“I’ve got a tutor. I start with him tomorrow. I hope it works. Thanks for everything.” She bent her fingers, waved a little good bye and walked out.
I’m going to miss her. She was a good worker and such a nice person. Could anyone take her place?
Chapter 23
Thirty-two
“What do you think? Should we ask the professor to have Thirty-two join us?” We were at my place, Ralphy and me. I was talking to him over my shoulder as I prepared another cuppa Nescafe.
“Who’s that, Jason?”
“I told you, he’s in my Modern European History class. He’s smart but he’s, what do you call it?”
“Weird,” Ralphy replied.
“I’d say an independent thinker. Did you know that he invented a sport?”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, Forensic Boxing.”
“What?”
“It would have been a first. He was trying to do some kind of franchising thing so he could make money from it. It never took off.”
“What do you mean, ‘Forensic Boxing?’” Ralphy asked.
“Well, it’s like regular boxing except when you get in the ring, you try to talk the other guy out of hitting you. Thirty-two said it would be great for everyone, ‘a sport for the whole family.’ If you’re out of shape or slow, it didn’t really matter if you were quick with the wit. Even girls could play,” I said. “He set up an exhibition match in the gym last year.”
“What happened?”
“He got creamed. He got one of the linemen from the Bear Cubs. They were dancing around in the ring, both looking like they knew what they were doing. Thirty-two starts to say something and before he finishes, the guy clocks him. He’s down for the count. When he gets up, he complains that he should have been allowed to finish his sentence. He said he was going to change the rules to allow that—the finishing of sentences before clobbering. He also mentioned that he couldn’t be understood while wearing a traditional mouth guard. I think that an improved mouth guard was going to be another source of income.
“He set up a return match for the next night—nobody showed up, including his opponent. That was that. Although, it did get written up in the Toilet Paper.”
“Doesn’t he drive a Colt? I thought I saw him in town,” Ralphy said.
“Yeah, I rode in it last week. Needs serious work,” I said. “I was waiting for him at the parking lot, by Palma’s office. And then he pulls up with this car which didn’t look too bad, dark red Dodge Colt with a dented hood and bumper, a two door, not a bad car. He’s at the curb and I’m about to get in when I see it. The air bag had blown and it’s in Thirty-two’s lap.
“‘What’s that?’ I asked him when I got it. It took a lot of effort to pull that door open.
“‘What’s what?’ Thirty-two says, ‘Hey, how do you like my new car?’ he asks me. So then I say, ‘You should give it a decent burial. And what’s that in your lap?’”
“He says, ‘Oh, this? Well it costs $1,500 to get an air bag fixed, you know, replaced and all of the sensors reset so that it’ll work again, and I use my seat belt all the time so I don’t really need it for safety, so I keep it out like this because I think it looks kinda cool and it’s sort of a built in napkin. When I’m eating soup, or pizza, while driving, it helps keep my clothes clean. See, look at my shirt. See how clean it is? And I just finished lunch.’
“He is kinda messed up. But, he’s great in physics and math so he can’t be a complete dummy,” I said. “Can he?”
Ralphy shrugged.
Chapter 24
Chicago
I dropped off the books at the county sheriff’s office first thing on Friday morning, nice drive. They told me that they would have results some time next week. It’s not a difficult process. They brush a powder on the surface and then blow off all of the excess. The powder adheres to the body oil that was deposited by our handling of the book. Pictures are taken and scanned into the computer. Then the prints are compared with the prints in the FBI data base.
It used to be time consuming requiring experts to analyze them but now, the computer checks the entire file of millions of prints in a few minutes. What takes time is waiting for other more important jobs to go through—and the paperwork.
Did anyone we know touch these books?
* * *
I am always amazed by my students. Sometimes they’re lemmings—do what their told. And sometimes they come up with ideas from who knows where. My eight o’clock’s were lemmings today, no questions, no nothing, they just sat there waiting for the bell. That’s kind of how I felt today too. Maybe I telegraphed that to them.
I only have an eight o’clock on Wednesdays—a good day to sneak out to Chicago and meet with my old friend, Leo. It’s only a two hour drive from Hastings.
I filled the Jag up with petrol—both tanks—and took Route 27 to 61. It’s always an enjoyable drive, especially today with its bright, clear, sky. Ready-to-harvest corn waited in fields next to the road alongside trees with apple red and banana yellow leaves that were soon to be pulled off by the rough autumn winds.
My buddy, Detective Leo Conti went directly to the Chicago Police Department from DePaul University. We both went to DePaul and have kept in contact ever since.
I thought about the kids as the road rolled by. In our short time together, they have grown into a team, thinking for the common good, and just plain thinking. Yes, the guys still give little thought to other people’s feelings but they’re getting better.
Veronica makes up for their insensitivity with her awareness of every gesture and word. It makes the guys—and me—afraid to speak in front of her. Jason and Ralphy now pause before speaking. This is a breakthrough on the level of communicating with extra-terrestrials.
