You Have the Right to Remain Puzzled (25 page)

C
ORA
F
ELTON LEANED
on the lectern, smiled like a benevolent matchmaker. In the back of the room, Wilbur and Ronnie were huddled together, thick as thieves.

“So,” Cora said, “that’s that. I’m sure those kids have a lot to talk over, but we do have this little murder. Fortunately, Mr. Wilbur has nothing to do with it, so we can excuse him if he doesn’t pay attention.

“The problem with this crime is it has no obvious solution. All the promising leads are dead ends. Like Mr. Wilbur’s stolen chairs. And Harvey Beerbaum’s stolen chairs. And Veronica Martindale’s chairs, which were neither sold nor stolen. But that’s beside the point. The fact is, the stolen chairs in Benny Southstreet’s motel room had
absolutely nothing
to do with his murder.

“The problem was, neither did anything else. The
crossword puzzles. The fingerprints on the gun. They meant nothing. And I should know. They’re my fingerprints. So I knew they were meaningless.

“But I couldn’t prove it. I needed a clue. And I couldn’t get one. Nothing helped.”

Cora smiled. “What I needed was a dog that didn’t bark in the nighttime. You know what I mean? Since there was no clue there, I had to find a clue in something that
wasn’t
there. Like a dog
not
barking. The dog knows the killer so he doesn’t bark. So the killer is someone the dog knows.

“That was my problem. I needed a dog that didn’t bark.”

Cora looked out over a sea of faces regarding her as if she’d just taken leave of her senses. “Let’s move on. Next up, I’d like to ask a few questions of Mr. Paul Fishman.”

In the back of the room, the Photomat operator shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“That’s him right there,” Cora said, for the benefit of the TV camera. “If he looks a little reluctant, it’s because he thinks I’m going to bawl him out. That’s not why I’m asking him up here. I’m asking him up here because he’s absolutely dreamy-looking, and I have a question or two. Come on up. I bet you look great on TV.”

Paul Fishman made his way forward.

Cora beamed. “What do you think, girls? Isn’t he something? I’d marry him myself, if I weren’t up for murder.”

Henry Firth strode to the front of the room. “Now, just a minute here! Paul Fishman happens to be a witness for the prosecution!”

“And I’m sure he’ll make an excellent one,” Cora
said sweetly. “In the meantime, I’d like to ask him some questions.”

“I don’t want you tampering with a prosecution witness!”

“What’s the matter? Are you afraid I’ll get him to lie?”

“Of course not!”

“Then you must be afraid I’ll get him to tell the truth.”

Henry Firth opened his mouth, closed it again. The Channel 8 News crew filmed him gleefully as he sat back down.

“Mr. Fishman, you have no problem answering a few questions, do you? Before you send me up the river, I mean.”

“I’m sure I won’t do that.”

“I am too. Let’s get right to it. You gave the police some photographs I took of the murder scene?”

“I explained that.”

“Yes, you did. And very nicely too. It was your civic duty. Ladies and gentlemen, this man is not only handsome, he is a patriot. Or a Good Samaritan. Or whatever. At any rate, he had noble reasons for ratting me out.”

Paul opened his mouth to speak.

Cora held up her hand. “Relax. We won’t get into that. Here’s the point. Paul was in the Photomat. He has a little TV under the counter he watches when business is slow, and he happened to see Rick Reed, of Channel 8 News, bringing live coverage of the motel.

“Well, that caught his attention, because he’d just developed a roll of film with the very same pictures. He grabbed the film, hopped in his car, drove out to the motel, and gave the photos to the police. They were my
pictures, and that’s why he thinks I hold a grudge. Since then, he has gone out of his way to make it up to me. He even supplied me with a duplicate set of snaps.”

Cora reached in her purse. “I have those pictures here. I’d like to show them to you now.” Cora held them up. “It’s going to be a little tough for you in the back row. Perhaps the camera can zoom in. Just watch the monitors.”

