|
It was a rainy Good Friday 20 April when I came back with two armloads of groceries. Awaiting me on my doorstep was a surprise
-- my paperboy Danny.
"What's going on?" I asked as I stopped not more than two meters away. The weight of the groceries soon brought me back to
reality. I slowly lowered my packages to the cement floor of the porch.
"I paid in advance until May."
"No, Mister Król, I waited here for another reason. I didn't know where else to turn..." Danny trailed off.
I felt vibrations which seemed desperate.
I was fully standing as I looked at the carrier. Nervous, cerulean eyes peered out from under a mass of curled, red locks
topped by a Pittsburgh Pirate baseball cap. For a moment, I realized he had reminded me of myself fifteen years ago. I forced
my reminiscing to halt and answer the unasked question.
"Come on in and tell me about it," I invited while placing my left hand on his shoulder and opening the door with the key
in my right hand.
While he took off his bag, I went back out and retrieved the groceries. By the time I placed them on the kitchen table, Danny
was sitting on my sofa and fidgeting.
"Okay, what's the problem?"
"Your local reputation tells me that you'll keep what I say confidential..." he begged the question. I could see the frightened
blue eyes in the ginger face.
"Yes, I'll not repeat who had told me such things," I affirmed. "So, why did you come here? I cannot help you if you should
not tell me what has happened."
I played it carefully, slowly coaxing the information out.
"Everyday I pass a warehouse on White Way," Danny commenced. "A few days ago, the carrier truck broke down, forcing me to
pass there some two hours later than usual in the dusk. I noticed a dim light shining out the window."
"There's nothing wrong about natural curiosity."
"In this case, there may have been (something wrong). I peered into the warehouse just long enough to see little white packages
in crates. Then I heard someone's coming so I ran off."
"And you think there were drugs in those crates?"
"I didn't know what to do. It's been bothering me for two days now. Should I contact the police?"
"No, Danny. For the police to search the warehouse, they must have some probable cause. If we should tip them, they could
be scared off, whoever is supplying the drugs. Finally, we must be sure that something foul be amiss."
I reached for the telephone and dialed a contact at the police department. There were no reports of drug couriers in the area.
"Can you show me where this warehouse is?"
"Sure"
"Then, let's go."
We traced the route back the way Danny normally went home. By this time, it was dark as we were still on standard time. We
arrived at White Way with the darkness. Rather than attracting attention, we walked past the building nonchalantly. It stared
at us with ominous eyes. The neighborhood appeared quiet.
Other warehouses surrounded the building, and there was nothing unusual about it. However, I did notice a vulnerable window
along the side wall on the first floor. I mentally jotted down both the location of the window and the building. I bade Danny
a farewell and headed home.
The haul from the reward from the last case had netted me a home computer to tap into the municipal line. I found out that
the warehouse in location had been owned by a transporter, but further inquiry turned up nothing. The transporter was out
of business, but the warehouse was not empty. Records indicated that the warehouse had been up for public auction, but someone
had taken it off the market, and now it was just standing empty?
I called the records bureau, but to my chagrin, it was a Friday night, so no one was there. Therefore, I went to bed that
night with the alarm set at 4 AM.
I was still groggy when I arrived at the warehouse with flashlight and gloves. The last quarter moon filtered silver into
the room as I slowly raised the window while feeling for silent alarms. In any case, I knew I had to work fast.
Intensely listening to the silence inside, I crept some twenty meters to a doorway. All was quiet in the hallway. I checked
the nearest room, but it was also empty. Finally, I scanned a third room without luck. From the window, I saw that this room
was the one Danny had seen the white plasticene bags because the view outside was where we had walked past the warehouse.
Now I was really nonplussed. However, I could see that dawn was breaking, so I slipped the way I had come in.
"There was nothing suspicious, Danny," I told him over the telephone. "Maybe it was just your imagination."
After assuring him, I decided to allay my suspicions by trying again during a weekday. Monday morning just before dawn, I
again approached the warehouse. Once again, I saw that nothing was inside without my going in. I concluded that my suspicions
were unfounded.
The pressures of the finals soon occupied my concerns. It was the morning of Saturday the Nineteenth when I heard a knock
on my door. Danny was standing on my step in the same dither.
"The place is loaded again."
Fortunately, I'm usually up early on Saturday morning. I motioned him inside, and I sat down by the computer.
"When did you see it happen again?"
Danny sat down in my favorite green chair.
"I saw their bringing craters in late last night. I had to redeliver a paper so when I passed by the warehouse, I had a good
look."
"You're sure they're the same crates?"
"Positive Mister Król. I saw a white plastic bag's sticking out of one of the crates."
"According to municipal files, there has been no change in the status of the warehouse. It's still up for sale by a trucking
firm which wants to divest itself."
"Please could we look again?"
"Okay, but today I'm graduating with an MBA. I'll go there tonight. You go home, and I'll let you know if I should find anything."
I shouldn't have said it. I had relatives come for the graduation, so I didn't go that evening.
It was none o'clock when I left the room. Because we had switched to daylight time the end of April, it was still light, but
I figured I would look less suspicious on a Sunday night. All I had to do was get a sample of the crate in the warehouse,
swear an affidavit, and give it to the police. They would do the rest. What more could I do? I didn't want to endanger the
boy should there be something nefarious in the case.
When I reached the familiar window, it was dark in the alley. I carefully pushed open the sash and pulled myself inside. Once
again, darkness greeted me. I saw the room was empty. I nearly dropped my flashlight when I saw an empty crate on its side.
