The Crossword Murder (24 page)

Rosco nonchalantly took a bite from his licorice stick and leaned back in the director's chair. “If you want to get picky, it's actually the other way around; Cervantes started
Don Quixote
in 1605, about eight years after
The Merchant of Venice
was first performed at the Globe Theatre. So if anybody had a
take
on anybody else, it was Cervantes, not old Bill.”

This statement left Belle stuttering. “W-w-what? W-w-where did that come from? Are you sure about that? I mean, those dates? How did you discover that?”

“Look it up. I read
Don Quixote de la Mancha
in college. Maybe one of the only things I
did
read. But I loved it. What else do you want to know? The sky's the limit.”

“‘The sky's the limit'?”

“That's a paraphrase from the book. ‘No limits but the sky' is the actual wording.”

“… And fifteen letters, too …” Belle counted them off on her fingers. “I'll have to put that into one of my puzzles some day. Amazing.” Belle found her eyes glued to Rosco. She suddenly realized there was an entire life she wanted to know more about.

“Well, anyway”—she broke her stare with a slight toss of her head—“it's obviously a message, wouldn't you say?”

“I'm on your side … Any more names in it?”

“No, but 20-Across is MISTRESS, which could be pointing the finger at Betsey Housemann … Also the clue for 53-Across:
Cheat catcher
? … And there's tons of references to death: 14-Across:
Hang 'em
HIGH; 65-Across: REST
in peace;
6-Down:
Dead man's hand;
ACES
and eights;
11-Down:
Death
TRAP; 58-down:
dead
AS A
doornail
. There are also a bunch of clues and answers concerning truth. And number 7-down: CROSSWORD PUZZLE.”

“Meaning …?”

Belle walked to the licorice jar. “I don't know, Rosco. But it's unusual. I'm convinced we'll find the murderer's identity revealed somewhere in these puzzles.”

“Maybe not … If it's a tease, and Briephs' intention was to make the killer so nervous he'd trip himself up, the clues may be too cryptic for us to recognize … My hunch is that only the murderer might get them.”

“He … Or she.”

“Right … Well, there's some rather interesting items in these financial records. No large deposits, but there are a number of very large withdrawals. Which means somebody may have been blackmailing Briephs, and not the other way around. There's also a bunch of two hundred-dollar withdrawals from a cash machine located at 102 Hawthorne Place—the old customs house.”

“The bus station?”

“Yep.”

“Why would someone like Thompson Briephs go to the bus terminal? He wasn't the type to take public transportation anywhere.”

“I don't know. It doesn't make sense.” Rosco leaned across Belle's desk and lifted the envelope that had contained the puzzle. “This was mailed from downtown, according to the zip code on the cancellation stamp. The same zip code as the
Herald
office. The bus station is one zip code to the east.”

“So …?”

“I'm just thinking out loud; looking for a connection, anything. I mean, who's mailing these? If it's not the killer, why doesn't the person step forward? And again, why would the killer mail them?”

Belle crossed back to her desk. “We need the fifth crossword. That's all there is to it.”

“What we need is to know why Briephs went to the bus station to withdraw cash when there's an ATM a block from his office.” Rosco reached for Belle's phone and punched in a memorized number. “Do you mind?”

“Who are you calling?”

“The police. It's time to share some facts.”

Belle scooped up the crossword puzzles. “You're not giving these up, are you?”

Rosco held up his hand. Lever was on the line. “Al, it's Rosco. Can you spare a few minutes, in say”—he glanced at his watch—“half an hour …? Thanks, I'll see you then.”

He replaced the receiver and looked at Belle. “No, I'm not giving him the puzzles. It would take me a week to convince Lever there was something concrete in them. I'm having enough trouble explaining that to myself. But I need to find out what he's discovered. I'll share our information on the money market account and ATM withdrawals; maybe it will jibe with something he's got.” Rosco picked up the red file box and stood.

Belle said, “You know, that fifth puzzle could have been mailed to anyone, and there's no reason on earth they would even think to bring it to you … or to me.”

