William Bernhardt - Dark Eye

“Orthography?”

He grinned. “That’s what the nonpuzzling world calls spelling. ”

“And how do you know it isn’t one of those… simple substitution codes?”

“Because if it was, I would’ve solved it already.” He continued staring at the pages. “There are more than twenty-six characters in use here, which also rules out a simple substitution. Some of these symbols aren’t letters at all. Decoding is also complicated by the fact that there do not appear to be any breaks for sentences or words. The symbols are grouped in large blocks, and I rather suspect that the blocks may not be in the proper order. Looks like it may contain some decoy characters, too.”

“Decoy characters?”

“Right. Blanks. I see that Q appears in here twelve times, far more than any other letter, which would suggest that it represents E. But it doesn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because if it did, I would’ve solved it already. No, it’s more than just a cipher.”

I wondered if I should subpoena the subscription list to his puzzle magazine. There had to be something wrong with people who spent their spare time busting their brains over stuff like this. “If it isn’t a substitution code, what is it?”

“Well, I’d say there’s a remote possibility it’s a translated anagram.”

“Huh?”

“Letter scrambles. Like those Jumbles in the paper. He takes the message, then rearranges the letters at random. In a message this long, it would come out looking like gibberish.”

“How would I ever solve it?”

“You wouldn’t. Or me, for that matter. A computer might, once it figures out what to do with the nonalphabetic entries. Might at least be able to generate a menu of workable solutions.”

“Any other possibilities?”

“Oh, there are lots. Codes are literally as old as language, and over time people have devised a lot of devious ones. It’s possible that breaking the code requires reference to some external text. Like you have to know what page of the King James Bible to use as a reference key. Those were popular during World War I. Or it’s possible the solution requires a code-breaking machine, like Enigma in World War II.”

“I doubt if that’s the case.”

“Why?”

“Because if this code requires either of those two external devices, we have no realistic chance of solving it. And I have to think at least some small part of this guy wants us to solve it. Otherwise, why would he leave it? He wants it to be hard. He wants us to appreciate his brilliance. But eventually, he wants us to read the message.”

He nodded. “You know, there is precedent for this sort of thing.”

“Codes?”

“Left behind by psychopathic killers, yeah. You heard of Zodiac?”

“Of course. Studied him in school.” I snapped my fingers. “He left messages, too, didn’t he?”

“Yup. Coded. His crypts have appeared in some of the puzzle magazines. They were insidious. Stumped all the experts, including the government. Three of the four were never solved. Only one was. As I recall, it was a schoolteacher who finally cracked it, some regular Joe who saw the codes in the paper and worked on them in his spare time. Took months.”

“I don’t have months, Colin. This guy’s on a killing spree.”

“Understood. I’ll do my best.” He shrugged. “Maybe I just think this because I want to think it, because it would be more fun, but I don’t think this is gibberish. I don’t think it’s the work of an amateur, either. I suspect your killer knows something about codes. A little, anyway. My hunch is there’s a message hidden in there, but it’s incredibly complex. Different. And it’s going to take a different kind of brain to figure it out.”

“Then I’ve come to the right place.”

He sat up, stretching. “I’ll give this top priority. I’ll even put off doing today’s New York Times. ”

“I’m surprised those puzzles are any challenge for you.”

“I do them without the grid.”

I blinked. “You mean, without the little white and black boxes?”

“Right. I work out the grid on my own, from the clues and their numbering.”

“If you keep talking like this, Colin, I’m going to move you to the head of my suspect list.”

He grinned. “Hey, you holding up okay? I heard you were having some problems.”

My chin rose. “None to speak of.”

“If you need anything-”

“I don’t need any help.” I paused. “But thanks.”

“Okay.” He reached down and pulled up his socks, which didn’t match. God, but this man needed a wife. “You know, when David died like that-it hit us all pretty hard. But I have to think it hurt you most of all.”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” I pushed myself out of his chair, bringing this line of conversation to a dead stop. “If you get anything on those codes, let me know, okay? The sooner, the better. No telling how many young women’s lives may be at stake until we catch this whack job.” I left as I came in, all business, no crack in the exterior.

I couldn’t afford a crack, and I damn well resented his trying to pry one open. We live in such a Jerry Springer world-everyone wants to go public with all their problems. Whatever happened to the virtue of circumspectness? When did we become such a nation of whiners?

Besides, I had work to do.

I was pissed as hell about being forced to report to O’Bannon’s house just so he could make sure I’d been behaving myself. At the same time, I knew if I didn’t appear, he’d jerk my tenuous little consulting position like the handle on a one-armed bandit. For now, I had to play it his way.

I left the top down and stoked myself on the night air. Did I mention that I love this city? People talk about New York and its nightlife, but for my money, Vegas has it beat. People crawled down Fremont till the wee hours of the morning, and for the most part, they enjoyed themselves, acting like kids, blowing money they don’t need, being royally entertained. Granted, our shows may not have the sophistication of Broadway, but people came to Vegas to have fun, not to get clubbed over the head with Pulitzer Prize-winning angst. And for the most part, the tourists were nice folks. Writers always portray them as seekers of sin, but what I see is mostly plain, decent folks who want to get away, play, gamble a little, gorge themselves at a buffet, and sleep sweet dreams.

While I drove, I called Lisa on my cell. To my surprise, she was home.

“How’s it hanging?”

“Oh, fine. I’m washing my nylons.” Which was code for no date. “I checked by your place but you were in absentia.”

“On my way to O’Bannon’s. He’s got me working a new case.”

She gasped a little. “Not those girls who-”

“That’s the one.”

“Oh, geez, Susan. Do you think you’re ready for this?”

I tried not to take offense. Anything she said arose from her concern about me. “Best thing. Keep me off the streets. How was your big date last night?”

“Ohh.” I didn’t have to see her to see her face falling. “Disappointing.”

“Not a tiger?”

“More like a lap dog.”

That was a new one. “I’m not sure I-”

“Visible tongue. Before my mouth was even open. I think I’m going to become a nun. Stop by on your way back?”

“I… it’ll probably be too late. Definite date for tomorrow?”

“All right. You’re sure you’re all right?”

“Couldn’t be better. Couldn’t be better.”

By the time I got to O’Bannon’s, it was almost ten, but I hoped he’d cut me some slack since I’d been working like a busy beaver. I was surprised to find that kid of his on the front porch-sort of. He stood just off the edge of the concrete, about three feet from the door. His entire body was stiff, shoulders hunched, like he’d just been injected with a paralytic drug.