On the floor was a plastic bag with some white powder's lying on top of a newspaper. It lay over a light from the ceiling,
and the disturbed dust suggested some large amount of items had been there and recently moved.
I knelt down to the bag on the floor. I took the white residue on my left index finger, tasted it, and I knew it to be heroin.
Some scratches on the floor proclaimed it had been within a day since the boxes had been there. I picked up the newspaper,
which had a date from Monarch. What really caught my attention was the headline revealed it was a newspaper from Pittsburgh.
My next thought was whether someone had noticed I had been there a month earlier and had noticed Danny had passed both times.
It was a quarter to ten, so I decided to leave in case someone was watching the warehouse. I knew I had insufficient evidence
for a search warrant and therefore would have to wait until next month to find out whether anything changed in the warehouse.
The following Friday night, I was planning for the Memorial Day weekend when my train of thought vanished with the telephone
ring. I couldn't figure out who'd be calling me.
"Hello"
"George, this is Michael Keller. How'd you like to go to Pittsburgh?"
"Oh, c'mon Michael. I was there last month, seeking futilely for a job."
"No, it's a detective job."
My ears perked up with the revelation.
"When're we leaving?"
"John Cody and I will pick up around midnight. We've a room at the Sheraton in downtown Pittsburgh."
We were just out of State College when I broached.
"Alright, what's this about?"
Michael gave me a mischievous grin. John just said," They didn't tell us."
"You mean to tell me that we're going to Pittsburgh and don't know why?"
"Calm down, George," John retorted softly. "We will be handsomely compensated. Besides, there's more fun to a case with some
mystery."
"John, here's a place where we can get coffee and doughnuts. Do you want some?"
I slumped in the back seat.
"No, I'm sleeping."
Soon after we left the shop, I was slumbering. I had a dreamless sound sleep, so we were there in no time.
We checked in just past three. I was semiconscious when I crawled into a queen-sized bed. The next thing I remember is waking
at 7:20 AM. I crept to the bathroom and tried a steam bath. No sooner had I stepped out of the bathroom for more evaporation
when I saw Michael was up.
"Did you leave any water?" he jested in full smile.
A knock on our door interrupted my answer. We looked at each other humorously -- neither of us was dressed properly. Michael
looked momentarily perplexed, but I quickly gave him my bathrobe and ducked into the bathroom. Beyond the door, I heard John
say as Michael opened the door of the room.
"C'mon, you guys! We're due at the Department of Justice Office at 8:30! Mike, you should get a smaller bathrobe."
By the time I opened the bathroom door, I saw Michael's standing in front of an ajared door. We burst out laughing because
my robe draped around him down to the floor!
I was still giggling over the incident some twenty minutes later as we three walked into the office of the Department of Justice,
Pittsburgh division.
"Ah, the three gentlemen from Penn State," a voice greeted us. I saw the voice belonged to a well-dressed, average man.
"I'm Garth Phillips," he said while extending his hand. After we sat down, I was ready to begin inquiry, but Phillips broached
with our thoughts.
"We called you here because of a nationally important event. Do any of you know who Jerry Keiths is?"
"Sure, he takes off from Boston next month for a crosscountry run for cancer research. As I recall, his situation is similar
to that of Canadian Terry Fox four years ago."
"Very good, Król," Phillips commended. "Keiths also had osteogenic sarcoma, lost a leg, and went through chemotherapy. However,
this time we're going to be sure the cancer doesn't come back and kill him, unlike what had happened to Fox three years ago."
"I see," John interrupted. "But what does that have to do with us?"
"When Terry Fox ran across Canada, his worst external problem were the cars. Apparently, the crazies can't resist the temptation."
"So why call us?" Michael asked.
"I would guess that these officials have proof of a threat, and they need us for some specific reason," I replied.
"Correct again. We need you to watch Keiths's trek from State College to Pittsburgh. I checked on you guys, and you're the
best qualified for the job," Phillips added.
"Considering how many offers I've had for my MBA, I'll take it," I mused. This statement provoked a series of laughter.
"When will Keiths be in State College?"
Because I had graduated, I spent most of the next six weeks looking futilely for a permanent job. However, it was the middle
of the week, the second in July, when I found out that Keiths intended to run through State College during the Arts Festival.
I had known more about what we were going to do about it. Over those six weeks, the three of us took up jogging. Fortunately,
I was in some shape physically.
It was into the middle of July when I found the assignment boring. On Friday the Thirteenth, the three of us were running
around the back of my place. We were just into the homestretch when Michael nearly collapsed.
"Whoa, George!" John shouted from behind me. I turned around to see Michael bent over holding his ventral side. He looked
about to retch.
"No problem. I can wait. I had one of those last month."
I sympathized as I gave Michael a dorsal pat. I could not see much over his curly hair.
"C'mon Mike," John insisted. "Straighten up. George and I will finish and wait for you."
I was already hurtling ahead. Impishly I yelled, "First one in gets the shower!"
This statement galvanized John. We had a merry time racing home, although I had the key and longer legs. I had just opened
the door when I heard my telephone's ringing. Expecting a wrong number, I mechanically picked up the receiver and broached
a hello.
"Król" a gruff voice answered. "I hope you three are ready to run tomorrow."
"Then Keiths will be in State College tomorrow in time for the Arts Festival."
"Anyway we expect him then. Tell the others to be two kilometers east of downtown on 326 about 3 PM tomorrow."
