And a Puzzle to Die On (5 page)

“Why?”

“That’s between you and the lawyer.”

“
What’s
between me and the lawyer? I haven’t
got
a lawyer. I didn’t even have a lawyer at my trial.”

“You had a public defender.”

“Yeah, sure. He didn’t know anything. The judge had to run his case for him.”

“Oh, really? It was my understanding you were caught with marijuana and it was suppressed at trial.”

He snorted. “So the jurors never heard about it. And if you believe that one, lady …”

“I’m not saying the jurors never heard about it. I’m saying the lawyer you keep putting down got it suppressed.”

“Well, excuse me, lady. Like I should be the guy’s
cheerleader. My lawyer got me a life sentence. Gee, a regular Perry Mason.”

“You want my help or not?”

“What, if I bad-mouth my lawyer you’ll walk out on me? That seems a little harsh.”

“I don’t give a damn what you say about your lawyer. The question is whether you want to cooperate with
me
.”

Daigue thought that over. Cora could practically see the wheels turning in his brain.

“Okay.”

“Fine,” Cora said. “Tell me about it.”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“Your case. Tell me about your case. Why are you in jail?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!”

“I know what the prosecution says you did. Tell me what you really did.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“No wonder you got convicted.”

“Huh?”

“The flat denial is less than persuasive.” Cora was pleased with that statement. She thought she sounded like Sherry. “Tell me what happened.” As he opened his mouth, Cora put up her hand. “And don’t say nothing happened. Something did happen. A young girl wound up dead. Your contention is you didn’t do it?”

“Of course I didn’t do it.”

“You must not have had a good alibi.”

“I had a good alibi. I just didn’t have a good lawyer.”

“What was your alibi?”

“I was working.”

“At the diner?”

“That’s right.”

“You were a short-order cook.”

“Sometimes.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Sometimes I cooked. Sometimes I worked the counter.”

“Is this important?”

“The cops figured it was.”

“Why?”

“If I didn’t work the counter, I wouldn’t know the girl.”

“You met her working the counter?”

“I knew who she was.”

“You talked to her?”

“Of course I talked to her. I took her order.”

“You took her order that day?”

“Whenever.”

“Whenever what?”

“Whenever I worked the counter.”

It was like pulling teeth. Cora took a breath. “According to the transcript, you were cooking that day. You wouldn’t have taken Anita Dryer’s order. So if you talked to her, it would have been about something else.”

“But I didn’t talk to her.”

“That’s not what Ray Tucker says.”

He grimaced. “That dweeb!”

“According to Ray, you came to the window between the kitchen and the counter, and you talked to Anita through there.”

He shook his head. “That is so unfair.”

“Why?”

“That’s the pickup window. Where the waitresses
get the food. There’s a little bell on the counter. You put the plate on the counter, and you look out, and if the waitress isn’t looking your way, you ring the bell. I look out that window every time I put an order up.”

“Ray says you talked to Anita, and that she asked you when you got off.”

“Sure he did.”

“You didn’t do that?”

“No.”

“Then why’d Ray say so?”

“You figure it out.”

“You mean
he
killed her?”

“That wimp? He wouldn’t have the guts.”

“Then what do you mean?”

Daigue shrugged. “He’s lying, he’s exaggerating, he’s making it up. He’s trying to be a big man. He was on TV, you know, same as me. He liked being on TV.”

The prospect of getting Darryl Daigue out of jail was seeming less and less attractive. “What time did you get off work?”

“Ten.”

Cora, who’d already formed the next question, stopped with her mouth open. “And—Did you say
ten
?”

“That’s right. Ten o’clock. Way after the murder.”

“But the transcript says you got off work at eight.”

“The transcript is wrong.”

“How can that be?”

“I told you. I had a lousy lawyer.”

“But everyone testified you got off at eight.”

