And a Puzzle to Die On (35 page)

“I beg your pardon?” Judge Trilling exclaimed.

“Oh, that one’s easy, Your Honor. That’s why I have his editor here with his book contract. I expect to show that A. E. Greenhouse was not the author’s real name, but merely a pseudonym. I expect to find his real name on the contract.”

“What significance, if any, would that have in the case?”

“Just this: I expect to be able to show, Your Honor, that A. E. Greenhouse was the pen name of Marvin Fleckstein, husband of Valerie Thompkins, the murdered woman from whom I am accused of stealing the dog.”

“Really?” After he disentangled this, Judge Trilling sounded interested for the first time since entering the courtroom.

“I submit that none of this has any bearing on the crime, Your Honor,” A.D.A. Goldstein complained.

“Maybe not, but I intend to hear it. Go on, Miss Felton. You claim the author of this book was married to the decedent dog owner?”

“Yep.”

“Do you have any grounds for making this statement?”

“I certainly hope so, Your Honor. The editor has refused to cooperate with me. That’s why I’ve subpoenaed him.”

“So this is mere conjecture?”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense, Your Honor. See why I need to call the witness?”

“I see nothing of the sort. What bearing could this possibly have on the theft of the dog?”

“The proof is cumulative, Your Honor. I’m just getting started.”

“God help us.”

“It’s really quite simple. Greenhouse, or Fleckstein, if you will, wanted to interview Darryl Daigue. I expect to prove Greenhouse used his influence to get Mr. Daigue out of solitary.”

“How do you expect to prove that?”

Cora caught Warden Prufrock’s eye. “I suspect it is not unusual for writers and journalists to be afforded accommodations. I expect that Warden Prufrock will testify to the fact that Greenhouse was given access to Darryl Daigue. This is corroborated by the fact this interview is reported in his book. Unfortunately, we are not able to find Mr. Greenhouse to verify that. If my theory is correct, we will never be able to find Mr. Greenhouse, because the real author, Marvin Fleckstein, husband of Valerie Thompkins, had a heart attack right after turning in the manuscript, and died before the book was published.”

“Miss Felton, do you have a point?”

“Yes, Your Honor. I expect to prove that on his death, the influence Marvin Fleckstein used in order to see the prisoner transferred to his wife, the late Valerie Thompkins. I expect to prove that she, in conjunction with Danbury private investigator Peter Burnside,
conspired to wield that influence in an attempt to get Darryl Daigue paroled. Obviously, Thompkins and Burnside were not acting on their own, but carrying out the instructions of a third party.

“Who might that be? Who might have a motive for wanting Darryl Daigue out of jail?”

“His sister immediately comes to mind. She allegedly hired attorney Becky Baldwin for just that purpose. Becky hired me, and the rest is history.”

“The hell it is!” Stacy Daigue cried indignantly.

“Silence!” Judge Trilling glowered at Stacy. “One more outburst like that, and I’ll find you in contempt of court. Is that clear?”

Stacy Daigue was not intimidated. “Do I have to sit here and listen to this?” she demanded.

“No, you don’t. I can have you removed and held in custody until you are called. It’s entirely up to you.”

Stacy showed her disdain with the trademark Daigue sneer, but held her tongue.

Judge Trilling turned his attention back to Cora. “If what you say is true, why were Mrs. Thompkins and the detective killed?”

“Simple. They were trying to get Darryl Daigue out of jail. Someone wanted to stop it.”

“Who would have such a motive?”

“That remains to be seen, Your Honor. But we do have a clue. By the testimony of Sergeant Walpole, I expect to show that when the police processed the crime scene of the murder of Valerie Thompkins they discovered the word
Bud
scrawled on the underside of the coffee table, in the victim’s blood.”

“How the
hell
do you know that!?” Sergeant Walpole cried indignantly. “We haven’t released that information!”

“Is that true?” Judge Trilling asked, fascinated.

“
I
only found out this morning!” A.D.A. Goldstein blurted out. “Your Honor, this
proves
the defendant was at the crime scene!”