"Well," I said while hanging up, "It seems our mission begins tomorrow."
"When are we beginning, and why are we doing it?" John grinned.
"3 PM tomorrow," I responded while dashing for the shower. "Why is something I hope headquarters reveals tomorrow."
The Jerry Keiths run based upon a van, so we had our own waiting en route. Michael was at the wheel while John watched traffic,
and I kept my ear to our radio. It was just after 3 PM when I heard John call me on the radio.
"George, Keiths is less than two kilometers away."
"Okay, John. Is there anyone's running with him?"
"Yes, one of ours. He'll expect you to join them when they reach the van."
"Okay, I'm ready. I have my commlink ready."
My commlink looked like a walkman. The only difference was a button along the main box which I pushed to talk. I put in a
tape from my disc jockey days so that the real purpose would not be revealed except during communication override.
I felt like a paratrooper about to jump. I, more or less, walked well away from the van toward Keiths's direction. About one
hundred meters up, I caught sight on Keiths's retinue. His entourage consisted of a police escort in front, several corunners,
and a trailing van.
It hadn't been until he had reached Pennsylvania from Boston that people began to take him seriously. It reminded me of Terry
Fox's Marathon of Hope; the public didn't take him seriously until he'd passed through Ontario.
I started in a trot, then a jog. My gait was rather smooth after two months of nearly daily practice. I saw Keiths about fifty
meters behind and slowly allowed his group to catch up to me. I had the closest view of the right side while the one I replaced
faded off the left side. Our van then surreptitiously slid behind their van at the rear.
Apparently, someone had planned the entrance into State College quite well. Benevolent watchers lined the downtown thoroughfare.
I could feel the excitement, the warmth, and, yes, the electricity of that final kilometer down to Allen Street, where the
Arts Festival ran five blocks. I felt such euphoria that I almost forgot my business, which is an ingredient needed to success
detective work.
It was only when we approached a rostrum when I realized what kind of reception they had planned. there was no basis for the
aleatory nor for spontaneity. I watched Keiths climb up to the podium. His most noticeable features were thinning hair, a
running watch, and his right leg prosthesis. He spoke more poignantly about the horrors of childhood cancer and more effectively
than any fund raiser could. I scanned the crowd during the speech and wondered why I was there at all in my official capacity.
I noticed that Michael had parked the van next to the official one on College Avenue. I walked up to the Campus Mall, paused
while watching the crowd, and sauntered over to Michael, who was standing alongside the van.
"Where's John?" I asked.
"On the other side of the rostrum," Michael pointed with the finger of one hand and handed me the binoculars with the other.
I stood upon the bottom step to push up for a better view. John's blond hair had bleached in the sun, so I found him easily.
We had some time to stay in this position throughout the speech. The local police would do the rest of the surveillance.
I slipped into the van for the radio to check for further instructions. Headquarters had none, except that Keiths was staying
at my place. It was a last-minute change for security. I was puzzled why it was necessary, but I would find out that night.
I slipped into the van into the presence of a clown. It was a classic countenance: whiteface, blue stripes' crossing blue
turquoise eyes, red cheek circles, red nose, and exaggerated orifice. His orange curly hair seemed naturally punk.
"How'd you like to clown around?"
I must have looked nonplussed because he simply walked away, although he did indicate I should follow him. I wondered whether
it had been a trick to distract me. I nodded to Michael to keep watch as I gave him back the binoculars.
We rapidly approached a booth where I saw a face-painting factory.
"You could look as good as I do."
"Who are you?" I verbalized.
My eyes met a beaming whiteface. A familiar voice spewed forth, "C'mon, you know me."
I felt my aghast expression.
"Garry, is that you?"
The turquoise eyes told me I was right.
"That surely is a great disguise!"
With an afterthought, I had a brainstorm.
"Come back with me to the van!"
I motioned both Michael and Garry into the van and made contact with John.
"It's a great idea!" John exclaimed. "We'll be more difficult to spot that way."
"You expect me to cover up this?" Michael laughed lugubriously while pointing to his handsome countenance.
"Surprise us," Garry called out from under the greasepaint.
After a few minutes, I broached," Okay, why are you here instead of Pittsburgh?"
"I'm covering the Jerry Keiths run from State College to Pittsburgh for a radio station."
"So that's it! It's a booster rôle."
"And it's a great excuse to return here."
I looked at the smiling face. "Why do I get the vibes that you love doing this?"
"It mixes my interest in radio and Big Brothers."
"I should've known!"
"Okay, George, why are you watching Keiths?"
"Garry, I suspect I'd find out sometime tonight."
No sooner had I uttered these words when I heard John yell in my commlink, "George, get out here!"
Garry and I scrambled outside. Some of the crowd were pointing toward a third story window some seventy meters diagonally
from the rostrum. I felt a sick dizziness seize my intestines as I scurried toward the building.
Soon I was at an alley when I heard tires screech. An aperçu of the alley was enough; I jumped back, nearly into Garry's arms.
He had just caught up to me, but I could convey the danger via my action. We dove behind some garbage cans as the auto streaked
by us. I lifted my head just to glimpse the license, but I ducked when pellets struck the cans.
"From now on, I'm armed on this case."
My clock radio showed 6:10 PM when I heard a knock at the door. Two clowns stood in the doorway; they looked like twins.
"This is no way to run a case," I declared. "I knew you didn't want to cover up your looks, but why go to all this trouble?"
I left them in and added, "Why didn't you guys clean up?"
