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Originally called Daring Deer and Fifth Fourth
I was soundly sleeping after a hectic Thanksgiving weekend at the motel, when a persistent tinkle nudged me out of dormancy.
I opened my sleep-imbued eyes. As my vision grew clear, my gaze turned to the source of the tenacious sound. My telephone
was not sitting atop the folding table upon my desk as usual. On the desk was the familiar grey double wire which led to the
bottom drawer of the desk. -- I had stuffed the phone among my towels.
I sat up in my bed, and I opened the drawer. I had to take four towels off the apparatus before I could pick up the black
receiver.
"George, this is Michael. I have a curious case for you."
"Couldn't it wait? I've only had four hours' sleep."
"Sorry, I forget you work at night."
"Yes, midnight to
8 AM."
"Should I call you again this afternoon?"
"Nonsense, it's already past noon," I insisted. "What's the case?"
"It may very well simply be about poachers. However, the angles suggest an insidious plot's brewing."
"Michael, specifics please; you're becoming as nebulous as I am when I don't want to reveal my thoughts."
"Do you know of the Fuchs farm?"
"Where is it -- near State College?"
"About ten kilometers north of the university; in fact, it's even closer to you. I'll give you the directions. Can you meet
me about 2:00?"
"Michael, if it be justice you want, I'd be glad to help. Give me the directions."
I wasn't a bit astonished when I met not only Michael, but also a few strangers, at the entrance of the Fuchs farm. John Cody
and Fran Cantwell stood by Michael's vehicle while I drove alongside.
"What gives, you guys?" I asked as I alit from my wain.
"Remember the story you told us? I think it had concerned the Lucas Farm. Don and you solved some mystery about oil on the
property," Fran recalled.
I grimaced as a wan flash of Don's comely countenance attacked my memory. Don had figured that one out before I did.
"Shall I assume someone's trying to take over this land too, and there appears to be no reason?"
"George, you've got it," lauded Michael. "This case has the same modus operandi. Farm animals disappear, fences cut, and people's
keep trying to buy the land."
"You guys had a geological survey done here?"
"Yes, but this time we've come up with absolutely nothing," Fran replied.
"Well, then I suggest we survey the ground."
"George, do you know how large the size of this place is? We're talking a square kilometer."
"One hundred hectares?"
"Do you have a better idea?" Michael asked rather earnestly.
"At this point, no," I admitted. "Just give me the details."
The owner of the land introduced himself simply as Mister Fuchs. The scenario identified itself as the same as the Lucas case
of nearly six years ago. Threatening calls for duressed sale followed property disappearance. Although the offers were in
fact fair ones, Fuchs refused to sell any land because it had always been his home. Further interrogation proved fruitless.
I suggested they inform the police about this problem.
"George, did you cop out with a tergiversation of this case?" Michael quested me as we walked back out to the cars.
"No," I glibly answered. "Have you ever taken a half-baked cake out of the oven?"
Fran played along with the metaphor. "No, I would leave the cake in."
"That's exactly what we're going to do. One cannot expect to solve a half-baked mystery. Unless we can narrow down the reason
why mysterious persons want the land, we cannot follow it up nor set a trap for said persons."
Frant agreed,"Okay, I'll keep watch on the cake and let you know when it is done."
"Now you got it," I concluded as I slid onto the seat. "Just you and Michael remember my working and sleeping hours," I admonished
as I started the engine. I drove away thinking that it may be the only time I saw the place, but my senses detected something
indeed insidious about the case.
Four weeks passed. I was packing on a Saturday afternoon intending to stay until Monday in Wilkes-Barré. Then I'd have to
be back in State College for New Year's Eve at the motel. Once again, the telephone summoned me. This time it was John Cody.
"George, the situation on the Fuchs property has come to a head. Someone stole all the cattle last night!"
"I'll be right there as soon as I call Wilkes-Barré to inform them that I'm not coming for New Year's.
"But George, do you think that it will take that long to solve?"
"John, I have been through this before. It is quite certain that this case will break before the new year."
This time I wasn't a mere spectator in the case. We were still clueless about where to look. Using walkie-talkies, John, Michael,
and I decided to roam around the periphery of the land. After several hours, we uncovered nothing. None of the fences appeared
tampered with. Given such lack of evidence, I began thinking of alternate routes.
Soon I found myself wandering in a lea. Snow sparsely covered the meadow, yet it gave no indication of anyone's former presence.
Then I remembered that the flurries had come this forenoon. I had reached another dead-end!
When we met again, I admitted reluctantly that we were still in a cul-de-sac. All the three of us could conclude was that
the fences apparently were untouched. There weren't any underground holes to speak of, and the snow wasn't thick enough to
conceal any hiding places. I could not suggest an inside job.
As it turned out, the next day brought more confusion. As mysteriously as they disappeared, the cattle came back! John suggested
that the pranksters simply gave up when we showed that we were serious, but I wondered about a latent motive.
