MYSTERY AT DEADFALL LAKE – Chapter 6
I reviewed the information with Officer Jordan that I had thus far gathered about the missing couple at Deadfall Lake. We also went over his own conversation he had with our Inspector Hannity from my town police department.
Studying my notes in front of me, I said, “The name of Albert Jerkovick only came up when I interviewed three of Wendy’s college friends. Wendy obviously never told her mother about this guy that was bothering her at school. The friends did confirm that he did not enroll in the next college semester, and that they heard he moved away. This was about a week after Wendy and Roy were reported missing. One of the friends did tell me that the boyfriend, Roy, did guess it was Jerkovick who had punctured the tires on his car while he and Wendy were at the movies. As far as the friends knew, Wendy or Roy never reported anything to the police, or college authorities.
“Now I’ve learned that Jerkovick was a violent prone person, and find out that he is doing time for attempted murder in your state prison in Boulder. Why would he suddenly do a disappearing act, and not reenroll in school?” Running my finger over my almost illegible notes, I continued. “Do you believe that this very circumstantial evidence where Jerkovick had opportunity, and maybe motive, to kill Wendy and Roy would be sufficient to delay the parole hearing?”
Jordan replied to my question. “It doesn’t sound like very solid evidence, but if brought to the parole board’s attention, I believe it would be enough to delay the whole parole process. I tell you what; I will call the proper person at the prison and present the situation. I’ll call you back with what I find out.
“Let me ask another question,” said Jordan. “Did the local police ever dredge the lake looking for the bodies?”
I dropped my pen on top of my note pages, and slapped my forehead. “I’m embarrassed to say it was never brought up. I need to call Inspector Hannity and ask this very basic question. I’ll do more homework on this, and we can talk when you find out about any possible parole hearing suspension. Let’s try to talk again tomorrow.”
Officer Jordan said that he would call his personal contact with the local FBI to inquire if their assistance could be available at this late date in the cold case.
I jumped on the phone and dialed our police dept. Sarah’s pleasant voice answered on the first ring. “Hello,” I said, “It’s me.”
“Well hello detective, what can I do for you?”
“I need to ask Inspector Hannity a very basic, but critical question that I should have asked at our first meeting.”
Sarah said, “At your service. He’s in today. I’m ringing his extension right now. Goodbye detective, have a nice day.”
“This is Inspector Hannity speaking.”
I tried not to shout into the phone. “Inspector, it’s me again. I failed to ask you an important question during our conversations. I also did not see anything in the investigative reports. Was the lake dredged when you searched the Deadfall Lake area for evidence of any crime?”
There was a more than brief pause before the inspector replied. “No, we had no budget for hiring a diver to search the lake bottom. It is a very deep lake, and we just decided that this was a dead end.”
I was standing now, and I am sure the veins on my neck were standing out. I shouted into the phone hand set. “How could you not search the lake? If Wendy and Roy were murdered, a most logical scenario for the murderer would be to weight the bodies, and dump them in the lake…..especially since you turned up nothing with the cadaver dogs. I feel stupid for not asking this earlier, and now I wonder why you didn’t volunteer this information.”
Hannity was obviously angry at my verbal attack. “Hold on there inspector, don’t get your shorts in a twist. We did talk to the FBI seeking some assistance with our investigation, but could not generate any interest as not enough time had passed for our investigative team to reach a final conclusion about the disappearance of our apparent victims.”
I told Hannity that Officer Jordan at the Boulder P.D. would be calling the FBI to ask about help with a diver at the lake. Hannity also said he would follow up to make the same inquiry. He would call me when he got an answer from the Washington D.C. contact he had in his files.
I walked to my picture window, and took a deep breath. I felt my pulse, and noted my heart rate had pumped up by 20 bpm. I went down to my wine bar, and poured the rest of the Pinot Noir into a room temperature wine glass. Walking out on the deck, I plopped down in my favorite lounge chair to think about this latest development.
One week later.
I had been taking a break in my sleuth work. I caught up on some e-mails, and paid some bills that had been sitting on my desk. My wife talked me in to joining her for a quiet ‘catch up’ chat. She said, “When do you expect to hear about the inquiry to the FBI?”
As if on a prearranged queue, my mobile phone began vibrating in my pocket, followed by the familiar ringing. I flipped open the phone. “Hello inspector, this is Hannity. I have some good news. The local Denver FBI office called me to say they had two agents available to meet with us tomorrow. Are you available?”
I was now pacing our deck on full alert. “Absolutely,” I replied. “What time?”
Hannity said, “Is 8:30 a.m. too early? The two agents will be bringing a diver with full gear. They flew into our regional airport last night, and seem anxious to do the dive. I think they want to earn some public Brownie points for the agency.”
“I’ll be there,” I said as I hung up the phone almost jumping up and down with my excitement.
My wife recognized my excited demeanor and told me to calm down and fill her in. “Whoa there Sherlock, what’s happening?”
“This could be a significant clue in the case,” I said. If the FBI finds no bodies in the lake, then we can move on to interrogating Jerkovick at the Boulder prison. I need to hear from Officer Jordan about the potential interview with our perp. Jerkovick knows his parole hearing is pending, and if we confront him with our suspicions about his involvement in the double murder, he has to come clean and prove he could not have murdered Wendy and Roy. If he has no alibi we will gain some time for a more in depth analysis. I just feel it in my gut that this guy is involved some how.”
Lenticulars and Loonies
Lemurian Space Ship?: see They're Baaaaaaack!, & Linticulars and Loonies
WELCOME
Can You Help? All contributions go to the Humane Society. Click the fish to drop some food..THANKS!
PLEASE FEED THE FISH
Site Meter
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Friday, May 25, 2012
MYSTERY AT DEAD FALL LAKE-Chapter 5
MYSTERY AT DEADFALL LAKE-Chapter 5
My wife put both of her hands on her hips; tilted her head, and said, “What ever happened to your pledge never to go near another airport after you retired?”
“Hey, it’s all part of my detective work now.” I sat on our deck having a pre-prandial adult beverage with my wife, and told her I needed to fly to Colorado to check out the lead on Albert Jerkovick. I do have plenty of frequent flyer miles for about five free flights anywhere in the USA.”
My wife replied, “Why don’t you assign a free flight to Inspector Hannity, I’ll bet he would love to fly to Boulder. We were going to use those free flights later on for romantic getaways…..remember?”
“I know, but we will still have four flights left. Where do you want to go?”
My wife looked up from her laptop and said, “I’m researching places now. I’ll let you know later.”
I knew I should keep quiet, so decided to get back on the subject at hand about my sleuthing investigation. “I thought of asking Hannity, but they have no travel budget at all. He would have to spend his own money for a hotel, car rental, meals, and other expenses. These local police don’t earn a big salary. I can’t ask him to do it. Besides, this is now my case, and I really don’t believe anyone else would be as thorough.”
Pulling out my note book, I flipped to the page about the police contact in Boulder. “I haven’t even talked to this officer Jordan at the Boulder P.D. He might not have anything helpful to offer, and I have to give him time to contact the prison to see if I can get into see our suspected perp.”
The next morning I sat at my loft office desk; investigation notes spread out in front of me, with a thermos of hot coffee at the ready. I stood and walked to my office picture window, stretched, and looked down at our deck, and gurgling garden ponds. The early morning sun was just now peeking through the tall pines. This was my ‘thinking’ place when I was working. I seemed to be better able to knit together thoughts and ideas when…… “Damn”, I muttered, a small doe was approaching the deck with one eye on me, and the other on the remaining Geraniums in the deck pots. I reached for the crank out window; opened it a few inches, and shouted a threat to this menacing creature. “Hey, move off missy, and that goes for your mother to.” I clapped my hands, but all this did was to make the deer eat faster.
My wife had been watching the deer through her kitchen window. She said, “She isn’t afraid of you Sherlock. I’ll take care of it.” I heard the sliding door to the deck open and a nasty shout of “SHOO” followed by loud foot stomping on the wooden deck. The doe took one look at the crazy woman with a broom in her hand, and turned and bounded off into the trees.
I hollered down the stairs, “Great job honey, you’re hired. The deer repellant spray is not working, and besides you’re cheaper.”
“Don’t make me come up there,” she replied. “Why don’t you get to work, and I’ll take care of the menacing wild life.”
I made a mental note to visit the plant nursery and replace some of the deer food flowers I had laboriously planted in the many large pots on our deck. Maybe some kind of large net I thought might do the trick.
I dialed the number in my notes, and the other end was picked on the first ring. “Boulder Police Dept., this is Officer Smith, how may I help you?” I guessed Officer Smith to be in his mid-twenties, and eager to assist who ever it was on the line.
I introduced myself and explained that I was the investigator assisting our local police, and Inspector Hannity with the cold case. “Oh yeah, he said you would be calling. How can I help you?”
“Well I really want to talk to Officer Jordan if he is available. I just need to review the facts about the arrest of an Albert Jerkovick. I also wanted to find out if I might fly out there to meet personally with all your personnel that may have been involved in this case. I was hoping to be able to visit with Jerkovick in prison.”
Officer Smith said, “If Jerkovick is represented by legal council, he or she would have to approve of the meeting first. “Officer Jordan is out on a call, but he did leave me a note about your investigation. He should be back within a few hours, and I will have him call you. You can discuss procedures with him.” I repeated my telephone number to Smith. Smith had more to say. “Did you know that Jerkovick is up for a parole hearing in a few weeks?”
“Yeah, Inspector Hannity told me. The information I want to share with Jordan should significantly impact his parole hearing. Jerkovick may be implemented in a possible crime here in Northern California.”
Smith replied to my information. “Officer Jordan related some of the input from your Inspector Hannity. I understand that Jerkovick is a possible suspect in the disappearance of a young couple out there…..a seventeen year old cold case.” I heard voices in the background. “Sir, I have to get off the line now. I’m sure Jordan will call you right back. Take care, and good luck with your investigation. I look forward to meeting you if you fly back here.”
After hanging up with Boulder police officer Smith, I made some brief notes about our conversation. I was beginning to feel like Alice of ‘Wonderland’ fame. Things were getting curiouser and curiouser.
I needed to think more about a plan if I flew to Colorado. I grabbed my mobile phone, and headed down the stairs for the rear deck, another quiet thinking place for me. The ‘Deer Chaser’ had told me she was driving to the local market to pickup some groceries for dinner. I sat down in my reclining deck lounge chair; tilted back, and closed my eyes. The cell phone was clutched in my hand. I didn’t want to miss Officer Jordan’s call back.
My eyes closed, and I guess I was dozing. The ringing phone in my hand woke me up. I fumbled for it as it had fallen on the deck under my chair. “Hello,” I answered.
“Is this the not so famous investigator from small town California? This is Officer Jordan returning your call.”
I laughed a little, and replied, “Thanks for calling Officer. Is Jordan your first or last name?”
“It’s my last, but everyone just calls me Jordan. Officer Smith filled me in on the info you provided. I also reviewed my notes on the conversation with your local police Inspector Hannity. What can you tell me about this character Jerkovick, and how he might be a suspect in the cold case you are working?”
My wife put both of her hands on her hips; tilted her head, and said, “What ever happened to your pledge never to go near another airport after you retired?”
