Morton. Saturday 2:00 AM.
As Jim approached the town of Morton, he saw the lit up motel sign.
Sleepy Hollow Inn—No vacancies.
The parking lot was full, so he parked behind some cars in front of the office. Jim noticed the homemade sign on the office door. In florescent orange it read.
We’re booked solid. There’s no more room. DON’T EVEN ASK!
Jim opened the door, walked up to the front desk and pounded hard on the service bell.
Ding! Ding! Ding!
Nothing happened so he hit it even harder.
Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!
“All right! All right! I’m coming. You don’t have to break it.” An elderly man’s voice said from the back room. Jim watched the older man moving slowly up the dark hallway behind the counter struggling to get his robe on.
“Can’t you read the sign? It says no vacancies!” His voice was filled with disgust as he fumbled with his glasses then turned up the dimmer switch to light up the room. “Oh, I’m sorry, Sheriff,” Mr. Brunner forced a tired smile. “I thought you were another one of those tourists. I’ve been booked solid since three this afternoon and they just keep coming. Heck, I’m renting parking space for three campers too!”
Jim pulled out the map and slammed it down on the desk startling the man. “Are you responsible for this, Brunner?” he said with a serious tone.
Mr. Brunner rubbed his tired eyes then glanced at the paper and started to giggle. “Yeah, pretty cleaver, eh? I’ve made almost five hundred dollars today, and hope to do better tomorrow,” he said proudly.
“In that case I’m placing you under arrest for obstructing justice,” Jim said in a loud authoritative voice as he pulled out his handcuffs and moved around the counter to the older man.
“Arrested!” Brunner’s eyes bulged out in surprise, now fully awake and aware of his situation. Jim grabbed his arm. “But it was just a prank! I didn’t mean to do any harm! Honest, I didn’t.” Jim pulled Brunner’s arms back and snapped the cuffs on tightly. “Sheriff! You’ve got to believe me! I can’t be arrested, I’ve got a business to run!”
Jim said nothing as he pulled Brunner around the counter, and was pleased to see that the old man was traumatized by his situation. He really wasn’t going to arrest him and didn’t have much time to waste, but Brunner needed to be taught a lesson.
“Sheriff, please! You’ve got to listen to me!” Brunner exclaimed in a voice that was both scared and panicked.
“I don’t have a choice, the law is the law,” Jim replied as he walked Brunner towards the door.
“But I’ve never done anything wrong! Can’t you let me off with a warning or something?” Brunner pleaded.
Jim stopped, turned the man around, and looked at him. “That’s true, Mr. Brunner, I would really like to help you out, but my hands are tied. Judge Lundeberg would have my badge if I let you go. Especially someone who doesn’t participate in any community services,” Jim replied calmly, in a sympathetic manner, then resumed his push towards the door.
“What are you talking about?” Brunner asked, dumbfounded.
Jim stopped again. “You know how big a baseball fan Lundeberg is.”
“Yeah, I see him every week at the high school games, so what?”
“That’s right, and he sees you there as well. In fact, it was just the other day the Judge commented on how disappointed he was with you. I mean, the way you don’t contribute to the baseball collection when it comes around,” Jim said scornfully, looking down his nose at Brunner. “Now how do you expect to throw yourself on the mercy of the court with a record like that?”
“I’m just a small time motel manager. I’m not made of money!” Brunner insisted in desperation.
“You just made five hundred dollars and wasted my time in the process! If that’s your attitude I’ll throw your butt in jail until you rot!” Jim again started pulling the old man towards the door.
“Okay! Okay! I’ll make a donation!” Brunner exclaimed in panic.
The fear in the old man’s crackling voice told Jim he was about to break so he turned Brunner around to look at him. “I knew you had it in you.” A smile lit up Jim’s face. Turning Brunner around, he started taking off the cuffs. “Exactly how much were you thinking about?”
Brunner thought for a second. “How about a hundred bucks?”
