Kevin and the Marble

Kevin was bored. It was late summer, but school wouldn’t start for another two weeks. He and his dad had moved to this house last month but the only other boys in the neighborhood that he’d met did not have similar interests to him. The Smith twins down the block to the right were both athletically minded and were at baseball practice or games nearly every day. Because Kevin had grown up in the city that was not something he’d gotten used to.

In the other direction he’d met three kids around his age. Marcia seemed like a nice girl, but she had some sort of muscle disability and was confined to a wheelchair, so board games were her primary outlet. Tim would have been fun to play with, but he was totally consumed with video games and Kevin’s dad had a firm stance on how much of that Kevin was allowed. And the only other kid that Kevin had met, William, was three years younger and didn’t share any interests with Kevin. While it would probably be better when school started, for now there was not much to do.

Kevin’s mom had passed away about a year ago. She had been ill for several years so while it was good that she was no longer suffering, that didn’t mean that Kevin did not miss her. Kevin’s dad had stayed with his job in the city so that Kevin could finish the school year there, but at the beginning of the summer he had changed jobs and the two of them had moved here where they could live in a house with a yard instead of in the high-rise apartment building that they’d had in the city. Kevin liked this new house and the large park across the street. But being able to go there and run around and enjoy the fresh air was getting old. Kevin really wanted to have friends.

Not being into athletic games and with his dad’s restrictions on the amount of video games he could play was not a problem in the city. There were a number of boys in Kevin’s building who had begun a marbles club. They could play either in the dusty empty lot next door, or, if they were not too loud, in the recreation room of the building during the day when the adults were at work. The rec room had worn low-pile carpets instead of hard linoleum floors, so the marbles did not go sailing off when they were hit. Kevin had a small bag of marbles, and his friend Jimmy would loan him a shooter when they played. Kevin’s dad seemed to recognize this attraction and had bought him another bag of new marbles as a reward for helping get everything packed for their move. But they were all small marbles and Kevin didn’t have a shooter – his dad did not seem to realize that significance.

[Marble pictures]

Thus it was that on this sunny Saturday Kevin found himself wandering around the park for the fourth time this week. His dad was home but, having begun a new job, was working a few extra hours this morning getting familiar with all that his job entailed. Kevin was over on the far side of the park near the creek that ran through it when a glint of something shiny in the weeds caught his eye. Focusing on where he saw that glint, he knelt down and pushed the weeds to the side.

There it was – a marble! And not just any marble, but one unlike any that Kevin had seen before. Most standard glass marbles have a colored swirl running through them to make them look like a cat’s eye. The swirl can be one of several colors – red, orange, yellow, green, and blue being the most common. And there are some more expensive marbles that have two or three colors running through them. But this marble that Kevin had plucked from among the weeds had FIVE colors. The primary swirls were orange, green, and blue, but the edges of the swirls were enhanced with red and yellow – almost like the swirl edges were on fire! This was NOT a standard marble – someone had spent a lot of time putting all those colors in and it was likely a pretty expensive marble.

But more significant to Kevin – this was not the average size marble either. It was a large marble – a shooter! And a shooter that put to shame all the ones that his friends back in the city had in their collections. And one that certainly was several rungs above the old worn shooter that Jimmy loaned him. Kevin was ecstatic!

 

Running home, Kevin burst into the den where his dad was poring over a pile of papers from his employer. Holding up the marble so that it caught the light streaming in the window, Kevin exclaimed, “Dad, look at this marble I found in the park! It’s a shooter! And it has five colors!” His dad began to reply, “That’s a really nice marble, Kevin. But I think you should know …” But Kevin didn’t hear this last part. He was already running out of the room as he shouted, “I’m going to go downstairs and practice marbles in the family room.”

Kevin first went to his bedroom to get his two sacks of marbles – both the small bag with the worn ones and the new bag that his dad had gotten him. He then bounded down the stairs to the family room. Like the community rec room back in the city, the family room had some low-pile carpet on the floor that made it acceptable for playing marbles. Kevin moved aside the items in the middle of the room, marked a rough circle using his older marbles, put the newer marbles in the center and then knelt down with his newly-found shooter.

Holding the shooter in the crook of his first finger and using his thumb to launch it, he first tried a few low-speed shots just to get the feel of it. It didn’t take long until he had gotten back his form and could reliably hit one of the smaller marbles and knock it out of the ring. Now it was time to try some combination shots and see if he could knock out several smaller marbles at once. Aiming at a cluster of three marbles in the center of the ring, Kevin let loose his shooter with as much force as he could muster. His aim was true and the shooter hit the cluster with a loud C-R-A-C-K!

 

It seemed like time had stopped. While two of the three marbles in the cluster had gone sailing out of the ring, sitting in their place were the shattered pieces of Kevin’s prized shooter! There were three larger chunks, a few razor-edged shards, and the glints of a number of smaller pieces that were now dotting the rug. The five colors from inside the shooter were now reduced to just some dull colors among the multiple pieces of glass. Kevin felt like his heart was also shattered like the shooter and he stood there in shock.

It was then that he became aware that his father had come into the room. He wrapped his arms around Kevin’s shoulders and gently held him. Kevin turned into his dad’s embrace as he haltingly sobbed, “It … it broke. I’ve only had it for … for an hour, and … and, it’s broken!” Kevin’s dad held him even closer.

“That’s what I tried to tell you earlier, Kevin,” his dad said. “Because of the time it takes to make these fancy marbles, the cooling process of the glass takes longer and sometimes makes them more brittle. I lost my favorite shooter when I was about your age because of the same problem.”

“You used to play marbles, too, Dad?” asked Kevin. “I never knew that.”

“Yes,” said his dad. “I’ve seen you get interested in them the last few years, but I’ve been so involved in taking care of your mom that I never got around to sharing that with you. I think it’s about time to rectify that situation. Let’s get out the vacuum and clean up this broken glass before it gets imbedded in the carpet. Then I have a few places that I’ve noticed on my drive to work the last few weeks that I’d like to show you.”

Kevin’s dad was true to his word. After they’d done the vacuuming and collected the marbles from under the sofa and around the room, they spent the rest of the day together. Their first stop was at a fast-food place for lunch - one that had been Kevin’s favorite back in the city. Then they went to a large toy store. But instead of Kevin’s dad picking anything out, he let Kevin choose a couple of marble shooters – so he’d have a spare if needed. And he even let Kevin pick out a new video game. His dad had veto authority over the one that Kevin chose as there were still limits on the level of violence or other unacceptable behavior in the video, but that was fine with Kevin.

Finally, they stopped at a YMCA in the same part of town where they lived. It was close enough that Kevin’s dad said that he would be allowed to ride his bicycle there on Saturdays as long as he paid attention to the traffic and rode safely. There were a number of group activities that Kevin could participate in. They didn’t have a marbles club, but the person at the front desk said that if Kevin could get at least three other people interested, that he could start a club and they could use one of the rooms for their club meetings. Kevin felt that he was up to that challenge.

 

When they got home later that afternoon, Kevin turned admiringly to his dad. “Thanks, dad,” he said. “I didn’t think you understood, but I’ve underestimated you. Thanks for being my dad!”

Kevin’s dad smiled back. “And I appreciate you for the attitude you’ve displayed through all of this. Now, do you think you’d be willing to play a game of marbles with me? I’m pretty rusty, but if you’re patient, I might be able to become a worthy opponent.”

