* * *
“Security was lax on the bowl since it was in that same place for such a long time and nothing happened,” Ralphy said. I was just about to leave the office for dinner when he popped in. He was standing in front of my desk. “The person in charge of the collections is Wydra Beems.”
Wydra Beems, everybody knows Wydra Beems, I mused. She’s been around the school since before Arizona was a state, first as a student, then as an administrator, as library staff, and finally as head librarian. She is wiry and quick for a person who dated Hoover—the President or the Director, nobody knew for sure which one.
“Anyhow,” Ralphy continued, “the archive’s in the basement of the library and that’s where the majority of Braxton’s collections are. It’s one of those places that most people don’t know about. She said that the school has over 1,300 pieces in its permanent collection and it’s her job to keep track of it all. They are loaned to other schools and museums or are studied by students here in history, archeology, or sociology classes. Either the students come to the archives, which she told me she hates, or the object is signed out by the teacher and brought to the class, which she also hates,” Ralphy said while fidgeting with the small carburetor that adorns my window sill.
“And another thing, 1,300 objects? What, historic corn? ‘And here is corn grown by Lincoln’s brother for the inauguration,’” Ralphy said in a basso profundo voice.
I nodded in agreement. Thirteen hundred what in our library basement? “Well, what about the day in question? Was she there?” I asked returning to our main topic.
“It was a Sunday so she wasn’t there. She wasn’t there on Saturday either. She was there on Friday but she said she doesn’t remember the last time that she saw the bowl. She said she rarely goes up there because her office is on the first floor. She also works a lot in the basement— she calls it ‘the archives.’” He made quotation marks with his fingers. “It’s still the basement to me.”
“When you get your advanced degree, it’ll be the archives to you too,” I said. “So, when was it taken? It could have been taken a week ago, two weeks ago. How do we know?”
“We know that it wasn’t taken before Wednesday night because that’s when the cleaning people came. They would have noticed the broken glass and mentioned it to someone.”
“Yeah, that sounds reasonable,” I said, “but let’s check with them to make sure. I’ll call them tomorrow.”
I got up and followed Jason out the door, locking it behind me. I walked to the lot and got in my car. It started without a fuss. It’s been doing that lately. It is a 1987 XJ6 Jaguar that I love even though its reliability wears my nerves thin. I’ve replaced everything that could prevent the car from starting with good old American parts (made in China or Brazil) so it should run like a new car—which it does occasionally.
My place is in town, Hastings, a few minutes from the campus. In the mornings I pick up hordes of students from private housing who are trying to get a ride to school. On the five minute ride home, I try to get the fine arts music station from Chicago. Tonight, all I got was static. Does this mean solar flares? Will my satellite TV be down?
I parked in the garage next to my apartment and walked to the front of the building, up the squeaky stairs to the second floor. I unlocked the door, hit the lights in the living room and set the mail on the coffee table. I went through the dining room down the hallway to the kitchen and into my big bedroom. I threw my coat on the bed and went back to the kitchen to listen to my messages—nothing. Tonight, supper will be penne with tomato and basil and a salad. The pasta and sauce come in a box, frozen, and the salad, well, I make that. Sounds healthy but I’ll make up for it tomorrow.
What should I do about that note? I took it out of my pocket. Looking back, I should have preserved it like a piece of evidence which it very well might be. The drawing was on a yellow post-it, the most common size, about three by three. The lines were drawn too long or too short, not connecting. The drops of blood (what else could it be) were all of different size and they weren’t falling straight down from the blade. Either the artist was not very good or he was hurried in his drawing—maybe both.
Should I tell my student investigators about this? Would this scare them? If I didn’t tell them, would that be dishonest, keeping from them an important fact of the case or possibly, a potential for harm to them? What is best for the investigation? What is best for them?
Chapter 6
Dissing the Discoverer
Homecoming is something I always dread. You know, it’s like New Year’s Eve. You must have a date. And that ain’t easy what with my classes and working with the Professor. I set my cup of Nescafe on the table.
I sort of asked the LaMonicas but they both politely said, “Jason, we don’t want anything to spoil the friendship that we share.” I mean, what are friends for if you can’t use them, right? Especially in a social situation like this.
I tried the twins, each as an individual this time, and they didn’t mention friendship. They, like in the public service announcement against drugs, “just said no,”
I’ve had my eye on Mary Alice. She’s in my English class and she is prime. So I talked to Ralphy because he knows her a little. I said, “Ralphy, go find out if she has a date for homecoming. Kind of sneak it in so she won’t know that you’re spying for me, OK?”
And he says, “Yeah, sure,” So he takes my cell phone right there and dials her up. Then he does some small talk like, “How are you?” and, “How are classes?” Then he says, “Do you have a date for homecoming?” and I can’t hear her answer. Then he nods his head and says, “Sure, OK. Jason wants to talk to you.” A pause. “Yeah, Jason Malloy. He’s in one of you classes.” Then he hands the phone to me and says, “She already has a date. Here, talk to her.” And he hands the phone to me. And I freeze up.
