Enjoy
a Preview of the first 13 Chapters of Book 3
Murder
@ the Black Mesa Dance
Coming October 15, 2024
Who Murdered the Nerd?
Suicidal Student Snuffed on
Stage Fly
When a suicidal student dies
backstage at a NICU fundraiser dance,
small-town detectives quickly
uncover a murder victim.
In the meantime, the college
stonewalls the partner's crime investigation.
Cyber-forensic expert Minerva
and Deputy Marshal Michael Doyle
discover a tangled nest of lies and
a bureaucratic coverup.
Then officials stubbornly refuse to
open up paper files to the duo.
Can Michael and Minerva ferret out
the motive behind
the student's death before a
scandal blows up?
Or will vengeful Black Hat hackers
hold the town of Black Mesa for ransom?
Why did they murder the
Nerd?
Chapter One
January –
Difficulties
“Difficulties are
things that show a person what they are.”
Epictetus 50–130 AD
“I could fling this computer
against the wall,” I said to my husband, Michael, as I prepared for my spring
semester. During the COVID-19 lockdown, he changed my former sewing room into a
suitable place for Zoom meetings and online teaching.
“What’s the problem?” Michael asked,
taking a swig of his coffee.
“Please. Please. Let my stuff come
back. Otherwise, I will have to revise the syllabi for my online classes.”
“Don’t you have a way to reverse it?”
“Yes, but the program cancels out
everything instead of going back one step. Still, this software repulses me.
It’s a hunk of junk.”
“What’s the purpose of it?”
“It’s mandatory. All teachers stick to
the same template college-wide–no deviation. The IT person constructed it for
engineers, but not ordinary students or average people. Dang application keeps
freezing and blocking me out. Now, I have to report the glitches to IT, log
out, and start over.”
“Take a breather. You’ve been peering
at the screen for hours,” Michael suggested.
“Yeah, time flies when I dig deep into
a crappy beta version of computer software.” Before classes started, I needed
to find the bugs before my students became baffled by an untested experimental
application. “No idea why the college decided on this peculiar program.”
“Besides, I promised Loretta we’d be
there for her. So I honored my oath,” he said, reminding me of our pact to aid
our friend with her charity event. Michael’s word was unbreakable.
Loretta and Deborah Steven, both
nurses, asked for our help with a fundraiser for the NICU. The specialized unit
in Holbrook was desperate for equipment and supplies. Unfortunately, the
coronavirus inundated the hospital. So the administrators transferred NICU
(Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) resources and moved personnel to COVID 19 wards.
Finally, our college auditorium opened
to the public. Tickets to the Variety Show sold out. Students, educators, and
citizens were ready for a relief from the lockdown. Neither Michael nor I
desired to disappoint them.
***
Michael structured his life with
Marine timing. His maxim: ‘If you’re not an hour early, you’re late.’
My husband and I, garbed in our
western costumes, piled into his vehicle. Michael switched the radio on his
classic Chevy truck to country music as we journeyed on Old Highway 66 to I–40.
An unexpected winter storm brought an abundance of moisture to the high desert
plateau of Northern Arizona. Because of the dry summer, this winter’s snow pack
helped alleviate the drought. Snow blanketed the Mogollon Rim, 7500 feet above
sea level.
Soon we reached the Navapache
Community College Theater.
***
Loretta signaled to us. “Minerva,
Michael, I’m overjoyed you came early. The mayor’s son was a no show. Caution
caused isolating every other seat. First row, odd numbers, second row even, and
so on.” She supplied bright yellow tape to cross off the separated seats.
Before our dance routine began, I was glad to have a distraction from my
nerves.
“Not a problem. We’ll have it done in
no time,” Michael assured her. The charity drive kicked off at 6 o’clock p.m.
We had less than an hour before the seats began filling up.
Michael and I planned to twirl around
the stage doing a country Western line dance to a Roy Orbison classic, ‘Pretty
Woman’. Although Michael and I were excellent partners, my dilemma with dancing
involved my tendency to be left/right dyslexic. I could read and write with no
effort, but I had trouble with physical directions. For example, the only way I
could tell my right hand from the left was to make an L shape with my
forefinger and thumb. I didn’t want to disturb everyone’s precise timing.
While practicing the routine at home
during the lockdown, Michael recommended I wear my heavy diver’s watch on my
right hand. He also labeled my boots L and R. Still, I led with my left foot
instead of my right. Michael tapped my right toe to remind me of the correct
steps. He guided me with his hands and prevented me from making mistakes.
We were one of six couples on the
dance floor. If I led out with the wrong foot, everybody would be uncoordinated
because of me. Our dance number was last, which gave me time to quell my stage
jitters.