“I'm hoping it's been sent to someone with more brains than that. It might've even been sent to Lever. I'll know soon enough.”

“Will you call me?”

“If Al has that puzzle, you'll be the first to know. Keep your pencil sharpened … sorry … pen.”

Belle smiled, walked Rosco to the door and watched him drive off. After that, she ambled back into her kitchen and retrieved Garet's letter. Her large gray eyes squinted into a frown as her husband's verbiage grew clearer.

Finished reading, she marched into her office and stuffed both letter and envelope into her paper shredder; then she turned around and looked through the open office door at the quiet perfection of her home.
“Love's Labour's Lost,”
she said.

The phone rang as she spoke.

“Belle Graham,” she said into the receiver.

“This is St. Josephs Hospital. Mr. Polycrates said he could be reached at this number.”

“Oh … yes … of course. He's on the other line at the moment. May I take a message?”

“JaneAlice Miller has regained consciousness. Mr. Polycrates asked to be kept informed.”

“Thank you. I'll see that he gets the message.” Belle dropped the receiver into its cradle and grabbed her car keys.

CHAPTER 31

W
HEN
R
OSCO
STEPPED
into Al Lever's office, the lieutenant was just finishing another of his minute-long cigarette smoker's paroxysms. He looked up at Rosco and said, “Dang this cough. Have a seat, Poly—Crates. What have you got?”

“What have you got, Al?”

“Besides these darn allergies, everything I have points to a jealous husband … except for one thing.”

“What's that?”

“Housemann didn't do it.”

“You sound pretty certain.”

Lever lit a cigarette and tossed the match into an ashtray already overflowing with fifteen crushed butts. “Carlyle places Briephs' time of death at sometime Friday afternoon—not long after he left the
Herald
offices. He passed through the yacht club gate twenty minutes after he left downtown. Obviously he went straight home.”

“Not
quite
straight home. He made a detour to the bus station, where he pulled two hundred bucks out of a cash machine.” Rosco handed Lever the bank statement on Briephs' account.

“Where did you get this?”

“A certain lady seems to have taken a shine to me.”

Lever studied the paper for a moment. “The two hundred wasn't there when we found the body. There was only a twenty-dollar bill in the house. Sitting near the silver tray on the bureau. Right out in the open—along with his Rolex. That's why we ruled out robbery so quick. The killer didn't bother to look for the stuff.”

“Makes sense … Here, look at these.” Rosco handed Lever two more bank statements. “He'd been pulling a couple of hundred dollars out of that same machine on a regular basis. My guess is he was using the money on the spot. Either he was seeing a hooker, or we're looking at some form of small-time blackmail. I go with blackmail.” He handed the lieutenant Briephs' money market balance sheet and pointed to the places he'd marked with Belle's red pen. “Look at these cash withdrawals. Eleven hundred three weeks ago, five hundred before that. Go back four months … There's one for three grand. Erratic, to say the least.”

“Not to mention the bus station withdrawals. Why two bills? Why there?”

“Right. There aren't any professionals working the bus station now. Besides, if Briephs made it to the yacht club in twenty minutes, he wouldn't have had any time for hanky-panky elsewhere.”

Lever scratched the back of his head and tossed the bank statements onto his desk. “Thanks, Rosco, I appreciate your help … I think. Okay, here's what I have: Pay attention, it gets seamy. Housemann couldn't have killed Briephs, because he was off for a little love in the afternoon' with Shannon McArthur. My sources are tight on that, so it clears them both.”

“Bartholomew Kerr?”

“He didn't leave the
Herald
offices until seven-thirty Friday night, then went straight to the Ludlow Gallery for an ‘installation'-artist's opening—some guy who ‘refocuses televisions while wearing only boxer shorts'—as an audience watches, natch. Don't ask. Anyway, Kerr took Housemann's secretary with him. They spent the night together. One big happy family over at the
Herald
.”