Cora waved her hand breezily. “That’s not at issue, Your Honor. The point is, there’s a good chance Valerie Thompkins wrote the word
Bud
just before she died. She was definitely trying to name her killer.”

“Nonsense!” A.D.A. Goldstein scoffed.

“Hold on,” Judge Trilling said. “Miss Felton, if this is true, do you know who Valerie Thompkins meant by
Bud
?”

“Not for certain, Your Honor. But I do know Anita Dryer had a younger sister. That sister is not quoted in the Greenhouse article. In fact, she’s not even mentioned by A. E. Greenhouse. Yet, according to Vital Statistics, Gwendolyn Dryer did exist. And there is no record of her death.”

“Have you subpoenaed Gwendolyn Dryer too?”

“No, Your Honor. I can’t find her. Nor can I find Cindy Tambourine.”

“Who?”

“Darryl Daigue’s childhood girlfriend. She, too, has vanished off the face of the earth.”

Judge Trilling’s head was swimming. “Wait a minute. Why would
she
have a motive to keep Daigue in jail?”

“I’m not saying she would, Your Honor. I’m just saying I couldn’t find her.”

“Oh, Your Honor,” A.D.A. Goldstein objected. “I fail to see what any of this has to do with the dog—”

“Do you care about the murders?” Cora asked.

“We’re not trying the murders. We’re dealing with grand larceny.”

“I can connect it up. I’m merely laying the groundwork.”

“I think the connection should come
first
,” Goldstein blustered.

“I think so too,” Judge Trilling agreed. “Miss Felton, I’ve given you as much leeway as possible. The prosecutor is right. Interesting as all this background may be, I need to hear something relevant to the current charge.”

“Sure thing, Your Honor. The charge is that I swiped the dog. I can disprove that in a moment. I subpoenaed the dog. He’s right outside. Let’s bring him in.”

“I thought you weren’t going to let her put on witnesses,” A.D.A. Goldstein howled.

“I’m not going to put on witnesses. I just want to see the dog.”

“Why?”

“To make sure he’s okay, for one thing. He’s had enough trauma without being locked in a cage.”

“That’s not a legal reason,” Goldstein snapped.

Cora smiled at the TV cameras. “I’m sure the dog lovers in the audience will appreciate that comment.”

The A.D.A.’s furious retort was drowned out by the judge’s gavel. “That will do! Let’s bring in the animal. Then, Miss Felton, you may continue with your offer of proof. But I sincerely hope you will come up with something that will relieve me of the responsibility of locking you in a cell.”

Mr. Carlyle went out and returned with the dog in a small carrying case. Whether it was the cage, the Kennel, or the lack of human companionship, Buddy looked despondent.

“There, Your Honor,” Cora said. “You don’t have to take my word for it. This is
not
a happy dog.”

Buddy, however, perked up at the sound of Cora’s voice. He jumped to his feet, let out a high-pitched
yip
, and began clawing at the bars.

“See?” Cora said. “The dog likes me.”

“That’s irrelevant,” A.D.A. Goldstein protested.

“Not to the dog. If I may beg your indulgence, Your Honor?”

“You’ve had it for some time,” Judge Trilling said dryly. “Let him out before he breaks a nail.”

Cora walked over to Mr. Carlyle, lifted the latch, and swung open the door of the cage.

Buddy immediately leaped into her arms.

“The fact the dog likes her means nothing,” A.D.A. Goldstein fumed.

“It means something to me,” Cora said. “And I would imagine it means something to someone else.”

Cora turned her back on the judge’s bench, and walked around the defense table, up to the spectators’ section. The TV cameras followed her as she walked along the rail, the toy poodle in her arms.

Buddy tensed. His lip curled.

As he neared Ida Blaine, he began to growl.

Suddenly, with a snarl of rage, he sprang into the air, hurtled over Ida Blaine, and sank his teeth into the forearm of Darryl Daigue’s sister, Stacy.

Cora Felton stood on the front steps of the courthouse holding a dog, while Rick Reed pushed a microphone in her face.
“Miss Felton. Were you surprised the prosecution dismissed the charges?”

