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In February, I decided to cut my ties in State College. I returned to Wilkes-Barré before I had sold the bungalow to pursue
a few trivial cases in that area. In late May, I received a frantic call from a Greg DiGiuseppe, coördinator for the state's
finals in Special Olympics.
At first, I wanted no more cases from State College, but the housing market had collapsed earlier in the year, and I found
myself stuck with the bungalow. So despite the penurious offer, I took the job while thinking I could expedite the sale.
I had gone back there a few times over the past three months without success. It was stressful that I was in such a situation.
Keith and Joe couldn't resist tagging along.
"This place still gives me the creeps," Keith announced as we entered the livingroom.
"It's still lovely, but an ugly reminder of what I'm losing," I sighed.
"It could have been more," Kevin interjected. "A home, a buddy, a life."
"Okay," I interrupted. "Let's keep in mind while we're here. Special Olympics begins tonight. I want to give my realtor a
call."
"Are we staying until Sunday?" Joe asked.
"Hey," I answered. "You guys can stay until I sell this place. Hopefully the sale will be soon."
"The housing market has been poor over the past year," Kevin stated matter-of-factly. "Remember how easily you bought this
place?"
"Don't I know it," I smirked. "I can't buy another place until I sell this one. Now I'm squeezed between the ownerships. If
the market should recover, I'd pay more to buy. Otherwise I'll pay little after getting little for this place."
"That's precisely why I'm sitting on my doubleblock," Keith interjected. "I'd love to give you a deal."
"Thanks, little buddy," I lauded. "However, I don't think I'll stay in the area."
Where do you intend to go?" Joe jumped in.
"Oh, I know this fellow from high school," I replied casually. "Harris Hough lives in central northern New Jersey. He says
I can take advantage of surrounding suburbs to settle in the woods."
"I hate to interrupt your dreams," Kevin cut in sharply. "But we have some business to do with DiGiuseppe within the hours."
"Okay, Bro. Anyone want to stay here?" I asked mischievously.
"Don't push it," Keith answered lugubrously.
"We have many volunteers here," DiGiuseppe was saying. His white hair belied his Italian features. "Therefore your cover consistes
of these teshirts."
"Where do you need help right now?" I asked.
"Just past East Halls there's a race track for the contestants. Here's a map."
By the time we four had on the aquamarine shirts with "Special Olympics" in the yellow ochre lettering. In one smooth motion,
I grabbed the map as my arm came out of the armhole.
"I know where it is. Do you have a schedule of events?" I said with my other hand out.
"Sure. The events begin with a ceremony at 7:30. We suspect any trouble then."
"May I stop into your office to get a glimpse at that note before then?" I inquired DiGiuseppe.
"Drop by around 2 o'clock."
So we went down to the track, there was little left to do. We set up two tents with tables and chairs. A person wandered down
the track while we were working. By the time we had worked out way to the track, this somatotonic person had ovaled within
twenty meters of the ten we were in.
"Hey, mister", Joe called. "Do you have charge here?"
"Better yet," I added. "Are you Buster Watt?"
"Hey, how do you know that?" Watt said startledly.
"Greg DiGiuseppe told me you'd be here," I replied simply. "And you're carry a walkie-talkie."
"Are you four here on business?"
"I'd say so," I continued. "We're especially interested in the business of a threatening note the committee received last
weekend."
"The cops told us they could do nothing, especially on university property," Watt spat disgustingly. "I suppose you're George
Król."
"He is," Kevin stepped forward. "And I'm his younger brother Kevin Król."
"These are our mutual friends Joe Trunk and Keith Cahill," I continued the introductions.
"It could be nothing but a prank. Nonetheless the thread is so specific."
"What is the threat?" Keith asked impatiently.
"We haven't seen the note," I explained.
"The first thread promised a 'flaming beginning', Watt revealed. "That's why I was sweeping the oval. I followed the entire
path of the athletes to the end of tonight's ceremonies."
It was almost one thirty when Watt finished narrating the bemused attention the note had received since its appearance under
the door of DiGiuseppe's office on Sunday.
"I didn't take it seriously," Watt confessed. "Until I began to receive threatening calls at home."
"Why would someone target you or the events?" Kevin wondered.
"Well," Watt related. "I'm in charge of the athetes. Maybe the threat is against one of them."
"I hate to break this line of inquiry," I interrupted. "But DiGiuseppe is waiting for us in his office."
We bade Watt goodbye as we commenced the long walk back to East Halls and then to the offices. The sunny air felt overheated.