Ralphy walks out of the room as if nothing happened and I just look at the phone, my palms wet. I look at it and don’t know what to say, what to do. So I click it off and fall into a chair. Needless to say, I’ll cut English all week. I’m still afraid to look at her, the beautiful Mary Alice.
So, homecoming will be pretty bleak for me, unless…Is there some place where I could rent a girl—rent a date? Is that against the law? I should check into that.
Anyway, Professor Lloyd Fisker-Muesson laid a bomb on all of the Braxton community including the High-and-Mighty Administrators with his appraisal of our stolen bowl. He was here because of the insurance claim. The insurance company, Mutual Assurance of Wisconsin, had him fly out to give a current appraisal of the stolen bowl. After viewing pix of the bowl, he said that it isn’t from the Greek mainland but from one of the islands, Thera to be exact. Couldn’t he have done this from the comfort of his fax and computer? I don’t understand the ways of big business.
It was a big shock to everyone since Professor Noone was such a hot-shot and this goes against his original findings. Does this mean that he bought it instead of digging it out of the ground? Does this mean that there’s going to be a scandal? Good thing he’s not here any more. He’s probably a hundred by now.
The History and Archeology departments have called a big meeting to decide what to do—to proclaim the bowl Aegean or something else, maybe something rarer and more valuable. I know if the legal and accounting departments were invited, they for sure would vote for more valuable. It might help enrollment—or endowments.
In spite of this shocking news, he—Professor Fisker-Muesson—was still escorted around campus with an entourage of half a dozen of the power people, fawning over him as if he were all the Rolling Stones rolled into one super Stone.
I’m really hopping today, along with the LaMonicas. Professor Palma has us scouring the net for anything about Thera and its pottery. My classes and this investigation are cutting into the time that I should be using to get a homecoming date.
So far,
we’ve checked the library and found that Thera is a small island in a group of islands off of the Greek coast. Because of a volcanic eruption around 1500BC, it was inhabited by only a handful of hardy folks. It is now called the island of Santorini, and is very “in” with its trendy bars and beautifully colored volcanic cliffs overlooking the Aegean. The reason that Thera is being mentioned at all is because it is the perfect candidate for the lost island of Atlantis. And while we’re speaking of Atlantis, word on the street is that it never existed and was made up as an example of a perfect nation with perfect governance by, your friend and mine, Plato. Atlantis was supposedly located at the “Pillars of Hercules” which, as we all know, either means the pillars that hold up the heavens or the Straits of Gibraltar, depending on who you ask.
So, you could say that our little bowl is not what we thought it to be but an artifact from—you guessed it—the mythical island of Atlantis. Is that cool or what?
The good professor based his findings on the clothing, or lack of, on the figures decorating the bowl. He also said that it was common in Thera to only decorate the outside of the bowl since their pottery was not for decoration but for daily use.
I told all this stuff to Professor Palma last night. That was when we were still friends.
Chapter 7
Group Strategy
I had never been at Jason’s place before. He asked me to come over because, “all the gang would be there.” I left my office, walked down the two flights of stairs and out onto the walkway in front of Fogel Hall. Although it was already dark, the temperature wasn’t bad. I felt warm in my dark green trench coat with its fuzzy liner. The trip to his place wasn’t far. I went down the Kennedy and turned left toward the dorms. His was the closest building.
All the dorms are red brick, three stories high, with a gabled roof. The white trimmed entrance has a flat roof supported by two columns which minimally protects those saying a long goodnight from the Midwestern elements—the standard Midwestern college building. I opened one of the double doors, walked past the mailboxes, and huffed and puffed up the stairs to the third floor. His room was in the back facing the quad, a small common area between the four dorms. All of the back rooms had balconies. In the warm months this was luxury living.
After a lengthy internal discussion, I decided not to tell them about the note with the dagger. It might have been a joke in poor taste. It could give them a feeling of danger where, I believe, it doesn’t exist. I hope that this decision is not proven wrong.
“Professor, welcome to my humble abode,” Jason said while bowing and stepping aside so I could come into the living room. His place wasn’t really a room, it was more a suite. There was a living room with a counter and sink in one corner and bedrooms on the left and right sides of the room. Eight people shared one of these suites, two in each bedroom. It looked liked someone’s mother was about to arrive, the place was immaculate—for boys—no clothes on the floor, no dishes in the sink, and it didn’t smell bad. He had one of the sliding doors to the balcony slightly open. “It looks great, Jason, and you really keep it clean,” I said as I patted him on the back. He hemmed and hawed for a moment and then said, “Well, I did pick up some stuff around here today, but thanks Professor.”
The artwork was limited to posters of rock and roll legends: Jimi Hendrix, The Doors, and The Beach Boys (The Beach Boys?). All of the other furnishings were supplied by the school, the three chairs (wooden arms and green upholstered seats) and the sofa (wooden arms and green upholstered seats) and the two end tables with lamps (yes, a green shade) and the coffee table. What color was the rug you ask? It was green, like the rest, forest green. It didn’t look bad, it looked cheap but it didn’t look bad. The perfect furnishings for an educational setting. I could get smart here.