"We have our reason," Garry answered. When I peered out the doorway, I knew why.
My hand met the hand of another clown.
"I'm Jerry Keiths," muttered the disguised voice. "They were kind enough to bring me here."
"I suppose you made sure you weren't followed."
"Of course I did," John added gruffly.
Now I saw four clowns. I thought they'd taken my idea too far.
"Okay, what's going on?"
"Have you been listening to the radio?"
I thought John's question absurd. I always play my stereo at suppertime, not the radio.
"Let's sit and tell all," Michael promised.
I stepped over to the sink to dry my dishes. Michael, John, and Keiths sat on my couch while Garry ostentatiously sat on my
bed and opened a case. I kept my back to them and put the dishes away.
"C'mon, give."
"The newspaper have supplied the story that Keiths is under guard at a nearby hospital, our red herring. Headquarters wants
us to use the time scouting the witnesses for clues as clowns."
I put the last fork away.
"What do they hope to accomplish? I'd thought they couldn't get any witnesses."
"C'mere," Garry said mischievously.
John continued as I saw down in my chair.
"They want us to talk to some kids. After all, this was your idea."
Garry began applying whiteface.
"So how long are they going to run this farce?" I continued.
"It depends upon how far you run," John surprised me as Garry and Michael finished whiting my face.
"I don't like the sound of it," I replied as I closed my eyes for the blue makeup. Garry was working my face from the forehead
down with colors over the whiteface.
"Let's see how you follow the logic," John rejoined. The cerulean eyes were serious behind the painted face. "Someone shot
at Keiths this afternoon.
"Although the attempt missed, we want the media to think otherwise. The agency has no leads on the motive and wants us to
narrow down the possibilities. We're dealing with a sick mind here. Why would anyone want to stop a run against cancer? Terry
Fox had no such problem in Canada, except for the disease itself!"
"Let me guess -- you want to find out why someone shot at Keiths. Is it a generic purpose or a simple vendetta?"
"George, hold your mouth still," Garry commanded as he reddened my lower lip and added round edges.
"So they want you as a decoy," John concluded still seriously as if being serious had been a burden.
THe room remained quiet for at least a minute while we pondered that statement. Keiths, who had said nothing since he'd walked
in, looked at me with apprehensive eyes behind his mask as if to apologize for the danger.
Garry interrupted our reverie.
"That's it. We're finished. Want to look at a mirror?"
I sat up and looked into the large one on the wall.
"What artistry! What're these?" I pointed to black dots on my nose and cheeks.
"Now, George," Garry smiled impishly. You don't expect me to cover your freckles or your clefted chin."
"Okay," let's go," John arose. I was the last one out when I noticed Keiths had left, too. John saw my quizzical look as I
closed the door.
"What better way to hide him? As long as he has on long pants, no one will see his prosthesis. Also, we can protect him because
we look so much alike."
I chuckled at the remark. We piled into John's car for the big stakeout before dark. We followed leads for two hours when
we decided to call it quits. The few kids who saw the shooting told conflicting stories, probably due to the fear and excitement
of the moment. We decided to enjoy ourselves at the festival to divert suspicion from our activities. Somehow, I knew that
this was the last time we could divert such attention.
"Okay, Garry," I said when we reentered my place. "How do I get his makeup off?"
"C'mon," Garry chuckled. "I'll show you all how to do it."
We followed him into my shower room. Garry turned on both faucets of the sink full blast. He opened the cabinet door, took
out Vaseline, and grabbed shampoo from my shower floor. Jerry Keiths and I watched him dunk his hair and face into the basin.
Colors bled out in confusion. His curly hair completely wet, Garry took toilet paper and spread Vaseline over his handsome
face. He shampooed his hair and stood under the shower and removed the makeup with the water.
"There," Garry announced while drying his upper body. "It's that simple."
"Jerry, as my guest, you're next."
Garry and I left the room and rejoined the others
"George." John began, "here's the story."
Garry stole a surreptitious smile because he was the only one in the room without a painted face. However, the gravity of
the situation easily won out.
"Keiths started from Boston in June, intending to get to Los Angeles in eight months. The second week in brought threatening
letters, which the Society assumed were cranks. They warned Keiths to stop before he reached New York State, but Keiths ignored
them.
"When Keiths passed through New York City, someone shot an arrow at him, missing by some five meters. By the time Keiths arrived
in New Jersey, he had a police escort. Halfway across New Jersey, someone fired at him, missing by two meters. Police investigation
couldn't uncover anyone was following the marathon. There was not even a trace of a rec veh!
"Thus, we received the call after an even closer shot missed Keiths in Pennsylvania. The whole case revealed a background
without clues, a problem without possible solutions, a hope without any rationality."
Keiths came out of my shower room when we finished, so I went in to clean up.
"You guys'd better get home; tomorrow may very well be guys," I heard Michael mutter, "more than you think."
I thought little of it. Garry also bade me goodbye.
By the time I'd left my shower room, Keiths was lying on my couch in a sleeping bag. I was amazed how fast he'd fallen asleep.
I lay in my double bed for only a few minutes when I lost consciousness.
The telephone was my alarm as its ring smashed into my ears. My eyes could see my electric and blue Big Ben show me that it
was merely twenty after eight. I stared at the black numbers and hands and the orange dial just long enough to follow the
second hand past the twelve. I sat up and noticed that Keiths was trying to ignore the rings. His head sank farther into the
corner of the couch between the back arm and under the dark green pillow. I bounced out of bed in time to catch the receiver
on the fourth ring.
