And a Puzzle to Die On (36 page)

“Aw, hell.” Ida Blaine slumped into a chair. Her high-fashion clothes seemed wilted, as if all the energy had drained out of her body. Her perfectly made-up face showed the lines of age. She took a breath, said anxiously, “What’s going to happen?”

“Stacy Daigue’s going to be prosecuted for murder. I would expect she’ll go to jail.”

“No. I mean about me.”

“Nothing’s going to happen. Nothing will come out.”

“Won’t the prosecution connect it up?”

“They have no evidence.”

“Won’t the defense?”

“They have even less.”

“What about you?”

“What
about
me?”

“What are you going to say?”

“I’ve already said it. In court. You were there. You heard.”

“Yes, but …”

“But what?”

“You didn’t mention the tape. Why not?”

“I didn’t think it was fair. I didn’t think you deserved that. No matter what you’ve done.”

A spasm twisted Ida Blaine’s face. She looked at Cora with scared eyes. “How much do you know?” she asked wretchedly.

“Actually, very little. The rest I can merely guess. Which is good. I can’t testify to suppositions.”

Aaron Grant frowned. “What are you two talking about?”

“He’s a reporter,” Cora explained to Ida. “But don’t mind him. He’s not writing this.”

“How do you know?”

“He’s got the hots for my niece.”

“Aunt Cora!”

Cora got up. “Come on. Let’s take a little walk. Leave these lovebirds together.”

Cora took Ida Blaine out back, where the autumn wind was chasing the brown leaves around the picnic table. Cora sat on the tabletop, motioned Ida up beside her.

Ida pulled her coat around her shoulders, more for protection than warmth. “Please. What do you really know?”

“I’ll tell you what I
think
. If you want, you can tell me where I’m wrong.” Cora caught a dry leaf, crumbled it in her hand. “Twenty years ago Darryl Daigue committed a brutal, mindless crime. There’s no question about the fact he did it. He’s scum, he’s filth, he should rot in hell. Instead, he gets a life sentence. A
life
sentence.
Anita gets death, Darryl gets life. There’s gotta be some irony there.

“Here’s another irony for you: Anita Dryer’s family never recovers from the killing. Her parents waste away and die. Her brother embarks on a life of crime to support his drug habit. He’s busted, goes to jail. The same jail that Darryl Daigue is in. The brother’s interviewed before he gets out. That interview is quoted in the book. The brother would have killed Darryl Daigue if Daigue hadn’t been in solitary.

“That’s the key. That’s where it all began. Anita Dryer’s brother in prison dying to whack Darryl Daigue. It came very close to happening. The writer, A. E. Greenhouse, got Daigue out of solitary so he could interview him for his book. How did he accomplish that? Greenhouse blackmailed the warden. He blackmailed him with a videotape. A videotape of the warden and you.

“The question arises, where did that tape come from? Logically, from the private eye, Peter Burnside. Where did Burnside get it? He took it. He set up a secret camera and filmed the two of you.

“But how could he do that? How would he know where to put the camera? How would he get you there?” Cora smiled. “You see what I mean?”

“This is all speculation,” Ida protested feebly.

“Of course. There are no facts being thrown about here. Anyway, there’s only one way it works. You’re in on it. You set the warden up. You helped the P.I. make the tape.”

“Why in heaven’s name would I do that?”

“To get Darryl Daigue out of jail.”

Ida Blaine sucked in her breath.

Cora nodded. “See, I Googled your name. And I can’t find anything beyond ten years back.”

“There wasn’t an Internet then.”

“Yeah, there was. Granted, not like today. But it existed. Anyway, facts go back. People didn’t spring full-blown on this planet with the dawn of the computer. You Google other people, you get their life story.”

“What’s your point?”

“It’s real boring in jail. The night I got busted I had a crossword puzzle for company. By a woman named Hillary Mustache. Ever hear of her?”

“No.”

“That’s not surprising. She doesn’t exist. Hillary Mustache is just a pen name for the real constructor.”

“So?”

“It got me thinking about people using other names. Like A. E. Greenhouse, for instance.”

Cora crumpled another leaf. “Or Ida Blaine.”

Ida sniffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“
Two
women disappeared right after Darryl Daigue’s murder trial. One was Anita Dryer’s sister, Gwendolyn. The other was Cindy Tambourine.”

