The Wizard Murders by Sean McDevitt Page A

dammit, I don't want to be controlled. All I want to do for five minutes -for five frigging minutes- is finish my puzzle. My puzzle, I want to solve my puzzle. Yeah... it's a damn puzzle, all right. 11 down. "Opposite of NNW." North Northwest? South South East? S-S-E. Yes, 3 letters. Wait. Does "paseniw" have something to with-
     
    GOD! I cannot get that thing out of my mind! Civilization... is crumbling. I'm desolated, destitute. Everything that matters to me anymore is gone. Chief Stevens is at Loma Linda, getting chemo. I can just forget all about Maine for the time being. Sorry, Frank. Sorry, Boothbay. The cabin will have to wait. There's no chance of me moving out there anytime soon. I just have to keep working, working and slaving on this damn case, and maybe I can manage to save a little bit more money if I go ahead and work until I'm sixty-five. If I even live that long. God. And speaking of God, 15 across. "Church walkway." Five letters. Why am I doing this? Because I need to relax. My blood pressure is making my ears ring. I wonder if I should just partially complete this puzzle and save it for later. I wonder-
     
    Suddenly the phone rings with a seeming vengeance, and snaps Pitt out of his reverie. It's Clarence.
     
    "Andy?"
     
    "Yeah? God, where are you calling from? The connection is terrible."
     
    "From a pay phone. We've got another one."
     
    Pitt turns pale. "... What? "
     
    "Near 6th and Massachusetts. We need you."
     
    Pitt throws on his suit jacket and leaves his puzzle behind- or, more accurately, flings the newspaper so hard that sections of it go flying across the office. He doesn't see the vertical phrase that he's just completed with horizontal letters:
                               
    T-H-E M-O-O-N
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER ELEVEN
     
    The coroner's van is already slowly edging its way past four police cars, each of their warning flashers flickering angrily in the late afternoon light, as Pitt arrives, slamming the door of his Rambler in frustration. The usual spectators- reporters from both local papers and retirees who spend entirely too much time listening to police scanners- have gathered behind a barricade set at least half a block from the scene. Pitt's jaw starts to painfully clench as the predictable cries of "Sir! Sir! Andy! Over here!" fill the air. The sound of his keys rattling on his belt reaches a frantic pitch as he starts to half-run toward what looks like a small stucco house with brown trimming.
     
    He spots Clarence, who is about ten feet from the front door with his hands on his hips and a look on his face that can best be described as a thousand-yard stare. Two policemen with rifles drawn stand guard, their eyes darting at the half dozen juniper bushes that tower around the house. For half a second, Pitt ponders the absurdity of their vigilance- obviously, what's already happened here can't be prevented or avoided- but he feels the hair stand on the back of his neck as he realizes that perhaps the killer is actually watching all of the commotion, and not from far away. The sensation passes in an instant, however, as he approaches Clarence.
     
    "What happened?"
     
    "Welfare call, about twenty minutes ago," Clarence mutters, wiping the sweat off his brow. "Didn't think nothin' of it until I tried the door and then saw the blood."
     
    "And?"
     
    "And? And? You know the rest, don't make me say it!" He rubs his nose forcefully and it's apparent that he's having trouble breathing.
     
    Pitt grabs Clarence manfully by the arm and pulls him in close. "Clarence, come on. Pull yourself together, man. Just tell me... is there another body, and another painting in this damn house?"
     
    Clarence nods, starts coughing, and excuses himself by running to the side of the house, out of view of the street. Pitt can hear him clearing his throat and spitting.
     
    He turns to one of the officers by the front