“Not at all. The prosecutor is a reasonable man, only concerned with justice. I think you can count on him to vigorously prosecute Stacy Daigue for murder.”

“How did you know she was the killer?”

Cora scratched the dog under the chin.
“I didn’t. Buddy did. As you saw in court.”

The TV screen cut to a replay of Buddy leaping from Cora’s arms and biting Darryl Daigue’s sister.

“Yay, Buddy!” Cora cheered. Sherry and Aaron, watching with her, echoed the sentiment.

“How did you know the dog would do that?”
Rick Reed asked.

“Valerie Thompkins wrote the word
Bud
at the murder scene in her own blood. That told me two things. One, she didn’t know her killer’s name, or she would have
written it. And, two, the dog knew. Val tried to write his name, ‘Buddy.’ She got as far as ‘Bud’ before she died. Valerie named Buddy, and Buddy named the killer.”

“But why did Stacy Daigue commit the
alleged
crimes?”
Rick Reed asked.

“Oh, they’re real crimes, all right,”
Cora assured him.
“It’s just her guilt that’s
alleged.
But I imagine it will be easy to prove. The new bite mark on her arm is identical to the ones on her legs. I doubt if the police will have much trouble breaking Stacy down.”

“But why would she do it? Why would she commit these crimes?”

Cora shrugged.
“I really couldn’t say. But I’m sure it will all come out in her trial.”

“And there you have it. The sudden, dramatic courtroom accusation by a canine.”

The footage ran again of Buddy springing from Cora’s arms and sinking his teeth into Stacy Daigue.

“Live, from Danbury, this is Rick Reed, Channel 8 News.”

Sherry picked up the remote control, snapped the TV off.

Aaron Grant said, “You’re sure the motives will come out in the trial?”

Cora scratched Buddy behind the ears. “Actually, I’m sure they won’t. The prosecutor hasn’t a clue, and I doubt if Stacy Daigue’s going to spill the beans. But convicting her shouldn’t be a problem. The Daigues aren’t the smartest of criminals. She probably left fingerprints all over the place. She’s got no reason at all for being at Valerie Thompkins’s house. One fingerprint will hang her.

“Same thing with the private detective. Bet you
a nickle Stacy left her fingerprints in the library stacks.”

“It’s a public place,” Aaron pointed out.

“And her lawyer will argue that. But it’s a tough sell. A waitress from New Haven using the Bakerhaven Library? That’ll require some fancy footwork. Particularly if her license plate turns up among the ones Dan Finley took the night of my party.”

“I forgot about that.”

“Yeah, well, the police won’t. I bet they’re running the numbers now. She probably also left her prints in Burnside’s apartment, and that’s
not
a public place.”

“You mean when she stole the videotape?”

“Videotape? What videotape?”

“Best in Show.”

“She didn’t steal that videotape.” Cora pointed to the shelf under her VCR. “See? It’s right there.”

Aaron’s eyes widened. “You didn’t get rid of it?”

“Why should I get rid of it? I just bought it yesterday.”

“You switched tapes?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just bought a movie. They’re real cheap now. Everyone’s switching to DVD. I got it new for under ten bucks.”

“Why did you buy one at all?”

“To see if anyone would steal it. The killer stole Burnside’s. I figured they’d watch it, see what movie was on it, and go looking for the original at Valerie’s. When they didn’t find it, they’d come here.”

“But they didn’t.”

“No. Because I served a subpoena. Otherwise, Stacy Daigue would have looked for this while I was in court.”

Outside, a car door slammed.

“That’s probably Chief Harper, wanting a postmortem.”

“You going to tell him about the tape?” Sherry asked.

“What tape? I haven’t got a tape.”

“Have it your way.”

Sherry opened the front door.

“Oh,” Ida Blaine said. “I was looking for her. Cora Felton. Is she here?”

“I’m her niece. Please come in.”

Cora Felton smiled when she saw Ida. “Come on in. Take a load off. You met my niece, Sherry. This is Aaron Grant.”

“Could I talk to you alone?”

“These guys are family. They’ve seen the tape.”