“Who?”

“I think you know who. I’m talking about Darryl Daigue’s girlfriend. Cindy Tambourine. Who, to all intents and purposes, suddenly ceased to exist.”

“So what?”

“We’re looking for someone with a reason to get Darryl Daigue out of jail.”

“Right,” Ida Blaine scoffed. “His childhood sweetheart, who waits twenty years before coming to get him.”

“A lot of things happen in twenty years. People grow up. Get married. Put themselves in positions of power.”

“You’re way off base.”

“Maybe. But what about Gwendolyn Dryer? A. E. Greenhouse didn’t interview her. He doesn’t even mention her in his book.”

“He probably couldn’t find her.”

“Oh, I doubt that. I think
she
found
him
.”

“Huh?”

Cora nodded. “Try this on for size. Jason Dryer’s in jail with Darryl Daigue, but he can’t get at him. A writer, also trying to get to Darryl Daigue, interviews Mr. Dryer. Jason reports this to his sister, and a light-bulb goes on. The sister goes to the writer, tells him her story.”

“It wasn’t in the book.”

“The sister made a deal,” Cora said. “If the writer agrees not to mention her, she’ll get him an interview with Darryl Daigue. The writer’s hesitant at first, but he really wants his interview. He gets sucked in.

“The sister provides him with the means of squeezing the warden. The writer uses it, and interviews Darryl Daigue.

“Irony of ironies, before Daigue gets out of solitary, Jason Dryer gets paroled.

“I would imagine his sister was pretty steamed at him, after all the trouble she went through. I mean, how hard would it have been to screw up parole? One misbehavior would have done the trick. I suppose Jason did it for the drugs. Cold turkey was wearing him down. He wanted his fix. He made parole, scored drugs, and O.D.’d.

“Well, imagine how his sister must have felt.
Her elaborate scheme had failed. Back to the drawing board. If she can’t get to Darryl Daigue in jail, she’ll have to get him
out
. She’ll have to get him paroled.

“Small problem. Darryl Daigue isn’t a candidate for parole. He doesn’t
have
parole hearings. But that’s just in theory. He’ll have ’em if the warden wants him to. She just needs to pressure the warden again.

“But there’s another teeny problem. The sister doesn’t have the videotape anymore. She goes to the detective. He doesn’t have it, either. It was given to the writer to blackmail the warden. And, guess what? The writer has had a heart attack and died.

“So the sister approaches the writer’s wife. Valerie Thompkins. Valerie is a recent widow with a need for money, and her eye on the main chance. Val’s willing to listen to the sister’s spiel. She’s pleased when she hears it’s about the videotape. She suspected it was. Yes, she has it, and, no, she’s not giving it up. She’s willing to cooperate for a price. What does Gwendolyn want?

“What the sister wants, of course, is to bombard the warden with copies of the videotape until he paroles Darryl Daigue.

“That’s fine with Valerie Thompkins. She’ll send the tapes herself, as long as the sister keeps paying. But there’s no way she’s letting Gwendolyn get her hands on the tape, or the money will dry up.

“By now Valerie Thompkins is somewhat paranoid, and who could blame her? She takes her copy of the videotape and she hides it where she thinks no one will ever look. In the middle of a store-bought copy of
Best in Show
. Once she’s sure her dupe came out, she
destroys the original. The tape is Valerie’s gold mine. She figures it’s safe.

“Now she has to blackmail the warden. She’s not too keen on doing it herself. She goes to the detective who worked with her husband. The detective who made the tape in the first place. Valerie verifies that he doesn’t have a copy—which, of course, he doesn’t, or the sister wouldn’t have needed Valerie—and she hires him to do the dirty work. Prepare the packages and letters, and send them to the warden of the jail.

“To do that, she has to give Burnside a copy of the tape. She’s not giving him
her
copy; she runs a dupe. Not just the porno part—she copies the whole movie. It’s a neat way of hiding it, and she doesn’t want anyone finding it at his place, either. She gives him the copy to run dupes and send them off. Which he does.

“You know the rest. The warden grants Darryl Daigue parole hearings. Naturally, no one wants to let Daigue loose, so the warden has to stack the board. He puts you on it. Has you line up the doc.

“For a while no one notices. Because no one cares.

“With one exception.

“Darryl Daigue’s sister.