“Hey, it’s all part of my detective work now.” I sat on our deck having a pre-prandial adult beverage with my wife, and told her I needed to fly to Colorado to check out the lead on Albert Jerkovick. I do have plenty of frequent flyer miles for about five free flights anywhere in the USA.”
My wife replied, “Why don’t you assign a free flight to Inspector Hannity, I’ll bet he would love to fly to Boulder. We were going to use those free flights later on for romantic getaways…..remember?”
“I know, but we will still have four flights left. Where do you want to go?”
My wife looked up from her laptop and said, “I’m researching places now. I’ll let you know later.”
I knew I should keep quiet, so decided to get back on the subject at hand about my sleuthing investigation. “I thought of asking Hannity, but they have no travel budget at all. He would have to spend his own money for a hotel, car rental, meals, and other expenses. These local police don’t earn a big salary. I can’t ask him to do it. Besides, this is now my case, and I really don’t believe anyone else would be as thorough.”
Pulling out my note book, I flipped to the page about the police contact in Boulder. “I haven’t even talked to this officer Jordan at the Boulder P.D. He might not have anything helpful to offer, and I have to give him time to contact the prison to see if I can get into see our suspected perp.”
The next morning I sat at my loft office desk; investigation notes spread out in front of me, with a thermos of hot coffee at the ready. I stood and walked to my office picture window, stretched, and looked down at our deck, and gurgling garden ponds. The early morning sun was just now peeking through the tall pines. This was my ‘thinking’ place when I was working. I seemed to be better able to knit together thoughts and ideas when…… “Damn”, I muttered, a small doe was approaching the deck with one eye on me, and the other on the remaining Geraniums in the deck pots. I reached for the crank out window; opened it a few inches, and shouted a threat to this menacing creature. “Hey, move off missy, and that goes for your mother to.” I clapped my hands, but all this did was to make the deer eat faster.
My wife had been watching the deer through her kitchen window. She said, “She isn’t afraid of you Sherlock. I’ll take care of it.” I heard the sliding door to the deck open and a nasty shout of “SHOO” followed by loud foot stomping on the wooden deck. The doe took one look at the crazy woman with a broom in her hand, and turned and bounded off into the trees.
I hollered down the stairs, “Great job honey, you’re hired. The deer repellant spray is not working, and besides you’re cheaper.”
“Don’t make me come up there,” she replied. “Why don’t you get to work, and I’ll take care of the menacing wild life.”
I made a mental note to visit the plant nursery and replace some of the deer food flowers I had laboriously planted in the many large pots on our deck. Maybe some kind of large net I thought might do the trick.
I dialed the number in my notes, and the other end was picked on the first ring. “Boulder Police Dept., this is Officer Smith, how may I help you?” I guessed Officer Smith to be in his mid-twenties, and eager to assist who ever it was on the line.
I introduced myself and explained that I was the investigator assisting our local police, and Inspector Hannity with the cold case. “Oh yeah, he said you would be calling. How can I help you?”
“Well I really want to talk to Officer Jordan if he is available. I just need to review the facts about the arrest of an Albert Jerkovick. I also wanted to find out if I might fly out there to meet personally with all your personnel that may have been involved in this case. I was hoping to be able to visit with Jerkovick in prison.”
Officer Smith said, “If Jerkovick is represented by legal council, he or she would have to approve of the meeting first. “Officer Jordan is out on a call, but he did leave me a note about your investigation. He should be back within a few hours, and I will have him call you. You can discuss procedures with him.” I repeated my telephone number to Smith. Smith had more to say. “Did you know that Jerkovick is up for a parole hearing in a few weeks?”
“Yeah, Inspector Hannity told me. The information I want to share with Jordan should significantly impact his parole hearing. Jerkovick may be implemented in a possible crime here in Northern California.”
Smith replied to my information. “Officer Jordan related some of the input from your Inspector Hannity. I understand that Jerkovick is a possible suspect in the disappearance of a young couple out there…..a seventeen year old cold case.” I heard voices in the background. “Sir, I have to get off the line now. I’m sure Jordan will call you right back. Take care, and good luck with your investigation. I look forward to meeting you if you fly back here.”
After hanging up with Boulder police officer Smith, I made some brief notes about our conversation. I was beginning to feel like Alice of ‘Wonderland’ fame. Things were getting curiouser and curiouser.
I needed to think more about a plan if I flew to Colorado. I grabbed my mobile phone, and headed down the stairs for the rear deck, another quiet thinking place for me. The ‘Deer Chaser’ had told me she was driving to the local market to pickup some groceries for dinner. I sat down in my reclining deck lounge chair; tilted back, and closed my eyes. The cell phone was clutched in my hand. I didn’t want to miss Officer Jordan’s call back.
My eyes closed, and I guess I was dozing. The ringing phone in my hand woke me up. I fumbled for it as it had fallen on the deck under my chair. “Hello,” I answered.
“Is this the not so famous investigator from small town California? This is Officer Jordan returning your call.”
I laughed a little, and replied, “Thanks for calling Officer. Is Jordan your first or last name?”
“It’s my last, but everyone just calls me Jordan. Officer Smith filled me in on the info you provided. I also reviewed my notes on the conversation with your local police Inspector Hannity. What can you tell me about this character Jerkovick, and how he might be a suspect in the cold case you are working?”
Thursday, May 24, 2012
MYSTERY AT DEADFALL LAKE-Chapter 4
MYSTERY OF DEADFALL LAKE-Chapter 4
The short story continues....a retired business man in a small mountain town is assisting the local police with his investigation of a 17 year old cold case about a missing young couple. Comments are very welcome.
I entered our small town police station, and was greeted again by the smiling face of Sarah. Her uniform was immaculate, and the creases in her shirt and trousers were so sharp they ‘screamed’ LOOK AT ME! Her badge had a mirror finish, and you could see your face in the shine of her shoes.
She stood and hurried to the low swinging gate that led to the front office. “Good morning detective,” she said as she opened the gate for me.
“Sarah…..stop calling me detective. You and I both know I’m just an old retired business guy trying to help out with this cold case of the missing teenagers.”
Sarah did a small bow as she waved me into her office. “Well sir, you are the only detective I know. Inspector Hannity is expecting you. Please have a seat in our interrogation room.” Sarah giggled as she opened the coffee room door for me.
I smelled the standard burned coffee as I sat in one of the folding metal chairs (which I had to unfold) in the stark, windoless and compact room. I took out my notebook to study my more recent notes as I waited for Inspector Hannity.
“Good morning to you assistant detective,” Hannity jokingly commented as he appeared in the doorway carrying another folder. “I did some checking on this Albert Jerkovick character. He has a sheet on him as long as my arm and he is, at present, a guest of the Rocky Mountain Incarceration Center in Boulder Colorado.” He dropped the manila folder on the table in front of me.
I opened the folder and said, “Thanks Inspector. This bad apple might just be a clue that can lead to answers to this mystery at Deadfall Lake.” I wondered to my self why his name didn’t turn up in the initial investigation.
Hannity had opened the other folding chair, and was pouring himself a cup of the foul smelling coffee. “You sure you don’t want a cup of this splendid brew?”
“I’ll pass. I brewed my own cup of my favorite dark roast this morning at my house. I guess I’m a coffee snob, and am pretty fussy about what caffeine beverage I pour into my stomach.” Hannity shrugged his shoulders and seated himself opposite me, and waited while I looked through the file on our Mr. Albert Jerkovick.
I tapped the page in front of me. “I see Jerkovick was arrested for a breaking and entering, and felony theft of an electronics business in Boulder. It is dated about a month after your missing persons case opened on the Deadfall situation. He is doing time for an assault and attempted murder charge. This conviction was handed down about ten years ago. WOW….this is one violent-prone criminal. I see he is up for parole just next month.”
Inspector Hannity turned the open file around to search for the name of the arresting officer. “I talked to an officer Jordan about the case. Jerkovick, it seems, is a model prisoner. To me that means he wants to make parole, so he can get back to his evil life style. I mentioned that you might want to fly back to interview Jerkovick. Jordan’s telephone number is in the file. He is expecting a call from you. He has names of the local businesses where our potential suspect worked after he moved to Colorado.”
I said, “Why didn’t this guy’s name come up during the police investigation here in town? It just seems logical that someone would have mentioned the guy who was pestering Wendy and Roy.”
Hannity folded his hands in front of him on the table, and them opened them and slapped the surface as he leaned back in his chair. “I don’t have any answer to that question. If Wendy’s parents or her friends ever mentioned this dude, it was never entered into the report…..our ‘BAD’.”
I finished making my notes of some of the names and numbers in the folder. It looked like I would need to stop at the local drug store to buy another notebook. “Well I still have a bunch of frequent flyer miles in my airline account. I will call detective Jordan, and schedule a time to meet with him. Could you call him back yourself and tell him I will make contact? Ask him if he thinks he could arrange a meeting for me at the prison with Jerkovick.”
Hannity stood and extended his hand. He said, “Will do, and I will give you a report on my call.” I cautiously shook the large meaty hand, and was relieved that my fingers were not crushed together as on our first meeting.
I again thanked the inspector, and made my way out to the front office. Sarah was standing stiff at attention with her hands clasped in front of her. “How was your meeting with my boss?”
“Sarah, you know I can’t discuss the case. This is an on-going investigation.”
She laughed and escorted me through the office swinging gate into the tiny lobby. She actually pushed open the front glass door for me and said, “Well anyway, good luck, and I hope you find out some positive factual information.”
I sat in my car on the main street in front of the police station. No one ever parked there. Not many visitors to see the police I reckoned. I reviewed my notes again; started the car, and headed to the hamburger joint to have lunch. It was still business hours in Colorado, and I would call Officer Jordan from my home office.
I could just taste the hormone free, no additives, free-range burger awaiting me up the street.
The short story continues....a retired business man in a small mountain town is assisting the local police with his investigation of a 17 year old cold case about a missing young couple. Comments are very welcome.
I entered our small town police station, and was greeted again by the smiling face of Sarah. Her uniform was immaculate, and the creases in her shirt and trousers were so sharp they ‘screamed’ LOOK AT ME! Her badge had a mirror finish, and you could see your face in the shine of her shoes.
She stood and hurried to the low swinging gate that led to the front office. “Good morning detective,” she said as she opened the gate for me.
“Sarah…..stop calling me detective. You and I both know I’m just an old retired business guy trying to help out with this cold case of the missing teenagers.”
Sarah did a small bow as she waved me into her office. “Well sir, you are the only detective I know. Inspector Hannity is expecting you. Please have a seat in our interrogation room.” Sarah giggled as she opened the coffee room door for me.
I smelled the standard burned coffee as I sat in one of the folding metal chairs (which I had to unfold) in the stark, windoless and compact room. I took out my notebook to study my more recent notes as I waited for Inspector Hannity.
“Good morning to you assistant detective,” Hannity jokingly commented as he appeared in the doorway carrying another folder. “I did some checking on this Albert Jerkovick character. He has a sheet on him as long as my arm and he is, at present, a guest of the Rocky Mountain Incarceration Center in Boulder Colorado.” He dropped the manila folder on the table in front of me.
I opened the folder and said, “Thanks Inspector. This bad apple might just be a clue that can lead to answers to this mystery at Deadfall Lake.” I wondered to my self why his name didn’t turn up in the initial investigation.