 

VW Engine

As I recall, it was the fall of 1960. In those days all the auto manufacturers released their new models at the same time. Although I was only 12, I was really into cars and could tell you the make, model, and year of every car we passed on the road. (FYI – my grandson Isaiah can do the same thing now.) On that weekend each year my father and I would travel around to many of the dealers in the area so see all the new cars coming out.

This particular year the local VW dealership decided to do something special in order to get people like my father to stay longer – and thus increase the chances of people buying a VW instead of something else. So, they arranged for a demonstration. They not only advertised it in the paper but mailed invitations to the VW owners in the region – of which we were one as my father had bought his first VW the previous year.

My father and I thus were at the VW dealer – first just looking at the new cars in the showroom, then, when the sales manager announced that the demo was going to start, going out into the shop area of the building. They had totally cleaned the shop, so there were no vehicles there and the floors had been newly painted. At the appointed time, one of the garage doors was opened and a new VW Beetle driven in – the purpose being that we could see that this was a running vehicle. Parking it in the middle of the small crowd who had gathered, the shop manager announced what would be happening. Two of their lead mechanics moved to the back of the car and opened the door of the engine compartment. They also brought over a tool box – in which they naturally had all the tools they needed and all organized appropriately.

Upon a signal, they began quickly moving to disassemble the engine. First, they removed all the electrical components (spark plug wires, distributor, battery, etc.), then took off all the other easily reached items (v-belt, pulleys, carburetor, etc.) While doing this, one of them put some pans underneath and drained the fluids from the transmission and engine. One got underneath and removed the muffler. Then the two of them disconnected the engine from the transmission and lifted the flat-4 engine out of the compartment.

Setting the engine on a drop cloth, they then proceeded to disassemble it – taking off the heads, removing the cover over the crank shaft, disconnecting all the pistons, removing the valves, etc. Meanwhile the shop manager was keeping up a running commentary about what they were doing so that those of us standing around the car in a large circle understood the various steps. They only thing they did not disassemble was taking the rings off the pistons.

I should also note that since the flat-4 VW engine is air cooled, there is no radiator and no coolant to drain. This eliminates several components that you find on other engines.

Now we had spread out in front of us, and neatly arranged, a disassembled engine and the Beetle sitting there without an engine in it. They gave us a few minutes to walk around and see all the components. Then, working just as quickly, the two mechanics began to put the engine back together – following all the steps they had just completed in reverse.

Adding back the fluids that they had drained – or more accurately, adding new fluids to replace the ones they had drained, they then put a small amount of gasoline in the carburetor, one of them got in the driver’s seat, and they started up the engine, opened the garage door and drove back outside.

Total time for the complete disassembly and reassembly – less than one hour! It was quite an impressive demo. Of course, the purpose of doing this was to not only show potential VW buyers not only how easy it was to work on these cars, but to showcase the skills of their mechanics and thus make everyone want to use the dealer’s services in the future.

As a 12-year-old, and the youngest member of the audience, I know that I was impressed. My father had just bought his first VW the year before and it was the first of a few that he bought there. And in 1973, after I had married and while I was living in CT for a few years before my wife and I moved to PA, I also bought a vehicle from that same dealership – in my case a VW Dasher station wagon, which I bought sight unseen as the Dasher was a brand-new line and they didn’t even have any in stock yet. So, I guess their “demonstration”, at least in my case, paid off.

These days, with all the computer-controlled parts of the engine and all the emissions components, it is far more complicated to work on vehicle engines. Doing the work yourself is all but impossible and they even color-code those things that the vehicle owner is allowed to touch (adding oil, adding coolant, changing/charging a battery) and everything else is off-limits. But in 1960, the air-cooled VW engine was a thing of great simplicity and enabled the demo that I had the pleasure of witnessing.

Fred Forchelli - Credits

Credits

I began a week ago with only a single long sentence that I had submitted to a “bad writing” contest. Posting it on my Facebook account, my cousin Tom challenged me to finish the story. Drawing on my creative juices, I wrote one chapter at a time – strictly in a stream-of-consciousness style – not knowing how the story would turn out and, as I finished each chapter, only having a vague idea of the title of the next chapter. I was writing about one chapter (2-4 pages) a day, waiting for a new round of creative juices before beginning each chapter.

Despite my asking each day for any ideas or comments, it was not until around chapter 7 that someone responded. That anonymous comment made it clear that the navigation from one chapter to the next was not obvious. I went back and added prior/next links in each chapter – the only change I have made to any previously written and published chapter.

At that point I had still not given names to any of the characters except to the main character – Frederick Flintstone Forchelli – who had been named in that first single sentence, and to Jennifer, the person in the Office Services company who Fred relies upon for some administrative activities. But my daughter, Kim, commented that if the “hero” is Fred Flintstone, then the “bad guy” needs to be Barney Rubble. I then also added his wife Elizabeth (Betty) as well as George Jenson (a barely concealed reference to the Flintstones spinoff – George Jetson). I'll let the reader decide what happens to Fred’s new assistant, Wilma!

Thus invigorated, I wrote the last four chapters of the book in just 36 hours. It all fell together surprisingly quickly.

So, my thanks on this to:

·         My cousin Tom who got me started

·         The anonymous poster who was confused about how to navigate

·         My daughter Kim who gave me ideas for names – which I needed to make progress

It’s been a wild week! I hope all of you have enjoyed reading it as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it. This has been a new experience and a fun one.

 

< Prior Chapter

 

 

Fred Forchelli - Chapter 11

Chapter 11 – The Aftermath  

It was a chilly fall day when Fred stepped off the elevator and walked down the hall toward his new office. A lot had happened over the past several months.

Mayor McNaught had apologized for his inappropriate conduct during the last re-election campaign. The city solicitor had decided not to take any action against him. He was overwhelmingly so well liked and continued to do so much for the city that this slight indiscretion could be forgiven.

The trials of George Jenson and Barnard Olshevski had been surprisingly swift and predictable in outcome. With both men testifying against each other there was no question of their guilt. They had each been found guilty and were now serving life sentences in separate prisons.

Elizabeth Olshevski had been the recipient of much sympathy. She had also finally made the decision to seek a divorce from Barnard and it had been granted. With that burden lifted, her creative juices had begun flowing and she had published not one, but two additional mystery novels over the summer. Still writing under the Betty Rubble pseudonym, no one questioned that her latest book was dedicated to Fred Flintstone. That remained a private joke between the two of them.

The board of directors of Jeremy Spencer’s venture capital company had reorganized. Absent the presence of George Jenson, they had hired a new director to help guide their investments. The university had denied any knowledge of George’s escapades and they were now seeking a new person to head their diversity office.

 

But the biggest change was in Fred’s career. Bolstered not only by a generous infusion of cash, anonymously of course, from Elizabeth Olshevski, Fred was making the move to a new spacious office. It was not only air-conditioned, but had two rooms – an outer room for his new receptionist/assistant, and an inner one for himself. George had supervised the purchase and placement of the furnishings. In his inner office he had kept the battered wooden desk – that just held too many memories of his past. But the metal bookcase had been discarded and replaced with a mahogany bookcase and a new file cabinet that now held all his manila folders. The bookcase held not only his law books, but the top shelf had a complete set of the Betty Rubble mystery series – each personally engraved on the title page by “Betty Rubble” herself.

Fred’s old wooden visitor chair had been replaced with a matching pair of comfortable padded ones, but he still retained his high-backed leather chair. The pencil sharpener and coffee pot were now on the cadenza behind his assistant’s desk in the outer room. This room also held a comfortable couch for those waiting to see him – with the fabric matching that on the padded chairs in his inner office.

