The Crossword Murder (26 page)

Without taking her eyes off the crossword, Belle carried it to her bookcase and pulled a licorice stick from the jar. She continued talking to herself while she chewed the candy. “All the references to the stolen artwork are here too … Roth simply
must
have been involved … 40-Down: ROB; 61-Across: FENCE; 8-Down: PAWN—three words with multiple definitions, yet Thompson maintained a thievery motif.”

Once more, Belle tried Rosco's office; when his machine answered, she hung up without leaving a message, then called his car phone, but again failed to reach him. She returned to Garet's office and methodically searched through copies of
Art on the Move
, looking for photographs of stolen artwork she believed might have attracted Briephs, then tore out the relevant pages, tossing aside the butchered magazines. After she'd collected eight pages, she hurried back to her office, scooped up the five crossword puzzles and placed everything in a manila envelope. I need concrete evidence, she decided as she opened the phone book and located the number for the harbormaster. Peter Kingsworth answered her call on the second ring.

“Oh, Peter, I'm so glad you're in.” Belle laid on a heavy dose of charm. “Could you do me the
biggest
favor? I need to make another trip to Windword Islands, and the mechanic hasn't finished repairing my boat yet. Is it at all possible for you to motor me out in half an hour? I won't be long—”

“Well, I'm working right now …”

“You could drop me off and return for me at your convenience …”

There was a long pause before he agreed. “Sure … why not? I'll need to rearrange a few things first, though. Is half an hour okay?”

“Thank you, Peter. You're a peach.”

“A peach!” was his startled response.

“How about: ‘You're terrific'?”

“I like that description better,” she heard him reply. “You should wear a bathing suit. It's beautiful out here today.”

After hanging up, Belle grabbed her manila envelope and headed for the door, but stopped short of opening it. She stood for a moment, crossed to the living room phone, then tried Rosco's office once more. Again, his machine answered; this time she left a message.

“You're not going to believe this, Rosco; I have the fifth puzzle, and it's Roth! He's
in
the puzzle—his
name
is there! Spelled out in capital letters. Roth killed Briephs! The murder involves stolen artwork … I don't have full details yet, but I'm on top of the situation … I'll call you later. Don't worry, though … I won't do anything to hinder your investigation or compromise evidence … But I need to confirm my suspicions before Roth returns from Washington.”

CHAPTER 34

P
ETER
K
INGSWORTH
WAS
all smiles as Belle walked down the pier. Reaching out with a muscular hand, he helped her down onto the launch's aft deck.

“It's good to see you again, Belle. I thought you were going to wear your swimsuit?”

“No, this is a business trip.”

“Crossword business?” Peter joked. “You know the police have put yellow crime-scene tape up all around the house? I don't think you're supposed to cross it … Sorry, no pun intended … Besides, the house is locked.”

Belle reached into her pocket and pulled out the key to Windword, which she'd forgotten to return to Rosco after their previous visit. She showed it to Peter, but kept the explanation to herself.

Peter revved the launch's engine and headed for Windword Islands. The day was humid and airless, but as the boat gained speed, a breeze lifted Belle's hair and spread it out behind her like a pale gold cloud.

“I have to patrol the harbor,” Peter shouted over the engine's throb, “but I'll drop you off and pick you up in about half an hour. How's that?”

“That's great. I really appreciate your help.”

“No problem … I don't know how to say this, but—” Peter turned and looked into Belle's eyes.

“What?”

“The police have asked me to keep an eye on Briephs' place. You know, let them know if anyone tries to do some snooping around …”

“The police know I'm visiting, Peter. They were the ones who gave me the key.”

“You're going out on police business?”

Belle began wishing that Rosco was there with her; he was far better at deception than she. “Well … actually …” she faltered. “What I …”

“You have to speak up. I can't hear you.”

“Well—” Belle raised her voice, “I lost my reading glasses, and … and I think I must have dropped them in Briephs' house somewhere. I can't work without them. The police said they were all finished … at the island, that is. So they allowed me to borrow the key. I have to give it right back.”

“Oh—” Peter shrugged. “You'd think they would've taken down the tape if they were done.”