Hannity had opened the other folding chair, and was pouring himself a cup of the foul smelling coffee. “You sure you don’t want a cup of this splendid brew?”
“I’ll pass. I brewed my own cup of my favorite dark roast this morning at my house. I guess I’m a coffee snob, and am pretty fussy about what caffeine beverage I pour into my stomach.” Hannity shrugged his shoulders and seated himself opposite me, and waited while I looked through the file on our Mr. Albert Jerkovick.
I tapped the page in front of me. “I see Jerkovick was arrested for a breaking and entering, and felony theft of an electronics business in Boulder. It is dated about a month after your missing persons case opened on the Deadfall situation. He is doing time for an assault and attempted murder charge. This conviction was handed down about ten years ago. WOW….this is one violent-prone criminal. I see he is up for parole just next month.”
Inspector Hannity turned the open file around to search for the name of the arresting officer. “I talked to an officer Jordan about the case. Jerkovick, it seems, is a model prisoner. To me that means he wants to make parole, so he can get back to his evil life style. I mentioned that you might want to fly back to interview Jerkovick. Jordan’s telephone number is in the file. He is expecting a call from you. He has names of the local businesses where our potential suspect worked after he moved to Colorado.”
I said, “Why didn’t this guy’s name come up during the police investigation here in town? It just seems logical that someone would have mentioned the guy who was pestering Wendy and Roy.”
Hannity folded his hands in front of him on the table, and them opened them and slapped the surface as he leaned back in his chair. “I don’t have any answer to that question. If Wendy’s parents or her friends ever mentioned this dude, it was never entered into the report…..our ‘BAD’.”
I finished making my notes of some of the names and numbers in the folder. It looked like I would need to stop at the local drug store to buy another notebook. “Well I still have a bunch of frequent flyer miles in my airline account. I will call detective Jordan, and schedule a time to meet with him. Could you call him back yourself and tell him I will make contact? Ask him if he thinks he could arrange a meeting for me at the prison with Jerkovick.”
Hannity stood and extended his hand. He said, “Will do, and I will give you a report on my call.” I cautiously shook the large meaty hand, and was relieved that my fingers were not crushed together as on our first meeting.
I again thanked the inspector, and made my way out to the front office. Sarah was standing stiff at attention with her hands clasped in front of her. “How was your meeting with my boss?”
“Sarah, you know I can’t discuss the case. This is an on-going investigation.”
She laughed and escorted me through the office swinging gate into the tiny lobby. She actually pushed open the front glass door for me and said, “Well anyway, good luck, and I hope you find out some positive factual information.”
I sat in my car on the main street in front of the police station. No one ever parked there. Not many visitors to see the police I reckoned. I reviewed my notes again; started the car, and headed to the hamburger joint to have lunch. It was still business hours in Colorado, and I would call Officer Jordan from my home office.
I could just taste the hormone free, no additives, free-range burger awaiting me up the street.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
MYSTERY AT DEADFALL LAKE-Chapter 3
MYSTERY AT DEADFALL LAKE – Chapter 3
Hello readers.....I am still looking for suggestions on an ending for this detective story. The more unusual and off-the-wall the better. Let's hear your comments.
I definitely still had more questions than answers I thought as I pulled into our garage. I lifted my jacket off the coat hook above the rear door; grabbed the bag of groceries that my wife asked me pick up, hit the remote garage door closer, and walked through the breezeway to our back deck.
My wife looked up from the book she was reading. She smiled and said, “Well, hello detective. Are you done for the day?”
“Yeah, I’m beat,” I replied. “I don’t think I am any closer to uncovering what might have happened to this young couple, nor the reason or reasons they disappeared. I’ve made a list of key points with my conclusions based on info I have gathered so far. Take a listen and see if you have any ideas.
"I’ve gone through the police reports. Inspector Hannity filled me in on all the knowledge he had about the case. No positive evidence was ever turned up by the P.D. They found no evidence that foul play was involved. My interview with Wendy’s mom turned up zilch. According to her, everything was ‘hunky dory.’ Her recollection was that there was no pressing emotional problem Wendy was having at the time. She and her boyfriend, Roy, were apparently in love, and planned to be married sometime after college. Nothing seems to point to a run-away scenario. Wendy’s mother did not reveal if there was any abusive behavior from the father. She would have had to know about this if it was occurring. I have heard of cases where the father was abusive, and the mother knew, but did nothing to stop it. I just do not have anything that would point to this situation with Wendy’s parents.
“Now I wonder if there was a third party villain or enemy that harbored resentment toward Wendy or Roy, and would do them harm. Tomorrow I will try to contact some of Wendy’s old high school and college friends that still live in the area. If this doesn’t turn up any clues, I am back at square one.”
At 8:00 o’clock that evening I hung up the phone after talking to Sue, Brad, and Jean. Three of Wendy’s friends were still living in town, and agreed to meet with me. I suggested we all four meet at a local back room at the coffee house. It was worth the $25 I paid the manager for use of the small room, and luckily all three of Wendy’s friends would be there. Coffee would be served to us at no charge.
I finished my second glass of Pinot Noir wine, and set the glass on the coaster at my desk next to all my note pages. I rubbed my eyes and temples searching my brain for something I might have missed. I stood and stretched as I looked out of the large 2nd story window of my office. This meeting would be my one last chance to maybe gain some new information about this mystery. I was hopeful. A deer was just finishing a drink at our pond, and looked up at me. She flicked her ears and tale, and I imagined her saying good night, as she walked slowly off into the forest. I also noticed that she had helped herself to the potted Geranium plant on the deck. So much for the deer repellant spray.
I arrived at the coffee house at 8:30 a.m. with 3 sharpened pencils and clean empty pages in my notebook. I entered the warm and cozy coffee house and breathed in the aroma of fresh coffee and maybe a hint of Danish Croissants that would have been freshly baked. Some of the local early risers were sitting at small tables chit chatting with each other. I greeted the manager, and she pointed to the back room where Sue, Brad, and Jean should be waiting.
Three smiling faces greeted me as I walked into the meeting room. I would guess these friends of Wendy were about forty years of age. Each of them stood, and we all shook hands as they introduced themselves. All had steaming cups of coffee in large cups, and a plate of warm Danish rolls sat in the center of the table. I addressed them all. “I’m pleased to meet each of you, and thank you very much for taking the time to sit down with me and talk about this old mystery about Wendy and her boyfriend.”
They all seemed eager to help me sort out the circumstances regarding the disappearance of their friend. “This is what I have learned so far.” I reviewed my conclusions from the police reports; interviews with Wendy’s mother, and inspector Hannity. I read the notes from my conversations with Roy’s folks. All three of Wendy’s friends were nodding their heads telling me my view made sense to them.
I offered up a question. “Do any of you recall any situation that would perhaps cause Wendy and Roy to run away together? Were you aware of any problem that Wendy or Roy would be having that would cause such a drastic course of action?”
Sue volunteered her opinion. “Well, it was true that they planned to get married sometime. Wendy did not say a marriage was an urgent matter. I know she was not pregnant or anything.”
I said, “Do you know of anyone else in their circle of associates that might have been a cause of their disappearance? Was there a jealous suitor that might have been rejected by Wendy, and angry enough to do harm?”
Brad and Jean were nodding to each other. Brad said, “There was AJ who had a real thing for Wendy, but she was not interested, and told us that he gave her the creeps.”
“Who is AJ,” I said.
Jean replied, “That would be Al Jerkovick. He was in a couple of her classes, and I know for a fact that he was constantly hitting on Wendy. She told me he would leave notes in her hall locker, and wait outside her classes to press her to go on a date with him. Wendy told me she wanted nothing to do with Al, the JERK, Jerkovick.”
I finished more note taking, and said, “But did he seem a real physical threat to Wendy or Roy?”
Brad gulped some coffee, and took a large bite of his Danish. He said, “Wendy had talked to me and Jean about ideas of how she might get rid of this pest. She said that Roy really believed that it was Al that followed them to the movie, and slit the tires of Roy’s car. They had no proof, but Wendy said the Jerk stayed away from her for a few days after that.”
I said, “Did Wendy report any of this badgering to her folks, school authorities or even to the police? What ever happened to this Al character? Did he graduate?”
Sue was shaking her head from side to side. “Wendy would not say anything to anyone else about her problem with AJ. And as far as I know he never enrolled in classes the next school year, but he was around when Wendy and Roy went missing.”
I made some more notes, and noted to myself that I would have to ask Inspector Hannity and Wendy’s Mom about Al Jerkovick.
We all agreed that we would keep in touch, and I would contact each of them if I learned any more news. I again thanked Sue, Brad, and Jean out at the curb as they climbed into one car and drove off.
I called Inspector Hannity at the P.D., and he agreed to see me the next day. He said he would check out the name Albert Jerkovick to see what the system had on him, if anything. Wendy’s mom said she had no knowledge of Wendy’s problem with a fellow student named Al Jerkovick. I could only conclude that Wendy just did not confide in her parents about personal matters.
Hello readers.....I am still looking for suggestions on an ending for this detective story. The more unusual and off-the-wall the better. Let's hear your comments.
I definitely still had more questions than answers I thought as I pulled into our garage. I lifted my jacket off the coat hook above the rear door; grabbed the bag of groceries that my wife asked me pick up, hit the remote garage door closer, and walked through the breezeway to our back deck.
My wife looked up from the book she was reading. She smiled and said, “Well, hello detective. Are you done for the day?”
“Yeah, I’m beat,” I replied. “I don’t think I am any closer to uncovering what might have happened to this young couple, nor the reason or reasons they disappeared. I’ve made a list of key points with my conclusions based on info I have gathered so far. Take a listen and see if you have any ideas.
"I’ve gone through the police reports. Inspector Hannity filled me in on all the knowledge he had about the case. No positive evidence was ever turned up by the P.D. They found no evidence that foul play was involved. My interview with Wendy’s mom turned up zilch. According to her, everything was ‘hunky dory.’ Her recollection was that there was no pressing emotional problem Wendy was having at the time. She and her boyfriend, Roy, were apparently in love, and planned to be married sometime after college. Nothing seems to point to a run-away scenario. Wendy’s mother did not reveal if there was any abusive behavior from the father. She would have had to know about this if it was occurring. I have heard of cases where the father was abusive, and the mother knew, but did nothing to stop it. I just do not have anything that would point to this situation with Wendy’s parents.
“Now I wonder if there was a third party villain or enemy that harbored resentment toward Wendy or Roy, and would do them harm. Tomorrow I will try to contact some of Wendy’s old high school and college friends that still live in the area. If this doesn’t turn up any clues, I am back at square one.”
At 8:00 o’clock that evening I hung up the phone after talking to Sue, Brad, and Jean. Three of Wendy’s friends were still living in town, and agreed to meet with me. I suggested we all four meet at a local back room at the coffee house. It was worth the $25 I paid the manager for use of the small room, and luckily all three of Wendy’s friends would be there. Coffee would be served to us at no charge.