Fred had also decided to upgrade his use of technology. Taking center stage on his desk was a docking station for his laptop that also connected to a large screen monitor and a full-sized keyboard. No more squinting at the laptop screen while doing his research. And no more plugging in and unplugging his laptop when he needed it. The final object in his inner office was that trusty fan – not that he needed it for cooling now that he had air conditioning, but he had gotten used to the gentle breeze while working. The fan was on top of the new filing cabinet as there were no more wide windowsills in this new building.

Fred had enlisted the aid of Jennifer in locating someone who could make him a professional website befitting his new status as a well-known member of his profession. And Marvin Jones had been good to his word and, when appropriate, had recommended him to others.

Fred had asked Jennifer if she would be willing to leave O’Brien’s and come work full-time for him. She had politely declined as she liked the variety of work at O’Brien’s. But when Fred asked if she had any recommendations for someone else to fill that role, she offered to locate one for him. There had been a twinkle in her eye as she said this.

 

Arriving at the door of his new office, Fred stopped for a moment to admire the gold-leaf writing on the door – “Frederick F. Forchelli, Investigator and Attorney”. Reaching for the doorknob, he was surprised to find it already unlocked. His new assistant that Jennifer had picked out must have already arrived. He opened the door and was greeted by the attractive young woman seated at the desk. “Welcome, Mr. Forchelli,” she said, “I’m your new assistant, Wilma.”

 

< Prior Chapter | Credits >

 

Fred Forchelli - Chapter 10

Chapter 10 – The Crime

Fred arrived at the office earlier than usual the next morning. He had a lot to get accomplished that day. He had already stopped at O’Brien’s Office Services on the second floor and gotten permission to have exclusive use of Jennifer for the day. He’d need her considerable skills to pull everything together.

With her help he dictated notes to be typed, made copies of the appropriate newspaper articles, pulled together the online research results that he had uncovered, and started organizing everything into a cohesive report. Around late morning when Fred felt that they’d be able to get it all done that day, he made a call to the local District Attorney and scheduled a meeting with he and others on his staff for early Monday morning. He was so focused on pulling everything together that it was only because Jennifer insisted that he stopped for lunch. He did so, but only allowed himself a half-hour so that he could get back to work.

Toward the end of the day Fred signed on to his Amazon account and ordered a couple of books. He was not willing to wait even for the promised one-day delivery, so he ordered the Kindle versions. He had some reading to do this weekend to help clear up some of the loose ends.

It was nearly four o’clock when he took the several copies of his report – each in a separate notebook – up to his office. He was tired from the whirlwind of activity that day – and so was Jennifer. He had thanked her profusely. While her contract with O’Brien’s did not allow her to accept tips, he made a mental note to have some flowers and a thank you card delivered to her on Monday.

 

On Monday morning, as promised, Fred met with the local District Attorney, Marvin Jones, and two of his staff. Sitting in Marvin’s spacious office, Fred passed out copies of the notebooks that he and Jennifer had prepared, and he began going through the chronology. They had not gotten far when Marvin, realizing what he had in front of him, asked Fred to pause for a few minutes. They moved into the conference room next door and Marvin asked most of the rest of his senior staff to drop what they were doing and join them. Fred did not have enough copies of his notebook, so they had to share.

Fred began over in his presentation – beginning with the drilling/fracking operation, then how Jeremy Spencer’s venture capital company invested and eventually took over and how Jeremy benefited and became quite rich because of that investment. Then he noted how George Jenson, upon the death of his mother, realized that he was now the sole heir of Jeremy’s estate, but that it was apt to be several decades before he would benefit, and he got greedy. Thus, it was that he contracted with Barnard Olshevski to arrange for Jeremy to meet an untimely death. The police report confirmed that Barnard had been there that night and the presence of the heart medication in his car was an indication of how the murder was committed. Fred suggested that the DA’s office would be able to get proof of payment from George to Barnard through requisition of bank records – something that Fred could not do.

Marvin was an experienced, no-nonsense type of person. He barked a few orders to those in the room and they quickly left to complete their assignments. He had initially taken Fred as just one of many such private investigators/attorneys, but the way that Fred had pulled everything together and the quality of his presentation made a very positive impression on him. Before Fred left, Marvin told him, “You have a lot of potential, we’ll be talking more in the future.”

Fred was on cloud nine. But he had one more important task to perform that day. Pulling out his trusty flip-phone and calling up a number he had saved that weekend, he dialed it. When the feminine voice answered, Fred said, “Betty? This is Fred. We need to meet.”

 

Later that week the news media was abuzz with the happenings. No one was terribly surprised when a group of six policemen entered one of the local bars in the big city and arrested “Bro” Olshevski. They all knew that he was a bad dude and he’d been arrested several times before. But when he was taken before the local magistrate the next morning and charged with the murder of Jeremy Spencer that was unexpected.

But it was the simultaneous arrest of George Jenson – and not in a bar, but in the Diversity Office of the University – that really got people’s attention. Their up-and-coming star, the winner of the Chamber of Commerce Futurist Award, was arrested on a charge of accessory to murder. Because he was viewed as an extreme flight risk, he was also denied bail.

Almost immediately Barnard and George turned on each other. They may have thought they were diverting attention from themselves, but, of course, they only succeeded in providing additional proof of how they were both guilty.

 

On Thursday evening, in a quiet recess in the back of a darkened restaurant, Fred met with his client – Elizabeth Olshevski. Her husband had been arrested earlier that day, but the news media had not yet connected his quiet arrest to that of George’s more spectacular one in another city.

Fred had determined that the only way that a photocopy of that police report would be in the packet of hints would be if the photocopy had been of the one that the police had given to Barnard when he had been warned on that fateful night around the corner from Jeremy Spencer’s house. And one of the few people who would have had access to that copy was Barnard’s wife – Elizabeth.

Fred had also done some further research into the Olshevski couple. While still legally married, Barnard and Elizabeth lived apart – she being a respected English professor and he a long-time criminal. But there was more to it than that. Barnard’s legal name was Barnard Rubble Olshevski. And Elizabeth, besides teaching, was also a prolific author. She published under the pseudonym of “Betty Rubble” – Betty being short for Elizabeth and Rubble being her husband’s middle name. She wrote mystery stories – some of which had been Fred’s reading material the previous weekend.

Elizabeth had a suspicion about her erstwhile husband’s involvement in Jeremy Spencer’s death. But she couldn’t go to the police herself – if Barnard had any suspicion that she was accusing him, her life might also be in danger. Thus, it was her familiarity with the plots in her mystery novels that had led her to become the anonymous client and to let someone else become the accuser. And the name connection between Barney and Betty Rubble and Fred Flintstone had just seemed too perfect – which is why she had chosen Fred to help her.

Elizabeth had been quite successful as an author and had a sizeable bank account from her book sales – which her husband had no knowledge of. While Fred felt that she had been more than generous in her initial anonymous payment to him, she was so grateful to be free of the fear of her husband that she promised that there would be an additional payment in the future.

 

< Prior Chapter | Next Chapter >

Fred Forchelli - Chapter 9

Chapter 9 – The People

Fred wanted to find all that he could about the six men on his list. He decided to start at the end of the list with someone he knew and work backward.

Mayor Robert McNaught was the latest of a long line of men from that family who had served in various offices. His father had been a long-time county commissioner and his grandfather had been a Justice of the Peace as well as served in the county office as zoning officer, county treasurer and perhaps other positions over the years. If Robert had a flaw, it was that he was always trying to be better than his ancestors. He was now in his second term as mayor.