“Yeah? Who’s everyone? The boss said I got off at
eight. The boss wasn’t there. The cook who relieved me said I got off at eight, ’cause that’s when he relieved me. And Ray said I got off at eight ’cause everyone else says that, and Ray wants to be a big star on TV. Only he wasn’t there at eight, he just claims he heard me say it to the girl.”

“But if the cook relieved you at eight …”

“Doesn’t mean I left. I left the kitchen, yeah, but I worked the counter from eight to ten.”

Cora felt a tingling on the back of her neck. “What are you talking about?”

“What do you think I’m talking about? I’m talking about the fact I didn’t do it. I
couldn’t
have done it. I didn’t get off work till ten.”

“But you couldn’t have worked eight till ten. Someone would have known.”

“Someone did.”

“Who?”

“Ricky.”

“Who’s Ricky?”

“Ricky Gleason. The kid I worked the counter for.”

Cora’s mouth fell open. “Wait a minute. Are you saying Ricky Gleason was the counter boy and you took his shift?”

Darryl Daigue looked disgusted, as if she were an idiot for being so dense. “Not his shift. How could I take his shift? I’m cooking in the kitchen. Just the last two hours. From eight till ten.”

“Ricky Gleason was working the counter while you were cooking. When you got off at eight you relieved him and he left?”

“Now you got it. Finally. I was beginning to think I was talking to the wall.”

Cora looked at him incredulously. “But if that’s true, why didn’t Ricky come forward at the trial?”

“ ’Cause he didn’t want anyone to know where he’d been.” His scowl was scathing. “I gotta spell it out for you, lady? Ricky went out to meet Anita Dryer.”

Cora Felton was collecting her drawstring purse from the corrections officer at the front desk when a dapper little man in a blue suit and a gray knit tie came bustling up. He had a face like a cherub and he was beaming all over it.

“Miss Felton, how are you? I just heard you were here. I certainly hope you’ve been extended every courtesy.”

That was not exactly how Cora would have described the experience. “Absolutely,” she said. “I believe the matron even apologized before she mauled me.”

The little man looked shocked. “Oh, my goodness.”

“I’m kidding,” Cora said. “Everything’s hunky-dory. I will not be filing suit.”

“I’m certainly glad to hear it. Oh, excuse me. I’m Warden Prufrock. Perhaps we could have a few words before you go? It might facilitate things. In the event you decide to come back.”

The last seemed almost a question. Cora ignored it, said, “Sure. Let’s do that.”

“Fine. If you’d just follow me.”

The warden led Cora through a side door and down a series of hallways. The lighting was dim, the walls bare brick. Toward the end of their journey Prufrock gestured to a guard in what appeared to be a bulletproof glass box. The guard threw a switch, causing a gate of iron bars to slide on a well-oiled track. Cora followed the warden in, repressed a shudder at the clang of the bars closing behind her.

They reached a massive steel door. The warden unlocked it, and ushered her into a small but homey office: oak desk, overstuffed chairs, red drapes, and a portable bar.

The warden motioned to a chair and asked, “Drink?”

Cora grimaced. “I’m on the wagon.”

Prufrock looked disappointed, probably figuring under those circumstances he couldn’t have one himself. “Do you smoke?”

“Is the Pope Polish?”

“Excellent.” He opened a humidor on his desk, took out a cigar. “I suppose you prefer cigarettes.”

“You suppose wrong,” Cora replied. “Chuck one of those things over here, and let’s fire it up.”

The warden smiled, extended her a cigar, then came around the desk to light it. He lit his own, sat back in his desk chair, puffed contentedly.

Cora blew a smoke ring. “What do you want, Prufrock?”

He frowned. She wasn’t sure if it was the question, or the realization she was better at smoke rings.

“I’ve been warden here for ten years. In that time,
things have gone pretty well. Not that these are model citizens. Occasionally they kill each other. Occasionally they riot. So far no one’s gotten out, no one’s killed a guard. Not on my watch.”

The warden seemed damned proud. Cora couldn’t help marveling how modest some achievements were. “I wasn’t thinking of organizing a prison break,” she told him.