I finished my second glass of Pinot Noir wine, and set the glass on the coaster at my desk next to all my note pages. I rubbed my eyes and temples searching my brain for something I might have missed. I stood and stretched as I looked out of the large 2nd story window of my office. This meeting would be my one last chance to maybe gain some new information about this mystery. I was hopeful. A deer was just finishing a drink at our pond, and looked up at me. She flicked her ears and tale, and I imagined her saying good night, as she walked slowly off into the forest. I also noticed that she had helped herself to the potted Geranium plant on the deck. So much for the deer repellant spray.
I arrived at the coffee house at 8:30 a.m. with 3 sharpened pencils and clean empty pages in my notebook. I entered the warm and cozy coffee house and breathed in the aroma of fresh coffee and maybe a hint of Danish Croissants that would have been freshly baked. Some of the local early risers were sitting at small tables chit chatting with each other. I greeted the manager, and she pointed to the back room where Sue, Brad, and Jean should be waiting.
Three smiling faces greeted me as I walked into the meeting room. I would guess these friends of Wendy were about forty years of age. Each of them stood, and we all shook hands as they introduced themselves. All had steaming cups of coffee in large cups, and a plate of warm Danish rolls sat in the center of the table. I addressed them all. “I’m pleased to meet each of you, and thank you very much for taking the time to sit down with me and talk about this old mystery about Wendy and her boyfriend.”
They all seemed eager to help me sort out the circumstances regarding the disappearance of their friend. “This is what I have learned so far.” I reviewed my conclusions from the police reports; interviews with Wendy’s mother, and inspector Hannity. I read the notes from my conversations with Roy’s folks. All three of Wendy’s friends were nodding their heads telling me my view made sense to them.
I offered up a question. “Do any of you recall any situation that would perhaps cause Wendy and Roy to run away together? Were you aware of any problem that Wendy or Roy would be having that would cause such a drastic course of action?”
Sue volunteered her opinion. “Well, it was true that they planned to get married sometime. Wendy did not say a marriage was an urgent matter. I know she was not pregnant or anything.”
I said, “Do you know of anyone else in their circle of associates that might have been a cause of their disappearance? Was there a jealous suitor that might have been rejected by Wendy, and angry enough to do harm?”
Brad and Jean were nodding to each other. Brad said, “There was AJ who had a real thing for Wendy, but she was not interested, and told us that he gave her the creeps.”
“Who is AJ,” I said.
Jean replied, “That would be Al Jerkovick. He was in a couple of her classes, and I know for a fact that he was constantly hitting on Wendy. She told me he would leave notes in her hall locker, and wait outside her classes to press her to go on a date with him. Wendy told me she wanted nothing to do with Al, the JERK, Jerkovick.”
I finished more note taking, and said, “But did he seem a real physical threat to Wendy or Roy?”
Brad gulped some coffee, and took a large bite of his Danish. He said, “Wendy had talked to me and Jean about ideas of how she might get rid of this pest. She said that Roy really believed that it was Al that followed them to the movie, and slit the tires of Roy’s car. They had no proof, but Wendy said the Jerk stayed away from her for a few days after that.”
I said, “Did Wendy report any of this badgering to her folks, school authorities or even to the police? What ever happened to this Al character? Did he graduate?”
Sue was shaking her head from side to side. “Wendy would not say anything to anyone else about her problem with AJ. And as far as I know he never enrolled in classes the next school year, but he was around when Wendy and Roy went missing.”
I made some more notes, and noted to myself that I would have to ask Inspector Hannity and Wendy’s Mom about Al Jerkovick.
We all agreed that we would keep in touch, and I would contact each of them if I learned any more news. I again thanked Sue, Brad, and Jean out at the curb as they climbed into one car and drove off.
I called Inspector Hannity at the P.D., and he agreed to see me the next day. He said he would check out the name Albert Jerkovick to see what the system had on him, if anything. Wendy’s mom said she had no knowledge of Wendy’s problem with a fellow student named Al Jerkovick. I could only conclude that Wendy just did not confide in her parents about personal matters.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
MYSTERY AT DEADFALL LAKE - Chapter 2
MYSTERY AT DEADFALL LAKE – Chapter 2
Hello readers. Here is the 2nd chapter of this very short story. I am still looking for suggestions as to where to take this narrative. You can reply through the "COMMENTS" link, or email me at: tmacintl18@sbcglobal.net
Wendy’s Mom asked me if I would like some tea. “Yes,” I replied, “Tea sounds fine.” She stood and made her way to the kitchen which stood opposite the living room. I watched her fill the kettle, and push the ON button. The water started to heat up. She opened a tin on the counter next to the tea pot and took out two tea bags. She dropped one in each cup that had been taken down from the cupboard above the counter.
I used the opportunity to glance around the small, but pleasant living room. Framed pictures of Wendy and some of both Wendy and her Mom were standing on an end table, and some on the fireplace stone mantel. I could see none that might include her father. The room looked lived in. An older color TV sat on a low two drawer cabinet. A TV Guide lay open on the coffee table. Several shows for that day and evening had been circled in red ball point ink.
“I hope you like Jasmine tea. Sugar and milk are here on the tray as well.” She set the tray on the low, glass coffee table that sat in front of the couch we were seated on.
I lay my spiral notebook and pen on the table, as I added sugar to my Jasmine tea. “I would just like to ask a few basic questions so that I might get a better picture of the situation when Wendy and Roy disappeared.”
“Please ask what ever you like. I long ago stopped crying, and waiting for the telephone to ring hoping it was Wendy.”
I said, “Thank you,” and cleared my throat. “Inspector Hannity filled me in as best as he could recall. I also noted from the police report that Wendy was a good student, and that she was a responsible person. It also said that her relationship with you and her father appeared to be a normal one. No major incidents of trouble were noted. Is that accurate in your opinion?”
Wendy’s mother was wringing her hands, and said, “I would say that we were a normal family. Wendy never gave us any serious trouble. Just the normal ‘kid growing up’ things.”
I looked up from my note taking, and said, “I suppose one of the first things that might cross the mind of any parent here would be thinking that maybe Wendy ran away. Was there any traumatic emotional incident that she might have been experiencing at that time?” The runaway scenario was at the top of my list of what might have happened.
“Of course we thought of that, but we could think of no reason. Besides she took nothing with her when she left on the hiking trip with Roy. There were no extra clothes, or toiletries missing. We checked. Her favorite books, records, and even her locked diary were on the bookshelf where she kept them. If she was running away, I cannot imagine her leaving things behind that she loved.”
I paused to make more notes in my book. I pointed to the photographs. “Wendy was a very pretty young lady. I don’t see any photos of your husband.” I let the statement hang in the air for what seemed like ten seconds or so.
“Oh, Jake hated to have his picture taken, and avoided any photo taking situations. He always said he had some native Indian blood in him, and a camera could snatch a piece of one’s soul…..or some such nonsense like that.”
I decided to change the subject, and said, “You obviously talked with Roy’s parents. Was there anything that might indicate there was a problem the kids were not sharing?”
Wendy’s Mom stood and began to pace slightly in the small room. I swiveled my head to keep up with her movements. “We talked several times,” she said, “And they even flew out here to meet with us. They talked with the police, and of course we talked a lot right here in this room. In the end there were no surprises or new information that came out of our discussions.”
I made some more notations in my notebook. The next question for Wendy’s Mom could make or break the friendly conversation we were having. “Was there any history of tension between Wendy and her father? “It was noted in the police report that your husband, Jake, was a strict father. It also said that Wendy never openly rebelled against any of the household rules. Is that an accurate accounting of how you feel?”
Wendy’s Mom started wringing her hands again, but quickly separated them and placed them palm down on the sofa cushion. She looked away, and up to the ceiling as if she was pondering how she should answer. This to me was revealing some inner tension and uneasiness. She took a deep breath and replied, “Wendy was an easy child as I said before. Her father and I did impose a strict late evening curfew. She seemed ok with this. She was a neat person, so keeping her room neat and clean, as her father required, was easy for her. Her father also asked her to let us meet any close friends she had. She brought many to our house. We did approve of them all.”
I asked, “Did you personally agree with all of the requirements set by your husband for Wendy’s behavior?”
She breathed a deep sigh and said, “Well I always thought Wendy should have more of a private personal life. Jake and I did disagree somewhat about this rule.”
I had one last question. “Did Wendy and her father ever do things together? You know like hiking, going to the movies, sports and such? Were they alone together a lot?”
“Well I did work full time when Wendy was younger. Jake’s job at the mill was an off and on proposition. He went through many temporary lay offs like most of the lumber workers in town. It was pretty bad when the lumber industry started to dry up in these parts. It worked out though, as Jake was a handy baby sitter. We did save on the cost of a day time sitter a lot of the time.”
I stood and folded up my notebook and stuffed it in my coat pocket. I closed my ball point pen, and clipped it to my shirt pocket. I edged toward the front door. “You were very helpful, and I appreciate you going through all this questioning. I need to talk again to inspector Hannity just to compare notes. If you think of anything that might help, please call me. Here is my card with my mobile number. It has been such a long time with no news, that I just don’t see what else can be investigated. The last notes I reviewed in the police report were the missing person notices that were placed in the local papers as well as the national US NEWS and WORLD REPORT.”
Wendy’s Mom walked with me, and said, “We did get two reports from the national newspaper, but they turned out not to be anything about Wendy and Roy.”
I stood on the porch and shook Wendy’s Mom’s hand. I said, “Could you make a list of Wendy’s friends along with their phone numbers? I want to talk to each if they still are around.” She nodded, and replied that she would have the list ready tomorrow.
I waved a goodbye as I opened my car door and slid behind the wheel. I whispered to myself, “OK Mr. Investigator, it looks like you have struck out.” I hoped that conversations with some of Wendy’s old friends might turn up some clues. Folks growing up in these small towns tended to stay put in their adult life.
The question still remained in my mind. Was it possible that Wendy’s father was abusive to his daughter? Tomorrow I would pick up the list and start calling the people who knew Wendy.
Hello readers. Here is the 2nd chapter of this very short story. I am still looking for suggestions as to where to take this narrative. You can reply through the "COMMENTS" link, or email me at: tmacintl18@sbcglobal.net
Wendy’s Mom asked me if I would like some tea. “Yes,” I replied, “Tea sounds fine.” She stood and made her way to the kitchen which stood opposite the living room. I watched her fill the kettle, and push the ON button. The water started to heat up. She opened a tin on the counter next to the tea pot and took out two tea bags. She dropped one in each cup that had been taken down from the cupboard above the counter.
I used the opportunity to glance around the small, but pleasant living room. Framed pictures of Wendy and some of both Wendy and her Mom were standing on an end table, and some on the fireplace stone mantel. I could see none that might include her father. The room looked lived in. An older color TV sat on a low two drawer cabinet. A TV Guide lay open on the coffee table. Several shows for that day and evening had been circled in red ball point ink.
“I hope you like Jasmine tea. Sugar and milk are here on the tray as well.” She set the tray on the low, glass coffee table that sat in front of the couch we were seated on.
I lay my spiral notebook and pen on the table, as I added sugar to my Jasmine tea. “I would just like to ask a few basic questions so that I might get a better picture of the situation when Wendy and Roy disappeared.”
“Please ask what ever you like. I long ago stopped crying, and waiting for the telephone to ring hoping it was Wendy.”