“What!” Jim instantly squeezed the cuffs even tighter then spun Brunner around to look at him. The old man’s wobbly legs almost gave out. “Do you know how much new uniforms cost? The teams playing in rags!”
“All right! Two hundred,” Brunner replied in a defeated voice as he leaned against a chair for support.
“Five hundred and you promise not to sell any more maps!” Jim barked into Brunner’s face.
“That’s extortion!” Brunner said angrily.
“I’m just trying to show you a way to influence the court,” Jim defended himself.
“I know exactly what you’re trying to do, Sheriff!” Brunner’s eyes narrowed as he stared accusingly at Jim.
“Don’t be such an old bucket of crust! Legal bills will cost you three times that.”
Brunner realized he was out maneuvered, and he lowered his head in defeat. “All right…you win.”
“Good, I’ll be umpire at the game on Monday, and expect to see you there.” Jim took the cuffs off. “I don’t think we have to tell the Judge about this. We’ll let him think you did it all on your own.” Jim walked towards the door.
“Uh-huh, I bet you don’t want him to know,” came a disgusted reply.
“Good night, Mr. Brunner. It’s been a pleasure seeing you again.” Jim smiled then closed the door behind him. He walked to his Blazer. That should teach the old goat. He won’t pull another stunt like that again, Jim laughed to himself. Buck would’ve loved to hear about this one.
He suddenly grew sad as he thought about his friend, but the sight of the black Corvette on the other side of the lot shook him out of it. He thought for a moment then turned and walked back to the office.
Ding! Ding! Ding!
“I’m coming. Keep your shirt on,” the voice from the back room said. When Brunner saw it was Jim, his false teeth almost fell out. “Now what do you want me to do, buy Girl Scout cookies?” A sour expression came across the grumpy man’s face.
“I want to see the log,” Jim demanded, tapping his finger on the counter.
Brunner just grunted, reached under the counter, then set the logbook on top. Jim paged through it until he found the right date, then his finger slid down the list of names, but it wasn’t there. “Isn’t that Agent Bradley’s car out there?”
“Yes it is. I don’t know why these young folks need so much car, it’ll only get them killed.”
Jim ignored the comment. “So, where’s his name on the register?”
Brunner turned the book around and looked at it. “He’s in room 4, with that reporter feller. See double occupancy.” Brunner’s bony finger tapped the line on the page.
“What time did they check in?”
“They were ringing this bell at four a.m.,” came the reply.
“Four a.m.! Are you sure?” Jim said with surprise.
“I sure as heck am! They drug me out of bed. It’s starting to become a bad habit!” Brunner scowled.
Jim didn’t say anything. He was in deep thought as he turned slowly then walked towards the door. Brunner gave Jim a nasty look as he watched him walk away.
“Yeah, you’re welcome!” He slammed the book shut angrily, then dimmed the lights and walked into the back room.
Jim got back into the Blazer and sat in the seat thinking. He looked at room 4. Its lights were the only ones on in the building. What’s going on in there? he wondered. Should he go over and confront him? It’s got to be him. He had plenty of time to kill Buck then cover his tracks. But why would he do it? What’s his motive?
Jim wanted answers, but decided not to let Bradley know of his suspicions. No, he had better not say anything to anyone. Bradley screwed up today by losing his temper and letting Jim see him shoot. He must think he’s safe. If Jim could keep Bradley off guard and even make him mad a little more, maybe he’ll slip again. Then I’ll have you- you arrogant, overconfident jerk, Jim thought as he stared at the door. After a moment, he started the Blazer. “I’d better get back to the station,” he said to himself. “There’s still a lot to figure out if I’m going to nail this jerk. Jim drove out of the lot and onto the highway.
Alan closed the book on his lap, got off the bed, and walked to the table where Chet was sitting. Chet was staring at his computer screen, moving the mouse around, and occasionally punching a few keys as he did so. Then he noticed Alan leaning over his shoulder.
“Did you get any more from that book?”
“No. I read it cover to cover. There’s nothing in it that hasn’t already been put into play.” Alan moved closer to get a better view of the screen. “What are you doing?”