On the TV monitors, Cora’s finger pointed to a photo. “See, here’s what caught his eye. Here’s the motel sign.” She flipped to the next photo. “Here’s the motel room door. With the number on it. That’s the number of Benny Southstreet’s unit. That’s the same number Paul Fishman saw on TV.”

Cora shuffled through the photos, held another up to the camera. “Here’s a picture taken inside the room. It’s not of a dead body. It’s a bunch of chairs. The chairs belong to Harvey Beerbaum. Benny Southstreet stole them, in the hope of selling them to Mr. Wilbur, of Wilbur’s Antiques. If you follow all of that, fine. If you don’t, it’s kind of incidental.”

Cora grimaced. “That’s the problem with this crime. Everything is kind of incidental. Anyway, these are the pictures. Here’s another angle, and— Oh!”

A shot of Sherry Carter in a string bikini filled the screen.

“I’m sorry. That’s not a crime scene. Though a figure like that ought to be a crime. That’s my niece, Sherry. It’s a picture I snapped of her sunbathing when she wasn’t looking.”

Sherry leaped to her feet, cried, “Aunt Cora!”

“You see my niece’s distress. Clearly that’s a picture
she never expected to see on TV. Or in the town hall in front of a couple of hundred people. But I think we can agree it’s a photo that immediately grabs your attention.”

Cora turned, pointed her finger. “And yet Paul Fishman didn’t see it. Isn’t that amazing? This picture was on the roll he gave to the police. Paul developed the film, Paul printed the negatives, Paul put the photos in the envelope, and he didn’t see the shot of my nearly nude niece.” Cora smiled. “Nice alliteration. Why didn’t he see that photo? Is he blind? Is he gay? Not at all. He’s seen my niece before, even mentioned to me how attractive she is. Which means he’s young, insensitive, and tactless, but not blind. And he’s sure as hell the type of guy who’d notice a photo like that. And he didn’t, because I asked him about it when he gave me the photos. So, my question, Mr. Fishman, is,
how’d you miss a shot like this?”

“Are you serious?”

“Absolutely. It’s been bothering me. It’s one of the things I’d like to know.”

“These are pictures of a murder scene. Why would I notice anything else?”

“Yeah, but when you developed the film, there hadn’t been a murder.”

“I wasn’t paying particular attention.”

“Yeah, but you saw the motel.”

Paul frowned, said nothing.

“Well, you think about it, I’ll give you another chance.”

To Sherry’s great relief, Cora put the photos away. Cora watched as Sherry sat down again. Aaron put his arm around her protectively.

Across the aisle, Dennis and Brenda were engaged in a rather animated whispered discussion.

Cora smiled, gestured to Barney Nathan. “Okay, Doc, your turn. Here’s your chance to bawl me out. I understand you’re upset about something?”

“That’s putting it mildly.” Barney Nathan stood up, adjusted his scarlet bow tie, and sniffed disdainfully. “You said on TV I botched the autopsy. That’s slander. We’re on TV now, and I’d like you to take it back.”

“I said there were two shots, and there were two shots.”

“There was
one.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Did you confirm that by reex-amining the body after I made that statement on TV?”

“Yes, I did. And it was absolutely false. There was only one bullet.”

“Uh-huh. And did you discover anything
else
that you hadn’t in your original autopsy?”

Henry Firth was on his feet. “I’m not going to let the doctor answer that! You said there were two shots. There
weren’t
two shots. That’s all that’s important here. Anything else the doctor can testify to in court.”

“You’re not going to let him tell us what he found?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. I’ll get at it another way.” Cora reached in her purse, pulled out a plastic evidence bag. “Mimi, here’s a question you can answer from right where you are.” She held up the bag. “Is this your ice pick?”

Mimi’s mouth fell open. “Oh! You found it. Where did you find it?”

“Where did I find it, Mr. Fishman?” Cora asked cheerfully.

Paul Fishman’s eyes were wide. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do. I told you I’d ask you one more question. This is it. Answer it, and you can go.” Cora’s eyes burned into him. “Where did I get this ice pick?”

Paul Fishman turned, bolted up the aisle.