I said, “Thank you,” and cleared my throat. “Inspector Hannity filled me in as best as he could recall. I also noted from the police report that Wendy was a good student, and that she was a responsible person. It also said that her relationship with you and her father appeared to be a normal one. No major incidents of trouble were noted. Is that accurate in your opinion?”
Wendy’s mother was wringing her hands, and said, “I would say that we were a normal family. Wendy never gave us any serious trouble. Just the normal ‘kid growing up’ things.”
I looked up from my note taking, and said, “I suppose one of the first things that might cross the mind of any parent here would be thinking that maybe Wendy ran away. Was there any traumatic emotional incident that she might have been experiencing at that time?” The runaway scenario was at the top of my list of what might have happened.
“Of course we thought of that, but we could think of no reason. Besides she took nothing with her when she left on the hiking trip with Roy. There were no extra clothes, or toiletries missing. We checked. Her favorite books, records, and even her locked diary were on the bookshelf where she kept them. If she was running away, I cannot imagine her leaving things behind that she loved.”
I paused to make more notes in my book. I pointed to the photographs. “Wendy was a very pretty young lady. I don’t see any photos of your husband.” I let the statement hang in the air for what seemed like ten seconds or so.
“Oh, Jake hated to have his picture taken, and avoided any photo taking situations. He always said he had some native Indian blood in him, and a camera could snatch a piece of one’s soul…..or some such nonsense like that.”
I decided to change the subject, and said, “You obviously talked with Roy’s parents. Was there anything that might indicate there was a problem the kids were not sharing?”
Wendy’s Mom stood and began to pace slightly in the small room. I swiveled my head to keep up with her movements. “We talked several times,” she said, “And they even flew out here to meet with us. They talked with the police, and of course we talked a lot right here in this room. In the end there were no surprises or new information that came out of our discussions.”
I made some more notations in my notebook. The next question for Wendy’s Mom could make or break the friendly conversation we were having. “Was there any history of tension between Wendy and her father? “It was noted in the police report that your husband, Jake, was a strict father. It also said that Wendy never openly rebelled against any of the household rules. Is that an accurate accounting of how you feel?”
Wendy’s Mom started wringing her hands again, but quickly separated them and placed them palm down on the sofa cushion. She looked away, and up to the ceiling as if she was pondering how she should answer. This to me was revealing some inner tension and uneasiness. She took a deep breath and replied, “Wendy was an easy child as I said before. Her father and I did impose a strict late evening curfew. She seemed ok with this. She was a neat person, so keeping her room neat and clean, as her father required, was easy for her. Her father also asked her to let us meet any close friends she had. She brought many to our house. We did approve of them all.”
I asked, “Did you personally agree with all of the requirements set by your husband for Wendy’s behavior?”
She breathed a deep sigh and said, “Well I always thought Wendy should have more of a private personal life. Jake and I did disagree somewhat about this rule.”
I had one last question. “Did Wendy and her father ever do things together? You know like hiking, going to the movies, sports and such? Were they alone together a lot?”
“Well I did work full time when Wendy was younger. Jake’s job at the mill was an off and on proposition. He went through many temporary lay offs like most of the lumber workers in town. It was pretty bad when the lumber industry started to dry up in these parts. It worked out though, as Jake was a handy baby sitter. We did save on the cost of a day time sitter a lot of the time.”
I stood and folded up my notebook and stuffed it in my coat pocket. I closed my ball point pen, and clipped it to my shirt pocket. I edged toward the front door. “You were very helpful, and I appreciate you going through all this questioning. I need to talk again to inspector Hannity just to compare notes. If you think of anything that might help, please call me. Here is my card with my mobile number. It has been such a long time with no news, that I just don’t see what else can be investigated. The last notes I reviewed in the police report were the missing person notices that were placed in the local papers as well as the national US NEWS and WORLD REPORT.”
Wendy’s Mom walked with me, and said, “We did get two reports from the national newspaper, but they turned out not to be anything about Wendy and Roy.”
I stood on the porch and shook Wendy’s Mom’s hand. I said, “Could you make a list of Wendy’s friends along with their phone numbers? I want to talk to each if they still are around.” She nodded, and replied that she would have the list ready tomorrow.
I waved a goodbye as I opened my car door and slid behind the wheel. I whispered to myself, “OK Mr. Investigator, it looks like you have struck out.” I hoped that conversations with some of Wendy’s old friends might turn up some clues. Folks growing up in these small towns tended to stay put in their adult life.
The question still remained in my mind. Was it possible that Wendy’s father was abusive to his daughter? Tomorrow I would pick up the list and start calling the people who knew Wendy.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
MYSTERY AT DEAD FALL LAKE - Chapter 1
MYSTERY AT DEAD FALL LAKE-Chapter 1
Short story...Chapter one
I need some help from readers with suggestions on a possible solve (or no solve) to this case.
After a hectic, 35 year, busy career of traveling around the world on business, I was finally retired. We built our retirement home among the tall conifer forest in a small mountain town in Northern California. I swore never to go near another airport….ever! I looked forward to doing nothing but reading, writing about some of my travel experiences, and playing golf.
I sat on our redwood deck under the tall Ponderosa pines reading our local newspaper….for the 2nd time cover to cover. Things were pretty quiet in our out-of-the- way, recreational vacation community. If you didn’t hike, fish, ski, golf or raft the river, nothing ever happened. I had to admit I was somewhat bored. My wife sat next to me enjoying a glass of wine, and was buried in a romance novel. She had put down her book and picked the local newspaper from the side table by my lounge chair. She said, “Did you see this story on the back page? It’s in the BLAST FROM THE PAST section. Seventeen years ago a young couple went on a hike nearby, and was never heard from again. Why don’t you dig into this story? You know you like a good mystery puzzle. With your security and law enforcement background, I’ll bet the local police would be glad to show you the investigative files on this closed case. Admit it Sherlock, you would enjoy digging into this unsolved mystery.”
Snatching the paper from her, I flipped to the back page again. I must have just glossed over this bit of old news. “This is the Dead Fall Lake trail. Don’t you remember? We hiked this trail our first summer in the house. It was actually spring, and the wildflowers were beautiful. We went with my sister, her husband and some other friends. We had our lunch on a huge fallen tree just above the lake. We have a photo taken that day.”
With renewed energy, I awoke the next morning ahead of the sunrise. I brewed some freshly ground coffee and plopped an English muffin in the toaster oven. I ventured out on the still cold rear deck and checked the fish in our garden ponds. “Lucky us,” I exclaimed out loud, “No visits by our marauding Raccoon last night…..maybe he has found better pickings elsewhere.” I went back inside to enjoy the steaming dark roast coffee, and plan my approach with the local gendarmes regarding the files on the missing couple 17 years earlier. My wife had cautioned me to remember the small town mentality….go slow and try not to be too pushy.
The young lady in the small front office of the town P.D. was obviously a police officer. Her badge pinned to her bright white shirt was so shiny it was blinding. I explained who I was, and that I had an interest in reviewing an old cold case. With a broad smile, she pushed open the small swinging gate, and asked that I follow her. I was seated in a tiny and stark room with a small single beat up wooden table, folding metal chairs, and no window. A coffee machine sat in one corner and smelled like a fresh brew awaited any occupant. “Please have a seat, and help yourself to a cup of coffee if you wish. I’m sure inspector Hannity will want to talk to you.”
I had just bent over to sniff the coffee…it was burned…when the door opened. A past middle age, and slightly pot-bellied officer entered the room. “Hello, I’m inspector Hannity and Sarah has told me you are inquiring about an old case involving the missing couple up at Dead Fall Lake. His hand shake was crushing, and I tried not to wince. Inspector Hannity dropped a thick manila folder on the table. “You’re welcome to go over these files, but they must remain here at the police station.”
The inspector and I chatted a little, and I gave a brief background of my working life. I explained that my security background really just involved assisting large industrial and military facilities review their criminal attack vulnerabilities. “Much of my time was spent investigating after-the-fact intrusions. I simply am bored out of my skull, and would like to review all the case notes, and see if I might be of any help in figuring out what happened.”
Inspector Hannity stood up, and said, “Have at it. These are all the notes available from each officer who was involved in the case. What say I leave you alone for a time while you digest the files? Let me know when you are finished, and I can try to answer any questions you may have. I am the only one still around that has some familiarity with the case.”
The investigation appeared not to be all that detailed. Wendy and Roy were students at the local community college. They had met there, and spent time together studying, hiking around the local mountains, and doing what any couple attracted together would do. Wendy had grown up in the town, and Roy had moved west on his own after graduating high school in the east. Neither of them had any kind of past trouble with the law. Not even traffic or parking tickets. Their grades were above average. Sounded like normal quiet lives to me.
Wendy’s mother still lived in town, but a last note in the file noted that her father had died about five years ago. A town map with the address was marked, less than a mile from the police station. I would visit the mother today or tomorrow.
I opened the door and told Sarah I was finished reviewing the file. She jumped up and fast walked down the hall. Ten seconds later Inspector Hannity entered the room. He said, “Can I answer any questions?” He helped himself to a cup of the foul smelling burned coffee.
“Thank you yes,” I replied. “The report says that the couple’s car, a 1970 Toyota sedan was found at the trail head where a public forest road intersects. Were any clues at all found in the car?”
Hannity gulped some coffee, and scrunched up his nose clearly noting he did not like the local brew. “Nothing was found in the car. A thorough search was done. There were no prints on the car other than those of Wendy and Roy.”
I continued. “The car was Roy’s, but did he have another car, and did Wendy drive a car as well?”
“As far as we could uncover, the old Toyota was the only car Roy owned. He worked odd jobs just to buy gas. Wendy’s Mom did not work, and she drove Wendy to her classes. Wendy sometimes would drive the family station wagon when her Mom could not take her, or Roy was unable to pick her up.”
I looked up from some of my own notes, and said, “I note that there is a forest road that runs not too far from Dead Fall Lake to the west about 2 miles. I see that this would be a Dead Fall Lake access point from anyone coming in from the west. I also see that the very popular Pacific Crest Trail runs right near the lake. In the summer I bet the trail can get pretty crowded.”
Inspector Hannity had swiveled the file so he could read some of the reports. “I recall that we did check with a couple of residents near this road. None had seen Wendy or Roy at the time. We also made a careful investigation of the common camping sites around the lake. Nothing of significance was found. What few pieces of old discarded camping equipment found were shown to Wendy’s parents. They did not recognize anything specifically. Photos of the few pieces were sent to Roy’s folks. They also drew a blank. We also, I recall, tried to get a list of trail users, but were advised that very few actually log themselves in with the trail offices when planning a backpacking trip. Those that did were contacted, but we turned up no new information.”
I flipped the file pages to a part of a report that documented the interview with Wendy’s parents. “I see you interviewed the parents. Did anything strike you as out of place? Was Wendy on good terms with her parents?”
Hannity was rubbing his chin, and staring at the ceiling light fixture. “They seemed like normal people to me. Wendy’s Mom did mention that her husband was pretty strict about Wendy’s comings and goings, but Wendy was pretty responsible, and never complained about any family rules as being too severe.”
I checked off another of my own notes written in my small spiral note book. “How about Roy’s folks, Were they able to shed any light on this mysterious disappearance?”