The master of ceremonies signaled we
were up. Nervous, I almost started with my left foot, but Michael pressed my
toe. I put my right foot out and relied on my muscle memory. What a relief, no
mistakes.
At the finale, we women snagged the
last line of the song, and we simulated going away from the men. Then we
twirled around and strolled towards our companions. Our partners danced a
dosie-doe around us and then lifted us in the air for the denouement.
The dancing ended at 8 o’clock.
Michael embraced me, gave a thumbs up, and ruffled my hair. My hands continued
to tremble, so I collapsed onto a chair in the wings to relax after the curtain
descended. Grabbing my thermos, I gulped icy sweet tea and dried off my sweaty
hands.
***
“Minerva, Michael, help me,” Loretta
shouted from backstage.
Michael jumped up, and I shadowed him.
“Keep him upright, Michael,” Loretta
said, “while I loosen the rope.”
Michael grabbed his Swiss Army knife
from his back pocket and sawed at the rope dangling from the fly. A slender
teen hung from the suffocating rope. He collapsed to the floor while Loretta
loosened the rope around his neck and began CPR.
“Get the defibrillator from the
lobby,” she said.
First, I called 911 for an ambulance.
I leaped down the stage stairs and raced to the lobby. Then I wrenched the AED
(automated external defibrillator) from the wall, dashed up the aisle, and back
to the stage. Next, Michael resumed CPR while Loretta charged the AED. Then
people cleared aside on her command. A waft of ozone filled the air.
EMT’s heavy shoes reverberated on the
stage steps. They took over from Loretta and Michael. The EMTs worked on the
young man for an hour. While they tried to revive him, the Master of Ceremonies
announced everyone must stay seated.
I noticed Dr. Reidhead in the audience
and beckoned him to come up on the stage. Despite the efforts of the EMTs,
Michael, and Loretta, they could not save the victim. Dr. Reidhead shook his
head and motioned the crew to stop. He pronounced the youth dead at 9:45 p.m.
During all the commotion, I hadn’t looked
at the young man.
“Dr. Reidhead, his name is Daemon;
he’s one of my computer science undergraduates,” I said as I recognized the
victim.
“Do you know his parents?” Dr.
Reidhead said.
“No, but his emergency contacts are in
his student records. Administrators shut the college down for winter break.
I’ll reach the IT guy to get the vital information and I’ll inform the
college’s president too,” I said.
“I’ll secure the scene and contact
NCSO; they have jurisdiction here. No one leaves. We need names and addresses,”
Michael said. Although Michael was the temporary Black Mesa town marshal, the
community college was outside the municipality limits and lay under Navajo
County Sheriff’s Office jurisdiction.
We had over 400 witnesses, plus the
stage crew, dancers, and volunteers, a logistic nightmare. As the audience
single filed out, I stood by the exit door. Each person wrote his or her name,
phone, and address. Two NCSO officers in
the audience helped me take notes. Dr. Reidhead stayed until the Navajo County
Medical Examiner arrived.
At last, by 1 a.m., NCSO sealed off
the auditorium. After I woke the college president, I received his permission
to notify the student’s family. However, of course, the relatives did not
expect young people to die. In all my teaching career, I’d never had to give
such a disheartening message, the dreaded middle of the night call, which is
every parent’s nightmare.
One of my duties as a cyber-forensic
consultant for the town of Black Mesa, Arizona, was to help Marshal Dubois and
Deputy Marshal Michael Doyle identify victims of crime. This time it hit close
to home since I knew the student. Could we have prevented it? Was he depressed?
Hopeless? Who were his friends? What drove him to this bleak choice?
Next on my list, I had to contact the
school psychologist. Had she noticed any warning signs? Evil cyber-trolls
conned young people who scrolled the internet and preyed on their insecurities
and loneliness. Doomsday prophets fed students crackpot theories. Most
juveniles don’t have experience or fortitude at surviving dreadful times.
Covid19 wouldn’t be the last pandemic. Humans withstood worse
plagues and disasters than this one, so this crisis didn’t mean the end of the
world. We inherited those tough immune genes throughout history. Thus, even
though millions of microscopic killers tried to wipe out the human species over
millennia. We recovered and survived because of our collective wisdom, even if
it meant starting over.
Chapter Two
January -The Loss
“We never understood how little we need until we know the loss of it.”
Sir James Matthew Barrie 1862 -1937.
Everything changed. Nothing was as it used to be. My husband Michael,
deputy Marshal, was now a one-person police force, in charge of the Marshal’s
office in Black Mesa and on duty 24/7. Marshal Charles Dubois was still in
Canada, testifying at a murder trial. My friend, his wife Sonny, had gone with
him.