The LaMonicas and Ralphy were there, snacking on chips and cokes. I’m sure if I wasn’t invited they’d all be having beers.
“First, I talked to the cleaning people,” I said to my cast of assembled investigators-in-training. “They said that they didn’t see any glass when they cleaned on Wednesday night so it was taken after they cleaned and before our students found it missing on Sunday. That’s as close as we can be to the time it was taken.
“How are we going to find this guy? Why did he do this? Is he going to fence this art object or will he keep it for his own reasons?” I asked. Jason graciously offered me a coke. “Thank you.”
Monica raised her hand and said, “I think he’s evil and did this to cause trouble for the school, Professor.”
“What makes you think that, Monica?” I said.
“Because you can’t sell it,” she said. “It’s too rare to sell. Anyone who would buy something like that would know that it was stolen from here. So all he could accomplish is to make the school look bad.”
“Does that mean that we can expect other thefts to occur?” I asked.
“Yeah, I would say that’s a reasonable conclusion,” Ralphy said. He was wearing a frown most frequently seen on Sherlock Holmes in the middle of a case. “We should warn people. Next time, they’ll probably steal the carillon.”
Everyone looked at Ralphy.
I wrote on my legal size note pad evil, and on the next line, will happen again.
“Carillon?” Jason asked.
“Yeah, carillon. That thing in the bell tower. That bell thing.”
“That’s a carillon, eh?” Jason said, nodding appreciatively at his new piece of knowledge.
“I think what Monica was hinting at was… What, Ralphy?”
“Motive.”
“That’s right. Motive. When we find out the why, then we can make up a list of who—suspects, the people who would gain from the crime.
“Besides trying to make the school look bad, what are some other reasons for the theft? Yes, Jason?”
“A crazy collector who must have this bowl for his collection.”
“Money,” Ralphy said.
“Good. Any other reasons, Guys, Ladies?” I asked. “What about some off-the-wall reasons? Maybe this guy is a kook, some nut case, or just some strange bird.”
“How about patriotism?” Veronica asked.
“What do you mean, V?” Ralphy asked.
She gave Ralphy a look. “Maybe this guy’s ancestors come from that island…”
“Thera?” Jason said.
“Yeah, and he feels that we have stolen it from his people,” Veronica said.
“Or maybe,” Ralphy said, “this guy just did it for the thrill. You know, the guy’s really dull and he thinks that this will make him a man.”
“Or,” Monica said, “maybe he did it for the media. Something he did is talked about in the news.”
“This doesn’t have to be a guy who did this, a woman could have done it,” Veronica said.
“That’s right, it could have been a woman. Anything else? Anything else to add?” I said as I wrote down their suggestions.
“Usually the motive is money. That’s the reason for most theft,” I said. “Why wouldn’t it be the reason for this crime?”
“I think that it would be too hard to sell—too easy to track. I mean there are other things around campus that could easily be taken and easily sold,” Ralphy said.
“Like what?” Jason asked.
“Well, like computers for instance,” Ralphy said.
“Yeah but they’re big, bulky, not easy to sneak around,” Jason said.
“OK then laptops,” Ralphy countered. “There’re worth more and easier to hide. Maybe software disks or papers in the offices or maybe there’s cash in some buildings, like the cafeteria and the Bursar’s Office. And the bookstore, there’s no security there, you could take anything.”
“You’re probably right, Ralphy,” Jason said.
“How can we find out what the true motive is of this guy?” I asked them. “What information do we need and where can we get it? You know that if we have the motive nai
led down then we’ll be able to name some suspects and get this show on the road.”
“But, until we have the name,” Ralphy added, “let us to refer to the thief as ‘The Evil One’.”
“Yeah, I like that,” Jason said smiling.
“Me too,” said Ralphy.
Veronica said, “Wait, why do you always say it’s a guy? Women commit crimes too!”
“That’s right Veronica, but the greatest majority of crimes are committed by men,” I said. “Men are more violent, aggressive, and just more psychologically suited to crime.
“Have we covered all the bases? Are there any reasons for the theft that we haven’t listed?”
“What about hate?” Ralphy said. “You know, someone hates Thera or Greece or somewhere and believes that by stealing the bowl it will make things better. Could that work?”
“Or, what about religion. Someone thinks that we are desecrating the bowl by having it displayed in the library. Maybe they think it should be in a church somewhere,” Jason said.
I broke in. “Some prosecutors believe that all crimes are done for money or love. How could this be a crime of love?”
Nothing for a minute and then Veronica said, “Well, it could have been a gift… to someone’s love. Something that she always said that she admired.”
“Or,” Monica said, “it could be that someone loved the bowl so much that they had to have it.”
“How could someone love a bowl?” Ralphy said. “I mean it’s a bowl.”
“I love Monet paintings. I wouldn’t steal one, but I would love to own one,” Monica said. “It’s just like that.”
“I get it,” he said.
I banged my pencil on my notepad. “Now, how are we going to find out which one on our list is the right one?”