The chin rubbing continued, and Hannity had shoved his half empty coffee cup to the end of our table and out of the way. “I and one other officer talked to Roy’s Mom and Dad. Roy was pretty faithful about calling and writing his folks about his new life in California. They did mention that he had once talked about the possibility of he and Wendy getting married some day after college. His folks both confirmed that Roy was a good kid, and had never caused them any trouble while he lived at home.”
I stood up and extended my hand to inspector Hannity. “Thanks for your help. I have the contact information for both parents. Would you object to my talking to them?”
Hannity also stood. “Heck no, It’s OK by me. Just give then my phone number in case they wish to check with me.” His parting hand shake was less intense as our initial greeting.
It was getting on toward lunch time so I stopped in town center at the local hamburger place. They advertised WE SERVE FREE RANGE BEEF…NO CHEMICALS OR HORMONES IN OUR HAMBURGERS. I ordered the ‘special’ Mountain Burger, pulled out my notes and sat at a window table. The burger was fantastic, and I realized I had discovered a new place for us to have lunch. I noted a pay phone in the far corner. I walked over, dropped a dime in the slot. My wife picked up and I said, “It’s your husband Sherlock reporting in.”
“How’s the sleuthing going so far?” she asked.
“You’ll have a full report tonight madam. Right now they are serving my free range, all beef hamburger. I’ll take you to lunch here this week. I will try to see the mother of the girl Wendy this afternoon. I’ll also telephone Roy’s parents back east. Later,” I said hanging up. I didn’t want to give away too much info to Mrs. Sherlock just yet.
I pulled up in front of Wendy’s Mom’s house. It was an old wood clapboard, single story home with a large front porch complete with a wooden seat swing for two. It looked like it had been begging for a fresh coat of paint for many years. I climbed out of my car, and opened the creaky low picket fence gate. I had taken no more than three steps up the stone walkway, when a matronly woman opened her door and stood waiting on the porch to see who this stranger was. I explained my business, and handed her one of Inspector Hannity’s business cards. “The inspector said you should call him if you wish to.”
After a brief conversation on her porch, she invited me in for some chatting and herbal tea. She removed her apron and motioned for me to sit in an overstuffed chair. She then took the chair opposite. “I am still struggling to come to grips with what happened,” she told me. “I just can’t think of anything else I can say about the whole tragic event.”
LOOKING FOR READER HELP WITH SUGGESTIONS ON AN ENDING.....SOLVE OR NO SOLVE? ANY IDEAS OUT THERE?
TO BE CONTINUED............
Short story...Chapter one
I need some help from readers with suggestions on a possible solve (or no solve) to this case.
After a hectic, 35 year, busy career of traveling around the world on business, I was finally retired. We built our retirement home among the tall conifer forest in a small mountain town in Northern California. I swore never to go near another airport….ever! I looked forward to doing nothing but reading, writing about some of my travel experiences, and playing golf.
I sat on our redwood deck under the tall Ponderosa pines reading our local newspaper….for the 2nd time cover to cover. Things were pretty quiet in our out-of-the- way, recreational vacation community. If you didn’t hike, fish, ski, golf or raft the river, nothing ever happened. I had to admit I was somewhat bored. My wife sat next to me enjoying a glass of wine, and was buried in a romance novel. She had put down her book and picked the local newspaper from the side table by my lounge chair. She said, “Did you see this story on the back page? It’s in the BLAST FROM THE PAST section. Seventeen years ago a young couple went on a hike nearby, and was never heard from again. Why don’t you dig into this story? You know you like a good mystery puzzle. With your security and law enforcement background, I’ll bet the local police would be glad to show you the investigative files on this closed case. Admit it Sherlock, you would enjoy digging into this unsolved mystery.”
Snatching the paper from her, I flipped to the back page again. I must have just glossed over this bit of old news. “This is the Dead Fall Lake trail. Don’t you remember? We hiked this trail our first summer in the house. It was actually spring, and the wildflowers were beautiful. We went with my sister, her husband and some other friends. We had our lunch on a huge fallen tree just above the lake. We have a photo taken that day.”
With renewed energy, I awoke the next morning ahead of the sunrise. I brewed some freshly ground coffee and plopped an English muffin in the toaster oven. I ventured out on the still cold rear deck and checked the fish in our garden ponds. “Lucky us,” I exclaimed out loud, “No visits by our marauding Raccoon last night…..maybe he has found better pickings elsewhere.” I went back inside to enjoy the steaming dark roast coffee, and plan my approach with the local gendarmes regarding the files on the missing couple 17 years earlier. My wife had cautioned me to remember the small town mentality….go slow and try not to be too pushy.
The young lady in the small front office of the town P.D. was obviously a police officer. Her badge pinned to her bright white shirt was so shiny it was blinding. I explained who I was, and that I had an interest in reviewing an old cold case. With a broad smile, she pushed open the small swinging gate, and asked that I follow her. I was seated in a tiny and stark room with a small single beat up wooden table, folding metal chairs, and no window. A coffee machine sat in one corner and smelled like a fresh brew awaited any occupant. “Please have a seat, and help yourself to a cup of coffee if you wish. I’m sure inspector Hannity will want to talk to you.”
I had just bent over to sniff the coffee…it was burned…when the door opened. A past middle age, and slightly pot-bellied officer entered the room. “Hello, I’m inspector Hannity and Sarah has told me you are inquiring about an old case involving the missing couple up at Dead Fall Lake. His hand shake was crushing, and I tried not to wince. Inspector Hannity dropped a thick manila folder on the table. “You’re welcome to go over these files, but they must remain here at the police station.”
The inspector and I chatted a little, and I gave a brief background of my working life. I explained that my security background really just involved assisting large industrial and military facilities review their criminal attack vulnerabilities. “Much of my time was spent investigating after-the-fact intrusions. I simply am bored out of my skull, and would like to review all the case notes, and see if I might be of any help in figuring out what happened.”
Inspector Hannity stood up, and said, “Have at it. These are all the notes available from each officer who was involved in the case. What say I leave you alone for a time while you digest the files? Let me know when you are finished, and I can try to answer any questions you may have. I am the only one still around that has some familiarity with the case.”
The investigation appeared not to be all that detailed. Wendy and Roy were students at the local community college. They had met there, and spent time together studying, hiking around the local mountains, and doing what any couple attracted together would do. Wendy had grown up in the town, and Roy had moved west on his own after graduating high school in the east. Neither of them had any kind of past trouble with the law. Not even traffic or parking tickets. Their grades were above average. Sounded like normal quiet lives to me.
Wendy’s mother still lived in town, but a last note in the file noted that her father had died about five years ago. A town map with the address was marked, less than a mile from the police station. I would visit the mother today or tomorrow.
I opened the door and told Sarah I was finished reviewing the file. She jumped up and fast walked down the hall. Ten seconds later Inspector Hannity entered the room. He said, “Can I answer any questions?” He helped himself to a cup of the foul smelling burned coffee.
“Thank you yes,” I replied. “The report says that the couple’s car, a 1970 Toyota sedan was found at the trail head where a public forest road intersects. Were any clues at all found in the car?”
Hannity gulped some coffee, and scrunched up his nose clearly noting he did not like the local brew. “Nothing was found in the car. A thorough search was done. There were no prints on the car other than those of Wendy and Roy.”
I continued. “The car was Roy’s, but did he have another car, and did Wendy drive a car as well?”
“As far as we could uncover, the old Toyota was the only car Roy owned. He worked odd jobs just to buy gas. Wendy’s Mom did not work, and she drove Wendy to her classes. Wendy sometimes would drive the family station wagon when her Mom could not take her, or Roy was unable to pick her up.”
I looked up from some of my own notes, and said, “I note that there is a forest road that runs not too far from Dead Fall Lake to the west about 2 miles. I see that this would be a Dead Fall Lake access point from anyone coming in from the west. I also see that the very popular Pacific Crest Trail runs right near the lake. In the summer I bet the trail can get pretty crowded.”
Inspector Hannity had swiveled the file so he could read some of the reports. “I recall that we did check with a couple of residents near this road. None had seen Wendy or Roy at the time. We also made a careful investigation of the common camping sites around the lake. Nothing of significance was found. What few pieces of old discarded camping equipment found were shown to Wendy’s parents. They did not recognize anything specifically. Photos of the few pieces were sent to Roy’s folks. They also drew a blank. We also, I recall, tried to get a list of trail users, but were advised that very few actually log themselves in with the trail offices when planning a backpacking trip. Those that did were contacted, but we turned up no new information.”
I flipped the file pages to a part of a report that documented the interview with Wendy’s parents. “I see you interviewed the parents. Did anything strike you as out of place? Was Wendy on good terms with her parents?”
Hannity was rubbing his chin, and staring at the ceiling light fixture. “They seemed like normal people to me. Wendy’s Mom did mention that her husband was pretty strict about Wendy’s comings and goings, but Wendy was pretty responsible, and never complained about any family rules as being too severe.”
I checked off another of my own notes written in my small spiral note book. “How about Roy’s folks, Were they able to shed any light on this mysterious disappearance?”
The chin rubbing continued, and Hannity had shoved his half empty coffee cup to the end of our table and out of the way. “I and one other officer talked to Roy’s Mom and Dad. Roy was pretty faithful about calling and writing his folks about his new life in California. They did mention that he had once talked about the possibility of he and Wendy getting married some day after college. His folks both confirmed that Roy was a good kid, and had never caused them any trouble while he lived at home.”
I stood up and extended my hand to inspector Hannity. “Thanks for your help. I have the contact information for both parents. Would you object to my talking to them?”
Hannity also stood. “Heck no, It’s OK by me. Just give then my phone number in case they wish to check with me.” His parting hand shake was less intense as our initial greeting.
It was getting on toward lunch time so I stopped in town center at the local hamburger place. They advertised WE SERVE FREE RANGE BEEF…NO CHEMICALS OR HORMONES IN OUR HAMBURGERS. I ordered the ‘special’ Mountain Burger, pulled out my notes and sat at a window table. The burger was fantastic, and I realized I had discovered a new place for us to have lunch. I noted a pay phone in the far corner. I walked over, dropped a dime in the slot. My wife picked up and I said, “It’s your husband Sherlock reporting in.”
“How’s the sleuthing going so far?” she asked.
“You’ll have a full report tonight madam. Right now they are serving my free range, all beef hamburger. I’ll take you to lunch here this week. I will try to see the mother of the girl Wendy this afternoon. I’ll also telephone Roy’s parents back east. Later,” I said hanging up. I didn’t want to give away too much info to Mrs. Sherlock just yet.
I pulled up in front of Wendy’s Mom’s house. It was an old wood clapboard, single story home with a large front porch complete with a wooden seat swing for two. It looked like it had been begging for a fresh coat of paint for many years. I climbed out of my car, and opened the creaky low picket fence gate. I had taken no more than three steps up the stone walkway, when a matronly woman opened her door and stood waiting on the porch to see who this stranger was. I explained my business, and handed her one of Inspector Hannity’s business cards. “The inspector said you should call him if you wish to.”
After a brief conversation on her porch, she invited me in for some chatting and herbal tea. She removed her apron and motioned for me to sit in an overstuffed chair. She then took the chair opposite. “I am still struggling to come to grips with what happened,” she told me. “I just can’t think of anything else I can say about the whole tragic event.”