I wished I still had an office on campus to fetch some ice. I dug out two quarters for a drink. It took a few minutes for
us to refresh ourselves, then we continued our way. It was five to two when we arrived in DiGiuseppe's office. The door was
ajar when we called inside. With no answer I thought maybe we were to wait inside.
When we escaped the heat outdoors, I continued calling in to the inner office. DiGiuseppe replied from outside.
"I guess the secretary is still at lunch," he surmised. "Stay here while I get the note in my office."
An indeterminate pause followed DiGiuseppe's exit. "Oh, no! It's gone!" we heard. Then DiGiuseppe appeared in the doorway.
"Someone stole the threatening note!"
"Why would anyone steal a threatening note?" Keith blurted our thoughts.
"Identification," Kevin rejoined. "More than likely the threatener left a clue in the note."
"Actually," I affirmed. "It signifies a clue to the very identity."
"What?" Joe asked perplexedly.
"Anyone could have come in here," DiGiuseppe said literally.
"Yes," Kevin agreed. "But whoever stole the note had to know it was here and when your secretary went to lunch."
"May we see your garbage?" I intorted.
"George," Keith exclaimed. "Surely you don't think he had thrown the note away!"
"Oh," an average man said from the doorway. "I see you're back."
"Greg, how long have you been gone?" DiGiuseppe inquired bedeviled.
"About twenty minutes," Greg replied somewhat irritably.
"Aha!" I cried. "Do these cutouts look familiar to you?"
"Why, yes," DiGiuseppe agreed. "Those cutouts could have been the original crime."
"What are they doing in the wastebasket in your office?" Joe asked our thoughts.
"More importantly is how long have you been gone from your office?" Kevin overruled.
"I was here around nine after a meeting here."
"Who was here?" I inquired.
"All the major actors in Special Olympics. Then I made sure the door was locked."
"Who suggested hiring me?" I asked.
"Actually I called the State College police for a clue," DiGiuseppe smiled.
"Given that answer, I think our next encounter will be tonight," I concluded.
Several hours later, the guys were approaching exhaustion. Nonetheless, I knew they would persevere. As usual, Kevin almost
knew everything I was thinking. We thought we had checked the security thoroughly enough when the Special Olypians began entering
the ceremonies.
The crowd was great for the middle of nowhere. The athletics marched down the path we had checked after Buster Watt. The band
played, "One Moment in Time", and I was into the funky sterility of the scene. The torch bearer climbed the ladder to light
the finish.
"How much more do we have to do?" Joe spoke to me over the roar.
"Call it intuition," I shouted. "But I think we're more involved in the caper than we think!"
My attention had been momentarilty distracted during the dialog. Keith had been behind me, and I saw him make a face in my
peripheral vision. I swerved in time to see the torch kindle like a Roman candle.
"Is that supposed to happen?" I heard Keith say behind me. The nozzle of the main torch acted like a maroon. By the time the
torch bearer had descended the ladder -- about ten seconds -- the torch exploded. Sparks added to the pyrotechnics, then a
poof was prolepsis to a shower of leaflets. One of these papers fluttered onto my hair.
"Uh, oh," Kevin said dolefully.
The reason was in my hands. On the white papers was a Jolly Roger. Underneath the black symbol was the same, melanic word
"death".
I did not sleep well that night. I awoke just past nine in a crapulous state. Kevin was already up and gave me a smile. He
was sitting on the far end of the kitchen table.
"Does the great George Król feel like quitting?" he asked lugubriously.
"No, bro," I denied. "I think it's time for some help."
"I already called the Stacys," Kevin said impishly. "They'll meet us at noon."
Buster Watt had been rigorous with my performance. I took the majority of the blame. DiGiuseppe had made it clear that we
would be demitted from the case the next time. Joe and Keith were still upstairs asleep.
"What's your assessment of our situation?" I asked while I filled my bowl with cereal.
"Well," Kevin pondered. "My guess is that whoever is behind this caper fully knows our moves. They may not know the Stacys,
and they will give us more than enough men to decoy the bad guys."
"I take it that we will meet the Stacys 'accidentally' during one of the meets."
"Actually everyone will be split up so that we only contact each other individually. They can always call us in an emergency.
"I suggest we get into the Olympics about ten and scatter. That way we'll be able to pick up any observers before we make
contact. I'll meet Darrell Stacy at the hurdles, and you'll meet Allen at the jumps."
"Wouldn't it be better if the Stacys met Keith and Joe instead of us today?"
