Authors: Kaye Morgan
Sinister Sudoku (21 page)
“The woods are lovely, dark and deep,”
Liza quoted to herself. And they were—no dogs running out to pee on the snow, or kids tramping through it, and except for the area near the road, no traffic grinding away some of it while belching exhaust over the rest.
Liza quoted to herself. And they were—no dogs running out to pee on the snow, or kids tramping through it, and except for the area near the road, no traffic grinding away some of it while belching exhaust over the rest.
Liza’s mind went back to business.
But we have promises to keep. I wonder how many more miles we have before we get where we’re going.
But we have promises to keep. I wonder how many more miles we have before we get where we’re going.
They passed a large carved wooden sign: Cape Sinestra State Park. Kevin straightened up in his seat, watching the GPS unit like a hawk. “We’re coming up on the coordinates.”
A little farther along they found a low stone wall, with an opening for a gravel path. Everard braked. “Should I take the turn?” he asked Kevin.
“It’s heading in the right direction,” came the reply.
The SUV bounced along an increasingly sketchy trail that seemed to aim straight for the Pacific in the distance. They came out on a rocky promontory where the trail petered out . . . and where they found Mrs. Halvorsen’s monster Oldsmobile.
Liza took a few steps past the old car and peered downward. A hundred feet below, waves that had traveled a couple of thousand miles across the ocean were smashing against sheer rocky walls.
“Impressive,” she said.
“But kind of bare,” Michael observed. “Not too many places to hide something.” He peered around. “Unless there’s a cave or a crevice somewhere.”
“Don’t knock yourself out looking yet. We still have a little way to go,” Kevin told them.
Everard sighed again. “Let’s hope you’re not going to lead us to a cliff edge that eroded down into the surf five years after Dalen stashed the painting there.”
But Kevin didn’t lead them off into thin air.
Instead, they ended in a bowl-like depression overlooking the ocean, where a couple of stunted trees leaned wildly in the direction of the prevailing winds.
“We’re here,” Kevin announced.
Everard stepped beside him and stomped a foot down hard. “That’s not frozen dirt, folks—it’s solid rock. Nothing buried here.”
Kevin finally looked away from the GPS, nodding toward the trees. “There’s a margin of error up to about twenty feet on these—”
His words were cut off by three gunshots.
19
Spinning around, Liza and her companions scrambled along the rocky terrain toward the sound of the gunfire— heading back the way they’d come. The shots had seemed close—or they could have just seemed unnaturally loud in the windy silence. The only other sound was the remorseless crash of the tide against the base of the cliff.
They arrived at the spot where the two vehicles were parked at the path’s end to find Kevin’s SUV listing at a strange angle. “The tires!” he yelled in anguish, discovering three of them had gone flat.
Three shots, three tires,
Liza realized.
Liza realized.
He took a step toward his damaged truck, and then stopped as Mrs. H. came around the bulk of the SUV— closely followed by Howard Frost, who held a small pistol to her head.
“What is going on here?” Liza yelled.
“Have you got it?” Frost said at the same moment.
“You’re the one who made the call?” Liza couldn’t believe this.
“I’m the one who’s got your friend.” Howard Frost pushed the muzzle of his gun into the side of Mrs. Halvorsen’s head and glared at them. “Now, for the last time, do you have the picture?”
“We think we know where it is,” Everard said.
Frost glowered at him. “I figured a cop would come along, no matter what I said. So take out your gun—slowly,” he commanded as Ted reached under his jacket. “Just use two fingers.” Frost had the muzzle of his pistol almost screwed into Mrs. H.’s ear.
Maybe he’s no two-fisted Hollywood private eye,
Liza thought,
but he’s obviously been in the business long enough to learn the ropes.
Liza thought,
but he’s obviously been in the business long enough to learn the ropes.
Scowling, Everard daintily drew out his firearm.
“Now toss it under the truck.”
The state police investigator followed Frost’s order.
“Now, let’s get going.” Frost frowned as Liza didn’t hop to. “Why are you hanging around?”
“We need some digging tools from the SUV,” Kevin spoke up.
The insurance investigator pulled Mrs. H. back. “Go get ’em.” In moments they were back at the little copse of stunted trees. Kevin started breaking up the cold ground with the mattock. Ted Everard worked with Mrs. H.’s shovel, and Michael had a folding shovel that Kevin kept in his SUV.
They started off well away from any of the tree roots, driving a foot-deep trench across the hard-packed earth. The excavation stretched for a good dozen feet when Michael suddenly stood up from his work. “I think there’s something over here!”