“I think they intend to remove it tomorrow.”

Peter brought his face back into the wind and adjusted his course slightly. They traveled the remainder of the way in silence, although Belle had the distinct feeling he was sneaking glances at her. After he'd eased the launch close to Briephs' dock, Peter offered Belle his hand and helped her off the boat.

“I wish you'd worn a bathing suit,” he said, “I'll bet you look great in one.”

Belle gave him a big smile.

Peter returned it, displaying nearly every tooth in his mouth. “I'll be back in a half hour, forty-five minutes max. Don't get lost.” He laughed good-naturedly and angled the launch toward the marinas perimeter.

Belle hurried down the dock, ducked under the yellow crime-scene tape, opened the front door and stepped inside. The foyer showed no signs of the police having been there. She found her way to the kitchen, where she discovered the detectives hadn't been quite so tidy. A number of water glasses sat on the counter, along with a dirty ashtray. Five or six empty packages of Polaroid film lay beside it.

Belle entered the living room, then circled back toward the labyrinth she and Rosco had discovered the previous day. She passed beneath the ancient stone lintel, paying particular attention to a faint but discernible relief carved on its underside. She wondered if the architectural element was also registered on some “missing artwork” list. After that, she stared at the doorway she and Rosco had exited—the one leading to the four cell-like rooms containing the empty caskets. Feeling the same strange chill she'd experienced previously, she glanced at the doorway Rosco had taken, shrugged her shoulders and thought, Why not? A change of scenery will do me good.

The rooms Belle traversed were precisely what Rosco had described: dungeonlike cubicles with leg irons and shackles attached to the walls. Reluctant as she was to look at these instruments of torture, she found her eyes drawn irresistibly toward them.

What Thompson did was no affair of hers, she decided, then forced herself forward. Like Rosco, Belle began opening doors that led into closet-sized rooms. In the increasing gloom, she wished she'd brought a flashlight. She found herself turning in circles, futilely slapping the rough stone in hopes of finding the light pads hidden in the shadows. Finally she heard the faint sound of water splashing into a pool. Clutching her manila envelope, she charged blindly toward the noise. After what seemed an interminable search, she entered the room containing the fountain and the statue of Athena.

Belle groped for the light pad; when she finally succeeded in finding it, she squinted as artificial daylight slowly filled the area. She focused her glance in an attempt to get her bearings, but the four archways and four walls were identical. She was no longer able to discern which one had been her point of entry.

“No matter,” she mumbled. “I wouldn't follow that trail again if my life depended on it.”

She watched the fountain slowly turning, then looked down at her envelope. She'd been clutching it so tightly she'd all but crumpled it. “Get a grip, Belle,” she whispered aloud to give herself courage. “Briephs' office is only two rooms away. If you don't find it, you can turn back and try another route.”

She followed her own advice and marched through the archway on her left, entering an empty corridor she believed she recognized. She jogged its length, expecting to find Briephs' outer office. But it wasn't there. The room in which she found herself was entirely different in appearance. It was a round cavern—a design appropriate to Minoan sacred sites, although in place of bas-reliefs depicting youths and bulls, the curved walls were covered with floor-to-ceiling smoked mirrors that garishly reflected and refracted the chamber's sole furnishing—what appeared to be an ancient altar, a perfectly square block adorned with four carved crossed axes. Reflexively, Belle took note, recalling the emblem as representing the vanished civilization. “Sacrifices to the half-man half-bull,” she murmured. Large red and black leather pillows were scattered at the base of the walls. Four video cameras hung from the domed ceiling; in the pale incandescent light, they looked like sleeping fruit bats. Below each camera was a narrow arch leading into deeper darkness.

“Oh, yuck,” Belle managed to whisper. She had no idea what use Briephs had made of the room, but her imagination was beginning to picture more than a few unpleasant scenarios. She retreated as she'd entered until she nearly fell into the chamber containing the fountain.

“Clockwise,” she muttered. “I'll go clockwise.”