LOOKING FOR READER HELP WITH SUGGESTIONS ON AN ENDING.....SOLVE OR NO SOLVE? ANY IDEAS OUT THERE?
TO BE CONTINUED............
Monday, May 14, 2012
Saturday, May 5, 2012
WHO STOLE THEM?
WHO STOLE THEM?
Part of a series of short sories submitted to Writers.com.
A true story about a bully, revenge, a scare, and some big trouble for yours truly. Also about forgiveness. I was eight years old at the time.
Saturday late morning-summer 1945
We lived in a small house on a quiet residential street in a small town in Northern California. Mom and Dad rented the small two bedroom house from Mr. Ramano. Our landlord, I remember, was a tall skinny guy that always wore black. He wore a black Bowler hat. That was what my Dad called it. He was friendly, but I remember Mom and Dad talking to our neighbors about him as being somewhat ‘odd.’ He had just driven down from San Francisco to do some repairs on our water heater. He ended up replacing it. My Dad, who was very smart about fixing things, said it was beyond repair.
Mr. Ramano always brought me and my sister a gift when he visited our house. He told Mom and Dad that he wanted to give me something that he enjoyed when he was a young boy. My heart began beating a little faster as he carried in a large flat box wrapped up with white cord twine.
I sat on our large stuffed sofa in our small living room. Mom and Dad sat in their reading chairs and watched Mr. Ramano unwrap the box. He carefully rolled up the white cord twine, and put a rubber band around it to keep it from unraveling. “Terry,” he said, “This was a special present I received when I was about your age. This box should be kept to store what is inside. My eyes never left the box, and I was bursting to yell out: “What is it!?”
He placed the box on my lap and lifted the lid. I took a deep inhale of air as I looked at what was inside. Dad had come over to inspect my gift. Mr. Ramano was kneeling in front of me. “Terry, this is a complete set of pewter toy soldiers that are especially made to replicate World War I Army infantrymen. There are horses, canon wagons, and other equipment used by our United States Army to fight the Germans. The entire set has one hundred pieces. If you take good care of it, you might someday give it to your son.”
Each piece was exquisite, and painted with care. The uniforms were the Army brown with even the buttons painted black; the rifles the soldiers carried were a shiny black, with the bayonet bright silver. The belts were black with the attachments (knife and holder and extra bullet pouch) painted a different color. A canteen for water was slung over the shoulder of each soldier. Each figure was mounted on a flat bottom piece that allowed them to stand upright.
“Wow Mr. Ramano, thanks, these are really neat.”
My Dad was shaking Mr. Ramano’s hand and saying, “This is a special gift, are you sure you want to part with it?” I gulped, closed my eyes wishing my Dad would stop talking.
“Ray, I have no children as you know. This was just sitting in my garage gathering dust. I want someone to have it that will truly enjoy it.”
******
I waved goodbye to Mr. Ramano as he drove off in his old black car with smoke pouring out of the exhaust pipe. My Mom was fanning her hand back and forth in front of her nose to blow away the stinky fumes. I couldn’t wait to take out each of the soldier pieces. I knew I would have to sit through a talk session with my Dad as he browsed through the many pewter pieces, explaining what each represented, and some of the history of this war.
Sunday afternoon
Sitting through church had been painful for me as I was thinking about my new toy, and how I was going to set them up in our yard when I got home.
When we arrived back home, I hustled to change into my outside clothes. Dad sat in a low, small folding chair as he watched me unpack the toy soldiers in our fenced front yard. “Here are some drawings of scenes from this World War I. You can get an idea of how to dig the trenches our soldiers fought in. Notice how they are lined up, and the specific placement of the canons.”
I spent about an hour setting up a battle scene in the dirt. I thought it matched the picture my Dad had given me. It was pretty neat, and it got a nod of approval from my Dad.
“Terry,” Mom called from the doorway. “You need to get cleaned up for dinner.” Dad got down on his knees next to me, and helped put the soldiers back in the box.
“I want to leave a few of these soldiers and the canons right where they are,” I said to Dad. Tomorrow I think I will add some more pieces.”
Sleeping that night was not easy. I was planning to call some of my close friends to show them my new neat gift, and let them play with the army of soldiers. Maybe we could even play a game of war.
Mom and Dad would let me sit by them next to our old Philco wooden radio as they listened to the news about what they called the Second World War. I remember hearing how this war was coming to an end. My Dad explained to me about the First World War and this current one. I learned a lot about how each of these wars was fought.
*****
Monday morning
After breakfast, Dad helped me carry out the box of soldiers to the front yard. He would begin his walk to our local train station. He rode the train every day to San Francisco where he worked.
I had been thinking about how I was going to set up the army on the battle field I had made the day before. I jumped off of our front porch, and stared at the place where I had left a few of the key soldier pieces. They were gone! I dropped to my knees in the dirt and dug around with my fingers. The toy soldiers I had left outside were not there.
“Who stole them,” I cried. Dad helped me look, but we found no trace of the tiny Pewter soldiers. “Terry, let this be a lesson. You must take care of your new toys. Each night you should bring them inside; wash them off, and put them back in the box. Things that are treasured and valued must be taken care of.”
My friend Curtis had walked across the street to see what was going on. “Come on Terry, we have a baseball game against block two, remember?”
I had totally forgotten. There were three residential streets in our neighborhood. We called them Block one, two, and three. Curtis, Dale and I were playing line ball against Eugene, Tony, and Alex. They were the kids on Block two. I brushed off the dirt from my pants, and ran inside and grabbed my ball mitt. Curtis brought the bat and ball for our games. His older brother Walt had all kinds of baseball equipment.
“Donnie will probably want to play today,” Curtis reminded me. “My folks say we should let him have a turn at bat
I threw my arms up and said, “Curt, Donnie is a complete spastic, and he can’t play worth a dang. Besides he’s not really our friend. My Mom says he is a mean bully, and his Mom and Dad don’t know how to make him behave.” I told Curtis that I thought Donnie had probably stolen my new toy soldiers. He had a reputation in the neighborhood of being a little thief.
Donnie was thought of as the mean kid of the block. His dad drove a cement truck, and when he drove up and down our street, pieces of cement were always falling out of the truck’s chute. The neighbors were always out with shovels cleaning off the hard chunks of cement from our street. I know my Dad and others had told Donnie’s dad about the problem, but I remember him never trying to fix the problem. He did not ever volunteer to help with the clean up. My Mom always said, “Like father, like son,” when she talked about Donnie.
Sure enough, when Curtis and I arrived at our local field, there was Donnie standing by home plate. “You guys going to let me play today?” he said.
Curtis nudged me and whispered, “Look at Donnie’s pockets. You may be right. I’ll bet all those pointy bulges in his pocket are your toy soldiers.”
I was really mad at the thought that Donnie had come into our yard and stolen my toy soldiers. I said to him, “Not today Donnie, maybe next time.”
Donnie stomped his feet, and screamed at us, “I hate you guys. I’m telling my folks that you won’t let me play.” He turned and ran off some, and then picked up a bunch or rocks and began throwing them at Curtis and me. Curt and I grabbed our own rocks and threw them back. Donnie ran off yelling, “I’m gonna get you guys, wait and see.”
Tony was the only kid to show up from block two for our game of baseball line ball. “Eugene and Alex have to do chores today, and they can’t make it.”
I said, “Let’s cancel the game today. We’ll pound you guys next week.”
Tony smiled, and said, “Yeah, I’ll bet you six marbles your team is the one getting pounded.”
“Bring your marbles to the game,” I said, “You’re going to lose a few.” We waived to Tony as he headed back to his house on block two.
“Forget about that jerk Donnie,” I said to Curtis. “Let’s go set up the soldiers. You can help.” We gathered up our ball, mitts and bat and headed back home.
We had to walk by Donnie’s house, and I noticed him sitting on his porch. He gave us a dirty look as we passed.
Curt and I dumped our baseball gear on my porch, and settled down seated by the ‘battle field’ I had made. “What are you going to do about Donnie?” Curt said to me as we began moving the soldier figures around. “You know he was following us just now sneaking through the yards.” He stood up and pointed to the five foot high hedge that separated my yard from our neighbor next door. “The jerk is hiding behind the hedge right now. You know he stole your toy soldiers…. “Let’s get him.”
I jumped up; picked up a large rock bigger than my fist, and threw it over the hedge. We heard a ‘thunk’, and Curt and I looked at each other. We ran around the hedge ready to pin Donnie to the ground and go through his pockets to retrieve my stolen toys. Donnie was lying flat on the ground crying and holding his head that was bleeding through his fingers. “Oh no,” I said. “I’m in big trouble now.”
Curt leaned in to check Donnie’s cut head. By then the neighbor and my Mom had come running to the scene. Everyone stood around as my Mom, who was a nurse, examined Donnie’s cut. Curtis was jumping up and down shouting, “He was throwing rocks at us, and he stole Terry’s toy soldiers…..look in his pocket.” Donnie stood up, and my best buddy, Curtis, stuffed his hand into Donnie’s pocket. “Look, he has the soldier toys he stole from Terry!”
Sure enough Donnie had several of my toy soldiers in his pocket. The neighbor, who was now not happy that this scene was drawing others to his yard, looked at Donnie and said, “Did you steal these toys?”
Donnie was still crying and sobbed, “Yeah I took them because Terry never let’s me play baseball with the block one team.” Donnie was taking my toy soldiers out of his pocket and throwing them at me.
My Mom seemed to care less about the thief in our presence. She said, “I am taking Donnie home. The bleeding has stopped. We all can deal with this problem later.”
Dinner was quiet. My Dad had said, “We will discuss this after dinner.” I sat on the couch later explaining to my Dad about why I threw a rock at Donnie. Mom was talking on the telephone with Donnie’s mother. She hung up the phone, turned, and stared at me.
“Donnie’s mother said that his father and she have told Donnie he could not go outside for one week as his punishment. She said he also cried when asked about why he would steal from you. It sounds like he was crying because you had a nice new toy and he did not. That’s what his mother thinks. She and Donnie’s father don’t have much money, but they will try to shop for a similar toy at the dime store in town.”
My Dad had put his pipe in its holder next to his big easy chair. I knew this would be the start of another lecture. “Maybe Donnie does not have many toys of his own. How would you feel about giving back the ones he took from you? There are one hundred pieces in the set Mr. Ramano gave you. Would you really miss those few? I want you to think about how you would feel if you were in Donnie’s place. Maybe he would think your kind gesture was a sign of truce. Who knows, he might just stop being such a bully.”
I looked up at my Mom, but she did not say a word.
“Well I guess I could give him those toy soldiers that he stole.” I really did not want Donnie to have my toy soldiers, even if it was only six pieces.
Mom said, “Terry, this would be an act of forgiveness. That means you hold no bad feelings about Donnie, and that you want to be his friend.”
I nodded my head like I understood what was going on. Deep down I knew that Donnie the jerk would still be a mean kid. He should think again about playing on my team….well maybe one or two turns at bat.
POSTCRIPT:
Donnie never really became a good friend. We grew up together, but never really hung out together. Donnie grew into a big kid. He played football on the high school team. He still got into a few fights in school. He never graduated with me, and I guess his family moved away from our neighborhood, block one. My prized set of rare pewter toy soldiers somehow disappeared along with my old comic book collection. My Dad died while I was in college. I returned home to go through my things. Mom told me she had given away all my old stuff.