"I thought of that, George. I thought it would be too important for us to get their imput through Joe and Keith. They will
contact them tomorrow. Darrell will confab with Joe, and Allen with Keith."
"You've thought of everything," I admitted.
That Friday afternoon we passed along our information to the Stacys. When we mingled with the crowd, it was a diversion to
the enormous task we faced.
DiGiuseppe had downplayed the explosion as a harmless prank. By the afternoon, it looks as though he had succeeded. We had
plowed through the registration for anomalies. Fortunately computers made the task easier. Our problem was to creatively think
of what we sought. The Stacys wandered around the grounds all day.
"We seem to be stuck on our next move," Kevin admitted that evening.
"Could it have been a prank?" I wondered.
"Could we have scared them off," Joe intoned.
"Do you guys want to go home?" Kevin followed.
"Well," Keith frowned with his dimples. "We should stay until Special Olympics is over."
The telephone rang to break a five-second silence. Joe, who was closest to the instrument, answered it. His face screwed up
in shock at the very short message. Slowly his hand descended with the receiver down from his shoulder along his left side.
His daze dissolved as he stared at me.
"George," he said simply. "This case just jolted us out of our lethargy."
We sat in the livingroom agape. I rocked forward to emphasize my intensity.
"George," Joe continued. "He said if we should want to know what's happening at the games, we should meet him at Whipple's
Dam on Sunday."
"How do we know that the call wasn't a crank?" Kevin demanded.
"He said to look in the mailbox."
"Did he say who should look in the mailbox?" Kevin continued the interrogation.
Joe looked up to the ceiling. "No, he just said to look."
"It could be an ambush," Kevin warned.
"Well," I answered. "We could approach the mailbox from four directions."
"Then we'd only have to worry about the mailbox itself. Perhaps there's a petard in it," Kevin continued.
Cautiously we started toward the mailbox from approximately the same distance, the equivalent of its distance from the bungalow,
some 100 meters.
Because the time of the year allowed a late benighting, we could near the object in the daylight as the sun was setting. This
advantage hastened our time to destination. Kevin jerked the hook open after he had scanned the exterior for wires. Out flew
an envelope addressed to DiGiuseppe. Kevin's lips trembled as he realized the contents. It was the original ransom note!
"Who should go to Whippel's Dam on Sunday?" Joe contemplated.
"The caller just said 'you', so I suppose it mean all out us," I posited.
"If it be a decoy," Kevin advised, "We'd better have someone here and at the games."
"I took the call," Joe added. "I should go in case he meant 'you'".
"There's no way 'you' should go alone," Kevin cautioned. "Keith should join you while I mind the bungalow."
"Should we confront DiGiuseppe tomorrow?" Keith asked in agreement.
"First, I want to discover why anyone took this ransom note in the first place," I diverted.
"George," Keith rolled his eyes. "Don't you think this call was the reason why whoever it is took the note?"
"Yes, it's a possiblity, but could there have been another way to prove legitimacy? Something doesn't make sense," I doubted.
"Yes," Kevin agreed. "Just look at the note. We should take turns looking for something suspicious.
We spent a good hunk of time that Friday night pouring over the note. Finally we gave up and went to bed.
I took the note to DiGiuseppe on Saturday. Greg, his secretary, told me he wasn't in. Greg Griggs appeared blasé
when I told him we had found the ransom note. I should have expected such a reaction because Griggs didn't know what had
been occurring there. While I was there, I uncovered that Griggs had left for lunch at one o'clock on the day the note disappeared.
On my way out, I saw no signs of forced entry to explain how the door had been open when we arrived at two o'clock. Nothing
still makes sense, I concluded.
Kevin tried wracking his capable brain on the computer with the registrational forms. There didn't appear to be any way
to uncover clues from such a method. How could he find out other information?
Buster Watt was helping in the high jump. Kevin approached ostensibly to help. After a pause, Kevin broke with, "Mister
Watt, I need your help."
"You can't get any leads?"
"We have no idea whether the incident on Thursday night had been a prank. We've checked the registration for leads
and came up empty. Can you lead credence to your supposition that some is targeting one of the athletes?"
"Disrupting the Olympics does not make sense. If that had been true, there would have been more spectacular incidents
on Thursday night. There is a way to check on the athletes further. Later today meet me in my office, and I'll give you the
confidential floppy disc."
"When can we meet you this afternoon?"
"Lunchtime. See you at noon."
