Free The Devil's Teardrop by Jeffery Deaver

the examination table. “Wish it were ObiWan Kenobi.”
    “Who?” Lukas frowned, shook her head.
    Hardy blurted out, “You don’t know? ” Then blushed when she glanced at him coldly.
    Parker was surprised too. How could somebody not know about Star Wars ?
    “Just a character in a movie,” C. P. Ardell told her.
    Without a reaction she turned back to a memo she was reading.
    Parker found his hand glass, which was wrapped in black velvet. It was a Leitz lens, twelve power, and was the essential tool of a document examiner. Joan had given it to him for their second anniversary.
    Hardy noticed a book in Parker’s attaché case. Parker saw the cop looking at it and handed it to him. Mind Twisters Volume 5. Hardy flipped through it then passed it to Lukas.
    “Hobby,” Parker explained, glancing at her eyes as she scanned the pages.
    Cage said, “Oh, this man loved his puzzles. That was his nickname ’round here. The Puzzle Master.”
    “They’re lateral thinking exercises,” Parker said. He looked over Lukas’s shoulder and read out loud, “‘A man has three coins that total seventy-six cents. The coins were minted in the United States within the last twenty years, are in general circulation and one isn’t a penny. What are the denominations of the coins?’”
    “Wait, one of them has to be a penny,” Cage said.
    Hardy looked at the ceiling. Parker wondered if his mind was as orderly as his personal style. The cop reflected for a moment. “Are they commemorative coins?”
    “No, remember—they’re in circulation.”
    “Right,” the detective said.
    Lukas’s eyes scanned the floor. Her mind seemed to be elsewhere. Parker couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
    Geller thought for a minute. “I’m not wasting my brain cells on that.” He turned back to his computer.
    “Give up?” Parker asked.
    “What’s the answer?” Cage asked.
    “He has a fifty-cent piece, a quarter and a penny.”
    “Wait,” Hardy protested, “you said he didn’t have a penny.”
    “No, I didn’t. I said one of the coins wasn’t a penny. The half-dollar and the quarter aren’t. But one of them is.”
    “That’s cheating,” Cage grumbled.
    “It sounds so easy,” Hardy said.
    “Puzzles are always easy when you know the answer,” Parker said. “Just like life, right?”
    Lukas turned the page. She read, “‘Three hawks have been killing a farmer’s chickens. One day he sees all three sitting on the roof of his chicken coop. The farmer has just one bullet in his gun and the hawks are so far apart that he can only hit one. He aims at the hawk on the left and shoots and kills it. The bullet doesn’t ricochet. How many hawks are left on the roof?’”
    “It’s too obvious,” C. P. observed.
    “Wait,” Cage said, “maybe that’s the trick. You think it should be complicated but the answer really is the obvious one. You shoot one and there’re two left. End of puzzle.”
    “Is that your answer?” Parker asked.
    Cage said uncertainly, “I’m not sure.”
    Lukas flipped to the back of the book.
    “ That’s cheating,” Parker said, echoing Cage.
    She kept flipping. Then frowned. “Where are the answers?”
    “There aren’t any.”
    She asked, “What kind of puzzle book is that?”
    “An answer you don’t get on your own isn’t an answer.” Parker glanced at his watch. Where the hell was the note?
    Lukas turned back to the puzzle, studied it. Her face was pretty. Joan was drop-dead beautiful, with her serpentine cheekbones and ample hips and buoyant breasts. Margaret Lukas, wearing a tight-fitting black sweater, was smaller on top and trimmer. She had thin, muscular thighs, revealed by tight jeans. At her ankle he caught a glimpse of sheer white stockings—probably those knee-highs that Joan used to wear under her slacks.
    She was pretty, Daddy.
    For a lady cop . . .
    A slim young man in a too-tight gray suit walked into the lab. One of the young clerks who worked in the Mail and Memo