Part of a series of short sories submitted to Writers.com.
A true story about a bully, revenge, a scare, and some big trouble for yours truly. Also about forgiveness. I was eight years old at the time.
Saturday late morning-summer 1945
We lived in a small house on a quiet residential street in a small town in Northern California. Mom and Dad rented the small two bedroom house from Mr. Ramano. Our landlord, I remember, was a tall skinny guy that always wore black. He wore a black Bowler hat. That was what my Dad called it. He was friendly, but I remember Mom and Dad talking to our neighbors about him as being somewhat ‘odd.’ He had just driven down from San Francisco to do some repairs on our water heater. He ended up replacing it. My Dad, who was very smart about fixing things, said it was beyond repair.
Mr. Ramano always brought me and my sister a gift when he visited our house. He told Mom and Dad that he wanted to give me something that he enjoyed when he was a young boy. My heart began beating a little faster as he carried in a large flat box wrapped up with white cord twine.
I sat on our large stuffed sofa in our small living room. Mom and Dad sat in their reading chairs and watched Mr. Ramano unwrap the box. He carefully rolled up the white cord twine, and put a rubber band around it to keep it from unraveling. “Terry,” he said, “This was a special present I received when I was about your age. This box should be kept to store what is inside. My eyes never left the box, and I was bursting to yell out: “What is it!?”
He placed the box on my lap and lifted the lid. I took a deep inhale of air as I looked at what was inside. Dad had come over to inspect my gift. Mr. Ramano was kneeling in front of me. “Terry, this is a complete set of pewter toy soldiers that are especially made to replicate World War I Army infantrymen. There are horses, canon wagons, and other equipment used by our United States Army to fight the Germans. The entire set has one hundred pieces. If you take good care of it, you might someday give it to your son.”
Each piece was exquisite, and painted with care. The uniforms were the Army brown with even the buttons painted black; the rifles the soldiers carried were a shiny black, with the bayonet bright silver. The belts were black with the attachments (knife and holder and extra bullet pouch) painted a different color. A canteen for water was slung over the shoulder of each soldier. Each figure was mounted on a flat bottom piece that allowed them to stand upright.
“Wow Mr. Ramano, thanks, these are really neat.”
My Dad was shaking Mr. Ramano’s hand and saying, “This is a special gift, are you sure you want to part with it?” I gulped, closed my eyes wishing my Dad would stop talking.
“Ray, I have no children as you know. This was just sitting in my garage gathering dust. I want someone to have it that will truly enjoy it.”
******
I waved goodbye to Mr. Ramano as he drove off in his old black car with smoke pouring out of the exhaust pipe. My Mom was fanning her hand back and forth in front of her nose to blow away the stinky fumes. I couldn’t wait to take out each of the soldier pieces. I knew I would have to sit through a talk session with my Dad as he browsed through the many pewter pieces, explaining what each represented, and some of the history of this war.
Sunday afternoon
Sitting through church had been painful for me as I was thinking about my new toy, and how I was going to set them up in our yard when I got home.
When we arrived back home, I hustled to change into my outside clothes. Dad sat in a low, small folding chair as he watched me unpack the toy soldiers in our fenced front yard. “Here are some drawings of scenes from this World War I. You can get an idea of how to dig the trenches our soldiers fought in. Notice how they are lined up, and the specific placement of the canons.”
I spent about an hour setting up a battle scene in the dirt. I thought it matched the picture my Dad had given me. It was pretty neat, and it got a nod of approval from my Dad.
“Terry,” Mom called from the doorway. “You need to get cleaned up for dinner.” Dad got down on his knees next to me, and helped put the soldiers back in the box.
“I want to leave a few of these soldiers and the canons right where they are,” I said to Dad. Tomorrow I think I will add some more pieces.”
Sleeping that night was not easy. I was planning to call some of my close friends to show them my new neat gift, and let them play with the army of soldiers. Maybe we could even play a game of war.
Mom and Dad would let me sit by them next to our old Philco wooden radio as they listened to the news about what they called the Second World War. I remember hearing how this war was coming to an end. My Dad explained to me about the First World War and this current one. I learned a lot about how each of these wars was fought.
*****
Monday morning
After breakfast, Dad helped me carry out the box of soldiers to the front yard. He would begin his walk to our local train station. He rode the train every day to San Francisco where he worked.
I had been thinking about how I was going to set up the army on the battle field I had made the day before. I jumped off of our front porch, and stared at the place where I had left a few of the key soldier pieces. They were gone! I dropped to my knees in the dirt and dug around with my fingers. The toy soldiers I had left outside were not there.
“Who stole them,” I cried. Dad helped me look, but we found no trace of the tiny Pewter soldiers. “Terry, let this be a lesson. You must take care of your new toys. Each night you should bring them inside; wash them off, and put them back in the box. Things that are treasured and valued must be taken care of.”
My friend Curtis had walked across the street to see what was going on. “Come on Terry, we have a baseball game against block two, remember?”
I had totally forgotten. There were three residential streets in our neighborhood. We called them Block one, two, and three. Curtis, Dale and I were playing line ball against Eugene, Tony, and Alex. They were the kids on Block two. I brushed off the dirt from my pants, and ran inside and grabbed my ball mitt. Curtis brought the bat and ball for our games. His older brother Walt had all kinds of baseball equipment.
“Donnie will probably want to play today,” Curtis reminded me. “My folks say we should let him have a turn at bat
I threw my arms up and said, “Curt, Donnie is a complete spastic, and he can’t play worth a dang. Besides he’s not really our friend. My Mom says he is a mean bully, and his Mom and Dad don’t know how to make him behave.” I told Curtis that I thought Donnie had probably stolen my new toy soldiers. He had a reputation in the neighborhood of being a little thief.
Donnie was thought of as the mean kid of the block. His dad drove a cement truck, and when he drove up and down our street, pieces of cement were always falling out of the truck’s chute. The neighbors were always out with shovels cleaning off the hard chunks of cement from our street. I know my Dad and others had told Donnie’s dad about the problem, but I remember him never trying to fix the problem. He did not ever volunteer to help with the clean up. My Mom always said, “Like father, like son,” when she talked about Donnie.
Sure enough, when Curtis and I arrived at our local field, there was Donnie standing by home plate. “You guys going to let me play today?” he said.
Curtis nudged me and whispered, “Look at Donnie’s pockets. You may be right. I’ll bet all those pointy bulges in his pocket are your toy soldiers.”
I was really mad at the thought that Donnie had come into our yard and stolen my toy soldiers. I said to him, “Not today Donnie, maybe next time.”
Donnie stomped his feet, and screamed at us, “I hate you guys. I’m telling my folks that you won’t let me play.” He turned and ran off some, and then picked up a bunch or rocks and began throwing them at Curtis and me. Curt and I grabbed our own rocks and threw them back. Donnie ran off yelling, “I’m gonna get you guys, wait and see.”
Tony was the only kid to show up from block two for our game of baseball line ball. “Eugene and Alex have to do chores today, and they can’t make it.”
I said, “Let’s cancel the game today. We’ll pound you guys next week.”
Tony smiled, and said, “Yeah, I’ll bet you six marbles your team is the one getting pounded.”
“Bring your marbles to the game,” I said, “You’re going to lose a few.” We waived to Tony as he headed back to his house on block two.
“Forget about that jerk Donnie,” I said to Curtis. “Let’s go set up the soldiers. You can help.” We gathered up our ball, mitts and bat and headed back home.
We had to walk by Donnie’s house, and I noticed him sitting on his porch. He gave us a dirty look as we passed.
Curt and I dumped our baseball gear on my porch, and settled down seated by the ‘battle field’ I had made. “What are you going to do about Donnie?” Curt said to me as we began moving the soldier figures around. “You know he was following us just now sneaking through the yards.” He stood up and pointed to the five foot high hedge that separated my yard from our neighbor next door. “The jerk is hiding behind the hedge right now. You know he stole your toy soldiers…. “Let’s get him.”
I jumped up; picked up a large rock bigger than my fist, and threw it over the hedge. We heard a ‘thunk’, and Curt and I looked at each other. We ran around the hedge ready to pin Donnie to the ground and go through his pockets to retrieve my stolen toys. Donnie was lying flat on the ground crying and holding his head that was bleeding through his fingers. “Oh no,” I said. “I’m in big trouble now.”
Curt leaned in to check Donnie’s cut head. By then the neighbor and my Mom had come running to the scene. Everyone stood around as my Mom, who was a nurse, examined Donnie’s cut. Curtis was jumping up and down shouting, “He was throwing rocks at us, and he stole Terry’s toy soldiers…..look in his pocket.” Donnie stood up, and my best buddy, Curtis, stuffed his hand into Donnie’s pocket. “Look, he has the soldier toys he stole from Terry!”
Sure enough Donnie had several of my toy soldiers in his pocket. The neighbor, who was now not happy that this scene was drawing others to his yard, looked at Donnie and said, “Did you steal these toys?”
Donnie was still crying and sobbed, “Yeah I took them because Terry never let’s me play baseball with the block one team.” Donnie was taking my toy soldiers out of his pocket and throwing them at me.
My Mom seemed to care less about the thief in our presence. She said, “I am taking Donnie home. The bleeding has stopped. We all can deal with this problem later.”
Dinner was quiet. My Dad had said, “We will discuss this after dinner.” I sat on the couch later explaining to my Dad about why I threw a rock at Donnie. Mom was talking on the telephone with Donnie’s mother. She hung up the phone, turned, and stared at me.
“Donnie’s mother said that his father and she have told Donnie he could not go outside for one week as his punishment. She said he also cried when asked about why he would steal from you. It sounds like he was crying because you had a nice new toy and he did not. That’s what his mother thinks. She and Donnie’s father don’t have much money, but they will try to shop for a similar toy at the dime store in town.”
My Dad had put his pipe in its holder next to his big easy chair. I knew this would be the start of another lecture. “Maybe Donnie does not have many toys of his own. How would you feel about giving back the ones he took from you? There are one hundred pieces in the set Mr. Ramano gave you. Would you really miss those few? I want you to think about how you would feel if you were in Donnie’s place. Maybe he would think your kind gesture was a sign of truce. Who knows, he might just stop being such a bully.”
I looked up at my Mom, but she did not say a word.
“Well I guess I could give him those toy soldiers that he stole.” I really did not want Donnie to have my toy soldiers, even if it was only six pieces.
Mom said, “Terry, this would be an act of forgiveness. That means you hold no bad feelings about Donnie, and that you want to be his friend.”
I nodded my head like I understood what was going on. Deep down I knew that Donnie the jerk would still be a mean kid. He should think again about playing on my team….well maybe one or two turns at bat.
POSTCRIPT:
Donnie never really became a good friend. We grew up together, but never really hung out together. Donnie grew into a big kid. He played football on the high school team. He still got into a few fights in school. He never graduated with me, and I guess his family moved away from our neighborhood, block one. My prized set of rare pewter toy soldiers somehow disappeared along with my old comic book collection. My Dad died while I was in college. I returned home to go through my things. Mom told me she had given away all my old stuff.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)