It appeared that in his desire to be re-elected, he had accepted significant funds from a few individuals and felt that he owed them a favor in return. Since he had considerable influence on the city council, he had proposed some tax exemptions that appeared to benefit those donors. Fred did not feel that this was among the list of offenses that his client was concerned about. The fact that it had already been exposed in the newspaper meant that the city solicitor knew about it and would take appropriate action.

Robert was married to Jane McGonigle. She was very much into the social scene and participated (and frequently ran) a number of local charities. There was nothing of concern there.

 

Next on Fred’s list was George Jenson. Since he was not only a significant donor to the mayor’s re-election campaign and had been awarded the Futurist Award by the Chamber of Commerce he almost certainly was somehow involved in this case. He had a degree from a well-known university and had lived in the city since his graduation. He was employed as the Chief Diversity Officer for one of the local colleges. While that was impressive for someone not yet 30 years old, it didn’t explain where the funds came from for his donation to the mayor. Fred felt that perhaps he had come from a monied family.

He checked George’s LinkedIn profile but that did not tell Fred anything he didn’t already know. He next checked an online copy of the yearbook from George’s alma mater. That yielded the name of the city where he had graduated from high school. But, more significantly, the yearbook had a picture of George – and it matched one of the individuals that appeared in the grainy picture that Fred had studied earlier. Putting the pictures side-by-side, it was pretty clear that they were of the same person – or that George had a doppelganger.

Suppressing his excitement, Fred began doing some targeted Google searches for the city where George had come from. He found him listed as the grandson in an obituary – and of course it also gave the names of George’s parents. It appeared that George’s mother, Jane, had died a few years ago. Further checking revealed that George’s father, Michael, was employed as a high school math teacher. But those facts did not account for the wealth that George appeared to have. Leaving that as an open question for now, Fred moved on to Jeremy Spencer.

 

Jeremy’s obituary was, of course, a good source of information. He was unmarried and seemed to be focused primarily on running the venture capital company which he had founded. But there was not a lot of information in the obituary about what the company was invested in. Fred knew that many such venture capital firms requested having a hand in running the companies they invested in – in return for supplying the necessary funds. He turned to a number of internet sites and federal 990 filings. Like other such firms, the picture was a pretty complicated one. But buried in one such filing a name jumped out at him – the company that owned that drilling/fracking operation that was the subject of one of his “hints”. It appeared that Jeremy’s venture capital firm was the primary investor and that they owned a considerable share of that company.

Checking further, Fred located the information he had been searching for earlier – the date that the company was established. While the two men from Eastern Europe had been good at finding sources to drill/frack, they did not have the business acumen to run the company once it became a production operation. Jeremy had supplied the funds, helped select others with the ability to successfully run it, and essentially forced the two men out. In return, Jeremy became the primary shareholder and had profited greatly.

This also gave Fred the information he needed about the two Eastern European men – Vladlen Dazdraperma and Vsevolod Mstislav. He took them off the list of individuals to check out further.

The link between Jeremy and the drilling/fracking operation established, the next thing to establish is who inherited Jeremy’s estate – since he was unmarried. Fred looked for further clues in the lengthy obituary. There in one of the concluding paragraphs Fred found it. First there was a mention of Jeremy having been preceded in death during the past year by his sister Jane. Then it mentioned that he was leaving his estate to his nephew, George. Having just done some research on those names, Fred turned back to his now trusty subscription to Newspapers.com and quickly found the obituary of Jane [Spencer] Jenson! This was the source of George’s wealth!

 

Fred’s mind was racing! In just a few hours’ time, he had connected nearly all the hints into a cohesive story. He looked at his watch – it read 2:20 pm. Now he was shocked as well. He’s gotten so involved in his investigations that the hours had flown by. Feeling the need for a mental break as well as some refreshment, he decided to take a trip to one of his favorite fast-food restaurants. He’d earned it.

 

About an hour later, Fred returned to his office. He still had one more person to investigate and one more of the “hints” to connect to the others. He pulled out the copy of the police report and his notes on it. With his growing familiarity with using the power of the Internet and searches, he began typing.

The name Barnard Olshevski was uncommon enough that it was relatively easy to find further information about him. He was not a local resident but lived a few hundred miles away in another city. It also appeared that he had a long rap sheet as his name showed up in arrest notices on several occasions. His nickname was not the expected “Barney”, but “Bro” – using his initials to identify himself. His wife, Elizabeth, appeared to hold down a legitimate job as an English professor at the local university. But “Bro” seemed to be in trouble with the law on a frequent basis.

As Fred started noting all the instances where Barnard/Bro had been arrested and what charges had been filed, he came across a wanted poster from earlier in his “career”. Looking at the typical frontal and side views of this life-long criminal, Fred realized that he recognized him. Once again pulling out the grainy picture from the manila folder, Fred held up the picture next to his computer screen. There were some differences – for example the wanted poster showed a man with black hair and the “hint” picture showed someone with graying temples who was several years older – but otherwise it was obviously the same person. Fred might not have connected the pictures if he just had the frontal view on the wanted poster, but the sideview had Barnard in essentially the same pose. But why would Barnard and George be photographed together?

 

Acting somewhat on intuition, Fred opened up Google Maps and keyed in the location where Barnard had been encountered by the policeman. It showed an upper-class neighborhood with tree-lined streets and large houses. Fred then opened another window and looked up the address of the late Jeremy Spencer. Returning to Google Maps, there it was! When Barnard had parked his car and drawn the attention of the neighbor who called the police, he was right around the corner from the home of Jeremy Spencer – and on the night before Jeremy had been found dead.

In addition, Barnard had a bottle of some sort of heart medication on the seat next to him – and Jeremy had died due to cardiac issues. The newspaper articles following Jeremy’s death had mentioned questions about the cause. Fred opened up the ones that he had saved on his computer earlier in the week. While he was not a physician, it seemed that there was certainly a possibility that an overdose of some heart medications can cause cardiac stoppage and death. The newspaper articles did not go into a lot of detail. But Fred was now in possession of information that could reopen any prior medical investigation!

 

It was starting to get late. Fred needed to get some rest while he thought through all that he had discovered today. He also needed some supper – but a light one as his lunch had been so late. And he could do with a good night’s sleep as well. He refiled everything in the manila folder, turned off and packed up his laptop, turned off his now trusty fan, then turned off the light, closed and locked the office door, and headed for home with his head still spinning.

 

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Fred Forchelli - Chapter 8

Chapter 8 – The Timeline

Feeling refreshed the following morning, Fred decided that he needed to follow the inclination that he had when he first received the envelope – to put the events in chronological order. But several of the six pages only contained misleading information as the facts were on the reverse and he did not have printouts of the information that he had filed electronically. So, he got a blank sheet of paper and cut it into six smaller pieces that he could put dates and events on.

The oldest event was obviously in the article about the farm being turned into a drilling/fracking site. There were a few dates in the article itself and he had recorded others in his notes. He quickly realized that he needed more than just six pieces of paper to make his timeline, so he cut up a second blank page as well. He recorded the primary events related to this “hint” and spread the pieces of paper across his desk appropriately. The earliest was the discovery of oil on the farm, another was for the purchase of the property by the two men with yet-unpronounceable names, a third (that he had discovered during his investigation) was the purchase of that small company by the larger corporation. Fred realized that he didn’t have dates for everything. He put a note on the second piece of paper about the “green” protest and a “?” for the date when it might have been absorbed by some other protest organization. He also put a “?” for the date on the third piece indicating the purchase of the initial company by the larger conglomerate. He silently chided himself for not having done the best job of investigating this piece of the puzzle, especially as it was the one hint that seemed the most straightforward.