Rosco folded his arms over his chest, leaned back in the chair and placed his feet on the corner of Lever's desk. The lieutenant put his feet on the opposite corner. They sat quietly for a minute. Then Lever said, “Your blackmail theory is nice, Rosco, but it's only a sideshow. Briephs obviously made his two-bill drop and went home. If anything, it only clears the blackmailer of murder. Why kill the goose that lays the golden egg? No, I'm pointing the finger at Betsey Housemann. I think Briephs dumped her and she went to the island for revenge. It's as simple as that.”

“You'll never prove it, Al.” Rosco stood and collected Briephs' bank records into a neat pile. “I told Mrs. Briephs I'd return these, but after giving them the once-over I think you should hang onto them. She'll understand. She wants this solved as much as we do.” He crossed to Lever's door. “Oh, one other thing, Al.”

“What's that?”

“Do you know any feds over at customs?”

“A few. What's up?”

“A guy by the name of Garet Kaine Burke. Could they check with the passport boys and see if he's still in Egypt? Or if he's reentered the States?”

Lever's loud laugh quickly worked its way into another coughing fit. It ended with, “Rosco, you're a dog, you know that?”

“Yeah, well, you can't be too careful with these things.” As he spoke, Rosco found himself mentally counting the number of letters in Garet's name. “I'll keep you posted if I find anything else.”

About three minutes after Rosco left, a police sergeant entered the same door without knocking. “Oh, sorry, Lieutenant, I didn't see you come back from the briefing room.” He handed Lever a pink message slip. “This came in fifteen minutes ago. JaneAlice Miller has regained consciousness.”

CHAPTER 32

H
URRYING TO
S
T.
Joseph's Hospital, Belle decided to make a quick detour. Stopping at Robertson's Flower Shop, she purchased a dozen long-stemmed yellow roses, and asked to have them wrapped in especially cheery paper. After a nurse ushered her into JaneAlice's room, the roses formed an instantaneous bond between the two women. Belle decided she was the first person to have given flowers to Thompson Briephs' secretary.

“They smell wonderful,” JaneAlice managed despite her swollen, purple jaw.

“Everyone was worried sick about you,” Belle said with an encouraging smile, “both at the
Herald
and the
Crier
. This whole thing has shocked Newcastle to the bone. How are you feeling?”

“Pretty bruised and sore, and I'm not allowed to eat solid food yet. Just sip out of straws … I'm surprised I'm not hungrier than I am … Do the police have any idea who murdered poor Mr. Briephs?”

Belle was on the alert in an instant. “How did you know he'd been murdered?”

JaneAlice's eyes stared back out of her battered face. “That's what I was told … The nurses, you know … As soon as I came to … I guess I'm kind of a celebrity … On account of being involved …”

Belle considered this response, trying to decide whether or not it removed JaneAlice from the list of suspects, and then wondering how Rosco would proceed. She opted for caution masked in honesty for her reply.

“No … They don't seem to have any concrete leads as yet … I guess they're hoping you can describe the person who attacked you and stole Thompson's puzzles … that there might be a connection … Actually, I'm surprised Lieutenant Lever hasn't arrived yet. The nursing station said he was called half an hour ago.”

“Stole the puzzles?” JaneAlice murmured weakly.

Another jolt of disbelief flashed through Belle's brain. “Thompson's last three puzzles … Your assailant must have stolen them from you. No one at the
Herald
has been able to find them.”

A nurse entered with a large vase, handed it silently to Belle and left. Belle filled the container with water and began arranging roses; as she worked, she continued what she hoped JaneAlice would mistake for casual conversation. “Actually two of the crosswords have shown up in the mail …”

“Two? I mailed all three of them.”

Belle dropped the remaining roses on the windowsill and turned to face JaneAlice. “
You
mailed them?”

“I was afraid to keep them. He said he'd kill me if I didn't hand them over, but I couldn't tolerate the thought of his destroying them. They were Mr. Briephs' final accomplishment. His epitaph, as it turned out.” Through the patient's bruised and swollen lips came the unmistakable sound of crying, but Belle decided to pursue her interrogation.

“
Him?
You were attacked by a man?”

“Oh yes.”

“Did you recognize him?”