Eight more weeks passed. It was the last weekend in February 1985. Once again trouble inchoated on the Fuchs farm. Once again,
I was aroused from slumber on a Saturday. This time Michael demonstrated the seriousness of the situation.
"George, the plot just thickened with more repercussions than you think. Did you know that Fuchs has a thirteen-year-old nephew
who comes there in the summers to help on the farm?"
"Michael, we weren't there long enough to get to know those people. In fact, I was only there briefly twice. I got to know
the grounds better than the people! In fact, this is the third time you've cried wolf," I used a metaphor.
"Well, you'll be interested in this cry. This time, after failing to scare Fuchs into avoiding economic ruin, the perpetrators
decided to use a new tactic; they kidnaped Fuchs's nephew."
I paused long enough to allow it to sink in. Now I was intrigued.
"Before I show up there again, is there something you've forgotten?"
"What' that?"
"Indubitably, they have been watching our reaction to their past capers. If we should show up again, we might be placing the
nephew's life in danger!"
"No, George. We've been working there on weekends. You won't be noticed so much."
"Huh?"
"John had been very suspicious of the whole situation, so we've been helping out there as part of police auxiliary undercover
with Fuchs' paying us like hired hands."
"How'd John do that?"
"He was sure that a recurrence would happen. He knows the Fuchses very well."
"Well, John was correct!"
"I think we should have a strategy meeting at your place, at least before we show our faces at Fuchses'."
"Fine, Michael. In the meantime, I'll do some checking on this mystery."
Without explanation, I hung up the telephone, sat down in front of my comp and tapped into city hall. Before long, I was checking
into the deed of the Fuchs farm. As expected, the farm had been in the family for generations. I then obtained a plan of the
property. There were several abutting properties all along the square kilometer. By this time, Michael, John, and another
man arrived.
"George, meet James Busby," John introduced us.
Busby moved forward and shook hands. He was dark like Michael, but with straight hair and hazel eyes. Under his skicap spilled
long, dark hair which covered his ears. A further look revealed long sideburns which dwarfed his attached lobed ears. His
nose and cheeks were lentiginous. with black freckles. His stature was average, in between Michael's and John's slight variation
in height. Finally, his slide nose and his square jaw surrounded a toothy grin. I could feel warmth radiate through the cold.
"So you're the notorious George Król," he broached facetiously.
"Yes, but it does have its disadvantages, Jim."
"Please call me Buzz."
"I certainly will. Please sit down, everyone, and tell me what's going on."
"It seems quite simple. Someone kidnaped Fuchs's nephew with the proviso that the deed to the farm is ransom for his release
and the proffered cash," John began. "It is rather ingenious."
"Then I'll be perspicacious. Despite the illegality of the 'transactions", they have a facially valid deal. Furthermore, this
does give us a clue. Why did they wait two months to start up again?"
"Perhaps they thought that time was on their side, and now it is not," Buzz answered.
"I think so, too. One possible avenue is the land itself. I've checked the deed and any recent surveys to find nothing. Here's
a map of the farm and its surrounding area. Because there're four of us, I suggest we each take a side. When you check on
the adjacent lands, go over everything. We must find the motive for this caper."
"Why can't you do that on the comp?" Buzz asked somewhat irritably.
"Because only some information is available on the comp."
I demonstrated by using my side. Only the see appeared, the other information did not break down beyond a list of the nine
property owners.
"Given today's Saturday, and such searching must wait until Monday, let's look along the fences again."
"Why so?" John questioned.
"There must have been some way they escorted the cows in and out, or they hid them somewhere on the land."
"Unlikely, George," Michael rebuked. "The Fuchses know that land. They searched everywhere on that land where cows could go."
"Which leaves us back where we were some two months ago."
"Even more so, George, look outside!" John added.
Through the open blinds we saw the beginnings of a fierce snowstorm. I immediately suggested that we meet at the Fuchs farm
tomorrow. They left, and I returned to mundane tasks.
 I pulled into the parking area around noon. Buzz met me as I stepped out.
"Are you going to search the place with fifteen centimeters of snow on the ground?"
"Actually, the storm may have been a break for us."
"How do you figure that?"
"Already the sun is out melting the snow, so let's get out there before a clue melt with it," I answered.
"Are we checking the fences again?" Michael interrupted.
"No, it's not worth it," I replied. "These people won't leave clues so obvious in the snow if there be no reason to risk our
finding them. Instead of indication that they had taken something, let's look only for indications that they had been here.
Look for signs of mineral surveys; anything else is a bonus."
When I searched my section, I started the farthest from the fences. I still looked for signs of air transports. I ran into
many groves near the east fence, so I searched for hiding places. I took time to observe the hibernal spender. Thanks to my
patience, I noticed a tree at the end of a grove as artificially weird. Usually blown snow ran up along the trunks, but this
trunk had a line along the snow into the ground.