Next, Fred put down the information about the Chamber of Commerce Award Banquet from two years ago. He noted the date of the banquet and the award that had been left off the page when the article was cut – the Futurist Award. He also put down the name of the recipient, George Jenson, as he had previously recognized that George was involved in donation to the mayor’s re-election campaign. He put that piece of paper to the right of the conglomerate purchase.

Then, Fred created a piece of paper for the re-election and the editorial comment that criticized the mayor. He put both the mayor’s name on that piece as well as George Jenson’s. That one went on the far right of his growing timeline.

Looking next at the last newspaper article and referring to his notes about the obituary that he had uncovered on Newspapers.com, Fred wrote down the date and the name of the deceased, Jeremy Spencer – followed by the word “died”. That piece of paper he placed to the left of the one about the Chamber of Commerce Award Banquet. He wasn’t sure where it went relative to the piece of paper with the “?” date about the purchase of the fracking/drilling company, but he’d get back to that problem later.

Turning to the copy of the police report, Fred began writing down the date and suddenly realized that it was the day before Jeremy Spencer’s death! Why had he not noticed that before? Something else he needed to check out today. He also recorded the name of the person who had been cited – Barnard R. Olshevski – another Eastern European name (probably Polish), but at least this name was pronounceable. He placed it immediately to the left of the piece of paper with the “died” on it.

Finally, Fred looked at the grainy picture. He had no idea who was in it, but he needed to place it in the timeline, so he turned it over to copy the date on the back. Again, something that had not caught his eye before, this date was only a few weeks after the police report and the obituary. He wrote down the date and the word “picture of two men” and placed the final piece of paper in his timeline.

 

Leaning back in his chair, Fred reviewed the pieces of paper spread across his desk. There were eight pieces of paper with dates on them – one of the dates being a “?”. And there were names of six individuals – the two Eastern European men, Barnard Olshevski, Jeremy Spencer, George Jenson, and Mayor McNaught. The only things tying the events together were that three of the pieces of paper were about the drilling/fracking operation, the name of George Jenson appeared twice, and two of the pieces of paper were dated with consecutive dates.

Fred pulled out the cover letter from the manila folder. Most of the nouns were plural – wrongs, perpetrators, individuals, misdeeds. Was Fred investigating one series of connected misdeeds or were they only connected by the commonality of the perpetrators? It wasn’t clear. He wished that he could have a conversation with his unknown client. But she(?) chose to remain anonymous.

However, one thing was certain – this exercise had revealed a number of things that he didn’t know, and he needed to do some further research. He gathered up the eight pieces of paper into a chronological pile and put a paperclip on them. He had a long day ahead of him.

 

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Fred Forchelli - Chapter 7

Chapter 7 – The Police Report

Fred woke up on Wednesday morning with a raging headache. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the intensity of the past two days of this case, the fact that he had consumed two large cups of iced diet Pepsi (one at lunch and another at dinner), or the double pepperoni meat-lover’s pizza he had ordered for “dinner”. Maybe it was a combination of all three. But whatever the cause, he took an extra-strength Tylenol and went back to bed for a couple of hours.

Thus, it wasn’t until just before noon that he unlocked his office and prepared to spend the rest of the day working on the remaining hints in the envelope from Monday. He had brought lunch with him today – a PB&J sandwich and a chilled bottle of water from his refrigerator. He figured he had enough caffeine in his system to sustain him for a while. The sky was overcast so his office was not quite as warm as the last few days. But he turned the fan on low anyway and the simple stirring of the air was quite comforting. Then he plugged in his laptop. While waiting for it to boot up, he opened the solitary folder on his desk and pulled out the police report.

 

There are two kinds of police reports. One is the original that is filled out by the police officer when someone is detained or arrested. The other is a computer printout of the information after it is all recorded and transcribed. This was one of the former – not the original itself, but a photocopy of it. Fred wondered how his client had managed to obtain it. He (she?) must have had some inside connections at the police department.

Like any typical original document, everything was in the handwriting of the police officer who filled out the form. There were several boxes of things to check off or separate fields to be entered such as the date, the name of the individual, etc. There was a large central box where the officer could free-form all the details. This particular officer wrote everything in block letters, but even then it was difficult to read much of it – perhaps because it was being filled out in haste, or perhaps because the writing surface was awkward such as the hood of an automobile or a porch railing. The officer’s signature at the bottom was unreadable, but his/her badge number in the appropriate field could be checked out if necessary.

The report did not seem like any significant event. Apparently, someone had noticed an unknown car parked in their neighborhood and, concerned that it might be a burglar, had called the police department to have it checked out. When the policeman arrived, he saw that the car was occupied and running, but that one taillight was out. Approaching the car, he asked the driver to provide identification, registration, etc. This was all recorded on the report. The driver did not appear to be intoxicated, but there was a bottle of pills on the seat next to him. Upon checking, the pills were identified not as narcotics, but some type of heart medication, so there was nothing illegal. The driver had explained that he was from out-of-town and, finding himself on an unfamiliar street, had parked to take a short rest before getting back on the main road and driving back to the city where he lived. The driver had been given a warning about the non-functional taillight and advised to park in a more public place than a residential street if it should happen again. No charges had been filed.

Fred had been hoping for something a bit more dramatic or with obvious ties to the other “hints” that he had studied the previous day. Now he was disappointed. And how was he supposed to make sense of all of this? After completing the detailed notes of what those block letters said, he set aside the police report and took up the final piece of paper that had been given to him.

 

The only writing on the picture was a date on the back. Otherwise, it was just a picture of two men shaking hands. While the picture was not very clear, it was not so blurred that the men would have been unrecognizable. But Fred was not familiar with either of them. Both were smiling and were probably pleased. They did not seem to be aware that their picture was being taken. Upon studying it closely, Fred believed that this picture was probably taken at long range where the photographer would not be seen by the men and that it had been blown up so that the men could be identified. That would certainly explain the graininess. But in blowing it up, the context of the picture had been lost. There were few clues on where the men were, except that it must have been a time-of-day where the faces were fully illuminated. There were no other individuals or buildings visible, and the few trees that could be seen on the one side could have been anywhere.

Fred studied the two faces closely. He wanted to imprint them in his mind so that if he were to see another picture of either of them, he would be able to connect them. But at this point the men were just two unknown individuals shaking hands – apparently on the date on the back of the picture.

 

Fred put his fingertips together and leaned back in his office chair to take stock of his situation. He’d been paid in advance for two weeks of work – but for an unknown client and on some probably illegal/illicit situation that was not yet known.  He had a rapidly filling pad of notes, but much of it was probably useless – in fact likely all the work from Tuesday morning. All his checking into the individuals and companies who had received awards from the Chamber of Commerce were likely just a distraction as the only significant award was the one that had been deliberately cut out before the newspaper article had been copied. And all the names and backgrounds of the people on that society page were similarly wasted time as it was the obituary on the reverse side that was tied to this case. Fred was now pretty well convinced that the copying of the wrong side of the page had been deliberately done rather than just a simple mistake. He leaned forward and drew a long slash mark across all the pages of notes from yesterday morning. He’d leave the pages there and readable. After all, it was possible that he might need them later – or in some future case – but he wanted to avoid being distracted by all those handwritten notes for now.

