A Deadly Row

England

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

A DEADLY ROW

A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

PRINTING HISTORY

Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / September 2010

Copyright © 2010 by Tim Myers.

All rights reserved.

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eISBN : 978-1-101-44274-6

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For my inspirations,

Patty and Emily;

and Michelle Vega,

for all of her hard

work on this project!

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Charlotte, North Carolina—the Queen City—is obviously a real locale, and in many respects, the city is a key character in this book. Some of the places mentioned here exist, including Luigi’s—the best pizza in the city, in the author’s humble opinion. Several of the places mentioned are actual neighborhoods and businesses, and at the time of this writing, were all thriving in real life. Other information—such as the location of police headquarters and its distance from the mayor’s office—has been fictionalized in order to aid in telling a good story. Trust me when I say that the architecture in Charlotte is beautiful, and the people as a rule are genuine, but there are killers in many locales, big cities and small towns alike, and Charlotte is no exception.

It’s important to remember that when all things are considered, Charlotte is a city with many sides and facets, worthy of exploration.

Puzzles are like songs—A good puzzle can give you all the pleasure of being duped that a mystery story can. It has surface innocence, surprise, the revelation of a concealed meaning, and the catharsis of solution.

 

—STEPHEN SONDHEIM

Prologue

THE MURDERER STARED AT THE MAP, CAREFULLY CALCUlating the next strike. The complication of the scheme was delightful, adding another layer to the fabric of the plan. Crime was too easy when it was random. There was grace and beauty—dare the killer be bold enough to admit elegance?—to the transgressions committed, and if the world was too blind to see the pattern of the actions, it would all be revealed in the end.

No one could stop the plan once it was in place, certainly not the police.

No one would even realize what was happening—the completion of the grand scheme—until it was too late.

By then, the ultimate prize would be achieved.

The life of the last target would rest in a single outstretched hand, and then it would be squeezed until there was nothing left.

Chapter 1

“ARE YOU STILL FIDDLING WITH THAT PUZZLE, SAVANNAH? I need some help in the bedroom with that blasted shelf I’m putting up. You’re the one who wanted it in the first place, remember?”

“Hang on a second. I’ve almost got it.” My dear husband loomed over me as I worked on the couch with paper and pencil, toiling over my latest creation. My name’s Savannah Stone, and it’s my job to create a variety of the math and logic puzzles you find in your newspaper every morning, just as long as you subscribe to one of the forty- two papers my syndicate sells my puzzles to every day. While I might not be in The New York Times, I am in the New Bern Register, along with the Covington Chronicle and the Grandfather Mountain Gazette. I taught high school math in Charlotte until puzzles came into my life, and though the money I make now is somewhat less than I made before, the freedom my current career provides is well worth the cut in pay.

I wasn’t sweating literally like my husband was, but the math on this new puzzle was taxing me just the same. Working a puzzle and creating it were two very different things.

I looked up and saw beads of sweat traipsing down Zach’s nose and threatening to despoil the puzzle I’d been toiling so hard over for the past two hours. As I pulled my work safely out of the way, I noticed that the silver touches of frost around his temples were matted with sweat as well. Why was it that my husband’s graying hair