“Ah, but that’s not quite true now, is it, Miss Felton? You’re here to see a prisoner. You have no relationship to him whatsoever. One might wonder why.”

“Would you be the one who might be wondering?”

“Miss Felton. You are not exactly unknown. You have a famous crossword-puzzle column. You appear on TV.”

“You were hoping for an autograph?”

“I was hoping for some cooperation. I find it hard to believe you are considering writing a crossword puzzle around the exploits of Darryl Daigue. On the other hand, you have something of a reputation for delving into crime. You fancy yourself an amateur detective.”

“Oh? Who told you that?”

“No one had to tell me that, Miss Felton. It’s in the papers. On TV. Your exploits are not exactly unknown.”

Cora leaned forward, knocked the ash off her cigar into the crystal ashtray on his desk. “What’s your point?”

“Let’s be blunt, Miss Felton. In case you were thinking of clearing Darryl Daigue, you’re making a huge mistake.”

“And why would that be?”

“Because he’s guilty, of course. Guilty as sin.”

Cora smiled. “How would you know that, Warden? He was here when you got here.”

“Yes, he was. And he’ll be here when I leave. He’s a bad one, Darryl Daigue. Hell, you met him. Can’t you tell?”

“So he’s not Mr. Congeniality. That doesn’t make him guilty.”

“No, but other things do.”

“What other things?”

“Twelve jurors, for one. In case you’ve forgotten.”

“Juries aren’t infallible.”

“No, and they’re not always wrong, either.” The warden tried a smoke ring. It wasn’t as good as Cora’s but it was probably sufficient to save face. “I’m not up to sparring with a wordsmith. Straight out, what’s your interest in Darryl Daigue?”

“A lawyer asked me to look into it.”

“What lawyer might that be?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?”

“Not my place. Lawyer wants to tell you, that’s the lawyer’s business.”

“I could always find out.”

“Good. Then I’m off the hook.”

The warden frowned. “I’m not sure I’m getting through to you, Miss Felton. Let me try again. You seem like a good sort. I would hate to see you getting mixed up with a bad sort.”

“Why?”

His frown deepened. “What do you mean, why?”

Cora smiled. “What difference could it possibly make? You tell me Darryl Daigue is as guilty as sin. He’s in for life without possibility of parole, and you
tell me there’s absolutely nothing I can do to help him. So why should you care if I try?”

He frowned, chewed his cigar. “You’re a celebrity. What you do is news.
PUZZLE LADY REOPENS DAIGUE CASE
. Pretty nasty headline. I would hate to read that.”

“Yet you insist it would do no good.”

“Technically, yes. On the other hand, the case is twenty years old. It would be hard to prove it again. Not that we’d have to do that. The burden of proof would be on you. But just let the press get wind of it, and some bleeding-heart liberals will fall all over themselves sticking up for Darryl Daigue. The same people, by the way, who would be championing the victim in the case if he were
out
of jail. You see what I mean?”

“You got a tough job, Warden.”

“You plan to make it tougher?”

“Not if I can help it. I’m not looking for publicity. If I can fly under the radar, it’s fine by me.”

The warden wasn’t mollified. “So you intend to continue with this?”

“I have no idea. I’m just getting started. I have little to go on, one way or another.”

“Damn.”

“You said yourself, what can it hurt?” Cora stood up. “Thanks for the cigar.” She stubbed it out in the ashtray.

The warden came around his desk. “I wish you’d reconsider. Before you go ahead, there’s something you should know. Even if you were able to prove Darryl innocent—which you can’t—he’s probably caused enough mischief here to keep him locked up for the rest of his life.”

“That’s hardly fair, Warden. Throw an innocent man in jail, and then fault him for not liking it.”

“Darryl isn’t innocent.”

Cora smiled. “Your hypothetical, not mine, Warden.” She patted him on the cheek. “But set your mind at rest. If Daigue’s guilty, I have no intention of setting him free.”