An hour on the road and the view changed. Farmhouses and fields gave way to car lots, diners, fast food places. I was in the western suburbs of Chicago. After O’Hare Field, it was continuous humanity. Office buildings next to parking lots next to shopping malls next to apartment buildings, extending to the horizon. Every spot was occupied—no vacancy.
What should I tell Leo? We have a theft of something that would be hard to sell? It may be valuable to a collector or someone in the magic and spell casting business, but that’s it, no leads, no suspects. Maybe the California witch, or Wydra Beems, or Madame Petrovsky. That’s it, no one else. Should I just quit? Should I ask him to come on as a consultant? That would be hard to sell to MAW, a consultant to a consultant. I should give up and throw the whole case at Leo. This is what he does. He’d know what to do.
The Eisenhower Expressway leads right to the center of the city, the Loop. The traffic got thicker as I neared downtown.
We were to meet at Rockaburgers at noon on Lincoln and Fullerton, Chicago’s North Side. I found a spot after three times around the block, but it took ten sweeps to squeeze in and five minutes deciding if it was safe to leave it. Would the guy in front or the guy in back do the most damage? Finding parking here is comparable to winning the lottery.
If I were smart, I would have parked near the expressway and taken the L into town. The L goes everywhere and it’s a fun way to see the city and meet people. That’s the elevated train that goes to the Loop, the center of Chicago. And, it’s not just poor people transportation. During the rush hours, there are more suits on the L than real people.
Rockaburgers hadn’t changed: same outside tables, same big windows painted black at the bottoms and the same corny sign—a humanized hamburger, wearing a WWI German helmet, dancing with a ketchup bottle with lettuce trees and tomato trees in the background. My guess is the helmet signifies German beers are served—or the origin of their sausages.
It’s a red brick building, restaurant on the ground floor, apartments above. The bar was on the rig
ht and extended from the door to the end of the room with tables filling the rest of the room. There was another room that opened from the first. It was all tables and chairs. I picked a spot where I could see the door and sat. The light pouring through the front and side windows covered the floor. The back room had no windows and was lit by dim chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling. It looked like a cowboy bar that you’d find in London.
Leo arrived. He’s a stocky guy with a little hair around his round head. He extended his strong hand to me and exchanged his regular police scowl for a big grin. “The Professor, how are you?” he pronounced professor as three words.
I said, “I’m fine, how are you?”
“Overworked and overpaid,” he said.
“Really?”
“No, I just like to say that,” he said. “How’s academic life treating you? You looked like you gained a few pounds.”
“Thanks,” I said while self consciously patting my stomach, which, unfortunately, has increased in the last year.
“So, what’s up? I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“I’m on a case. An antique was stolen from our school library. Everyone’s relying on me to get it back and, so far, I haven’t gotten to first base. It’s a crazy case and I don’t have any suspects.” The waitress arrived. We both looked up.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Burger and fries and a coke,” Leo said.
“Burger with blue cheese and fries and a cup of decaf,” I said.
I continued. “I don’t know if I’m out of my league or what. The thing would be a hard thing to fence. It’s a one of a kind.”
“What is it?” he asked.
“It’s a bowl. A small bowl that—we think—was made in Greece about 500BC. It’s listed in several registers of antiquities with Braxton as the owner so anyone buying it would know that it was stolen.
“My take on it is that someone stole it not to sell but for some other reason. The problem is I don’t know what the other reason is. There are several reasons why someone would take it, the most common being to add to someone’s collection.”
Leo said, with a mouthful of fries, “Yeah, we can run your case through the city and Federal databases and see who comes up. There might be some Bozo in your town who is on our likely suspects list.” He swiped at the ketchup on his chin with his napkin. “If some guy did this for some reason other than making a buck, we have a problem,”
I like him saying “we.”
“Then it could be any nutcase out there. Someone without a record. That would make it tough.” He went back to his burger.
“So, how’s your love life, Frank?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. I think it’s either very bad or non-existent.”
“What do you mean?”
“I date this one girl every six months and then she dumps on me. The good news is she’s gorgeous and she doesn’t date anyone else.”
“So, you’re telling me you’re going steady with some good looking chick who gives you grief every time you see her but you only see her twice a year?” he said.
“You’ve summed it up perfectly.”
“Have you ever thought of say… abandoning her for someone less cruel? Someone who, crazy as it sounds, may like you?” he said.
“It’s a small town. There’s really not a large selection of unattached females. Although, I must admit, your idea has merit.”
“Speaking of women, how is Chrissy?”
“She’s only got Joey at home now. Both girls are in school, and they love it. Every day they come home with more stuff for the refrigerator door. Most of my paycheck goes for refrigerator door magnets. I can’t get enough of them.”
“I’ll send you some from school. I steal them from the admissions department.”
“Steal?” he said. “You would use the word steal in front of a cop? I think that’s a felony in itself.”
