except the nosy cabbie.
Cora went back, walked up to the driver
’s side window. He rolled it down.
“Show’s over. I don’t need you anymore.”
The cabbie acted like he didn’t comprehend. “Wait?” he ventured hopefully.
Cora shook her head. “Go,” she said firmly, and pointed down the street.
Reluctantly, the cabbie drove off.
Cora crossed the street, went up the front steps of the brownstone, looked at the bells. There were indeed two buzzers per floor, marked F and R. 3F, presumably third-floor front, was marked M. Greer. Cora dug in her purse, fished out a notebook and pen, copied it down.
Cora shoved the notebook back in her purse and went to stake out the apartment from across the street. She had just found a nice place in the shadows behind an SUV when she noticed a taxi that looked familiar parked by a fireplug at the corner of Riverside Drive. She walked down the street to check it out. Sure enough, it was the same cab. She knocked on the driver’s window, gave him her best you-don’t-want-to-mess-with-me stare, and jerked her thumb.
Third time’s the charm. When the light changed, the cabbie turned right and drove up Riverside Drive. Cora figured he was actually gone.
Cora hurried back, set up surveillance on apartment 3F. Hoped like hell her quarry hadn’t escaped while she was dismissing the cab. But that wasn’t likely. There was no way the guy was in and out that quickly unless he was buying drugs.
There was a new thought and one Brittany hadn’t even suggested. Could the guy be a dope fiend without his wife even knowing? Well, he could, but in that case he was buying from a shapely young thing with her own apartment. No, every instinct told Cora the situation was exactly as it seemed. In which case, he’d be upstairs for a while.
It was close to forty-five minutes. Long enough for all practical purposes. Cora had no doubt the young gentleman had availed himself of the opportunity. In which case he’d be going home, so as not to alert his slow but not-quite-brain-dead wife to his perfidy. Most likely, he’d be heading for his car.
He was. Cora tailed him to the garage. They passed hers on the way, and Cora could have gotten her car, except she saw no need. Hubby would be on his way to Bakerhaven. Anyway, he wasn’t the objective anymore.
Cora went back, sized up the building. She had to figure out who the woman was. She could ring the buzzer, talk to her over the intercom, try to finesse her into saying her name. Or she could finagle her way through the downstairs door, either by ringing apartments at random until someone buzzed her in, picking the downstairs lock, or waiting for someone to go in or out and timing her approach so as to catch the door before it had an opportunity to close. Then she could go up to the third floor, bang on the door of 3F. Even if the woman wouldn’t let her in, just opened the door on a safety chain, she’d get a look at her through the crack in the door. The downside was the woman would get a look at her. And if vowelless cabbie knew her from TV, what chance would she stand against a slinky femme fatale? If the bimbo recognized her and told Hubby, the jig would be up.
Of course, that was just the ditzy client’s assessment of the situation. What the actual situation was, was anybody’s guess. But that didn’t matter. Brittany was the client, and going against her wishes was not going to win anyone any gold stars.
All right. Cora had an address, an apartment number, a last name, and a first initial. Assuming that information was correct, how would a private investigator go about verifying who the woman actually was? More to the point, how could she check her out without letting her know she was being checked out?
Cora had no idea.
Then it occurred to her she knew a cop.
Chapter
13
Sergeant Crowley had put on weight. The stomach Cora was lying across seemed somewhat firmer than it had before. The two-day stubble was the same, however. So was his lazy smile. It was a nice smile, made up for so many other lapses. The man’s good humor was one of the things that had attracted Cora to him in the first place. As she snuggled on his chest, she couldn’t help thinking it was what she missed the most.
Not that he was not a perfectly satisfactory lover. But as Cora had been married some five or six times, men held few surprises. She was pleased by their passion, but it was not their only allure.
Crowley had gotten to her. Putting the relationship on hiatus had been tough, though she had quite understood the situation. But it was great to be back in the Greenwich Village apartment with the cop with the poster of Jimi Hendrix on the wall.
Cora smiled as she traced patterns on his chest. “Gee, all I said was could you check out an address for me. You are one fast worker.”
“Well, we never stood on ceremony much,” Crowley said.
“That’s for sure. On the other hand, it’s been a while.”
“Eighty-seven days, but who’s counting.”
“Eighty-seven days?” Cora said.
“I made it up. Was I close?’
“I wasn’t counting.”
“Of course not.”
“What you been up to lately?”