Kneeling down by the hole, I saw that it extended beyond the ground, like a stick. A panoramic view revealed that I was at
the corner of a grove. I then walked to another end of the grove. This time the hole was aweather, so the snow occulted the
mark.
About one hundred meters away was the fence. I debated momentarily whether to approach it. Instinctively, I casually sauntered
toward the fence along a circuitous path. I followed the snow along the fence and came to a break. Some twenty centimeters
was another crack. I leaned over to examine the wood on the other side. Snow packed into the cracks on the other side. Along
the post I found a wire loop. That discovery cinched my suspicion. All I needed was a further look into the deed on that property.
I picked up my commlink and called off our search. Everyone was surprised when we reconvened.
"I don't think we must search through all those deeds, just the ones on the east side near the center."
"Okay, George, what did you find?" Michael asked.
"Enough to convince me that the Fuchs have an unfriendly neighbor along the eastern boundary."
"Can't you take us there?" Buzz inquired.
"No, I was sure that I was being watched when I was there. When is the deadline?"
"Midnight, tomorrow night," John imposed.
"Which is only three days before the end of the month," I added. After a pause, I concatenated0, "This reason is why we four
must get in there tonight. Who's with me?"
It was unanimous. We agreed to come back at different times to be inconspicuous as possible. I checked upon the Cassadini
deed. This time I checked it carefully from my minimum information. I had enough information for an affidavit.
Nine o'clock rang while I was speaking to John. We were waiting for Michael.
"Wouldn't it be easier to call the cops for a disturbance?"
"No, John. We want to get this operation shut down. Don't forget I convinced a neutral magistrate to issue a warrant. Probably
cause isn't exactly certain, but I did give considerable circumstances to fulfill the requirement. My reputation is on the
line and probably the life of Buddy Luke, the nephew."
"Just what did you swear to?"
"I see Michael's here. Buzz, come on."
The night boded clear, and Orion dominated the night sky. Because of the strength of the late February sun most of the snow
had melted. This gave us a bit more room to breathe because now we never had to worry about leaving footprints. When we attained
the nearest grove, I explained our situation. As quietly as possible, we slipped past the hundred meters to the fence. I then
showed why the fence had been so important. fortunately, there were no alarms along the border, so I just had to fix the mechanism
to work in our behalf. Then we placed the fence back in position.
"George, how did you know that the fence flattened so well?" Michael inquired while we sneaked along the property.
"Actually, I didn't look at the fence suspiciously until I had discovered the remains of stakes in the nearest grove. Why
would someone stake a grove unless to hide a crop? Then I realized that they only did the closest one to estimate the area
they would gain by taking over the farm. When I looked at the fence, there was no snow on it, but there was snow packed in
it. That told me that the Cassadines took the livestock into there. In fact," I concluded. "Here's probably the building they
had housed some of the animals."
By now, the Fuchs property was out of sight, some two hundred meters away. We were standing in front of a green barn with
some two stories about five meters high. I hadn't even suggested searching it when Buzz broke the silence.
"Someone's coming!"
Alarm seized us as we scurried for the barn door along the side. Panic ensued when we couldn't force it open. I found myself
looking into Michael's brown eyes as we realized it. I immediately led the others to the back. This time I found an unlocked
window, and I climbed in wordlessly. Fortunately, the dark of night was my only greeting. In the nocturnal atmosphere, I began
exploring the area while the others climbed in.
Buzz was the last. As he closed the window, I could hear someone approach. I forged ahead into the main room to make room
for the others to hide in that back room. I bumped into a ladder and proceeded to climb up to the loft. I decided to crawl
to the front loft to see what was happening. From below my perch, I saw two armed men had approached the barn door! In a flashed
instant, the darkness in the barn vanished. My eyes only had time to find a shaded area, so I slipped behind a partially hidden
corner of hay. I quickly pushed it aside, sat down, and covered myself.
"Hey, boss, there're some guys in in the back of the barn!" someone yelled. I found myself hoping that they had run in three
directions. I heard someone come up the loft, so I steeled myself to immobility. That someone brushed past me and said, "Good,
you're still here!" Then he passed my haystack again. I heard footsteps, then the side door slammed.
Cautiously, I reached up and pushed the hay away from my face. I peered out from the hole as though I had been in a building.
To my astonishment, the far corner of the front loft was in my view. There sat a teenager bound and gagged, covered with a
black blanket. From under his slightly wavy brown hair, his blue eyes stared at me with stupefaction.
Because I had heard no sound, I uncovered my head for a panoramic view. Just then, someone came in, turned out the lights,
and hurried out. Outside the window, I heard them talk about guarding the border with the Fuchs property. I stepped out of
the pile and pushed it back against the corner. Then I took out my flashlight and slipped past the window. I sat next to the
body and ungagged the boy.
"Buddy?"
"Yes, it's I. Who're you?"
"Your uncle sent us to investigate the whole mess months ago; apparently it is breaking only now."
I brought out my pocketknife and freed him. Buddy grabbed me with a bear hug. I tousled his hair in return.