Kevin drifted to the longjump and helped rake the sand while he played with the few clues available. A awful thought crossed
Kevin's mind. What if all this were a diversion? Then some caper could be arriving in Wilkes-Barré while they were chasing
wild geese here. Kevin reminded himself to call home when they returned tonight.
"Okay, Kev," I murmured. "What'll we try next?"
"I wonder if I could find out insurance policies on these athletes."
"Why would anyone insure a Special Olympian?" I asked pensively. "We've no reports on threats on specific
athletes."
"Let's call it proactivity, George. I want to watch athletes with big policies on them."
"I suppose so," I agreed reluctantly. "We can at least ride these games out with security."
"George, Kevin," Darrell burst into the room. "One of the athletes just missed getting crushed!"
Within two minutes, all three of us were at the site. A group of athletes had just finished the broadjump. They were standing
near a group of empty leachers when the entire section collapsed.
"I yelled when I saw the bleachers move," Allen whispered to us when we arrive. "I just happened to be
looking in that direction."
"Could we find out who the near-victims were?" Kevin whispered back.
"We could ask the fellow in charge," Allen suggested. "There's Kevin Davinski. The dark-haired, average-height
fellow with the multiple tattoos on his arms."
We followed Allen to the counselor. Davinski seemed shaken. He was quite nervous about the incident. Allen did get a list
from Davinski and saundered over to us. Then we broke up with this information. We did not want to give some observers that
we were working with the Stacys, so we used the incident as the reason we were there. Allen slipped the list to Darrell who
slipped it to me after he had copied it. We waited five minutes until the crowd began to break up. Then we returned to the
office. Kevin sat down again at the puter. He turned it on and frowned.
"Where's the floppy disc?"
I was astounded also. The disc was missing! How foolish we were to run off and leave the door unlocked! Watt had opened
the door to let us in and taken the keys. We weren't about to throw around the mea culpa. We thoroughly seached the room until
we were sure that we hadn't simply mislaid the disc.
Rather than look for Watt to discover if he had had a backup, we ran down the ordinary information already available.
I wrote down all that we there on the six atheltes nearly injured. They all came from diverse background within a georgraphic
ares: Wilkes-Barré!
"'Curiouser and curiouser' said Alice." I quoted. "How is it this group just happens to hail from the area
around our hometown?"
"I have a worse feeling about this 'coďncidence'," Kevin intoned. "We'd better call home for more information.
Meanwhile, we'd better make sure the Stacys are watching this group."
After we confirmed our suspicions to the Stacys, we rushed back to the bungalow. I telephoned Wilkes-Barré and left my
mother to check on the olympians. Perhaps the local office of Special Olympics could supply the information!"
"It's just our luck that Mom's not home!" Kevin complained.
"What'll we do now?"
"For the first time I wish Joe and Keith had stayed home," I admitted. "It's just past one o'clock. Why
don't we have lunch in case Mom calls back."
"We can also use the time to create an explanation why we lost Watt's floppy disc," Kevin added.
"While we're piddling time we can also think of what we want to ask DiGiuseppe," I agreed.
"I have an intuition that he's done no adicia," Kevin opined. "Logically he has no motive. What bothers
me is Griggs the secretary. He'd be a perfect insider to take the threatening note."
I took the rugose note out of my pocket. I couldn't understand why someone would steal it. There were no telltale signs
of authorship. The dross in the wastebasket matched with the cutout letters; that was no mystery. What was cryptic was the
reason why someone had stolen it. The threat had mitigated my theory of fakeness. The incidents had inspissated the value
of the note and its myrmidons.
We were still in the loaming at the end of the day. Nothing else had happened to the group from Wilkes-Barré. By the time
the four of us had returned to the bungalow, it was almost dark. I suspected a big day ahead.
My telephone was ringing as I entered. Kevin answered and revivified the tediousness. He cradled the receiver enthusiastically.
"We have a lead," he announced. "It seems that one of the Olympians from the group has a large life insurance
policy on him: Gordon Georgeson. One of the beneficiaries is the counselor, Kevin Davinski."
"Anything else on Davinski," Keith inquired.
"No," Kevin denied. "Mom's had trouble getting information from the police this late."
"What should we do now," Joe asked impatiently.
"We're going to visit Kevin Davinski tonight," I answered. "Maybe we'll start clearing this case"
DiGiuseppe was somewhat irritated as he unlocked the door to the residential hall. "I don't see why all this is so
important. Can't you talk to Davinski tomorrow?"