"George, we'll be over in ten minutes," Michael announced.
"Gracious, you guys must be kidding!"
"John says to warm up the coffee pot."
"Okay, I'll be ready."
I practically dived into the shower room, took a quick shower, and came out in five minutes. Jerry followed, and I fanned
my body with the towels to dry off. With the towels wrapped around me, I hurried to my lemon-yellow kettle, filled it, and
set it upon the electric burner. The coil was red when I finished dressing, and there was a rap on the outside door.
I let John and Michael in. Then I proceeded to make myself breakfast. We engaged in trivial chatter until the telephone interrupted
the banter. I was surprised to hear Garry on the other end.
"When do you want me to come over?"
"I didn't invite you over," I protested.
"John told me that I'm to come over for a story. Bill Landers is doing local coverage."
"It's for you," I motioned to John.
I waited until the conversation had finished, which was after Jerry joined us. John, seeing that we were all together, told
us of the plan.
Because of the familiarity I'd had about the case, I was about to replace Jerry in the marathon. On this way could we determine
what the psychopath intended. Jerry suggested running a parallel route, but we agreed that it could blow the charade. I didn't
like it at first because I was not sure of playing a convincing rôle.
"Oh, you'll be convincing with a prosthesis!"
I retracted with horror.
"There's no way I'm having a leg amputated for this case!"
"Don't look so appalled, George," Jerry retorted. "it will only look like a prosthesis. In fact, it will be symbolic, and
it will allow you to be armed."
"Oh, it's a dummy prosthesis," I realized soothingly. "Somehow you guys know how to make me nervous needlessly."
Garry and Bill arrived at two that afternoon to tape an interview where I would take Jerrys place in the marathon. By that
time, I had learned how to run with a false prosthesis. At that time, we didn't worry about the falsehood. Our goal remained
to smoke out the psychopath. Both Bill and Garry had permission to follow us, anticipating an answer from this masquerade.
I knew the novelty would wear off with the time it would take to do the job.
According to the media, Jerry was seriously injured and under guar in intensive care.
Despite his protests, Jerry would follow the marathon from a distance, at the times with long pants and incognito and guarding
runners.
Meanwhile, I spent part of that Sunday night watching myself proclaim a more modest goal of ten kilometers a day in Jerry's
place until he'd recovered sufficiently to take up the slack. On Monday morning the Sixteenth, before they began dismantling
the décor of the Arts Festival, I began the strangest run of my career.
The weirdness dissipated as I learned to run the most efficiently and convincingly on a fake prosthesis. The cover went thusly:
although I have two legs, I so wanted to take up the slack that I decided to imitate Jerry's run.
I soon became inured to running every day. It was necessary because nothing had happened. Rather than becoming frustrated,
I became engrooved in the entire marathon. Jean-Paul Sartre would say I'd found a greater purpose to existence. Due to the
publicity, throngs came out to see me run in Jerry's place. All the time, I was in constant contact with our van. Therein
lay the only advantage to this supplantation. Our van was the only one there and didn't follow the original path which Jerry
ran incognito.
Ten days passed without incident. We were in the environs of Pittsburgh. It was a beautiful Friday afternoon, the Twentyseventh.
My skin had roughened, burned, tanned, and freckled further. My hair had bleached out to a lighter blond, as if it had been
peroxided. The rhythm enveloped my senses along the quiet stretch of highway. I would be in Pittsburgh the next day to announce
Jerry's resumption of the marathon. From there, others would guard him. All I had to do was to enter Pittsburgh amid a cheering
crowd. My fervent hope was to secure a job in the city before I returned to State College.
Animals often bothered me by racing along the route, but it had been merely noisome. However, this time I experienced instinctive
fear when I heard a pack of dogs behind me! When I stole a backward glance, I was a dozen dogs' descending upon me not a hundred
meters away! When Garry and John jumped out of the van to deter them, I realized a sinister possibility. My eyes traced the
mountainous horizon. I picked out a silhouette pirouetting a rifle toward me on the left side. As late as I dared, I altered
my path to elude the shot. Alas, there was no ditch nor trees to take cover. Purely for evasion, I pulled out my pistol out
of my fake prosthesis and fired at the rifleman. I knew he was over a hundred meters away of my reach.
Fortunately, Michael had been alert. He accelerated the van past John, Garry, and the dogs in time to cover me just after
the third shot. Then I jumped in, he screeched to a halt, and soon John and Garry joined us.
"Whew!" panted Michael vicariously. "I didn't think you'd get in there so quickly and safely."
"Neither did I," I commiserated.
"What tipped you off about those canines?"
"Garry, I think you remember our encounter with those people in State College. After that incident, I took no chances more
than necessary for this charade. Why didn't anyone tell me that Keiths had gone into Pittsburgh yesterday?"
"George, how did you know that?" exclaimed John. "I was supposed to tell you the plans tonight. In fact, Phillips just told
me at noon that Keiths had arrived in Pittsburgh early this morning."
"That does it! This entire run has been for naught. Let's see how close I am," I said as I stepped out of the van.
"George, are you crazy?" Michael yellowed.
"No, and neither are the people with which we're dealing. I suggest you look where the shots were fired."
John sneaked out of the van, looked around the arętes, then joined my trek. Although the first bullet had just missed me,
the other two had missed even farther in nearly a straight line parallel to my path. Now the pieces were fitting together.
By this time, both Michael and Garry were accompanying us. I had seen enough.