"Come on, we have to get out of here."
But how? Even though we were only some two hundred meters from the property. We couldn't sneak across by now.
"Is there an adjoining property?"
"Yes, but they soon will own it too. It's about two hundred meters due north," Buddy answered.
We climbed down the ladder, peered outside, and made a run for it. We passed the back of the barn into woods. Within a minute,
we escalated the border fence. I thought it safer if we had raced diagonally to the Fuchs farm. I knew it was only minutes
before they'd be searching this area!
We had just dismounted the second fence when we heard a shot. To my horror, I saw that we would have to traverse over a hundred
meters into the nearest grove. Another shot reported that the chase was alee from us. Buddy and I locked arms with each other,
and we sped for the shelter of the grove. We were ten meters away when I heard the chase get closer. A bullet whizzed past
our heads just as we hastened over the threshold.
We lay in the grove for a full minute before coming back to full consciousness. Actually, the roar of a pickup truck helped
us recover. Out stepped Fuchs from a parked truck just outside the grove in which we lay.
"Buddy," he shouted as he viewed our supine state.
"Get down!" I yelled while grabbing the youngster. A stray bullet missed Buddy by a decimeter over his head.
"Mister Fuchs, call the police now," I commanded to the prone man. He reached for the microphone and gave the prearranged
signal. I hoped that they would be in time. By then, I had no doubt that my suspicion had been correct.
Fuchs slid some rifles off the back of the seats. He distributed the three among us. We sprang into positions behind the grove.
I knew the épergne of the caper. I needed a plan not to straggle from our objective, for the final unraveling of the conundrum.
Using mutual coverage, I led the way across the hundred-meter dash. Gunfire announced that our foes were trying to extirpate
us. Still, no one shot at us when we reached the preternatural fence. We were crawling over the gravamen of our grievance.
when sirens ebulliently sounded in the distance.
Our task shifted from merely aiding our comrades to keeping our adversaries in the area with our finesse, deftness, and weapons!
The firing ceased as the chase had become tacit. I realized that I should have pushed us into this stage earlier, given the
late arrival of the police.
We were approaching the grange when one of the crooks had the hubris to fire at us. We scattered, and I dived into the shadows.
Michael returned the fire, and our sniper fled our advance. I tried to stand up, but my right knee would not coöperate. I
stumbled back into the shadows while the others pursued the tormentor.
Michael was the only one who did not follow the others. He stepped toward my position.
"George, are you alright?"
"No, I injured my right knee."
"Come on, buddy," he admonished, brandishing his broad shoulders. "I'm your crutch."
"Don't you want to be in on the fun?"
"Nah, John and Buzz just missed bullets twice here, so they deserve the fun."
Buddy even returned to assist me. The familiar Lieutenant Drack joined us for kudos.
"George, you were correct on all counts. We found hundreds of marijuana plants in a nearby greenhouse. They were going to
use the Fuchs farm for illicit drug growing and dealing. Even better, no one was injured in the mêlée."
"Except me, I'm afraid."
Drack looked at my sanguinary knee. A uniformed officer approached Drake, and he whispered something.
"We'll get your statement at the hospital. It turns out that you've cracked an interstate ring. Several of these mugs are
wanted in other states for drug dealing."
So, I rode to the hospital in a quiet ambulance. I had insisted it was not necessary, but Drack had it there anyway as a backup,
so he insisted that I use it.
"After all, you are responsible for this party."
So I had my first ride on a stretcher and an ambulance. During the wait, I thought of my blue cross coverage and recapitulated
what my thought processes were which had led to this adventure.
They were bandaging my knee when Drack came in with an entourage of police. Drack stood at the foot of the gurney and said,"
Alright, let's start with how you convinced a magistrate to issue a search warrant on the Cassadini estate. "
Actually, Lieutenant, I had no probable cause nor even suspicion until the time I found the stick prints surrounding the grove.
Why would someone mark off the area of the grove?"
"What led you to the groves initially?"
"John, the fences started the problem. I decided to look for a hiding place for the cattle. You see, I found no evidence that
the fences had been broken nor that the cattle had been air lifted."
"Helicopter?"
"Lieutenant, sometimes the improbably leads to the probable. I know using a helicopter would be too noisy and would leave
prints in the snow. Thus, I looked for a cache in the groves. Thanks to the snow, I found stake marks in the grove."
"Maybe the Fuchs had put them there," Michael suggested.
"No, then why'd they pull them out after the snowstorm? I realized then that it had to be for an estimate of how much land
could be used potentially for an illicit crop, one out of view of a helicopter, despite the ruling last year allowing the
police to trespass on suspicious ground by flying over the property and looking for anything in plain view."