"For all we know," Kevin rebuked. "Davinski may be plotting to kill Georgson tonight!"
"If we be correct," I continue. "Then Davinski tried to kill everyone to get Georgeson this afternoon.
Surely we would try again under more certain conditions."
We knocked on the door for a good minute until one of the athletes answered. We had been sure that Davinski had been sleeping
there.
The athlete, behind thick glasses in a short stature looked bewildered. "Kevin isn't here," he informed us.
"He left me in charge," he said proudly.
"You're one of the athletes," DiGiuseppe stated incredulously.
"Yes," the little man agreed. "I am Kevin's best friend Chris Sable."
"He's on the lam," Kevin sighed. "We'd better get back home for our wits tomorrow."
Despite our new encounter with DiGiuseppe, Kevin had been correct. DiGiuseppe knew nothing. I hoped that our only lead
left would pan out tomorrow at Whipple's Dam.
"This is getting boring," Allen Stacy sighed. "We've followed the Wilkes-Barréans all morning with no sign of Davinski."
"I have to agree," Darrell Stacy conceded. "But something may happen at Whipple's Dam today to be worth the humdrum assignment."
Something was about to happen at Whipple's Dam. I was accompanying the Stacys as they kept a private eye on Gordon Georgeson.
Kevin remained at the bungalow in watch for terrorist action. I kept calling in on the hour. Joe and Keith would leave for
Whipple's Dam at noon for the appointment. I was getting a busy signal at the time. I got through to Kevin right after Joe
and Keith left my sight.
"Why was the line busy?"
"George, Davinski has an arrest warrant on him there for burglary. It's in the Wilkes-Barré area."
"Maybe that's why he left; Somone here discovered the warrant. Do you have any idea where he went?"
That's the weird part. New Jersey has another warrant on Davinski."
"Let's meet over in the dorms to get another look. We might pick up clues where he went."
This time DiGiuseppe was unavailable, but we did gain entrance via a residence assistant who was fain to give us entrance.
As it turned out, it was profligate to our time because the door had been left unlocked. Kevin entered first and motioned
us to stand back. "Call the police -- homicide."
Lying on one of the beds was Davinski's corpse. Cause of death wasn't immdiately apparent, but Kevin had one of the tattooed
arms in his hand. He shook his head. "It smells like prussic acid."
"I was afraid of this," I admitted. "I didn't comprehend that a two-bit burglar could be behind the thread and its execution."
"So then who is?" Kevin vocalized. "Could our mysterious caller at Whipple's Dam be the one?"
"What'll we do?" I queried. "I don't want to leave the place unguarded."
"I should go to Whipple's Dam while you check out the murder here. The Stacys can help you," Kevin suggested. "I'd better
get out of here. Keith and Joe have a twenty-minute lead!"
"Yes," I agreed. "You do that while I seek this Chris Sable. I wonder if he's as innocent as he portrays himself."
Kevin hurried off, but I wasn't so concerned. The meeting at Whipple's Dam was at one o'clock. -- Kevin could easily make
up most of the time.
I played messenger as I ferreted out the Stacys. Because it was nearly twelve thirty. I guessed they'd be out to lunch at
the dining hall.
I arrived at the hall, saw the group there, but there were no Stacys. Then I realized Gordon Georgeson wasn't there either!
I asked one of the nearby athletes where the three were. They confirmed that just as they were going to lunch at noon, the
Stacys noticed that Georgeson was missing. The lead was at the main office, so I hurried there well aware that I was a halfhour
behind.
At the main office, someone told me that the Stacys had been there, and they had gone to DiGiuseppe's office. Then it hit
me. I headed back to the dorms where the police were having Davinski's body carried out. The custodian identified me as one
of the discoverers, and I was ushered inside. I could hear in the hallway Allen's plea.
"He's right, office," I intoned. "I just came to the conclusion myself. You should find Gordon Georgeson in his assigned room."
Di Giuseppe opened the door, and I felt as though I had been experiencing déjŕ vu. There lay Georgeson almost identically
to Davinski. I gave the Stacys pats on the backs.
"Don't fret, boys. This Sable character is as slippery as an eel. I just figured out what as you did a halfhour ago."
"That statement doesn't mitigate our plight", Allen denied disgustedly. "About eleven thirty he said that he needed Georgeson
to take him to the restroom. We kept an eye outside while they slipped out back. Obviously Sable had some hold on Georgeson."
"Where's Kevin?" Darrell asked.
I then told the Stays all that had just happened. We would be busy with the police for awhile.