Michael’s boys, Thomas, and Max, lived with us. Michael’s ex-wife was in
the United Kingdom. My ex-husband Bill, my children’s father, was one of the
first victims of covid 19.
When Covid 19 (Dikos Ntsaaígíí-19) struck, the Navajo and Hopi leaders shut down travel through the
vast nations in Northern Arizona and the four corners area in order to protect
their elders. The storehouse of tribal knowledge laid in their minds; they kept
vast memories of the tribe’s culture and history. They had an excellent video
of the procedures in Navajo with English subtitles “Keep Your Family Home” from
the canyonlandschc.org website.
All my spring semester classes on the Navajo, and Hopi Reservations were
virtual instead of in-person. Besides my regular computer science classes, I
added a one-credit class on how to use Zoom for senior citizens. I received
requests for a simple, hands-on quickie class. The classes filled up, so I
offered three sections on Saturdays.
My friend Rose, who owned the Black Mesa Café, had to readjust the
restaurant to fit the recommended safety rules. Although in Arizona, the
culture was as Wild West and independent as it ever was in the past. The Black
Mesa Café was the beating heart of our town. Rose converted her parking lot
into outdoor dining, added a takeout service window, and still served the best
Arizona Mexican food on Old Route 66.
My daughters, Aphrodite, and Diana, were coping with virtual classes.
They finished their junior year at college and both girls were doubling down on
their classes, taking a full load in order to be done early. They had not come
home for the holidays. Seeing them through Zoom, and not being able to touch
them, made me depressed and lonely. My youngest son, Mathew (Mackie) and his
wife had a baby boy. I planned to take a sabbatical in the fall to see them if
hurricane season didn’t get in the way.
Pearl, our neighbor, was a touchstone of sensible advice. Horses needed
to be trained, fed, and watered. Her routines stayed anchored to the land, the
animals, and the ancient desert of Northern Arizona. Visiting Pearl was my one
time of day when life seemed back to normal. I checked the mail and conferred
with Pearl who knew all the latest town gossip.
“Thomas, I’m going next door to Pearl’s, can you help Max get started?”
I asked my stepson.
“Sure, Minerva Mater, no problem.” Thomas leaned over Max’s bright orange
Ipad to warm-up the computer.
“Minnie Mommie, can I finish my breakfast?” Max asked. He stuffed
cinnamon raisin toast into his chipmunk cheeks while he grabbed his books.
Thomas helped his younger brother log on.
Michael converted my spare quilting room into a classroom. So the boys
knew when they went from the kitchen into the sewing room, playtime was over.
The younger boy was in third grade and had finally started devouring books like
his older bookworm brother. Max wore his favorite Batman sweats and slippers.
He finished munching on a piece of toast, grabbed his books, and raced to the
classroom.
Thomas trailed behind the rambunctious Max with slow, dignified steps. I
swear Thomas added another foot to his already 6 foot height. His dreadlocks
made him look even taller. One thing about virtual college, he didn’t have to
dress up. He wore his favorite Phoenix Suns sweats and padded around in sock
feet.
Thomas majored in Planetary Geology at the University of Arizona. During
his sophomore semester, he wanted to get his general education requirements
done, and hoped things would be back to normal in the fall of his junior year
so he could concentrate on his major. I encouraged him to take as many classes
that would transfer to the university from Navapache Community College. Besides
being less expensive than university credits, NCC had won a long fought
agreement with NAU (Northern Arizona University), ASU (Arizona State
University), and U of A (University of Arizona) to accept community college
credits. Because I knew it would help him in the future, I encouraged Thomas to
get a minor in computer science
The kitchen door banged. Michael was home. He dropped his heavy cop
shoes on a pad near the kitchen door. Michael’s homecoming ritual consisted of
disinfecting his clothes and equipment in the spare bathroom. Michael wanted to
make sure nothing from the outside world entered the house. The ritual made
more work for him, but he felt he was protecting us. He bought a separate
washer for his clothes. He would strip and shower, dress in his spare sweats
and enter the kitchen clean and shining, desperate for hot coffee.
“Are you hungry? How about a Denver omelet and some fried potatoes with
onions.” I asked him as I poured him a cup of coffee.
“Rose dropped me off some supper after she closed last night. But I
could use some grub.” He kissed my neck, hugged my waist, and tussled my hair.
“How things go last night?” I said, as I fixed breakfast for him.
“Quiet. The new interns and recruits are an excellent bunch. They’ll
make responsive law enforcement officers.”
“I’m glad you got some help. I’ll be happy when Charles comes back from
Canada.”
“Me too. Everybody turned out well, except the Mayor’s son. I’ve given
him more than enough second chances. He will not work out. I’m not recommending
him under any circumstances.”
“Her honor, his Mom, won’t be happy.”