“S
UPPOSE YOUR MARRIAGE
went sour.” Cora put up her hand. “No, not yours, kids. Yours is the perfect union, and if you don’t get married straightaway I’m going to line you up and shoot you. Aaron, I’m only giving you this exclusive on the condition that you stop arguing with Sherry at once and get married immediately.”

“What do you mean, exclusive?” Aaron said. “Chief Harper knows.”

“Wrong answer!” Sherry cried in exasperation. “The right answer is, I don’t need inducements, I’m marrying for love.”

“Exactly,” Aaron said. “Couldn’t have put it better. Now, what is it that the police aren’t talking about?”

“They’re not talking about a thing, because they don’t know anything, and they won’t until the boys start ratting each other out. But I’ll tell you what hap-
pened and you can quote me on it, and then if I’m wrong they can sue me for slander. At least they won’t sue me for plagiarism.”

Cora settled back in her chair, lit a cigarette. Sherry didn’t even bother with a token protest.

“We start with the marriage going bad. Mimi and Chuck’s marriage. I should have had a huge hint to begin with when she asked me for that puzzle. When a wife needs a crossword puzzle to tell her husband she wrecked the car, this is not a marriage made in heaven. You gotta believe things were on the skids way before she drove into that pole.

“So what’s the problem? Well, they’re newlyweds, her husband’s a young lawyer, he’s not making too much money, they recently got married and had a kid, or vice versa, and moved to town. What happens but Chuck falls in with Paul Fishman, a rather unscrupulous young man with access to people’s photos. Paul comes across vacation photos every now and then where the husbands don’t match up with the wives. It’s easy to run a simple con game. Chuck approaches the victim with photos a client has given him that he’d very much like to suppress. He’s so apologetic, sweet, and sincere, the victims are actually grateful to him.”

“How do you know that?” Aaron asked.

“I don’t, but it’s a good guess. And it accounts for the money.”

“What money?”

“The hundred-dollar bills under the blotter. The way I see it, that loot is what got Benny Southstreet killed.”

Aaron frowned. “You wanna back that up a little?”

“Sure. When Benny Southstreet breaks into the study looking to nail me for plagiarism, Chuck Dillinger
has a small fortune in hundred-dollar bills under his blotter. Which, of course, is blackmail money he was hiding from his wife.”

“And Benny Southstreet stole this money?”

“If only he had.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“If he stole it, they’d have made him give it back, and none of this would have happened. But Benny didn’t steal the money. He stole Harvey Beerbaum’s chairs.”

“Cora.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s what happened. Benny ripped off Harvey Beerbaum’s chairs, he left a message for Wilbur saying he had ’em, and he’s waiting for him in the motel. Who shows up instead but Paul Fishman, who wants his money back. Benny claims he doesn’t have it, and Paul takes him for a ride. They go to Paul’s place, where Benny is given another opportunity to recall where the money is. Benny can’t, so Paul brings Chuck into the picture.

“Chuck is horrified at the turn things have taken. Blackmail is one thing. Kidnapping is another. And it’s clear Fishman is intending murder.”

“Why?”

Cora smiled. “If Benny says, ‘Here’s your money, sorry I ripped you off,’ he’s a thief, and he isn’t going to talk. If he says he didn’t do it, he’s an innocent man. He’ll go straight to the cops.

“So they have to kill him. If they’re going to do that, they need a fall guy. Luckily, they have one. Mr. Wilbur has an appointment at two o’clock to buy his chairs. Easy enough to frame him. Paul and Chuck leave the motel room door open. They leave the gun in
plain sight. Wilbur shows up, knocks on the door, gets no answer. Tries the knob and goes in.

“The first thing he sees is the chairs. The next thing he sees is the gun. He picks it up, checks out the unit. Finds it unoccupied. He leaves the gun, takes the chairs.

“They bring Benny Southstreet back, stick him in the bathtub, shoot him in the head with the gun Wilbur touched.”

Aaron put up his hands. “Wait a minute. That didn’t happen.”