"Okay, buddies, let's resume the run."
"But George, what about the --" John truncated his statement. All the dogs were gone!
As I'd expected, the rest of the day had no further incidents. I was done in late afternoon at the municipal building. I braced
myself for a climax to the case. After supper, went to the Pittsburgh Hyatt to meet Phillips. Garry did not join us due to
his reporting at the station where he worked.
"Well, what's on the agenda tomorrow?: John asked Phillips after we all sat down.
"It's quite simple. Tomorrow Król runs to the Triangle and makes a speech. Obviously he will have to end the marathon there
because of the incident this afternoon. It's reprehensible, but we have no idea who's behind it."
"George thinks he has an idea," ventured Michael.
"Really? What have you discovered?"
"That these people are after Keiths, not the marathon. The shooting this afternoon proves it," I answered.
The telephone ring, and I answered it. I watched Phillips as I muttered, "Yes...yes...no, he's not here,...yes, you should
catch him,...so long."
"Someone's looking for Garry White. I don't know when he'll get here. Anyway, here's my deduction. I traced the four shots
in a line parallel to my path. Despite the apparent danger, the three of us did another run by investigating the area. Didn't
you find it odd that I arrived nearly an hour late?"
Phillips was fare secco, so I continued.
"That's what convinced me that the shots purposely missed me. You'd thought the delay was because I was overly cautious. I
was gathering evidence. Each shot was farther from me.
"Wouldn't you expect that because of your evasive tactics?"
"No, I would not. You see, I had not a place for cover, until Michael arrived with the van."
"Ah, but you shot back," retorted Phillips.
I looked at him straight in the eye.
"How did you know that unless you had been the shooter, let
me know how you knew it?"
"Garry White told me."
"As for the evasion, the shots were consecutive, which means the shooter knew he was out of range after I drew my pistol,
So, he shot at specific intervals without taking cover.
"Second, I stopped after the first shot, yet he missed more so! I was watching the aręte. He ducked out of sight before the
van reached me after firing the third shot."
If he'd ducked out, where was the fourth shot?"
"There was no fourth shot. The gunman didn't expect Michael to react like that. I guessed that there'd been a planned fourth
shot."
"I'd thought there were only three!" John exclaimed.
"Where does this bring us?" Phillips continued.
"This uncovers the mystery. Someone planned this ruse to throw us off the trail. John, who thought up the idea for me to replace
Jerry?"
"Why, Phillips did. I assume it had been from higher up."
"No, John, I checked. Phillips thought up the substitution to smoke out the target. It follows he also knew there was supposed
to be four shots, which I why I set up this interview. He intended us to think there had been a psychopath out to get any
marathon runner. Jerry has been the real target."
"That's absurd," Phillips rebuffed. "Why would I want Keiths dead?"
It seems your gambling has cost you a considerable amount of debts. My investigation has uncovered at least ten thousand.
Only you had the information where Keiths was all the time. I haven't all the facts yet, but someone in Connecticut can inherit
much money upon an insurance policy taken out on Keiths's life since his struggle with cancer. They agreed to pay you upon
execution of the contract. In essence, they hired you to put a 'hit' on him."
"You cant prove anything!" Phillips roared defensively as his right hand ducked into his jacket.
John threw an ashtray to delay him long enough for Michael and me to jump him. I grabbed his right wrist and whacked it on
the coffee table. The pistol still pointing upward, discharged into the ceiling. John clobbered him on the jaw. I had the
gun and stood up, feet spread. Then Garry burst into the room with the police.
"I know you guys had to get a warrant, but what took you so long?" I remarked lugubriously.
An hour later, the five of us were sitting in the hotel bar. After our first toast, I exposed all.
"Garry, it was nice of you to confirm my suspicions. The timing was almost perfect."
"It was nice of you to give my station such a scoop. It gave me a promotion."
"Was the attempt to shoot you the primary clue to this case?" Jerry inquired.
"Why, yes. I just couldn't believe that I had been the target. A psychopath would not have waited ten days. It was the fatal
mistake. Probably the most egregious was the lack of clues. If no one had been following Jerry, how did he know the itinerary?"
"Call for Mister Król!" the bartender yelled. I arose and walked to the bar.
"Great news from Connecticut. We've apprehended the Keiths relative who put out the contract."
When I told Jerry at the table, he was rather upset, but I downplayed it. The next day was glorious. Jerry and I ran through
downtown Pittsburgh, but Jerry made the speech. Then I bade the marathon adieu with my cohorts. The case provided me with
many opportunities to interview in Pittsburgh.
A few months later, I had just stumbled into my place when the telephone rang. I had been up all night at a front desk job
at a motel down Atherton Street.
I had been thankful that I had found a job to keep me in State College instead of living off my mother in Wilkes-Barré. I
execrated the annoyance at 8 AM. I picked up the noisome instrument.
"Hello"
"Is this George Król?"
"Speaking"
"This is Mark Macleroy, calling from Pittsburgh."
"Hi, Mark, what's up?"
"I need you; I'm in trouble."
"I don't know if I could get away. How serious is it, and could anyone there help?"
The voice was almost entreating.
"Please, George, you told me last April to call you if I should have big trouble. I've consulted a lawyer who's been of minimal
help."
"Okay, fortunately it's a Saturday morning. I can get away for a few days for a buddy. I'll drive right over. When can I meet
you and where?"
Mark gave me specific instructions. I was in Pittsburgh by noon. I left instructions that I might not be in on Monday night.