“This is one of the shots I took this evening. I’m just lightening some of the dark areas a little. Watch this.” Chet moved the cursor around with the mouse then punched some keys. “This is a picture of two men arguing over a camp site. Because of the back lighting, this man’s face is too dark and you can’t make out his facial features. If you can’t see the anger on his face, the whole point of the picture is missed.”
“So is it ruined?”
“Not at all. I just zoom in on the man,” Chet said as he moved the mouse and clicked the buttons. “Isolate him from the rest of the picture. Play with the contrast and presto!”
Alan looked on in amazement as the face brightened up. “Hey, that’s pretty cool. But I thought you took this picture tonight? How did you get it developed so fast?”
Chet pushed the eject button on the computers’ disk drive and out popped a 3.5 inch computer disc. “It’s all on disc.” Chet leaned over and picked up his camera from the other side of the desk. “This camera doesn’t use film, it’s digital. I just slide the disc in here and I’m ready to go.” Chet slid the disc into the back of the camera.
“It has a disc drive just like a computer! I was wondering why it’s shaped so funny.”
“It stores photos electronically, so there’s no developing of film. Also, there are fewer moving parts. I can take a series of photos faster than my other camera with its auto-winder. The shape is a little different in order to accommodate the battery pack.” Chet depressed a button and out slid a rechargeable battery. “When it gets low on juice, I just take it out and replace it with the one in the charger over there.” Chet pointed to the spare battery pack plugged into the wall socket. Pushing the battery back into position, Chet lifted the camera and took a picture of Alan.
“Hey! What did you do that for?” Alan blinked his eyes after the flash went off in his face.
“Let me demonstrate.” Chet pressed the disc eject on the camera, then took the disc and inserted it back into the computer.
Alan watched as Chet punched some keys. “So is the camera what you spent all your money on the other day?”
“Part of it,” Chet replied. “I used the rest to upgrade my entire computer system. This baby has the latest in hardware and software. I can now hook my video camera directly to the computer and watch the recording on the screen.”
“Wow, that must come in handy.”
“It sure does,” Chet replied. “I can edit video right from my computer. That’s what I did with this morning’s interview.”
Alan examined how the components were wired. “So the video camera and still camera are both digital, same as the computer. That way you can transfer video or pictures to the computer directly by cable or disc.”
“That’s correct,” Chet confirmed. “The video or picture gets massaged by a sophisticated high resolution graphics program before it’s sent to the TV networks or Wire Service by way of the internet.” Chet continued to explain.
“That’s a pretty handy unit,” Alan remarked.
“I’ll say. Without it I would’ve had to hand deliver the tape. It would’ve taken hours, and I would’ve missed the midday news.” Chet stabbed at some buttons on the keyboard. “Now let’s get back to the pictures.”
Both men’s attention was drawn back to the screen. “The computer displays all the pictures as half inch square, thumbnail images. The photo of you is the last one here, but first let’s return to the camper’s picture. I’ve got a deadline to meet.” Chet punched some more keys, and the picture of the two men arguing filled the screen. “Now, for the written report.” He tapped on the keyboard and the picture on the screen was joined by text.
“Mayhem in Morton. Good title,” Alan remarked, approvingly.
“Now I import the picture into the text, like so.” Chet moved the items around with the mouse. “Now that it’s ready, I just send it to the Seattle Times and PI by way of the internet.” With a click of the mouse it was sent. “There, my report is now in the hands of the editors. Now, if you allow me one more minute, I’ll update my website.” Chet brought his home page up onto the screen.
Alan watched as the page came up. A picture of Chet filled the screen with the slogan. Chet Green—Investigative Journalist. If you’ve got the poop—I’ll get the scoop! He still thought it sounded ridiculous. Below it was a long list of article titles and dates. “Wow, it looks like you’ve added a lot of stories over the past couple of years.”