The article on the fracking had probably been genuine, although how it related to this case was not at all obvious. The editorial opinion was also likely valuable – and at least he had found out before he spent any time on investigating any of the ads or other information on the backside of that page. And the work he had done this afternoon was pertinent, even if he did not yet know how it fit.

It was all very frustrating! He felt he was deliberately being manipulated by his client and he’d have some choice words to say to her when he was able to. (Ouch, he thought, there’s that feminine pronoun again! Why did it keep thrusting itself into his thoughts?)

Straightening up in his chair, he turned off his laptop and put it and the power cord back in his briefcase. He turned off the fan that was rapidly becoming a necessary fixture in his office, switched off the overhead lights, closed and locked the door, and made his way down the familiar hall toward the stairwell. His review of the “hints” now complete, he’d start tomorrow on trying to make sense of them all. But he wasn’t sure at all on where this was taking him.

 

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Fred Forchelli - Chapter 6

Chapter 6 – The Hints – Continued

Feeling a slight bit of anger toward whomever had made those copies of the newspaper articles, Fred pondered his next course of action. It was then that he remembered the investigation that he had gotten involved in the prior fall. That case had required that he do some research into some articles that had been printed in the newspaper of another city a couple of hours away. Normally, he would have taken a trip to the newspaper headquarters in that city and asked permission to view their microfilm archives. Alternatively, some larger libraries may have copies of that microfilm. But that is very time-consuming, not even including the travel time and expense to that city.

A chance meeting with another investigator had led him to consider using an Internet research tool, Newspapers.com, instead. Often associated with genealogical research, there were other good reasons for using it. One, you could do it from the privacy of your own home/office, Two, all the newspaper articles were indexed so finding things was considerably easier. But, perhaps most attractive for Fred, the cost of a subscription was less than even one trip to that city. Fred had gotten a one-year subscription and it had proved key to his investigation. He’d not used it since that case, but there were several months left on his subscription.

 

It was early evening when Fred closed up his laptop and unplugged it. Long past the normal hours he kept, even the Christian Counseling Service on the floor below would be closing soon. He’d like to vacate the building before the guard locked the front doors and began making his rounds and the logistics of leaving would be complicated by having to avoid setting off the door alarm downstairs.

Fred was also getting hungry. He’d need to decide if it was better to heat up a can of something in his apartment or to order out – for the second time that day. Even with the extra income from that cashier’s check that he’d deposited yesterday, Fred felt the need to be cautious in his spending. Habits from several years of counting his pennies during these early years in his career were not to be changed overnight.

As Fred wrapped things up and turned off the fan – the fan that had been a blessing for the last few hours and enabled him to keep going – he thought through all that he had learned that day. The indexing power of Newspapers.com had made possible research that would have been impossible just a few years earlier. That was a subscription that he’d definitely renew in the fall.

 

His theory about the mis-matched cutting around the second article had proved to be correct. While still in the society section of the newspaper, instead of a cutout of marriages, engagements, and births, the backside of that page contained obituaries. The cuts were around the death announcement of a man who was prominent in the area – in fact the owner of the largest venture capital company. At the time of his death, he had only been in his late 50s. While his demise was attributed to a heart condition, Fred had recalled that there had been questions at the time. He had used the index of Newspapers.com and had found a few other stories about him to confirm his recollection. He had made screenshots of the various articles and saved them in an electronic folder for this case. Fred wondered if his rapidly developing computer skills meant that his reliance on paper files needed adjusting.

The reverse side of the fourth article that had led to the afternoon’s change in direction had also proved to be enlightening. It was one of those reader-opinion letters that the newspaper published on their editorial page a few times a week. This particular writer was complaining about the newly expanded tax exemptions that the city council had given that seemed to benefit individuals who had donated to the re-election campaign of the mayor. Following his instincts, Fred had done some research into both the donors and the mayor, and he found himself agreeing with the writer of the opinion piece.

But it was on a hunch that Fred decided to also check the other two newspaper clippings that had been put in the manila envelope. The clipping about the farm and fracking was fine – there was nothing of significance on the reverse side. But the article about the Chamber of Commerce awards showed that cut that Fred had assumed was just to get the long article to conform to the shape of the copier had also left out a paragraph in the article. That paragraph was about the recipient of the “Futurist” award – one that was given to someone who was up-and-coming and was expected to make significant contributions in the coming years. And the person being recognized was one of the men who were the re-election donors to the mayor’s recent campaign. Fred felt he might finally be on to something.

He still had to do some research into the copy of the police report, but it was with a sense of satisfaction that Fred picked up his briefcase, turned off the light, and locked his office door. Tomorrow was another day. Now it was time to stop ignoring the growing rumbles in his stomach and focus on his supper.

  

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Fred Forchelli - Chapter 5

Chapter 5 – The Hints

Fred did not bring the manila folder home with him that evening. He wanted to get started on his investigation in the morning. But that did not stop him from thinking about the case. As he lay in bed waiting for sleep to overcome him, he considered not the “what” about had happened in this case, but the “why” – in particular, why had he been selected to investigate this mystery. Who was behind it, and why did she think him worthy.

With that thought, Fred stopped abruptly and opened his eyes. He had just classified his client as a “she”! The piece of paper and the message from the so-called operator at McCloud’s had been anonymous. And he did not recall any female associations from the cover letter – just the pronouns “I” and “my”. So why did he so automatically presume that the client was a “she”?

Was it just because his name on the piece of paper and the manila envelope and the signature of “A Friend” on the cover letter were in such flowing script? Fred considered others who had such bold signatures. There were several of his fellow investigators/lawyers who had similar styles of writing – and many of them were men like himself. Their bold script just matched their bold and confident personalities.

Or was Fred presuming that his client was a victim of these perpetrators – if that’s what they were – and victims were often women? Why did the idea of his client being a woman flow so easily from his semi-conscious mind?

As Fred considered this question, his eyes again closed, and the excitement of the day having given his mind such a workout, he fell asleep with no solution to his “why”.

 

Fred arrived at work early the next morning. He was almost taken aback when he opened his office door as everything was so neat – it had probably been a couple of years since it had been in this shape. He mentally challenged himself to see how long he could keep it this way. Fred got his laptop out of his briefcase. He also plugged in the power cord. He would need to do some detailed investigation through the power of the Internet so he’d leaved it plugged in all day.

But he also pulled out a new pad of yellow lined paper from one drawer of his desk. While he liked the power of the computer for doing research, he still preferred taking notes the old-fashioned way. But, unlike many of his fellow lawyers, he used 8.5x11 pads instead of the 8.5x14 “legal” pads. His recycled Goodwill desk only accommodated the smaller format in 9x12 manila folders. Another few “why” questions – of many that would occur in the coming days – crossed his mind. Why are 8.5x14 pads called “legal” pads? And why did lawyers, alone among all the professions, continue to use them?

Thus prepared, Fred began his review of the “hints” from the envelope he had received yesterday.

 

He began by re-reading the cover letter – looking for clues, not about the identity of his client, but clues about the case. The second paragraph was quite telling with phrases such as “right some wrongs,” “bring some perpetrators to justice,” “misdeeds,” “need to be stopped.” It was obvious that his client was referring to some sort of illegal activity – but of what kind? It could be fraud, blackmail, even murder. The comment in the next paragraph about possible danger to himself suggested that the latter was a possibility. And why did his client worry about the damage to her [there was that pesky feminine attribution again!] career? Fred made a few cryptic notes about the feelings that he got from the cover letter. Then he removed the paper clip and started reviewing the pages of “hints”.