“Right. Because Wilbur didn’t go in. If he had, he wouldn’t have taken the chairs, because they were Harvey’s, and not what he wanted at all. But he didn’t go in. I did. I was the one who touched the gun, took the chairs, and got framed.”

“But the gun hadn’t been fired.”

“That’s right. It hadn’t.”

“How can that be?”

“Perfectly simple. When I went in that motel room, Fishman was outside in his car, waiting for someone to go in and leave fingerprints on the gun.”

“What time was that?”

“Around three.”

“Then Barney Nathan blew the time of death.”

“Not at all. That’s where the ice pick comes in.”

Aaron’s eyes widened. “You mean . . . ?”

“Benny Southstreet was killed by an ice pick shoved through the back of his neck into his brain. Right about the time the doc says he was. Only not in the motel. Benny was lying dead in the trunk of Paul Fishman’s car while I was in his motel room playing with his gun. After I left, Fishman stuck him in the
bathtub and shot him in the head. Which is why the body didn’t bleed much. The guy was already dead.

“Anyway, the gun with my fingerprints was fired into the back of his head in just the same spot as the ice pick. That’s why I made a fuss about two bullets. I was hoping Barney Nathan would make a pass at the bullet and discover the other wound.”

“But he didn’t?”

“No, he didn’t. But Paul Fishman didn’t know that. When I asked Barney if he found anything else besides the bullet wound, he acted uncomfortable and the prosecutor wouldn’t let the doc answer. That was because Barney had found drugs in the body, and Ratface didn’t want him to talk about it. But Paul was sure we’d discovered the other wound. That’s why he freaked out when I produced the ice pick.”

“Where did you find it?”

“Are you kidding? I
bought
it. I was waving it around in a plastic bag. You think Paul Fishman’s gonna look close and say, ‘Hey, that’s not mine’?”

“He thought you found it in the motel trash?”

Cora shrugged. “I doubt if he threw it there. I have no idea what he did with it. But just the fact I was searching the trash was enough to make him think I was looking for it.”

“So that was all a bluff?”

“Big-time. I was holding a pair of deuces.”

Aaron scribbled furiously on his pad. “Okay, I’m with you so far. But how’d you figure all this out?”

Cora gestured to her niece. “It helped enormously when Sherry solved the mystery of the chairs. Veronica Austin was Wilbur’s childhood sweetheart. He had a tremendous crush on her. Being socially gauche, he gave her chairs.”

“That’s a kind of strange present,” Aaron said.

“Wilbur? Strange? Surely you jest. Anyway, in spite of this awesome love token, she went off and married someone else. And proceeded to drop clean off the face of the earth. At least as far as Wilbur was concerned. Until a couple of years ago, when he had an epiphany.”

“How come?”

“He saw the chairs in an auction catalogue. So he bought them, hoping they were hers. Only they weren’t, they were her ex-husband’s. Who got four of the chairs when they divorced. And the gentleman in question was no help in finding her. The chairs were being auctioned off as part of his estate.”

“He died?”

“Yeah. Like an A. A. Fair title:
Dead Men Can’t Sell Chairs.
Anyway, Wilbur tried to find her, but he had no luck. So he hid the chairs, and reported them stolen. Hoping the police would look for his, and find hers.”

“That’s a stupid idea.”

“What’s your point?”

“Why in the world would someone do that?”

“Men are not entirely rational where women are involved.”

“No kidding,” Sherry said.

“Guys’ll do anything not to let on they care. Remember that
West Wing
episode where Josh has the hots for Mary-Louise Parker, so he’s trying to invent some business excuse to call her? I think he finally came up with the funding for some project she was advocating that was going to be half a million short.”

“That’s really stupid.”

“I rest my case. Anyway, Wilbur couldn’t find Veronica by himself, but he had infinite faith in the
police. If only they’d get off their duffs and do something. Which he wasn’t shy about pointing out.

“And it finally worked. I don’t know if that makes it any less stupid. Ironically, it took me finding the chairs that weren’t really stolen to do it. I put Little Miss Internet on the case, and she was able to do what Wilbur couldn’t.”

“How
did
you do it?” Aaron asked Sherry.