Kevin raced toward Whipple's Dam unaware of the second corpse not completely of the danger. He opened the compartment and
removed the pistol. He hoped he was wrong, but the solution in his mind was too plausible.
It was almost one o'clock when Kevin arrived at Whipple's Dam. He had copied the instructions where they were to meet the
mysterious caller. It looked secluded on the map.
Keith and Joe were scouting the area, which was why they had left so early. They separated and approached the rendezvous from
opposing directions. Joe was to meet the informer, so he approached more closely to the spot.
Keith was closer to the water than Joe when he heard splashes. He walked toward the sounds to investigate. As he pushed some
bushes along the walkway, he heard a rustle within the boughs. Then he felt a blow atop his head, causing him to grit his
teeth and dimple his cheeks. He fell to his knees before he lost consciousness.
Next Keith became semiconscious of a hawser around his wrists and ankles. He was hurtling through the air when he curglaffed
into cold water that slapped his face. He was conscious, though no longer sure he wanted to be. The impact had jolted the
ropes loose, but an impulse caused his feet to sink and pull him underwater. The impact had tangled him to a boulder still
tied to his right ankle! His handsome face winced as he struggled with the ropes. His lungs swelled as exhaled air escaped
though gritted teeth. It seemed an eternity by the time he could reach the noose around his ankle. Did he have enough time?
He dared not look upward until he had freed his foot.
Joe reached the point as one o'clock occurred. Out of the bushes stepped Greg Griggs!
"Where's Król?" he demanded.
"You didn't specify who should meet you!" Joe riposted.
"Stick him, Chris!" Griggs yelled.
Joe swerved aside to see the specious Special Olympian lunge at his position with a needle. Joe could smell bitter almonds,
so he needed no more clues! He grabbed Griggs and twirled around him, putting Griggs between him and the lethal needle. Unfortunately,
his momentum swung him back into danger. He aimed for Sable's hand and almost knocked the needle away. Griggs was reaching
for something in his pocket, so Joe knew what to do next. He grabbed Griggs's other hand, pulled his rotating body inward
and caused angular momentum to accelerate his angular speed. One more turn ensued as Griggs broke free and Sable aimed again.
Joe pushed off Sable's head, sending him backwards, and released Griggs in time to sail over the dock and into the water.
While he was still airborne, he heard a shot, then he plunged into the dam's lake.
Kevin had just come into view of the struggle. He could not distinguish what was happening in the distance. He gained view
when Joe was confronting Griggs. He was less than one hundred meters away when the conflict began. He yelled futilely at the
combatants, out of earshot. Finally he saw Joe fly into the lake. Griggs had turned to fire at the fleeing sleuth when Kevin
drew his pistol. He fired at Griggs from fifty meters. Sable had just arisen from the blow which Joe had given him during
his escape. Kevin saw Sable fall after he had discharged his gun. Griggs fired at Joe moments before Kevin had fired at Griggs.
Griggs, upon seeing Sable fall, raised his arms and dropped his gun.
Kevin approached the two villains cautiously. He felt Sable for a nonexistent pulse, but Sable wasn't bleeding! Rolling the
body over, Kevin uncovered a nasty-looking needle stuck in the back. Apparently Joe had knocked the needle to the ground,
and Sable had fallen on it. It was an ironic twist to seal the fate of the murderer with his own instrument.
"Watt is behind this," Griggs conceded. "He took the note and placed it in your mailbox to trap you here. He threatened to
revoke my parole!"
"Well." Kevin said smugly. "You won't have to worry about that anymore. Where's Watt now?"
"He's at the games, seeking to bump off George!"
"We have some hustling to do once we recover my buddies," Kevin concluded.
But there was no sign of Joe or Keith! Kevin saw no sign of Joe in the water. It occurred to him that he should call for help.
He took Griggs to the car and called DiGiuseppe's office. Then he called the local police.
The State College Police were just finishing up my statement when Buster Watt showed up in the dorms. I was still inside when
I heard him say to the Stacys, "So you boys found a corpse in the dorms."
"Actually the Króls found the first one. George helped DiGiuseppe find the second." Allen reported.
"That's right," DiGiuseppe confirmed. "I wasn't there the first time."
"I suppose the Król's have conveniently run off to Whipple's Dam instead of explaining how they lost my floppy disc!" Watt
snorted.
When I head that lapsus linguae, I realized I had a piece of the puzzle. I pressed my advantage. I twirled around the doorway
and confronted Watt.