“On one of her infrequent visits, brother Darryl tells her he’s having parole hearings. Stacy Daigue is no dope. She smells a big, fat, odoriferous rat.

“So what does she do? She hires me to look into it. Well, not me directly—she hires the attorney who hires me. Hires her through the mail with a money order. So if asked, she can deny doing it. Which she did, by the way, the first time I questioned her.”

Cora smiled. “Here’s another irony for you. I shouldn’t have been a problem. The woman was only
spending two hundred dollars. For that type of money, at best I look into the thing, interview a few people, and report back there isn’t a chance in hell of Darryl Daigue ever getting paroled.

“But no one will leave it at that. The minute I start investigating, everyone and his brother acts guilty as hell. Warden Porno-star hauls me into his office to find out what I’m doing and suggest I do it elsewhere. And Valerie Thompkins and the private dick start following me around town.”

Cora dug a cigarette out of her purse. “You smoke?”

“No.”

“Keep this up and you will. Where was I? Oh, yeah, I’m being tailed.” Cora lit up, inhaled a big drag, blew it out. “This is an ironic side effect of gilding the lily. I would imagine attempting to spring Darryl Daigue was rough sledding. So the conspirators tried to give the process a nudge. Among the good doctor’s many postmortems there just so happened to be one of a guy who used to work with Darryl Daigue, a Mr. Ricky Gleason, who smashed himself to hell in a drunken car wreck. Next time Dr. Jenkins examined Darryl Daigue, he made a point of bringing it up, knowing Daigue would immediately blame the crime on Ricky. Since Gleason was dead and couldn’t deny it, that would be one more thing to argue at the next parole hearing.

“Here’s the ironic side effect. When I interview Darryl Daigue, he tells
me
about Ricky Gleason. I check it out. Doing so leads me to Dr. Jenkins, who performed the postmortem.

“And here’s where the comedy begins. You, also, are calling on Dr. Jenkins. Now, Valerie Thompkins doesn’t trust you. I can’t imagine why. You’re the
woman
in
the videotape. You want the videotape sent to the warden. And you want the warden to name
you
to the parole board. Whatever you’re paying Valerie Thompkins, it isn’t nearly enough.

“Toward that end, she has her detective friend tailing you. So far, he has uncovered a less than appropriate relationship with the doctor. Interesting, but probably not the real bone of contention. Anyway, the P. I.’s following you when you call on the doctor. Which is the exact same time
I
call on the doctor.

“The warden has already complained to you that I’m snooping around. The detective listened in on that call. How, I don’t know, but it wouldn’t surprise me to learn your phone was bugged.

“Anyway, I’m a public figure.” Cora waggled her hand. “Semi. My picture’s in the paper. I’m on TV. The detective recognizes me. He whips out his cell phone, calls Valerie Thompkins. ‘Guess what, that woman the warden complained about is still nosing around in the case. She just called on the doc.’

“Valerie Thompkins hops in her car, hightails it down there, and when I leave the doctor’s, she falls in behind. She’s rather upset when I give her the slip.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I ran her license plate, for one thing. It’s standard procedure when you’re being tailed. Double back and get a plate number.” Cora felt no need to mention she thought it was the
wrong
plate. The point was, she got it.

“Anyway, that might have been the end of it. Except the detective goes back to shadowing you. And when I find out you’re on the parole board, I come to your house. That’s enough to convince our friends that I deserve a little more attention. The dick drops
you and starts tailing me. He was tailing me when he died.”

“How delicately you put that.”

“Don’t I?” Cora took a drag. “You prefer ‘when someone slit his throat and dropped him in my birthday cake’?”

“Stacy Daigue?”

“Yes.” Cora sighed. “That’s why this case was so hard to figure out. It’s always been upside down. Stacy Daigue should be the one blackmailing the warden, trying to get her brother out of jail. It’s a kick in the face when she isn’t. She claims she didn’t hire me. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe she doesn’t know a damn thing about it.

“But what if she does? What if she
was
the one who hired me, but she
wasn’t
the one trying to get her brother out of jail? So what was her angle? She’s trying to keep her brother
in
?

“I played with that for a while. Stacy Daigue knows her brother’s a psychopath, knows he’s a cold-blooded killer, knows if Darryl gets out he’ll kill again. She knows he belongs in prison, and she needs to stop any misguided bleeding-heart liberal who wants to spring him.