“I sure have,” Chet said proudly. “This website acts as my online resume. My business card has the website address for anyone interested in hiring me. Each title is a link to the article on the Wire Service. If you click on one of them, it’ll take you right to it. I get a lot of extra business that way. Now, let me add Mayhem in Morton to the list.” Chet stabbed at the keyboard. “There, it’s done. Now let’s get back to your picture.” Chet moved the mouse, and the web page was replaced by the photo image that Chet took of Alan. “Let’s see how you’d look with a scraggly beard,” Chet said as he punched some keys.
“Hey, that’s all right.” Alan smiled as his image changed before his eyes. “What else can you do?”
“Virtually anything I want. I can give you bigger ears, change your eye color, hair style and color… maybe even give you a different nose!” Chet tapped away busily on the keyboard.
“Hey! Stop that! I get the idea,” Alan exclaimed as his image became unrecognizable. “You’ve turned me into some sort of freaked out punk rocker! I didn’t know you could do that. Do you change pictures like this often?”
“Sometimes. If I want to make a point I’ll change a few subtle things. Like that murder case last month.”
“The one where the businessman was shot in the parking lot?” Alan asked as he sat back on the bed.
“Yes. In that case, I took the picture of the suspect—”
“—The disgruntled worker.” Alan jumped in.
“On my computer, I stretched his face just a touch to make his lips purse. Then I made his skin look slightly dirty and I brightened the whites of his eyes to make it look like he was staring at you. The changes were slight, but just enough to make him appear evil,” Chet said proudly. “That picture sold a lot of newspapers and the paper rewarded me with a big bonus.”
“But they found him innocent, Chet. They convicted the murdered man’s business partner.”
“Hey! How was I supposed to know he didn’t do it? I’m no detective.” Chet defended himself.
“Isn’t there some sort of law against doing that?” Alan questioned. “I thought I heard somewhere that the disgruntled worker sued the paper for slander. What ever happened with that?”
“It went to court, but he lost. The court ruled that, under existing law, there wasn’t enough evidence to prove slander.” Chet reported. “The Legislature is c
urrently looking into adding ‘image deprivation’ to the definition of slander, but currently the media is pretty much able to do as it pleases. We don’t even have to tell anyone we did it.”
“That’s interesting,” Alan said as he filed the information away in his head. It might come in handy someday, he thought curiously as he sat back on the bed. “Does the media use this technology often?”
“Well, to a certain extent, yes. Mostly it’s used to remove flaws such as in that swimsuit magazine you were looking at the other day. The photographer will remove a woman’s freckles or birthmarks. They can even give a woman a darker tan,” Chet replied.
“Do you mean they’re not as perfect as they look? Why did you have to tell me that? Now it’s going to be impossible to look at those bathing beauties without wondering what’s wrong with them,” Alan said, with a disappointed look.
“Yeah, it kind of takes the fun out of it. That’s why they don’t tell you the pictures were altered. They wouldn’t sell as many magazines.”
Suddenly there was a knock on the door, and Alan got up and walked over to it. “Get that picture off the screen,” he ordered. Chet depressed a few keys and it disappeared. Alan opened the door to reveal a man standing there with a box of books.
“Deputy Milhouse, how nice to see you again. Come in and put it down over here.” Alan stepped away from the door and pointed to a spot on the floor next to the bed. Milhouse did as instructed. “Did you get all the records?”
“Yes, I did. Sorry I’m late. It’s been a busy tonight. I had three fender benders to deal with.” Milhouse answered.
“That’s alright. I knew you would come through. It’s what I was telling my friend here. That Milhouse is a real professional. Isn’t that right, Chet?”
“That’s right, a real professional,” Chet echoed.
Milhouse smiled as Alan grabbed him by the arm and started to direct him back to the door. “I don’t want to keep you any longer. I know how busy you are and you’re going to need your rest for tomorrow.”
Milhouse stopped at the door. “Agent Bradley, remember what you said. You’re going to help me find a job in the city, right?”
