I scooted the second chair closer and sat down.
Henry said, “Remember I said this was probably a number-letter substitution code? I figured chances were good he used a format of some kind, a matrix or template that would govern the assignment of a particular number to a given letter. He could have done this any number of ways. He might have written the alphabet, A B C D and so forth, and then used 1 for A, 2 for B, 3 for C, down the line. Pete constructed his cipher along other lines, which is what I’ve been trying to pin down.”
“Swapping one number per letter would make it twenty-six altogether, yes?”
“Right.”
“What about that number? The 1909,” I said, pointing to a four-number group.
Henry said, “I suspect that’s the number 19 followed by the number 9. I’m theorizing Pete put a zero in front of any letter between 1 and 9. So 03 is something and 04 is the next in the sequence, whatever the sequence is.”
“I guess you have to start somewhere.”
“It’s basically trial and error, though if you do these often enough you get a feel for what’s going on. The obvious system where 1 is A, 2 is B, and so forth didn’t work, which didn’t surprise me in the least. Pete was too wily for something so simplistic. So I said to myself, what’s next? As kids, we used a system called Rot 1—Rotate 1—which means that B becomes A, C becomes B, and so forth. I experimented with that and a few other well-known systems and got nowhere. And then I wondered if this could be a keyboard pattern, which is why I needed your Smith Corona.”
He looked up with a sly smile, tapping the paper with his pen. “This is a QWERTY code, starting with the top row of letters on a typewriter. Read left to right and keep on going. Q is 1, W is 2, E is 3, or 03 the way he writes it. R is 4 or 04. You’ll see I’m completing that first row of letters and then starting again left to right, moving down all three rows. The last row is Z X C V B N. Do you see what I’m doing here? M is the last letter, which in this format makes it the twenty-sixth.”
“Just tell me what it says.”
Henry rolled his eyes. “So impatient. Give me a minute and I’ll write it out for you.”
“You want some coffee?”
“Only if you’re making some,” he said, distracted. He was already busy writing down the letters he matched with the numbers on the grid.
I left him where he was and went down the hall to the kitchenette, where I picked up the coffeepot and filled it with water. I poured the water into the reservoir and then opened a packet of coffee, the grounds neatly sealed in a filter that I tucked into the basket. I flipped the switch and stood there until I could hear the gurgling begin.
Moments later, I placed both mugs of coffee on my desk and resumed my seat. Henry was still translating, so I waited for him to finish. “This is a list of names,” he said. “Six of them. I’ll start with the first. You see the numbers 1216, then 0804 and so forth. The 12 is the letter S, followed by 16, which is the letter H. Here, 08 is the letter I, followed by 04, which is the letter R. I won’t go through every single grouping. Trust me when I tell you the first name is Shirley Ann Kastle. The line under her name reads ‘Burning Oaks, California,’ with the state abbreviated.”
“Never heard of her.”
“Next is the number series starting with 1903 2509 and on down the line. This line spells the name Lenore Redfern, also from Burning Oaks, California, which is the line under the name. I believe hers was the name written in the Bible you found.”
“April’s mother,” I said. “It looks like she wanted April to have her Bible and the other items. I’m not sure why she mailed them to the priest, unless he was supposed to hold them and pass them on in due course. According to April’s wedding announcement, Ned’s now married to a woman named Celeste. Go on. I didn’t mean to slow you down.”
“The third name is Phyllis Joplin, Perdido, California, again the state abbreviated. Are you familiar with the name?”
“Nope.”
“Under her name, if you’ll look at my cheat sheet, you’ll see that 05 is T, the number 11 is A, 04 is R, 06 is Y . . .”
I checked the next number in the sequence. “And 25 is N, and the name is Taryn,” I said. I knew exactly who this was. “Surname is Sizemore.”
“That’s right. He’s written ‘Santa Teresa, California’ on the line beneath, so she must be local. You know her?”
“She was the plaintiff in the lawsuit I mentioned earlier.”
“Much of this seems to hark back to that lawsuit,” he said.
“Could be coincidental.”
“Possible. Fifth name on the list is Susan Telford, who apparently lives in Henderson, Nevada. Ring a bell?”
“Nada.”
Henry said, “Speaking Spanish now. Very nice.”
I pointed to the next sequence of numbers. “Who’s that?”