"What led you to the Cassadinis"
"Lieutenant, the stakes had been only a hundred meters from the fence. The sun had melted away footprints, so I went to the
fence for clues. First, there was no snow on the top, which meant that someone must have tilted the fence. The snow packed
into the wood along the side told me that the fence came down flat. I soon found the hooks, and snow on the top of the rest
of the fence. That was enough for Judge Powell to issue a search warrant based upon my reliable deductions."
"George, you were right all the way," Drack commended. "We found cocaine everywhere in the basement packed into little plasticine
bags."
"Actually, I wouldn't have found Buddy if I hadn't gone up into the loft and dived into that pile of hay when the lights flicked
on."
"But, George!" Buddy interrupted. "That wasn't hay, it was marijuana!"
The laughter was thunderous. I had goofed twice that night. The nurse was finished with my knee. John took me home. Despite
my temporary handicap, I did not miss a day at work that week. The caper cost me a wounded knee due to a grazing bullet and
gave me two more buddies with which to solve mysteries. I'd say, not a bad weekend's work.
Little did I know that not all the perpetrators had been caught. It was the last Friday in June during a severe thunderstorm
when this case returned. Despite my manipulation, the rain soaked my packages. Fortunately, I had the food on the kitchen
table when the paper bags irreparably tore. Under mild imprecations, I wondered how I was going to get my laundry back dry.
I still had a half hour left.
During a severe blast, the telephone rang. On the third ring, I answered. Another clap drowned out my hello. Then the telephone
went dead. I was not distressed because I assumed the storm had cut us off. Before I knew it, I had to get my laundry and
get to duty at the motel. By that time, the storm had passed.
The next day, the telephone rang again. I was quite groggy when I answered.
"It's official, George."
"What's official?"
"I made judge!"
"You are taking the vacancy? Congratulations, Mom. What happened to your detective career?"
"Oh, come now. You know that I was always a lawyer first. I hope you get to see me preside soon."
"I don't know how to interpret that statement."
We both laughed a bit. At least there was some room for advancement in Wilkes-Barré.
"I called last night, but I forgot you were working. I rang twice before hanging up."
"That's strange. I'd thought that the storm had knocked out the lines. Well, anyway, congratulations."
I stood there in thought Perhaps it had been a short cutoff or a changed mind.
The Fourth was on a Friday. Already State College awaited its estival festival of the arts. Over the last year quite a few
of my buddies had left the area: John Cody, Michael Keller, and Fran Cantwell, I felt quite alone, particularly over battling
nascent cancer. But that was 1985, and the year was as dead as 1981.
One of the few left in State College proved to get this case started. I was just about to go to Reedside Markets Thursday
afternoon when Bill Landers rang me.
"I was just going for food before the final rush."
"I may have a client for you, George."
"Let me guess -- one who's indigent."
"Yes, but it may involve the authorities. One of our deejays found a gem alongside the Atherton highway. He's convinced it's
real."
"Wasn't there a jewelry robbery in Belfonte a week ago?"
"That's why he wants your help. The authorities show no interest because they think it's fake."
"Fake? Will it cut glass?"
Yes, but it is not quartz."
"Hmm, I'd like to check this out. Where'd he find it?"
"Near Holl's Motel. His name is Christ Stewart. He'll meet you there in fifteen minutes."
"It's a deal, Bill. I'm quite intrigued."
Because of the kilometer distance, I walked to the site. A slightly tall, dark, brown-eyed young man met me by the mound across
the highway from the motel. It was where Don had died nearly five years earlier.
Chris seemed ingenuously impressed by my appearance. We shook, and we were down to business.
"I found it here, right next to the curb."
"That indicates that they were traveling toward my place and away from downtown."
I bent down for a quick look, for cars kept whizzing by us -- the streak in the dirt definitely showed motion from a car.
The only question was whether it had fallen out or been thrown out. I thoroughly scoured the area. Where the onyx first hit
the ground was an indentation. I saw that I had to hold my conclusion until another experiment.
"How'd you like to test my hypothesis?" I asked Chris. His brown hair rode his nod. We got into his car, rode back to College
Avenue and began the experiment. Using colored pebbles, the size of the onyx, I threw them out of the window where I estimated
the trajectory. On the return trip, I used a different color of pebbles and slung them laterally into the ditch. Then Chris
parked his blue Dodge in the same place.
After examining the result, I was even more perplexed. The onyx had landed in between the red group with extra speed and the
blue group with only lateral speed! Thus, they showed that the onyx had some of both speeds. Then, it hit me. For the third
group, I threw green pebbles at a fortyfive degree angle. Sure enough, they ran into the correct vicinity.
"Chris, let's find as many of those green pebbles as possible and note where they land."
We found all six stones within ten meters of the onyx. The slalom curves they made in the dirt matched the original.
"What does it mean?" Chris asked.
"Someone threw the onyx out of a car. I'd say sometime last night."
"How do you know when it happened?"
"It rained yesterday afternoon. The onyx does not have any mud on it. Hence, the ground had to have been dry Furthermore,
the rain would have eroded the streaks."
"Now what do we do?"
