Read Online And a Puzzle to Die On by Parnell Hall - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Parnell Hall
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do?”
“Do?” The sergeant seemed nonplussed by the question. “I take charge. See that everything’s done right.”
“Such as?”
“Determine the cause of the accident. This one was a no-brainer. Literally. Guy’s brain was mashed in. Piece of cake. Guy just lost control. At that speed that’s not surprising.”
“How did you determine the speed of the car?”
“Skid marks, for one. Alcohol level for another. You figure a guy that drunk ain’t gonna be goin’ slow. Except for his reflexes.”
“How do you know Ricky was drunk?”
“Another no-brainer. Car smelled like a brewery.”
“You take his blood level?”
“I’m sure the doc did.”
“You don’t know what it was?”
“Not my job.”
“Would it be in the report?”
“Are you asking me to pull his file?”
“Is that something you could do?”
Sergeant Walpole picked up a thick rubber band from his desk, began stretching it around his fingers. “Could you tell me again why you’re interested in this?”
“I didn’t tell you the first time.”
“Is that right? No, I don’t believe you did. Just why are you interested, Miss … ah, Puzzle Lady?”
“It’s Felton. Cora Felton. Gleason was a witness in a case I was looking into. I wanted to talk to him about it. If I can’t talk to him about it, I wanna know why.”
“What’s the case?”
“Not important. Particularly in view of what you just told me.”
Walpole’s eyes narrowed. “You were thinking maybe someone didn’t
want
Gleason to talk?”
Cora smiled. “An absurd notion, I know. I’d just like to rule it out.”
“Well, you certainly can. The guy got buzzed and missed a turn. He’s a poster boy for one of those don’t-drink-and-drive groups.”
“So you got no objection to pulling his file?”
“Not at all. But I gotta tell you, the only way it’s gonna help you is if you’re getting paid by the hour.”
Sergeant Walpole went into the outer office, came back with a manila file, plopped it on the desk. “Hereyou go. Knock yourself out. But I tell you, you’re wasting your time.”
Cora flipped open the file. There was an accident report, filed by the officer on the scene, describing what happened, including one of those little line drawings of a street with every conceivable intersection, turn, curve, or type of highway. On the diagram the officer had dutifully drawn a little block car with a triangle front, and arrows showing the direction. The direction was easy. He also had to draw the tree.
For DESCRIPTION OF ACCIDENT the officer had written:
Car going east on Red Oak Road. Driver speeding. Skidded on turn. Lost control. Hit tree
.
“No mention of alcohol,” Cora said.
“No reason for it. He wasn’t arresting the guy.”
“Wasn’t alcohol a contributing cause to the accident?”
“Oh, sure. It’s in there. That’s just the preliminary report.”
Cora flipped a few pages to the medical examiner’s findings:
Severe trauma, head and chest. Ribs crushed, lungs punctured. Heart compromised. Veins and arteries severed. Spinal cord severed between C3 and C4. Skull fractured, brain crushed
.
Cora looked up. “Was there anything this guy
didn’t
die of?”
“Trust me, it wasn’t pretty.”
“Blood alcohol point one two five,” Cora read.
“That’s legally drunk. Unfortunately, not too drunk to drive a car.”
Cora turned the page over, frowned. “Is this an autopsy?”
“It’s the medical examiner’s findings.”
“Yeah, I know. But what does it entail? Accordingto this, he looked at the guy and drew blood. Which he checked for alcohol. Weren’t any other tests performed?”
Sergeant Walpole was beginning to be
less
than pleased at having the renowned Puzzle Lady in his police station. “What more do you want? A drunk drives his car off the road. What should we be checking for? Traces of cyanide?”
“Cyanide works much too quickly. He could never have driven the car.”
“I was kidding.”
“I know.
“Do?” The sergeant seemed nonplussed by the question. “I take charge. See that everything’s done right.”
“Such as?”
“Determine the cause of the accident. This one was a no-brainer. Literally. Guy’s brain was mashed in. Piece of cake. Guy just lost control. At that speed that’s not surprising.”
“How did you determine the speed of the car?”
“Skid marks, for one. Alcohol level for another. You figure a guy that drunk ain’t gonna be goin’ slow. Except for his reflexes.”
“How do you know Ricky was drunk?”
“Another no-brainer. Car smelled like a brewery.”
“You take his blood level?”
“I’m sure the doc did.”
“You don’t know what it was?”
“Not my job.”
“Would it be in the report?”
“Are you asking me to pull his file?”
“Is that something you could do?”
Sergeant Walpole picked up a thick rubber band from his desk, began stretching it around his fingers. “Could you tell me again why you’re interested in this?”
“I didn’t tell you the first time.”
“Is that right? No, I don’t believe you did. Just why are you interested, Miss … ah, Puzzle Lady?”
“It’s Felton. Cora Felton. Gleason was a witness in a case I was looking into. I wanted to talk to him about it. If I can’t talk to him about it, I wanna know why.”
“What’s the case?”
“Not important. Particularly in view of what you just told me.”
Walpole’s eyes narrowed. “You were thinking maybe someone didn’t
want
Gleason to talk?”
Cora smiled. “An absurd notion, I know. I’d just like to rule it out.”
“Well, you certainly can. The guy got buzzed and missed a turn. He’s a poster boy for one of those don’t-drink-and-drive groups.”
“So you got no objection to pulling his file?”
“Not at all. But I gotta tell you, the only way it’s gonna help you is if you’re getting paid by the hour.”
Sergeant Walpole went into the outer office, came back with a manila file, plopped it on the desk. “Hereyou go. Knock yourself out. But I tell you, you’re wasting your time.”
Cora flipped open the file. There was an accident report, filed by the officer on the scene, describing what happened, including one of those little line drawings of a street with every conceivable intersection, turn, curve, or type of highway. On the diagram the officer had dutifully drawn a little block car with a triangle front, and arrows showing the direction. The direction was easy. He also had to draw the tree.
For DESCRIPTION OF ACCIDENT the officer had written:
Car going east on Red Oak Road. Driver speeding. Skidded on turn. Lost control. Hit tree
.
“No mention of alcohol,” Cora said.
“No reason for it. He wasn’t arresting the guy.”
“Wasn’t alcohol a contributing cause to the accident?”
“Oh, sure. It’s in there. That’s just the preliminary report.”
Cora flipped a few pages to the medical examiner’s findings:
Severe trauma, head and chest. Ribs crushed, lungs punctured. Heart compromised. Veins and arteries severed. Spinal cord severed between C3 and C4. Skull fractured, brain crushed
.
Cora looked up. “Was there anything this guy
didn’t
die of?”
“Trust me, it wasn’t pretty.”
“Blood alcohol point one two five,” Cora read.
“That’s legally drunk. Unfortunately, not too drunk to drive a car.”
Cora turned the page over, frowned. “Is this an autopsy?”
“It’s the medical examiner’s findings.”
“Yeah, I know. But what does it entail? Accordingto this, he looked at the guy and drew blood. Which he checked for alcohol. Weren’t any other tests performed?”
Sergeant Walpole was beginning to be
less
than pleased at having the renowned Puzzle Lady in his police station. “What more do you want? A drunk drives his car off the road. What should we be checking for? Traces of cyanide?”
“Cyanide works much too quickly. He could never have driven the car.”
“I was kidding.”
“I know.
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