"How did you know we were going to Whipple's Dam at one o'clock?"
I had Watt flabbergasted. He turned and ran. Circumstances were against us. Watt was down the hall in a flash because no one
had been standing behind Watt. I scurried back into the room, leaned on the sill and alerted others outside. Then I joined
the chase. When everyone else stood as dumbfounded as the crowd at the football game nearly two years ago in "Staid Stadium",
I dashed down the hall.
Using a hand-sliding technique, I descended the stairs in groups of steps. In one fluid motion I hit the ground and pushed
open the steel doors in time to see Watt ahead nearly fifty meters and the Stacys about halfway in between us. He was headed
for Beaver Stadium, probably to escape. I yelled up the window at DiGiuseppe to warn the authorities, then I joined the pursuit.
I ran just fast enough to keep up in hopes someone would delay Watt, so then I could catch up with the Stacys in a quick burst
of speed. We were on Park Avenue when the traffic provided an obstacle to us. Even at two meters a second, the run appeared
endless. There was no sign of campus police. Beaver Stadium loomed in the background.
At least I had surmised correctly, I thought. I also knew Watt was in good shape. He kept ahead of the Stacys all the way
to the stadium. Once there, Watt had dozens of places to hide, even if they had closed off most of the stadium. Then the noise
of the crowd reminded me tha the Closing Ceremonies were just ending. There would be a mass exodus of allow Watt enough cover
to escape.
At last a guard at the entrance halted Watt. He pointed to us, and the guard drew his gun! Watt used the deception to smack
the guard and to fire at us. We scattered along the path. I counted two shots, sprang up and sprinted to join the Stacys.
We continued the chase to the entrance. I stopped for the watchman.
"Didn't DiGiuseppe tell you guys?" I questioned the guard irritably. "Sound the alarm that Watt is behind the threats to the
Olympians!"
I no sooner had said those words when the crowd commenced to egress the stadium. Because there was no other conventional exit,
we stood there in the knowledge that the other personnel or the Stacys would smoke Watt out. Because of the lesser crowd,
the campus police had blocked off the other exits.
I had counted a few hundred spectators when the walkie-talkie blasted about a chase at the other end. I was tempted to join
it, but I would not desert my self-assigned post.
Anxiety tempted me as I stood with strained ears to the communicator. They had lost the pursuee in the upper levels. Inasmuch
as I tried, I failed to avoid looking up. Nonetheless, Watt would be still lissome enough to fall on me!
The crowd was thinning out providing a little enticement. I reversed the flow through the mess enough to enter the stadium.
The Stacys met me there. They looked more than a little bewildered.
"We had sight of Watt and lost him some hundred meters back," Darrell apprised me.
"Actually he had help from the two shots fired", Allen added wryly. "He missed my head by some five centimeters."
"Let's go back to the bottleneck and allow those with guns to hunt down the culprit," I advised.
"When we returned to the entrance, we found no one there! Lying unconscious was the guard near the turnstiles.
"There he goes!" Darrell yelled as Watt disappeared around the cylindrical stadium shell. This time I would not wait to comfort
the victim with such a multiple murderer on the run. For once, I'd wished I had had my pistol. Watt could have up to two shots
at us.
Our distance at fifty meters worked to our advantage; we were out of range but within view. Watt was in the parkinglot within
a minute. People were everywhere. I knew if we could empty that gun, we had an excellent chance to stop Watt.
The exits were blocked as the crowds left. Watt knew he was trapped, but we approached cautiously. It was dangerous dodging
all those moving cars. We had to foreguess when they would move. Allen was within ten meters of the car when Watt saw him
and aimed. Allen dived behind the car, but someone saw the pistol and screamed.
Watt then tried a gambit and commandeered a car. Some people ducked in their cars, others moved out of the way. Watt began
zigzagging out of the lot. Darrell inadvertently was in the path. Allen yelled, and Watt aimed again. In the heat of exigency,
Watt fired unsuccessfully at Allen. Then he tried to run Darrell down. Darrell tumbled out of the way of screeching tires.
Watt was almost out to Park Avenue, and only I was between them.
Watt bore down upon me in the road. I hoped I could cause a mistake until Watt aimed at me. Watt hit a bump in the road, and
the gun discharged into the air. Watt seemed determined to run me down anyway while speeding perilously over a simple road.
I skipped out of the way from five meters away.
As I landed, my other senses warned me of impending doom. I could hear sirens in the distance with increasing Doppler effect.