"Given that the authorities are uninterested, I do not know. First, we must determine the genuineness of the onyx. I know
just the jeweler. We need a lapidarist. -- I'm a mere tyro in these affairs."
There was a jewelry store on the corner of College and Allan in downtown State College. I asked for Steve McGree, a trustworthy
jeweler who often helped me in such cases.
"Fibber" came back rather quickly. he looked pressed when he returned.
"It's genuine!" he whispered rapidly.
I felt my jaw drop. "Are you sure?"
"Quite. The authorities should be interested."
"I'm sure they will. Let's go, Chris."
Then my lights went out. Apparently, someone had sneaked into the shop without my detection. I knew some time passed, but
I was quite unsure. Once when I meditated, I imagined myself traveling through a blank space of solid, liquid, and gas. Even
though I was unconscious, I knew that I was hallucinating. Suddenly, I could not breathe -- Was I being smothered? No, I was
wet! I was in water! No, I was underwater! I began an upward flight to the surface.
 I bust into the air and drank it in with an audible gasp. With such fuel, I chugged to the shore. Then I realized I was in
the university pool in the dark. Pulling myself onto the concrete under the pool lights. I was a half-hour walk to my home
after I had gathered my other clothes. Someone had tried to make it look like an accidental drowning!
I arrived at the time indicated with no idea as to the exact time. Bob Russell had his door open as he watched television
in the dark.
"Bob," I called in, "Has anyone been here since this afternoon?"
"Not since four o'clock."
With that assurance, I unlocked my door. When I switched my light on, I discovered why I had felt something had been wrong.
When I left that afternoon at five o'clock, that door had been shut and Russell had not been home! Sure enough, lying the
floor in front of my bed was Chris Stewart. Just by the position of the body, I knew my only action. I flipped off the light,
shut the door, and slipped next door.
"Bob,call the police. Someone just used my home for an execution chamber."
Lieutenant Drack stared at me. "How dare you disturb my holiday?"
"Look, tomorrow's the Fourth; you still have the whole day."
"Today's the Fourth!"
I felt my aghast look.
"Then I've been unconscious for a day. Today's Friday?"
"I want to know where you took the dip."
I had not changed my clothes because I didn't want to disturb anything. Thus, I still had on damp clothes. So, I explained
the previous events as thoroughly as I could.
"I'll take a paraffin test to prove my innocence in this affair."
Drack looked surprised.
"Actually, we';d rather look under your fingernails. You see, the victim was strangled to death."
Another case against gun control. Okay, let's do it."
Before long, I was proven innocent, so I could work on the real reason they had killed Stewart in my room. While the police
dug up clues, I sat by to interpret them my way. I had the advantage of knowing how things were before I had left yesterday.
There were no signs of a struggle, so it was obvious that they had dumped Stewart's body in my room sometime last night. Stewart
had been dead for at least a day and coloration had been changed. I looked at the corpse as they hauled it out. Somehow, my
sixth sense told me that there was justice somewhere.
After the police had left, I went to bed. Why was Stewart murdered? Why did they try to blame me? Was that part of the plan?
I was determined to give McGee's jewelry store another visit. Unfortunately, now that it's the Fourth, the store was undoubtedly
closed.
Just my luck, the jewelry store was closed for a two-week vacation when I arrived there the next day. I contacted my influence
in the police department for the autopsy report. Stewart had been unconscious when strangled, which explained why there had
been no signs of a struggle. What intrigued me was what happened to the onyx. It was as if the case had never happened.
I went to WXXR and passed myself off as a reporter. Bill Landers was there and went along with the game.
"Chris was strange in ways other than the onyx case."
"How much did he confide in you?"
"Besides your prowess, I really can't say."
"Let's start there. Did Stewart ask about me before he 'found' the onyx?"
"Why, yes," Bill snapped his fingers. "He asked about you the day he began working here about a month ago."
If he had started working a month ago, his demo tape must still be here."
"Yes, they're put in a cabinet in the production room."
We picked up the key and went to the room. Bill opened the cabinet, and we soon eliminated all the tapes. The Stewart demo
tape just was not there! Somehow I expected as much. We then commenced to search the Stewart desk and other work areas. I
suggested we search where he lived. Bill slipped me the information as I left. The police decided to show up at the time,
so I slithered out the back way.
I arrived at the Stewart apartment house about five minutes later. As casually as I dared, I opened the front door. Fortunately,
no one was in the hallway. My mind debated whether to take the stairs or the elevator.
Suddenly the lift doors opened, and I stifled a startle. A middle-aged woman stepped out. My situation was like a camisade
at daybreak. I stared straight ahead and mounted the contraption, but I pushed one floor below to obliterate any tracks. Then
I sent the elevator three floors up.