She turned to her right and passed beneath the next archway. The palms of her hands were sweating heavily and the envelope had begun to stick to her fingertips. She eased her way through another corridorlike room, eventually reaching the other end—and an area wholly immersed in darkness. Not even the faint shape of the doorway was visible; she fumbled for the light pad, then stopped and turned. She had the feeling she wasn't alone.

“Rosco?” she said softly. “How did you know I was here?”

There was no answer.

Belle stood listening for a long, tense moment; she heard nothing.

It's just my imagination, she thought, trying to laugh as she ran her hand along the black walls, groping for the light pad. When at last she found it, the murky chamber sprang to life. She'd stumbled upon the room lined with bookcases. At the opposite end was the wooden door whose lock Rosco had picked.

“Thank goodness,” Belle sighed aloud as she tugged the door open and tapped the light pad illuminating Briephs' hidden office. Everything was exactly as she and Rosco had left it. She pulled the eight
Art on the Move
photographs from the envelope. As she did, the five puzzles dropped to the floor.

“Darn.”

She retrieved the puzzles, tossed them onto the desk and started comparing the photos to the statuary and amphorae. She had been correct about every single photo; each matched a piece in Briephs' collection.

So, where does Roth fit in? she wondered. Why did he kill Thompson? Belle began pushing the puzzles around the desk, half expecting the answers to those questions to jump out at her. She shuffled them around, placing one puzzle next to another, angling them upside down and sideways. Her eye kept returning to the middle puzzle, the third one. The word MURDERS was the key. She was sure of it. She circled the word with Thompson's pen.

“Maybe it wasn't Roth, after all,” she muttered, now studying the fourth and fifth puzzles. She took the fourth puzzle and circled CROSSWORD PUZZLE. Then she moved to the fifth puzzle and circled EDITOR. She then put the words together.

“Somebody—MURDERS CROSSWORD PUZZLE EDITOR!” Belle nearly shouted. In a quieter tone she continued. “But if that's true, then the murderers name
has
to appear in the first two puzzles and not in the fifth. Roth's name doesn't show up until the last crossword …” She pondered this supposition. “As Rosco said, whoever attacked JaneAlice had to have noticed a word or phrase that triggered a reaction. It had to come from the very first puzzle …”

Belle picked up the two crosswords that had appeared in the
Herald
. Again she held them upside down and sideways, murmuring as she did so: “No names except Thompson's in the first puzzle … the second has SENATOR HAL CRANE, STEVEN HOUSEMANN and JOHN WILKES BOOTH … all of whom profess airtight alibis …”

She shuffled the first two puzzles once more. Okay, she said, thinking aloud, “Let's settle down and figure this thing out.” She sat behind Briephs' desk, picked up his pen and studied the
Herald'
s Monday crossword. “The first puzzle should have the killer's first name. That would make sense, right? What do we have here … ALDO? No. We don't know any Aldos in Newcastle … ASTA? Nope, no Astas. SLIM? No … RAE? Nope. DOODLE?” Belle chuckled and waved the pen in the air. “‘Yankee Doodle came to town, riding on a pony, he stuck a feather in his hat, and called it macaroni!'”

She continued chortling as she brought her eyes back to the puzzle. “I sincerely doubt if Yankee Doodle Dandy killed Thompson Briephs.” She let out a weary sigh, rubbed her eyes and resumed her pensive monologue. “Okay, so, what else do we have …? Let's see … PUMPKIN? No. I know no one named Pumpkin in Newcastle …” She laughed again and unconsciously began reciting a nursery rhyme. “‘Peter, Peter Pumpkin-Eater.'”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Belle sat up straight in Briephs' chair. Her eyes raced back to the word PUMPKIN. Another icy chill swept her. She lifted the pen. Her hand trembled as she circled PUMPKIN. She grabbed the second puzzle and scanned it. The word EATER leapt from the page. She circled it, murmuring, “PUMPKIN EATER MURDERS CROSSWORD PUZZLE EDITOR.”

Belle put her face in her hands. No wonder he figured it out so quickly, she decided. I should have realized the main clue had to be within the first puzzle. Rosco even mentioned it. Aloud, she whispered, “‘Peter, Peter, Pumpkin-Eater—'”