Instead of crunching through the soil, the folding shovel had bounced back with a sort of
bonk
! Kevin and Everard came over to concentrate their efforts in the same area. Soon they had uncovered what looked like the sealed end of a six-inch-in-diameter white pipe.
bonk
! Kevin and Everard came over to concentrate their efforts in the same area. Soon they had uncovered what looked like the sealed end of a six-inch-in-diameter white pipe.
“PVC,” Everard said, rapping it with his knuckles.
You’d think we’d be pretty far from anyplace with plumbing out here.
Liza forced down her excitement.
This could be it!
Liza forced down her excitement.
This could be it!
Working together, the men cleared away the soil, revealing a length of pipe about four feet long. Liza noticed that both ends had white plastic caps stuck over them.
“It’s a pretty good choice,” Everard said. “This stuff is built to form a watertight seal.”
“Just get it out and open it,” Frost demanded.
Michael and Kevin worked the pipe free, then brought it over to harder ground where Everard waited with the mattock. A couple of carefully judged blows cracked one end near its cap.
“Careful!” Kevin warned as Michael went to pull the jagged crack wider. “That stuff can cut your fingers to the bone.”
They used the tip of a shovel to wedge the gap wider until the end finally broke off. Everard reached in carefully to extract a tube of canvas. When he unrolled it, he revealed
Composition in Blue, Red, and Green.
Composition in Blue, Red, and Green.
“The Mondrian,” Frost breathed. “The goddam thing that ruined my life—thanks to that bastard Dalen.” Mrs. H. gasped, appalled at hearing her brother described that way.
Frost kept the gun at her head. “It’s true. I was the top investigator at W.A.G., on the fast track for promotion. They just about promised me a supervisor’s job if I recovered the Mondrian.”
“But you didn’t recover it,” Liza said, “and that cost the company millions.”
“Millions, plus one supervisory position,” Frost’s voice went harsh. “Here I am, looking retirement in the face. I could have been—should be—running the department. Instead, I’m still out in the field, trailing some ex-con to find where he hid a painting.”
A fanatic’s gleam showed in his eyes. “Well, I was going to show those stuffed shirts at the home office, whatever it took. I followed Dalen all over Portland and on to the Killamook Inn. Then I hid my car by the road and went back to have a heart-to-heart with him.”
“You mean you attacked him, bound him, and tried to torture him until his heart gave out,” Everard said.
“Whatever it took,” Frost repeated, his voice back in that harsh whisper.
“I’d say it was more than was necessary if he died on you,” Michael retorted.
Liza, however, simply stared at the angry old man. “So, when the sheriff thought he rescued you on the road, you weren’t heading for the inn from your car, you were going the other way.”
Frost nodded. “The weather wasn’t so bad when I first walked to the inn. But by the time I’d hidden Dalen’s body in that cabin, the wind and snow had gone wild. I didn’t think I was going to make it. Then when I saw the cars with the cherry lights coming, I turned around. You know, my tracks had already disappeared in the snow.”
“So there was no way to tell which way you’d been going. You gave yourself an excellent alibi,” Everard reluctantly admitted. “We didn’t even consider you as a suspect.”
“The doctors said that trip through the deep freeze nearly killed me,” Frost said, “but I thought it was worth it. Nobody connected me with the murder—except for that scum Carlowe.”
“You knew Rod Carlowe?” Liza asked.
“I knew about him and his methods,” Frost replied. “Never met him before. Maybe, if I’d known what he looked like . . . but I didn’t. Turns out he was following Dalen, too, recording him on video. He hoped to catch Dalen in some sort of violation and threaten to get him sent back to prison.”
Frost’s jowls wobbled as his face set in a look of disgust. “It was sheer bad luck that Carlowe caught me in his viewfinder, scouting out the inn shortly after Dalen registered.”
“That would destroy your alibi,” Michael said.
“It took a while for Carlowe to realize what he had, but then he tried to blackmail me.” The old man’s voice grated over those words. “He thought I must have gotten something out of Dalen—told me he wanted the inside track.”
Frost’s grin showed a set of stained teeth. “He didn’t know about the gun I’d picked up in a pawn shop years ago. So he was quite surprised when I just shot him as I got in the backseat for his little picture show. Then all I had to do was remove the evidence, and I was home free.”
“Except for not having the Mondrian,” Liza pointed out.
“But now I do have it,” Frost replied. “The Canadian border is just a few hundred miles away. One good thing after all my years in the business—I’ve got the contacts to turn that painting into a nice little nest egg. And I deserve every penny.”