This time luck was on my side. I was in the Stewart apartment within a minute. Where would the tapes be? I gloved my hands
and began searching the stereo tapes. To my chagrin, I realized that such a tape would probably lack a lucid label. I made
a premise that it would not be an erased tape, else Bill or the station manager would have noticed it. A label transmogrified
my thoughts to the concrete: ОНИКС. My knowledge of the Cyrillic alphabet
revealed the word "ONYX" phonetically. Not too soon, for someone was at the door!
Although I had left the door locked, I heard a credit card slide the latch back. Obviously, it had to someone Stewart had
not trusted!
Instinctively, I scurried to the bathroom. I stepped into the bathtub behind the shower curtain. By this time, the door had
opened, and two voices came in. I recognized a Slavic language which sounded like Russian. I looked at the tape I had just
swiped. The pieces are falling into place! I began contemplating a getaway when the occupants began babbling excitedly. Soon
silence fell in the outer room.
I peered out of the bathroom to discover the room devoid of human beings. I took a quick glance at the tapes scattered on
the floor and out the window at a cruiser. While my left hand slipped the tape into my jean jacket pocket, I rushed to the
door.
I had just closed the portal when the elevator bell rang. My sneakers helped me fly down the hall enough to pivot a corner
as the officers invaded the hallway.
Using the available technology, I pulled out my walkman and put the tape in. As I caught the elevator one floor below, the
tape began the play. It seemed like a normal demo tape until I had left the building. Then I discovered what Id hoped -- a
clue to this mystery.
Abruptly English ended and a foreign language began. I recognized its familiarity to the speech I had heard in Stewart's apartment.
I tentatively decided that it too, must be Russian -- Tentatively because I couldn't extricate my gut feeling that something
was wrong. Why would Stewart record something in Russian? I decided upon a premise that Stewart had recorded incriminating
evidence against foreign agents. It still did not explain why he had labeled the tape in Cyrillic, which could be easily detected.
It had been cool that July morning. By the time I reached my room, the heat had taken over. I flipped my jacket on the bed,
turned on the air cond, and sat down at my terminal. After twenty frustrating minutes trying to tap into police records on
foreign agents, I noticed that it was lunch time.
I was stirring the soup when the telephone rang. I reached over and brought both base and receiver to the stove.
"Did you find anything, George?"
"Bill, I found the demo tape with a coded coda. It sounds like Russian. I'm going to call Doctor Berkenmyer of the Slavic
Language Department to identify and translate."
I then explained the morning's incidents. Bill sounded incredulous on the other end. I asked when the station will be closed
down next.
"The station is usually closed from midnight to 6 AM on Sundays. Do you think that these agents will make their move then?"
"I'm certain of it. They are desperate enough to break in anywhere."
We caucused at the station just past midnight. It wasn't long before we settled into the ennui of the situation. We hid in
the production room, figuring that there was the most likely place that they would strike. By 2 AM, we both were sound asleep
on two of the chairs.
A noise interrupted my slumber. I shook Bill in the dark. Using nonverbal signals, we moved into position to surprise our
intruders. I struck first by grabbing the first figure to enter the room. The crash proclaimed the event when I found myself
on the floor. My captive wriggled free as I spent a confused moment in semiconsciousness.
Bill had been in hot pursuit before I picked myself off the floor. I couldn't dash out because I didn't know the direction
of the sequence. By this time everyone was outside. I staggered out of the production room intending to mind the place. I
couldn't even tell which door everyone had used.
I sat down in the control room so that I could stare outside and try to anticipate the next move. The temptation was that
our adversaries would give up, but I knew better. It then occurred to me that the antagonists might search my room for that
tape. My patience struggled with this thought for a few minutes when I decided to prepare to leave as soon as possible.
I realized that I had lost my sunglasses in the production room during the struggle. I had just turned a corner on the way
back when I saw an aperçu of one of the Russians. I dove behind the wall past flying splinters. Obviously, he had hidden in
the production room darkness during the commotion. A silencer provided a hyposonic discharge at my person.
My jean jacket was not bulletproof, yet I did have cover with a revolver in the pocket. I turned to fire into empty space.
Nonplussed by the disappearance, I searched for a clue. Not finding an escape route, I concluded the Russian had ducked back
into the production room. I'm no nyctophobe, but I knew that I made a fine target if I should approach the room in the light.
Flipping out the light switch, I stalked my prey. In my mind, I debated whether I should trust my reflexes or my night vision.
I had to be sure that the Russian was in the room, so I opted for reflex action.
Because the switch was relatively soundless, I chose to flip it with my hand. I was ready to shoot when the illumination flooded
the room with a few flicks. To my chagrin, I discovered no one in the room! Then I bent over to get my sunglasses, I saw something
else on the floor. I was on my hands and knees when I saw what it was -- a clue!
The gleam mocked me. My left index and thumb pinched an onyx! I dropped the stone in my jean jacket pocket just as I heard
Bill yell, "George, are you okay?"
Bill was running his index and middle fingers along the bullet skids in the corner. My fingers found the bullet still warm
and lodged in the wall.
"Yes, Bill. Maybe by this time tomorrow, I'll be even better!"