“I made a few phone calls. Not to pooh-pooh my own abilities, but I probably got further sounding like a girl than a dirty old man. People were glad to help me.”

“Sherry, sweetheart. Best not to reveal all your feminine wiles until after the wedding.” Cora smiled. “Anyhow, getting all that out of the way helped. Once you realize Mr. Wilbur’s a big red herring, the rest falls into place.”

“I don’t see how. You didn’t have much to go on.”

“Oh, I had a lot of clues. Mimi Dillinger told me about the missing ice pick. That started me thinking in the right direction. Mimi didn’t report it at the time of the theft. She didn’t even notice it was missing until after the murder. The ice pick was missing because Chuck brought it for Paul to use. Paul didn’t have one—what guy who lives alone in a one-room apartment has an ice pick? He couldn’t go out and buy one, because you don’t want to be seen purchasing the murder weapon on the day of the crime. So he asked Chuck to bring him one. Chuck may not have known what Paul had in mind, but he sure as hell’s an accomplice.”

“That stuff you asked Paul to begin with—about seeing the motel on TV and bringing the police your
photographs—that was just to lull him into a false sense of security?”

“No. That was to put him on edge. It scared the hell out of him when I walked into the Photomat with that roll of film. He’s got Benny Southstreet bound and gagged in his apartment. I’ve got pictures of the scene of the crime. The film really shook him up. Which is why he made his big mistake.”

“What big mistake?”

“Not barking in the nighttime.”

“What?”

“I was looking for that type of Sherlock Holmes clue. Something that should be there, but wasn’t. And there it was, right in front of my face.” Cora gestured to her niece. “Sherry’s bikini shot. The guy didn’t even see it.
This
guy missed
that?
I don’t think so. Not unless he was really stressed.”

“When did she take that picture?” Aaron asked Sherry.

“Salesman’s convention, Aaron,” Sherry said sarcastically. “I was parading around in my bathing suit.”

“Anyway, after I blunder into the frame-up, Paul can’t believe he’s lucky enough to have those photos. He wants to get ’em in the hands of the cops. He’s watching the motel. As soon as the body is discovered, he phones in a tip to Channel 8.”

Aaron snapped his fingers. “So Rick Reed will show up so Fishman can claim he saw the motel on TV.”

“Exactly. As soon as they start broadcasting he drives up and turns over the photos. So the cops will get a line on me right away. And be sure to match my fingerprints with the gun.”

“I’ll be damned.”

“Bad luck for Paul Fishman, I’m no patsy. Next thing he knows, I come walking into his Photomat demanding my pictures. He is not pleased to see me. He’s just framed me for murder, and here I am asking him for the evidence. So, while I was there, he stole my gun.”

“What!” Aaron exclaimed.

“Clearly he is not a nice man.”

“How did he steal your gun? How did he even know
you had
a gun?”

“I may have flashed it just for the effect. . . .”

“Cora.”

“Well, he gave my pictures to the cops. Anyway, he slipped the gun out of my purse while I was picking up my film receipt he conveniently knocked on the floor. I’m sure he didn’t know what he was going to use it for at the time. But he wasn’t happy at the way things were working out. He thinks he’s framed me big-time for Benny Southstreet’s murder, and I’m out walking around like nothing happened. So he tried to gild the lily with my gun.”

“By shooting you with it?”

“By
missing
me with it. By making me
think
someone tried to shoot me with it, so that’s what I’ll claim. He probably intended to just throw the gun on the floor, but when I fell down and knocked myself out, he took the opportunity to plant it in my purse. Which was a risky thing to do. He’s lucky Wilbur didn’t catch him.”

“How’d he know you’d be searching Wilbur’s barn?”

“He sent me there. With the crossword puzzle about antiques. He’s been waiting for me to show up. When I pull into the mall, he grabs a duplicate set of
photos and follows me to see where I park. While I’m in Starbucks, he slaps the crossword puzzle on my windshield, then waits in the distance until he sees me come out. Then he walks across the parking lot from the direction of his booth.”