As I dusted myself off, I could smell gasoline. Its odor wafted from the road.
Police sirens wailed more loudly as Watt hit Park Avenue. He made a beeline for the highway and left my sight as the cruisers
screamed by my position. I heard a crash, then an explosion. A finger of fire briefly appeared above the landscape. Suddenly
I had the feeling that this case had an inglorious end.
I just sat there helpless to the explosion, for I could do nothing else. The gasoline along the road had evaporated, leaving
the smell. The Stacys joined me; at first, they looked worried. I assured them I was alright. We hugged and walked toward
the crash.
Whatever was still there was already burnt. The flames slackened over twisted metal. The police simply kept everyone back
until the flames died out. As we watched, I wondered about the guys at Whipple's Dam.
Keith's predicament was growing breathless as he sank with the weight around his ankle. Pyretically he struggled with the
rope. Finally he slipped the hawser onto his shoe, and with a mighty kick, he broke free.
Alas, his lungs were bollen with the air he had swallowed two minutes previously. In the murkiness of his ascent, Keith saw
a moving figure. His momentum carried him toward it. Then he felt his strength fail as he groped something solid and alive.
He began to inhale the water. "I'm drowning!" he thought as the figure grabbed him.
Joe had been at the nadir of his descent when he felt Keith grab his waist. In the shadows, Joe recognized his friend, grabbed
him, and fought his way up the five meters.
As they burst into the air, Joe swigged that ether. He and Keith were floating about ten meters from the corpse of the specious
Special Olympian and about six from the dock. Joe saw no one alive on the shore as Keith began coughing. To keep Keith from
burking, Joe rubbed Keith's throat as they neared the shore.
About this time, Kevin was returning to the scene after he had handcuffed Griggs to Griggs's car and had taken the keys. Kevin
rushed to aid Joe and pulled Keith onto the dock. Then he helped Joe out of the water.
Keith was now conscious. His gelasined smile was enough for Kevin and Joe. The three hugged as siren wailed in the background.
They went to meet the police in the embrace.
EPILOG
"Boys," I said while sitting in my JFK rocker. "Sometimes you miss the mark. Consider this case a lesson in your nascent career."
"George's right", Kevin agreed with a wink. "All of us are safe. None of us suspected that there would be a murderer's lurking
among the Special Olympians."
"Okay," Joe commenced. "Let's recapitulate this case. Buster Watt decided to sabotage the games. What was his motive?"
"It was rather complicated, but Watt was causing a diversion for Chris Sable to kill Gordon Georgeson," I soothed the Stacys.
"Sable's real name indicated he was a major heir of Georgeson. When Gordon was seven, both Georgesons died in a plane crash.
Sable was really a cousin. Because both his parents were already dead, Sable was the only close relative to a fortune of five
million.
"Sable paid Watt a hundred thousand to sabotage the games. Sable also coerced Davinski to collapse the bleachers. It almost
backfired when you started following Georgeson. Sable had hoped to get out unrecognized. When Davinski cut the bleachers to
collapse, and it didn't work, Sable figured Davinski would cave under pressure, so he killed him also."
"Watt then tried to divert us off the case by giving us that lead," Kevin continued. "Then he 'stole' the floppy disc when
the incident with the collapsing bleachers occurred. We couldn't lock the office because Watt didn't give us the key. I should've
known."
"Watt took a big chance that we wouldn't take the disc with us," I added.
"Griggs was the real betrayer in this case. Watt paid him ten thousand to paste the threatening note and to arrange its disappearance.
Watt must have threatened Griggs with exposure," Kevin guessed.
"Oh, I get it," Keith followed. "That was why we found the evidence in the wastebasket. Watt must have gained possession of
the evidence."
"Who gets the inheritance of Georgeson now?" Allen inquired.
"I'm afraid," Kevin answered. "That there are no more heirs. A charity gets the estate. I suppose the situation is for the
best."
"The real loser was Davinski," I added. "With the police after him in Wilkes-Barré and New Jersey, he was quite vulnerable.
Probably Sable intended to run him in anyway, which is why we figured Sable killed Davinski."
"Was it poetic justice that Joe's evasion of the needle resulted in the death of this murder?" Keith asked metaphysically.
"In any case, it does make the job easier for the authorities," Joe joined in. "All they'll have is an investigation instead
of a trial."
"Well," I concluded. "It's time for us to make plans to return to Wilkes-Barré. "I've things to do tomorrow, namely another
case."
To be continued
with sketches of scenes
Next mystery on another page
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