 Bill drove me home while I explained my recent findings. I gave him a pat when he suggested coming into my house with me to
check for intruders. There were none.
I took out the onyx. I used my fingernail, then each paring knife. Nothing scratched it. I picked up a piece of quartz which
did scratch the onyx.
I prepared a white vinegar solution -- and the onyx dissolved! It was paste! The revelation catalyzed my excitement and deduction.
I slept well that Sunday morning. It was well past ten when I arose. While in the shower, I contemplated the events. I was
rueful that the day was Sunday because I could not get much done. I tried a few ruses through the comp. McGee's business looked
fine financially, so he had no such method to lie about the onyx's being real. I just had to wait for the verdict upon the
tapes.
I gave the cassette to Berkenmyer for a promised translation. Although I had asked him to hurry, I had enough patience for
a few days. After all, the translation could take that long, but lead to an answer to this mystery.
While the days passed, I tried to get in touch with the federal agencies. Unfortunately, All I had were a dissolving onyx
and speaking Russian alone for investigation -- although the facts are intriguing.
On Wednesday, Berkenmyer called me with interesting news. I could feel my jaw drop.
"George, this language is not Russian."
"Then what is it?"
"I contacted other Slavolingusits. It is not a Slavic language."
I was crestfallen. I was so sure that I had the answer to everything. Somehow I was supposed to think that the onyx had been
genuine. Stewart had died for some germane and sinister reason. There must have been some reason for the WXXR invasion.
When I told Bill, he suggested meeting him in the XXR production room later the next day. I was willing to probe the tape
again.
About 4 PM, we began electronic scanning. Right where the audition ended was a clear stop.
"Could we change speeds?"
"Let's try faster," Bill suggested.
Speed change proved ineffective. Then I noticed that the other side of the clue band was blank.
"Why do you suppose that the other side is blank only up to the normal recording on this side?" Bill followed when I pointed
the peculiarity out.
"Perhaps the other side was blank before the recording."
Bill look confused.
"Of course, the tape is electronically 'flipped over'. We heard the recording backwards!"
Bill looked amazed. "Of course, and I know how to reverse the process."
I quickly produced a blank tape to record the actual taping. To our surprise, it was in clear and plain English!
Stewart: What happens after we convince Król that the onyx is real?
Russian 1: Simple. We get him to convince the police that the genuine items stolen in Belfonte are available in State College.
Russian 2: Of course, this must be done by the fifth fourth.
Stewart: You want to swing this piece of espionage during a national holiday? It's absolutely ingenious.
Russian 2: Don't forget we must be out of here by the fifth eleventh.
Russian 1: We will pay you off right before we leave at 1535 North Atherton Street, number twenty.
I gulped when I realized this was happening right under my nose! Obviously, they'd been keeping tabs on me, perhaps even with
the aid of a bug. It also explained how they so easily dumped Stewart's body into my room.
The tape explained why they had killed Stewart. It also provided the link.
My previous case with the Cassadinis was part of their network, and they sought revenge. They had set up Stewart to get me
in the case! I knew immediately that we did not have much time because that day was the tenth. I arranged with a neutral magistrate
to obtain a search warrant for number twenty. Then I called the State College police for the bust.
The rest of the tape was cryptic enough for me to want some time to ponder, but I didn't have the time. The cops coöperated
well. We had probable cause to search, which we did two hours later. Unfortunately, no one was in the room. They had left
not one hour earlier. We found no evidence. I went to work dejectedly. The FBI had the case in hand.
I was walking to my room when I met Janet Freming, the secretary of the apartments.
"What was the commotion in twenty?"
After I had explained the situation, she piped in, "Oh they said yesterday that they were going to New York!"
I was on the telephone in a flash. It was only past 8 AM, so our chances of catching them were excellent.
My work compete, I slept to noon. Bill called me to congratulate my work. Stewart had tried to blackmail the Soviet spies,
so the had killed him. The Soviets tried to blame me. It had been part of their plan to convince me that the onyxes had been
genuine.
The original espionage plan called for stealing real jewels and substituting past, then ferreting the real stones back to
the Soviet Union. They selected Stewart for the unusual bribe and me for the usual instrument. McGee had been coerced into
convincing me that they were genuine gems. The FBI found him prisoner at a nearby farmhouse. They were just in time to save
McGee's life.
When Stewart tried blackmail, the Soviets decided to knock me out and to kill Stewart. I would still serve credibility for
their sham. Ironically, I ended up in the pool when they could not revive me. that was the purpose of keeping McGee alive
-- to set someone else up again for credibility.
It would have worked save for the Stewart tape. I suspect the cassette was in Cyrillic alphabet for the police to find it
fast once Stewart had lowered the boom on the Soviets. It was unlikely any Soviet would know that English played backwards
sounds like Russian.
The rest of the year passed without incident. However, Mark Macleroy, my fellow MBA would call on me later the next year for
a new adventure.
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