I also notified my substitute.
Mark met me at the rendezvous, and I followed his car to his apartment. Mark offered me a martini, which I accepted as I slumped
my fatigued being into the brown sofa in his livingroom.
"I'm in danger of being accused of embezzlement after only nine months at Cantaloop."
"What makes the authorities suspect you?"
"I was an endorser of checks that past three months. Somehow several small amounts every week disappeared. I did not notice
it until yesterday. Last night, the branch president called me warning that there was going to be an investigation."
While I digested this revelation, I studied Mark's features. He was a short man, about 1.70 m, straight hair parted from the
left side, a small bulbous nose shaped like a slide, and a square jaw. Because he was always cleanly shaved, he looked boyish.
Normally, he engaged in banter, but the banal expression hid beneath a serious countenance.
"Did you consult a lawyer?"
"I've had one since I was promoted. I have a meeting at two this afternoon, despite its being Saturday."
"Okay, I'll come with you, and I'll size up the counselor while he talks with you. How about some lunch before we go?"
While Mark was in the kitchen, I called my connections with the Pittsburgh police to procure that angle of this fast-developing
case. It was also a precautionary measure I've often found useful.
"George!" Mark shook me. "It's time to leave."
I felt as grumpy as a bear. I could see Mark hated to wake me from a nap, so I smiled. Mark beamed back while my conscience
spurred me to get on with the business. This time we took Mark's car to the office of Ned Nyquist, attorney at law.
Nyquist's office showed sumptuous furnishings to match a presumptuous personality. I wondered why Nyquist wanted to meet with
a client he surely did not know well. What disturbed me was waiting for us without acting impatient. We were almost fifteen
minutes late!
"Fortunately, I could squeeze you in," Nyquist broached.
Nyquist tried to assuage Mark's fears. He advised Mark to call upon him on Monday if Mark should need him, and that was all!
I felt totally inadequate. I suggested we call upon Leo Matus to find about the progress of the investigation on Monday, but
Mark insisted we wait. I called Wilkes-Barré to have my mother search the background on both Mantus and Nyquist. Then I went
to sleep on Mark's couch.
Mark's telephone was the next thing I head. I no sooner turned over when Mark walked into the livingroom and answered it.
Mark gave me a nonverbal nod, so I arose dragging along a quilt. I wrapped the quilt around myself and grabbed the receiver.
"George, I've found something on both Nyquist and Mantus. However, I can't get into their records until tomorrow."
Now I'll have to make contingency plans. Could you come to Pittsburgh to defend Mark?"
"I don't know about my workload, but I would if you'd ask me to do it."
"Okay, Mom. I'm going back to State College tonight after I finish up a few things in Pittsburgh."
We perorated the conversation, and I turned to Mark.
"You were sleeping on the couch without a cover," he replied to my unspoken question.
"Could we contact anyone who knows about Mantus?"
"Not on Sunday."
"Could we get into the bank today?"
"Why, sure, I have the keys."
"Okay, Mark, let's get ready and get over there. I have a few questions for your comps."
Over an hour later, Mark drove us to his parking place. I was surprised to see no guards. Mark told me that they work only
at night. The job may be easier than I'd thought!
Mark led me to his office, sat down, and adroitly worked his personal computer.
"Try Nyquist."
Mark raised his eyebrows, but he did so. The screen showed Nyquist was on the bank payroll. This was not unusual because the
bank had referred Mark to Nyquist.
"Is that all the information you can get?"
"We could get more at the comp center."
Given that we could only get a listing of the corporate lawyers, as he trotted towed the center. Although I had longer legs,
Mark was unlocking the door when I caught up some one hundred meters down the hall.
I followed Mark into the center. He adroitly dove into the terminal. The information affirmed Nyquist's connections with both
Mantus and the bank.
"Is it possible to interfere with this comp from the outside?" I pointed with my left index pointing and my right hand's resting
on Monark's shoulder as I stood behind him.
"Sure, if you knew the password."
"Okay, give me the tap-in knowledge before I leave tonight; I may need it."
"What else could we do here?"
"Of course! Check upon yourself!"
Mark gave me a quizzical look. However, he pinched in the keys. We vied for the more aghast -- there was no file!
"We've seen enough, Mark. Let's go."
Mark quickly shut down the center and raced after me toward the exit.
"Whoa!" I stopped myself and Mark simultaneously. "Could we get into Mantus's' office?"
"You mean steal something?"
"If you should regard obtaining personal information without using it for personal gain as burglary....If you would trust
me, and i be right, this may be the only chance we'll have."
"We'll need the password!" Mark protested.
"C'mon, Mark. We can get it!"
"Huh?"
"Suppose you were the secretary and needed such information, -- now where would you find it>"
"But Mantus's secretary doesn't have a terminal!"
Exactly. So the secretary would have to get into the office to use the comp. Of course, only the executive would have access
to his offices. Thus, we get in and find out."
Mark was unlocking the door as I closed the outer office door. Using his password, Mark gained access to all the passwords.
I had him hold the screen while I while I copied down all the executives. Then we used Mantus's passwords to access his filed.
Despite our ingenuity, we could find nothing.
"Just as I'd thought, but these passwords may come in handy," I remarked as Mark switched off the comp. Suddenly, I sensed
danger enough to steal out to the corridor. Mark heard it too, as he locked the door. I estimated that we had about fifteen
seconds to egress, so I scanned for a corner and found one some twenty meters away. Mark was now locking the outer door.
