The Black Squares Club
by
Joseph Cairo
Copyright 2011 Joseph Cairo,
All rights reserved.
Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-0501-8
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Chapter 1
Sicko With A Message
New York City: Police Headquarters, lower Manhattan, Thursday morning, May 11
Chief Homicide Detective Patrick Morgan was feeling the heat. He had come up through the ranks, decorated on three occasions for acts of heroism. He earned his stripes the hard way. A straight-up cop. But he knew his limitations; when something complicated came along he wasn’t ashamed to call in the experts. The press ate it up, and so did the brass. It gave the inveterate detective the breathing room he needed until there was a break in the case. The so-called experts rarely contributed much. But perception counted far more than reality. He would just sit back and wait for some hard evidence to come down the pike.
The crossword puzzle murders were no different. A sicko with a message was how the police psychologists had it figured. Problem was, no one could decipher the message. Seven murders committed in the last three years. The victims all high-profile types. Each murder preceded by a crossword puzzle mailed to the New York Herald Gazette, making veiled biographical references to the victims and focusing on a controversial theme. But no definite pattern that the authorities could discern. The crosswords were difficult but not unsolvable. Yet not once were the police, the FBI, or anyone else able to link the murder victim to the clues embedded in the puzzles. Only after the fact did the hidden messages become clear. In retrospect, it was possible to deduce the name of the victim as well as the time and place of the murder. Morgan’s problem was making the association in time to stop the murder and catch the killer.
After the second murder, Morgan had made a public statement promising to get to the bottom of these crimes. But five murders later and he was still nowhere. He was forced to eat crow. Besides working side by side with the FBI, he brought in Lew Lentz as a paid consultant. Lentz was the editor of the New York Herald Gazette crossword puzzles. The crossword puzzle murderer was challenging him directly. No paper in the country had more difficult puzzles than the Gazette, especially the 21 by 21 Sunday grid. If Lentz couldn’t solve these puzzles no one could—at least that was Morgan’s take. The crossword puzzle murderer was betting that Lentz, the police and whoever else took a crack at it, would not be able to solve the puzzle and make the association with the intended victim in time to stop the murder. He was playing a game of catch me if you can. So far they couldn’t.
Lentz surely looked the part of a crossword puzzle editor. He was an elegant man who always wore a silk scarf and bow tie, regardless of the weather. He also carried an ivory handled cane. These three accoutrements were prominently portrayed in a caricature of him above his puzzles. They were as unique to him as was his signature.
Reluctantly, Morgan also agreed to collaborate with the renowned P.I., Samuel Sonn. Sonn had been retained by the family of the latest victim, Eleanor Moreau, ex-wife of the Canadian Prime Minister. She was killed just last month by a letter bomb that exploded in her swank Park Avenue apartment. Morgan knew that Sonn was, in fact, very clever. Sonn studied computer encryption algorithms as a Master’s fellow at Columbia University and when he took over the private investigation agency his father founded, he brought a high-tech image to the firm. He had recently gained public attention by solving the widely publicized Code of Samuel murder case. The media had a field day—sex, espionage and murder. By cracking the Code of Samuel, Sonn unraveled a web of intrigue of international proportions. In the public’s eye, Sonn had become Sherlock Holmes and Mike Hammer rolled into one. Morgan knew that by putting Sonn back in the limelight, the press hounds would be temporarily diverted. But the truth was that Morgan never really expected any tangible results from either the crossword puzzle editor or the Super Sleuth.
“Come in,” Morgan barked stridently to two gentle raps on his office door. It was detective Timothy Ward, Morgan’s young sidekick. After five years on the beat, Ward had just made detective grade. He was, in the parlance of the department, a golden boy in the making. Brighter than most, ambitious, and an accomplished sycophant. The tall dirty-blond haired cop with a boyish face had what Morgan liked to refer to as a thick layer of Irish polish.
“I have the one and only Samuel Sonn with me,” Ward said as he opened the door.
“Come in, the both of you,” Morgan replied in a mild brogue which he could turn on or off at a moments notice. “Sam, it’s good to see you again. How’s that beautiful girlfriend of yours?”
“Esther is well,” Sam replied.
“To be your age again . . .” Morgan pined as if singing an Irish lullaby.
“I’m sure you still have plenty of gas left in the tank, Captain,” Sam answered good-naturedly.
“I don’t have to tell you, we’re at a dead end with these crossword puzzle murders. And the press is snipping at our heels. I’m hoping that you and Mr. Lentz will be able to help.”
“I’m always only too happy to collaborate with the NYPD, Captain.”
“Yes, of course.” Morgan paused, glancing at Lentz who was seated opposite from him. “How rude of me, Sam. Allow me to introduce you to Lewis Lentz, crossword editor of the Herald Gazette.” Lentz stood extending his hand to greet Sam. It hung limply in front of him until Sam grasped it.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Lentz. I’ve been a long-time devotee of the Sunday Puzzle.”
“Well, you know, Mr. Sonn, I don’t compose them, I only edit them.”
“You’re too modest.”
Detective Ward opened two bridge chairs and placed them next to Lentz. Sam sat down alongside Lentz, but shifted his seat as if to give him some breathing room. A stack of folders, piled as high as the ceiling, obscured Sam’s view of the Chief Homicide Detective. The Captain’s desk was cluttered not only with folders, but also with thickly bound casebooks and computer printouts. Sam barely managed to find an unobstructed view between the photographs of Captain Morgan’s wife and his two daughters. Detective Ward seated himself on the other side of Sam.
“I’ve got to clean off this damn desk,” Morgan said as he picked up two large casebooks and deposited them on the floor with a thud. “There, that’s better,” he said. “Gentlemen, as you are all aware, the crossword killer mails the puzzles well in advance of the crime. He is challenging us to beat him at his own game, but he’s diabolically clever.”
“Yes, I agree,” Sam replied. “He’s no ordinary criminal.”
“Perhaps he’s trying to embarrass the police?” Detective Ward suggested.
“It’s