“Same old same old. Catching crooks, mainly. How about you?”
“Oh, business as usual.”
“That must be time-consuming. Pretending to write crossword puzzles.”
“I construct sudoku.”
“I stand corrected. Only half your life’s a fraud.”
“Just because I don’t construct puzzles doesn’t mean I’m not the Puzzle Lady. I also film TV commercials.”
“So you want me to ID this woman?”
“Yes, I do. All your attempts to distract me notwithstanding.”
“And how am I supposed to do this?”
“Well, you could bang on her door, drag her down to the police station.”
“False arrest. You want me to commit false arrest?”
“I was afraid you wouldn’t go for that. How about selling tickets to the policeman’s ball?”
“I can’t drag her downtown for that.”
“You don’t have to drag her downtown, just get her to open her door.”
“You want me to sneak you into her building, hide you in the stairwell, and then attempt to fraudulently solicit money for a non-existent charity?”
“Would that be a problem?”
“No, it sounds like fun. If you’re a college student. I’m a New York City homicide officer. I cannot abuse my position to satisfy the whims of a private citizen.”
“Wuss.”
“Hey, I’m a pro. I got principles.” Crowley reached for the phone.
“You ordering food? We didn’t decide on Thai or Indian.”
“Yeah.” Crowley spoke into the phone. “Hey, Perkins. Six-twenty-four West Eighty-third Street. Apartment Three F. Who lives there?”
Chapter
14
Brittany was crushed. “So he is having an affair.”
“So it would seem.”
“But you don’t know for sure.”
“Well, I didn’t actually see them in bed together,” Cora said.
“Don’t be stupid,” Brittany said.
It was all Cora could do to hold her tongue. She could feel her teeth grinding. The amused glance Becky was giving her didn’t help. “No, I don’t know for sure that he’s having an affair. I saw him go to her apartment. I saw her pull down the shades.”
“But you don’t know what she looks like.”
Actually, Cora did. Perkins had managed to get Crowley a copy of her driver’s license photo from the DMV. Surely a misdemeanor, if not a criminally indictable offense. When you got a cop breaking rules, Cora figured, it was kind of hard to get him to stop.
“Would you like me to stake her apartment with a camera?” Cora said.
“I’d like you to do something. I have to know if my husband is having an affair.”
“Well, you have to admit we’ve made some progress in that direction,” Becky said, forestalling Cora’s angry retort. “Yesterday you didn’t know if your husband was seeing anyone. Now you know he is. You may not kn
ow why, at least you may not be sure, but you certainly have reason to suspect. So, it would seem there was some foundation to your initial apprehension.”
“Huh?” Brittany said.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Cora said. “You thought your husband might be trying to kill you because he was having an affair. It appears that might be true.”
“Exactly,” Becky said. “So let’s have a look at the insurance policy.”
Brittany shrugged. “I don’t have it.”
“She told you to get it,” Cora said accusingly.
Brittany’s eyes flashed. “Excuse me. Who’s hiring who?”
“You’re hiring me,” Becky said. “And I’m hiring her. And we’re all working together toward the same end. In light of what Cora told me, I need to see that policy. Now, how can we make that happen?”
“I don’t know.”
“If he’s at work all day, why can’t you search the house?” Cora said.
“I have searched the house. I can’t find it.”
“You want me to search the house?” Cora said. “I’m good at it.”
“I don’t think it’s in the house. I think he has it at work.”
“Tell him you want to see it,” Cora said.
“I can’t do that.”
“Because then he’ll know you found out he has a girlfriend and deduced he wants to kill you,” Cora said sarcastically.
Brittany completely missed the irony. “Exactly. So who is she?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Of course I want to know. That’s what I’m paying you for.”
“You’re not paying me. You’re paying her. And you’re not paying her to find out who your husband’s having an affair with; you’re paying her to make sure he doesn’t kill you to cash in on his insurance policy.”
“I’m paying her to do what I tell her. You want me to tell her to fire you?”
Becky put up her hands. “Ladies, ladies, we are getting far afield. I let Cora sit in on this meeting because she’s the one who did the legwork and I figured you’d want to get your report firsthand. If that’s not a good idea, I won’t have her at our next meeting. But I’m not firing her on your say-so. You’re retaining me as an attorney to protect your interests. As your attorney, I’m advising you what your interests are. If it’s in your best interests to have her in my employ, that’s what I’m going to do. If you don’t choose to follow my advice, you are certainly free to hire another attorney.”