"Where does that path lead?"
"It's a cul-de-sac," Mark replied.
"There's no other way out in time," I whispered.
We leaped toward the corner. I checked each door had been lock. Finally, my wrist turned a knob.
Mark heard the latch click, but my pantomime silenced his objections. Wordlessly, we slipped inside, locking the door behind
us. Sure enough, soon we heard voices in the corridor. Mark identified one as Mantus and the other as head of security. They
checked each door and found one unlocked. The guard drew a gun, and they went in.
I unlocked the door and saw that the open door was some ten meters farther down on the same side. Signaling that the coast
was clear, I led Mark out the door while obliterating fingerprints on the doorknob. Mark then led me back to the stairs, and
we returned to his office. We calmly left his office to return to the car, although I hoped that no one would confront us.
We got in and drove away.
"Whew! You surely take chances," Mark sighed lugubriously.
"You'd better have a good reason to be at your office today. They must have seen the car in the lot. I just hope no one could
identify me!"
"What'll we do now?"
"I'm going back to State College to try out my contacts on this case. I suggest you pack your things."
"Why?"
"If I be correct, tomorrow you'd be fired ...."
"But they didn't see us," protested Mark.
"It has nothing to do with today. More likely, you're being framed for embezzlement. That is the only reason I can deduced
from you file."
"Which means someone was tempering with it when we logged in."
"And someone had alerted Mantus and security that we had gone to my office."
"Correct. I smell an insidious plot cooking. Tonight, I'm going to tap into all the executive files before they should close
them off.
"Who are they?"
"Either the crooks, company officials, the police, some of the above, or all of the above."
"Should I leave Pittsburgh, won't that be admitting guilt?"
"Nonsense. You're staying in Pennsylvania. Remember to bring your files to the tryst."
"Any other appurtenance?"
"No, Just make sure you bring all files on your sojourn with Cantaloop. We may find come clues upon who's framing such a fine
man as yourself. Just remember to come dressed in a suit."
"Right. Anything Else?"
"Yes. Don't wear a white shirt!"
We laughed at that facetious comment.
It was well along to noon when I sat down at the keyboard. I had spent most of the morning getting into the files. Mark's
file showed up with the connotation of a former employee! I checked up on the suspects using Mantus's password.
Someone blamed Mark for embezzlement, and there must be a frame in the works. Outside of a few suspects, I had to admit that
I needed more information. I began checking the list of employees, looking for a consistent record of deposits. I heard noon
ring, so I stopped for lunch.
"Hello."
"George, I have some bad news."
"What happened, Mom, no inside info on the suspects?"
"None of them have records. I suggest you come here for another case."
"Another case? This one's just starting!"
"It involves a missing high schooler."
"How long?"
"He's been missing a month. The parents are my clients, and they've been quite upset."
"Couldn't they get police assistance?"
"I'm afraid that it hasn't been enough. In fact, they asked for you to help. They're not wealthy, but they do want their boy
back."
"Mom, if this should keep up, I won't be able to keep a steady job. Besides, I expect Mark to be here tonight. They fired
him as I had suspected.
"If that be true, you'd soon need my help."
"Yes, I'll let you know. Could you keep me posted on the missing teen case? I'll try to get there whenever this case ends."
It was almost time for me to leave when a knock on my door interrupted my reverie. Mark stood in the doorway almost smirking.
"I suppose you were expecting me."
"You're late!"
"Let me in, and I'll tell you why."
I would have never guessed what Mark revealed. I was correct in the sequence up to the firing. Afterwards, Mark went back
to Mantus to express my assumptions. Mantus agreed to investigate while Mark was nominally fired. So, Mark gave Mantus my
address and number, and he wished Mantus good hunting.
"How much later was this meeting?"
"Oh, about 6 PM, after the building closed. I had taken my keys with me. I went back to retrieve a few things from my desk.
Then it occurred to me how you masterfully predicted what was going to happen. So, I decided to talk again to Mantus who,
after all, is my mentor. We trusted each other immediately.
"Mantus told me that the circumstantial evidence was so overwhelming that he had no choice, but that he would have a promotion
for the inconvenience. Should he find me the culprit, I would face criminal charges."
"It sounds fair to me," I admitted. "Now, if you'd excuse me, I must get to work. You can have my bed until I get back."
"Thanks, I can surely use the sleep."
Mark intended to pay for his board. He went out shopping while I warned him to be inconspicuous because I was now allowed
boarders. Furthermore, it could lead me into charges of abetting a criminal. I began to worry when we did not hear from Mantus.
It was Wednesday morning when Mark woke me from a somniferous trek. Rolling over, I looked at my clockradio. Before I could
protest, Mark held up a copy of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. Under the headlines proclaimed that Mantus had been dead the
previous morning!
Mark answered my questioning eyes.
"I am the prime suspect. Someone murdered Mantus Monday night!"
I felt my body jolt. "Mark, did you?"
"No, he was quite alive when I left.
"But you're not there!" I realized how guilty I had made Mark look.
"I've been fired. Whose side are you on?"
"I'll show you," I dialed the phone. After ten rings, I hung up. I flipped on my comp and began a furious search. Using a
contact code, I found the Pittsburgh police notices.
Mark's eyes lit up. "Hey, that's great."
I gave him a serious gaze.
"It would be so much better if we were both there right now."
Turning back to the screen, I continued, "The autopsy report states Mantus died sometime between 4 and 8 PM Monday night."
|