There were a total of six pages – four copies of newspaper articles, one copy of a police report, and one grainy picture. Ignoring the urge to put the newspaper articles in chronological order as he felt his client may have had some “method in their madness” in putting them in the order she[?] had, he began reading the first one.

This article was a report in the local section of the paper about the annual Chamber of Commerce recognition event from a couple of years ago. It was a long article, so his client had cut it in two and laid the two sections side-by-side in the copier. There were awards being given for “Local Change-maker”, “Community Ambassador”, etc. Some of the awardees and the companies they worked for were familiar to him, but others were not. Not knowing what he was looking for, Fred decided to so some high-level investigation on each one. He used his laptop to see if the individuals were still employed at the same companies in the same positions or if they had moved on. For the ones he did not recognize, he looked up their past history, if they were new to the area or long-time residents. He came away with a renewed sense of pride about the city and the many great people who lived here.

The second article was totally different. It appeared to be cut from one of the “society pages” from about a year ago with a whole series of short articles on marriages, engagement announcements, births, etc. But the job of cutting it out of the newspaper seemed a bit sloppy. The left-hand cut was a slight bit too far to the right and the first character of each line had been partially cut off. And the bottom cut of the center column had sliced right through the middle of one of the announcements. Because there were so many announcements and so many names of individuals – all unfamiliar to him – it took him nearly two hours to look each one up, finding contact information or addresses for each one, and diligently recording all that on his pad of paper.

But his timing was good as just as he was finishing writing down the last of his findings, there was a knock at the office door. With his new infusion of funds from this client he had decided to splurge and have his lunch delivered from the fast-food place on the next block instead of walking there himself. After paying for it and giving a tip to the young man delivering it, he cleared a space on his desk and began eating. A six-inch sub, fries with one of those ketchup packets, and, of course, his typical large diet Pepsi. It was not only refreshing but gave him a chance to rest his mind (and his fingers) from the intense research of the morning. He was no closer to knowing where all this was going, but he had a lot of raw material to work with. Wiping his mouth and his fingers with one of the overly-generous pile of napkins that had come with his meal, he cleared the wrappers off his desk and started on the next article.

It was a business feature article from several years ago. There was an old, abandoned farm several miles outside of town where oil had been discovered. With the renewed interest in fracking, it was then going to be profitable. Fred had driven through that area on several occasions and had seen all the equipment, but had not been aware of the history of the place. The reporter in this article was primarily interviewing the two men who had acquired the large farm and who were just getting started with drilling operations. They both had long unpronounceable last names that appeared to be of Eastern European origin. There was also a rebuttal from some local “green” organization who did not like the idea of drilling for oil.

Fred did some checking on all the names in the article. The men with unpronounceable last names were no longer to be found and the drilling/fracking company was now owned by a sizeable corporation. The local “green” organization was also not to be found and Fred surmised that they had been absorbed into some other protest group.

Finally, Fred got to the fourth article. It was extremely confusing as it consisted of several small advertisements and partial articles, many of which had been truncated by the process of cutting out that section of a page from the paper. As he puzzled over what to make of it, there was a knock at the door – the second one of the day.

Opening it, he found a delivery person, a young woman, from Amazon who was carrying the box containing the fan that he had just ordered the previous day. Marveling at this one-day service, Fred took the box from her and thanked her as she took a picture of it for their records and left. Getting a pocketknife from his top desk drawer, he opened the large brown box, then the smaller fan box inside, and extracted the fan. Setting it on the windowsill, he plugged it in, turned it on to the low setting and reveled in the cooling effect of the breeze on his face. Yes, he thought, that was an extremely wise investment. He wondered why he had not done it sooner! Saving the instructions and warranty, Fred temporarily put the two boxes on the visitor’s chair in the corner. He’d dispose of them later in the large recycle bin behind the building.

Turning back to the fourth article, Fred looked closely at it. Since newsprint is fairly thin, by looking at the areas in the copy that did not have writing or shading, one could detect that there was printing on the other side of the paper. It was not readable, but one could tell where lines started and ended. He than had an epiphany – the individual who had copied the article had put it upside down on the copier. What he was looking at was the back side of that cutout piece of paper! What a colossal mistake – or was it deliberate?

Turning back to the second article that had also bothered him he examined it closely. Because the printing was so dense and there were few white spaces, it was more difficult to make out, but it appeared that this copy as well was of the reverse side of the intended article. Had he wasted all those hours this morning (and all those pages in his pad of paper) investigating individuals who played no part in this case? His day was a lot farther from done than he might have thought!

 

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Fred Forchelli - Chapter 4

Chapter 4 – The Assignment

The top sheet was a letter to him. It was undated. Fred read silently to himself.

 

Dear Mr. Forchelli,

I apologize for having to put you through all the events of this morning. Since you are reading this, that means that you are both inventive enough and interested enough have gotten this far.

I need your assistance in helping to right some wrongs and bring some perpetrators to justice. I believe that the individuals involved have gotten away with their misdeeds for too long and need to be stopped. I do not have definitive proof of this, and I am not even sure how many individuals may be involved. I cannot participate in this as the damage to my career and to others around me if I were to be found out is far too great. So, I will have to remain anonymous at this stage – even to you.

I do not want to prejudice you with my opinions at this point, so I am only attaching a few helpful hints to get you started in this investigation. I cannot promise that if you pursue this that you may not be in danger. However, I feel that you have the capabilities and instinct to get you through any situation.

I know that it may sound like an echo of the old TV show, “Mission: Impossible,” but the phrase “your mission, should you choose to accept it” comes to mind. I have attached a check that I believe sufficient to reimburse you for your time and expenses for the next two weeks. Should you choose not to accept, I believe you have the integrity to just destroy the check.

Thanks for your assistance,

 

The letter was signed in that by now familiar script but simply said, “A Friend”.

Fred thumbed through the attached pages. There were a few copies of articles from the local newspaper that spanned several years. There was a copy of a police report from a few years ago. And there was a grainy picture showing two men shaking hands. But there did not seem to be any obvious consistency in the identities of any of the people named in the articles or on the police report. The final page was a cashier’s check that was larger than any that Fred had ever had the opportunity to hold. It was made out to him, but like a typical cashier’s check only contained the name of the bank and not of any individual. The other pages may have intrigued him, but this last one was truly shocking. Someone was willing to pay a lot of money for his services.

Fred put the pages back into the manila envelope and sat there for several minutes pondering what to do next. Then, making up his mind, he put the envelope in his briefcase. He ordered some lunch to go including a large diet Pepsi, and when the waitress brought it to him he left a larger than typical tip and made the 15-minute trek back to his office.

 

By late afternoon Fred had managed to clear up all his affairs. There was now only one manila folder on his desk – the one that he had presciently labeled “The Mystery” that morning. It was now slightly thicker as the letter and attachments were added to it. He had completed the notes on his other recent cases and filed those folders in the bookcase. He had also made the follow-up calls to other clients and given them a status report on his findings – while indicating that he would be tied up in other business for a few weeks. One of them had required that he send a few documents to the client. He had gone down to O'Brien's Office Services to make the necessary copies but had foregone setting up an appointment with Jennifer to get a cover letter typed up – choosing instead to handwrite it. He had left it in the outgoing mail bin at O'Brien's.

He had made a quick trip across the street to the branch bank on the corner where he had deposited the cashier’s check. And, acting on instinct, he had withdrawn several hundred dollars in cash. He didn’t know where this case was going to take him but having cash in his pocket seemed like a good idea.