Liza suddenly remembered his bitter speech in Ma’s Café, comparing his retirement with Chris Dalen’s. For a second, Frost seemed lost in contemplation of that wonderful future of affluence and ease. From the corner of her eye, Liza could see Everard gathering himself for a leap.
But then Frost came back to the here and now, pulling Mrs. H. back and aiming the Saturday night special at the state policeman. “Don’t do anything stupid,” Frost warned. “Just roll up the painting nice and neat and put it back in the pipe.”
“And then?” Everard asked even as he followed Frost’s demands.
“Then you can dig that trench a little deeper. I see now that it’s still too easy for some would-be hero to try jumping out.” He made them all work now. Even Liza had to scoop the dirt out with her bare hands. The exertion left them panting—and standing in a trench nearly three feet deep.
At least we’re still breathing,
Liza thought as she coughed in the damp, chilly air.
I just hope all this digging doesn’t give Frost ideas. How many stories in the
Oregon Daily
talked about the discovery of bodies in shallow
graves?
Liza wished her big, fat imagination would just shut up for the time being.
Liza thought as she coughed in the damp, chilly air.
I just hope all this digging doesn’t give Frost ideas. How many stories in the
Oregon Daily
talked about the discovery of bodies in shallow
graves?
Liza wished her big, fat imagination would just shut up for the time being.
“All right, that’s enough,” Frost said. “First thing, I want you to throw the pipe with the picture to me.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” a voice called out.
Frankie Basso stepped down into the bowl-like depression, a pistol in his hand. “You can throw the picture to me.”
20
Liza found herself staring and speechless as Basso gave them all a genial fat-man grin—so out of place coming from behind the big automatic pistol in his hand. He was wearing a sweat suit in fire-engine red and white. It would have made him look like Santa Claus—if Santa went beardless and draped a vicuna camel-hair coat over his outfit.
Basso’s eyebrows rose to create wrinkles across his forehead when he spotted Liza. “Well, hello, Ms. Kelly. This is a surprise. And it’s great to see you, too, Mr. Shepard.”
You’d think this was a class reunion from the way he’s beaming at us,
Liza thought.
Except for the way he’s standing. From there, he can cover all of us, as well as Frost.
Liza thought.
Except for the way he’s standing. From there, he can cover all of us, as well as Frost.
When Basso announced himself, Howard Frost had swung Mrs. Halvorsen around to use her as a human shield—at least a partial shield. Frost wasn’t a tall man, but Mr. H. was even shorter. Her head barely came up to the insurance investigator’s chest.
At least he didn’t have that ugly little pistol poking into his hostage’s ear anymore. Now Frost had his gun trained on Fat Frankie’s vast bulk.
“I heard you got out of Coastal Correctional yesterday afternoon,” Liza said wryly. “For a while, I thought you might be the one who took my friend here.” She nodded at Mrs. Halvorsen.
Basso’s porky face took on a well-practiced expression of shock. “I can’t believe you’d think I would break the law—and on the very day I got out of the joint,” he said piously.
Liza shrugged. “What can I say? I was running out of suspects.” She glanced over at Frost with his white-knuckled grip on his Saturday night special. “And I didn’t even suspect who it turned out to be. Howard Frost, soon to be late of the Western Assurance Group, meet Frank Basso, who has a certain name in organized crime circles.”
“Call me Fat Frankie,” Basso said in a genial voice. “Everybody else does.”
“What do you want?” Frost demanded, his pistol wobbling as badly as his jowls.
“Didn’t you hear me the first time? I want the same thing you do—the picture.” Liza couldn’t help but notice that the semiautomatic in Basso’s hand was rock steady.
“So what brings you all the way out here?” Liza asked Basso.
Anything to string this along—to postpone the final showdown,
she thought.
Although I don’t know what I’m expecting—the cavalry to come over the hill? The Coast Guard to come steaming up from the horizon? Sheriff Clements dropping down by rope from a passing helicopter?
Anything to string this along—to postpone the final showdown,
she thought.
Although I don’t know what I’m expecting—the cavalry to come over the hill? The Coast Guard to come steaming up from the horizon? Sheriff Clements dropping down by rope from a passing helicopter?
None of those happened, but Fat Frankie seemed ready to chat a little more—probably waiting for Howard Frost’s quivering arm to fall off.
“Well, it was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing,” he said. “After I left the hospitality of the state, I stopped in to see a business associate who has a house just north of Maiden’s Bay.”
“I thought people on parole weren’t supposed to associate—” Liza began.
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