“Yes of course I am—just as soon as this case is closed. Consider it a done deal. By the way, you’re going to be available tomorrow if I need your help, right?” Alan’s question sounded more like an order.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Milhouse shrugged.
“Good! That’s what I was telling Chet earlier. Milhouse is a real team player.” Alan gave his friend a look.
“Team player, that’s what he said,” Chet echoed again.
Milhouse smiled ear to ear.
“Now you get home and get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Alan gently guided Milhouse out the door then closed it behind him.
“What was that all about? Are you really going to help that duffus get a job?” Chet asked after a few moments.
Alan walked to the bed and started examining the contents of the box. “No, that guy will never leave Hicksville. I just need his help for awhile, that’s all. I’m going to play him like a fish, then when it’s all over, leave him flopping on the shore.” They both laughed at that.
“Well I’m going to get some sleep.” Chet yawned then walked to the bed next to Alan’s. “Don’t stay up too late. You need some rest, too.”
“Yeah, I won’t be too long,” Alan replied. He then turned the overhead light off and sat on his bed in the dark examining the books with the help of a reading light.
“Peterson!” Jim shook the night dispatcher behind the counter.
“Oh, sorry, Sheriff. I must’ve dosed off. It’s been a long day. I’ve been answering the phone and putting out calls constantly since I’ve come in.” He rubbed his eyes. “Things just started quieting down about an hour ago—I’m exhausted!”
“We all are,” Jim said sympathetically. “Listen, I’ll be here the rest of the night. Why don’t you go home and get a few hours of sleep and a good meal. Just be back here at first light.”
“Thanks, Sheriff, I’ll do that.” Peterson got to his feet and stumbled to the hallway and towards the door. “Oh, a fax came in for you earlier.” He gestured towards the machine.
“Thanks.” Jim went to the machine and grabbed the printout. It was from Joe, reminding him to send her the reports she wanted. Something else, too…
The footprints behind the barn belong to Agent Bradley and Chet Green. Just thought you’d like to know.
—Joe.
That was interesting. An eyebrow went up at that. Before pondering it further, he decided to send the reports he promised. He put the documents in the machine and hit the scan button. Then, going to Joe’s computer, he dragged the document down to the icon labeled “Joe’s e-mail”, and it was gone. That Joe, he smiled to himself. She really is a time saver.
Jim grabbed a handful of donuts from the plate next to the coffee pot as he filled his cup. He then walked into the conference room and sat down. Taking a bite from a donut, he cringed. It was dry and stale.
Don’t they ever throw these things away? he thought, as he took a long drink from his cup to wash it down. He scattered the pictures out on the table, then picked one up and looked at it closely. “There’s something else here, I know it. But what is it?” he said out loud.
Jim looked up at the sequential photos on the board and the list of things they knew. To his surprise, he saw they had been changed. It had to be Joe, he knew. She was so clever and he thanked his lucky stars for her help. He considered the items on the list and was sure he had Buck’s killer, but it was all circumstantial evidence.
Bradley arrived early enough. He came down the hill into the barn. He was in position to shoot Buck, his skill with a gun spoke for itself. These were all cards Jim held in his hand, but he needed one more to win the pot. He needed one of the bullets, or an eyewitness statement fingering Bradley—but he wasn’t likely to get that.
On the other side of the card table was Agent Bradley and he had cards of his own… he had to. Either that, or he was still trying to fill his hand as Jim was. Something had tipped Bradley off to come down here, and Jim was dying to know what it was. But that didn’t matter now, Bradley was here and nothing could change that.
What cards was he holding? He couldn’t be bluffing, waiting for Jim to give up and throw in… could he? If so, he was one cool customer. Jim wondered how many draws it would take before one of them won—or lost. Not many, he knew.
Now that he was sure of it, he wanted to confront Bradley with what he knew, but he fought the urge. No, he thought to himself. Keep your cards close and your poker face on.
This game is going to go on for a while longer. Jim didn’t know that the stakes were going to get higher as well. Spreading the photos out over the desk, he stared questioningly at them, sipping his coffee as he did so.