Finally, he had made one other significant – for him – decision. Inspired by the cleanliness of the office after his straightening spree of the morning, he had gotten out his laptop and signed on to Amazon where he ordered an appropriate fan for his windowsill. There were no longer any loose papers on the desk or bookshelf or any folders on the visitor’s chair. And with no other cases to be involved in, the visitor’s chair was apt to be unused at least for the next couple of weeks – as was the hot plate and coffee pot – so plugging in the fan when it arrived in the next few days would not be an inconvenience.

Fred took one last look at the solitary folder on his desk. Yes, the label of “The Mystery” was certainly appropriate. More excited than he had been in a long time, Fred closed and locked the door of his office. Tomorrow would be a busy day.

 

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Fred Forchelli - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 – The Message

After the excitement of seeing letters begin to appear on the now slightly browned piece of paper, Fred felt a little bit of a letdown. That was it? Just the word “CALL” and a phone number? He recognized the area code as being one that had been introduced lately – one of those overlay codes that they’d been releasing in order to handle the increased number of cell phones that were proliferating. He turned the page over to see if there were further messages but did not find any.

Disappointed, he nearly forgot to turn off the now glowing hot plate just a few inches below his hand. Now doing so, he made a mental note to replace the coffee pot once the hot plate was cool enough. Then, getting back into detective mode, he carefully copied the phone number onto a scrap of paper as he knew the original paper would be a bit fragile from the browning action it had been subject to.

He wondered how long the piece of paper had been on the floor. He knew it hadn’t been there when he left the office on Friday afternoon. Although he normally worked until 5:00, he had left around 4:30 that day in order to stop by the grocery store on his way home. His food supplies had gotten a bit low, and he also needed to stock up on cans of his favorite diet Pepsi.

The building was generally open from 7:00 am until 10:30 pm each day. While the busiest occupant, O'Brien's Office Services, was a typical 8-5 business, there were other offices in the building that had different hours – especially the Christian Counseling Center at the far end of the second floor who tended to see their clients in the evenings and weekends. None of the other offices on his floor were open much after 6 pm M-F. But the stairwell was not locked and there was only the guard who made periodic passes at night. The tenants had approached the building owner last year about installing security cameras, but since no offices had been broken into yet, the owner felt such an expense was not justified.

It was now about 9:20 – time for Fred to call the number on that piece of paper. He pulled out his flip phone and punched in the digits. After only one ring, the person on the other end picked up. It was a female voice.

“McCloud’s Answering Service, how may I help you?”

            “This is Fred Forchelli, do you have a message for me?”

“Let me check … Yes, Mr. Forchelli, can you verify your full legal name and date of birth?”

            Fred quickly responded.

“Thank you, Mr. Forchelli. Here is the message I have for you. ‘Please meet a courier at the Prudential Tower on the corner of Front Street and Third Avenue at 11:00 am today.’ The message also has underlined, ‘Do not be late.’ Do you need me to repeat the message?”

            “Prudential Tower, 11 am. Correct?”

“Yes, Mr. Forchelli. Thank you for using McCloud’s Answering Service”

Hearing the click of the woman hanging up, Fred added to the piece of paper where he had written down the address, “Do not be late!” and underlined it.

It was then that Fred realized that he should have asked if the operator had any other information about the person who had left the message for him. He picked up his phone and quickly dialed the number again. But instead of the friendly voice of the operator, this time it rang three times before he heard the computerized voice say, “I’m sorry, the number you have dialed is not in service, please dial again.”

Annoyed with himself for misdialing, Fred dialed again, this time looking at the screen to ensure that he did not make any mistakes. But once again, he heard that same computerized voice. Putting down the phone, Fred stared at it. What was going on? How could a phone number be discontinued so quickly?

Although he knew that they charged for the service, Fred decided to call directory assistance. He could have looked it up on his laptop, but that was still packed in his briefcase. So, he punched in 4-1-1 and asked for the number of McCloud’s Answering Service. The response he got from the operator just added to his confusion when he was informed that they had no record of a business by that name. He gave a dazed, “Thanks anyway,” and much more slowly this time, folded up his phone and returned it to his pocket.

The Prudential Tower was only a short 15-minute walk from Fred’s office, so that meant that he had over an hour before he needed to leave. But he didn’t want to get started on any of the other things on his agenda so that he would not get distracted and miss his “Don’t be late” appointment. Still puzzled and shaking his head, Fred decided to do a little straightening of his office.

 

Shortly after 10:30, Fred stopped and looked around his office. He’d filed all the manila folders in his desk file drawer or in the bookcase – with the exception of the active cases he was still working on. He’d even cleared the ones from the visitor’s chair. The coffee pot was back on the now cooled hot plate. He’d also gotten all his pencils sharpened and they were neatly standing in the pencil holder on his desk. Maybe, he thought, I should do this more often. Looking at the top folder on his desk, which now held the piece of paper that he had found on the floor as well as his note from the answering service call, Fred realized that he needed to put something on the tab of the folder to make it identifiable. Not yet having a client or even knowing what this was about, he simply wrote “The Mystery” on the tab and then placed it back on the pile.

But now it was time to make the short walk down to the Prudential Tower. He picked up his briefcase, took one last admiring look at his newly cleaned office, then closed and locked the door before striding down the hall toward the stairwell.

 

Arriving at the appointed place, Fred checked his watch. It was now 10:53. The courier had not yet arrived, so Fred leaned against the building and watched the people going by. He wondered if any of them were part of this mysterious case that he was involved in – but not knowing what it was about he didn’t even know what he should look for. Two minutes later, at precisely 10:55, Fred observed a courier coming toward him. He’d used this courier service himself, so the color-matched hat and jacket with the sewn-on badge were quite familiar to him. He didn’t recognize this particular courier, but that was expected as the company employed a lot of students from the local colleges so one seldom saw the same courier twice.

Stepping forward, Fred approached the courier and said, “I’m Fred Forchelli, do you have something for me?” The courier reached in his company-logoed satchel, pulled out a large manila envelope, and handed it to Fred. Not to be thwarted this time, Fred took the opportunity to ask the courier the questions he had wanted to ask the answering service earlier that morning.

“Do you know anything about the person sending this?” Fred queried. “I’m sorry, but I don’t,” the young man replied. “It was in the bin of items to be delivered when I got to work. I grabbed it because the instructions clipped to it said that it was to be hand delivered between 10:55 and 11:05 and that if it was not picked up by 11:05 it should be given back to my supervisor and be destroyed. But it also said that the courier would receive at $50 bonus if the directions were followed exactly. And I could certainly use that extra $50!” Thanking the young man, Fred watched him walk off.

 

Fred was anxious to see what was in the manila envelope that he now held in his left hand. But somehow, going back to the office didn’t seem the right thing to do. There was a small café in the building next door to the Prudential Tower that was pretty deserted as it was not yet time for the weekday lunch crowd. Fred went in, found a corner table away from the few other diners, and ordered a diet Pepsi from the friendly waitress. Once she had delivered it and moved away to one of the other tables, Fred held up the envelope and examined it closely.

The 9”x12” envelope had the same “Fred Forchelli, Esq.” in the same flowing script as the message that he had found under his door a few hours earlier. His name also appeared on the courier company label that partially obscured that script – but of course the courier label was written in block letters to conform to the character-sized spaces on the label. There were no other markings on the envelope.

Fred carefully peeled back the sealed end of the envelope and extracted the contents. There were several 8.5x11 pages held together with a paperclip. He began reading.

  

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