“Just a figure of speech. Admissions wants me to have them, wants everyone to have them. They think that if they are on your fridge for fifteen years, your kids will be subliminally attracted to Braxton U. Who knows, it may work. You could tell me in fifteen years.
“But getting back to my case, what do you think?”
“It looks like you have nothing to go on, a cold case. I would keep my ears peeled and hope he strikes again. Then you might get some evidence or a witness.” He squirted ketchup on his fries.
“How about setting up something as bait, something irresistible, something this guy can’t pass up?” Leo said.
“I don’t know if we have something like that.”
“You don’t really need anything. You just need for him to think you have. And then, when the guy comes for it, you grab him.”
“You make it sound so easy,” I said.
“It ain’t. You’ve got to put this in a place where only the thief would go. His presence there proves his guilt. And you have to let the whole community know about this and only you will know that it’s a setup. It’ll take a lot of thought for it to work.”
We finished everything except the ketchup and the napkins and said our goodbyes. Leo told me that he’ll get back to me on those databases and I should keep him informed on the case.
On the ride back, I thought about the setup. What could we use for bait? I don’t know if we know why the bowl was stolen in the first place. I could use an analytical mind for this.
Chapter 25
The Plan
I went directly to Landra Lodge’s office when I got back to town. There was no traffic in this direction so I made it back to Hastings before five.
Herman Walsh was at his desk outside of Landra’s office. “Hello, Herman, how you doing?” He looked up, a little startled either to see me or to see anybody. “Yeah, hi, how are you. What d’ya need?” Is it me, or is he so bland with everyone?
“Just came to say hello to Landra,” I said.
“Not business? She’s pretty busy. I don’t know if she’ll see you.”
“I’ll take my chances.” I walked into her office.
She looked up. “Didn’t I just see you? Don’t we get together every six months?” She was as excited to see me as always.
She was wearing a dark blue suit with a white blouse, and some kind of tie or scarf—her usual serious business attire. But that didn’t lessen her femininity or effect on me, on men.
“This is not social,” I said. “This is a mission of national security.”
She raised her eyebrows in an “Oh brother,” type of look. “National security?”
“Well, not really national security. More like help me solve my case so I’ll have job security. So yes, it is a serious security case.”
She shook her head. “What do you need?”
I got up and closed her door. Standing in front of her desk, I leaned my palms flat on it. “I need you to help me set a trap to catch a thief. Can you help me?”
“This is about the bowl theft, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said.
“You know, I think it’s just going to show up. This was probably some prank gone wrong, and now, because of all the publicity, they don’t know how to put it back.”
“I can’t wait,” I said. “If it’s missing at Homecoming, it’ll cause a lot of embarrassment to the school, and, to me.”
She stretched her arms on the desk and folded her hands. “What would you like me to do?”
“First, you can’t tell anyone. Only you and I will know about this. We need to let everyone know that we have something as good as or better than the stolen bowl. We have to set this up so that only the thief will come to the location that we have chosen for the piece.”
“What piece?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Either we’ll get another piece or give the impression that we have another piece. Maybe someone has unexpectedly donated something to us.”
“Like left to us in a will?
” she said.
“Yeah, something like that. What do you think?”
“I’ll see what I come up with and I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Great,” I said while bringing myself to my full five foot ten height. “How about some dinner?”
“We just did that. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Her warmth is legend. I put my tail between my legs and crawled out of her office. When will I learn?
* * *
“OK, here’s what I came up with,” Landra said when she called me this afternoon.
I spent my morning in the office doing class work things, something that I have been neglecting of late. I owe it to my students to give them challenging lectures and assignments. I’ve been doing this for six years so I pretty much know what to do next. It’s just that I feel guilty if the kids have to wait over a week for their papers to be returned. Also, it felt good to get away from the case for a while.
“We will let it leak out on some student web site that we’re getting another fancy bowl to take the place of the one stolen,” she said.
“How are we going to get it on the web?” I asked.
“One of your computer geniuses can write it onto some site,” She said.
“Maybe on a bulletin board?”
“That would work,” she said.
“By the way, one of my students got a website for us. Nothing fancy, just a picture of the bowl, an address, phone and fax numbers and a couple of words describing what we need, and a mention of a reward.”
“Any hits?” Landra asked.
“Nothing really, just some kids saying silly things like, “Yeah, I saw it on TV in New Orleans in January,” making reference to the Super Bowl. And, “It’s in the caf, filled with Sweet’n Low.” And another one just said, “California.”
“Kids,” she said.
I went back to my office.
Chapter 26
Really Followed
There was a sealed envelope on my desk with “F. Palma Confidential,” neatly written on the front. What a great name for a movie—I’d like Jack Nicholson to play me. It was Myrna March’s list of people who might have taken the bowl.
“I feel bad about naming these people. I personally think that none of them did it but they were here at the time of the theft,” she wrote in a big, easily readable hand in light blue ink. “Please keep these names private.” She signed it Myrna M.