“I’ll have to deal with her.” Then my husband bolted down the eggs and
potatoes. He was starving.
“Be back soon. Check on the boys while I get the mail.”
He poured himself another cup of coffee and put his dishes in the sink.
“I’ll see how the boys are doing.”
***
I covered the rose bushes before dark last night. The Weather Channel
issued a freeze warning. Twenty degrees Fahrenheit with a promise of snow above
the 4000 foot level. One thing about virtual classes, I didn’t make a long
fourteen hour day up to the Navajo and Hopi Reservations. Before Covid 19, I
used to leave the house at 6 am, teach three computer classes and a short one
credit class, then head home after ten, then drive for two hours and finally
make it to bed by midnight. Wednesday I had one three credit small business
evening class in Black Mesa and Saturday three one credit virtual Zoom classes.
Theoretically, I taught nine credits thanks to the adjunct faculty system
colleges used to keep costs down. By not hiring full-time professors, they got
away with no health insurance or benefits. The extra classes I taught were
thanks to grant money that came from a different source. Michael’s job covered
me health wise. Someday I hoped to be full time, but I joked I’d have to wait
for someone to get hit by a bus before that happened. Since Marshal Charles
Dubois’ budget couldn’t handle a full time IT expert, I also worked as a
cyber-forensic consultant for the Marshal’s office.
I saddled our rescue horse, Chico, which had one speed- lazy. Michael’s
horse was an easygoing, bottomless pit for food. He snuck over the fence line
into our neighbor’s field at every opportunity. The animal didn’t like the cold
weather and stayed as much as he could in the barn. Michael working extra
shifts forced me to take Chico for exercise. He adored Michael, but he thought
I was a pain, taking him out of his warm hay filled barn. I rode him to the
county line mailboxes. The sharp wind tugged into my heavy wool coat, and I
pulled on my favorite knit cap tight to protect my ears. Because the cold bit
through me, I wore gloves inside my mittens, Thick sox in my red Justin Ropers
cowboy boots warmed my toasty toes on the ride to the row of country mailboxes
near the county line dirt road. Michael made a miniature red, white, and blue
barn to hold our mail and packages. Crows waited in the cedar trees for road
kill, which were slim pickings in the winter.
Then I walked Chico over to the next ranch. Pearl Steven raised prize
winning rodeo horses. Occasionally, I rode the barrel racers, which differed in
their exuberance from the stubborn Chico who hated cold weather.
“Hi Pearl. How’s it going? Got time for coffee?”
She nodded and led Chico to her barn. The stubborn beast ambled into a
stall reserved for him.
“Sure. Come on in. I made some coffee cake for the boys.” Pearl’s three
boys were also virtual schooled. Nevertheless, she kept them busy with ranch
chores.
“What’s the latest?”
Pearl sliced a generous piece of cake and poured coffee into a thick
white mug.
“You like a little coffee with your cream, don’t you?” she teased, as
she pushed fresh cream and a sugar bowl towards my plate.
“Yep.” I waited for the neighborhood news.
“Got a new fellow in the hoarder house,” she informed me.
The hoarder house, infamous in the neighborhood, had been Pearl’s
mother-in-law’s home. The old woman stacked furniture, clothes, quilts, food,
and tons of junk in the house. It had rotten luck for anyone who bought the
house after she died. Locals avoided it like the plague. They were convinced
the old lady haunted it with a vengeful spirit.
“What’s he like?”
“About fortyish, good looking. Back east type, obviously. Looks like
ex-military. He’s got a very pronounced limp in his left leg. War wound? People
think maybe he served in Afghanistan and just got out. The house has stood
empty for two years. Nobody wanted to buy it after they heard what happened in
it. Creepy. Is Charles still up in Canada?”
“Yeah. The trial ran longer than he thought because of the Covid 19
lockdown judicial delays. Plus, he can’t enter the US until the border opens
back up.”
“Sonny’s horses are doing good. I bet she misses riding them. Needs to
get her barrel racing timing back. She almost got first place last time. She’ll
have to work hard to make the practice sessions up.” Pearl observed.
“The college bought the Tara house and has converted it to dorms for the
live in students,” I updated her.
“Guess Mrs. Fitzroy worked out a deal between the bank foreclosure and
the college. She came up smelling like a rose.” Pearl had never liked her
overbearing sister-in-law. Pearl was an ordinary homebody, a rancher’s wife,
who didn’t mince words. My neighbor dressed for comfort: jeans, western shirts,
a long intricate French braid, no makeup, and blunt fingernails. Mrs. Fitzroy
wore designer clothes and wouldn’t be caught dead anywhere near an animal.
Because of a heavy gambling addiction, she came close to losing her house and
job as the English department chair at NCC. She clung to her job, and now
hunkered down in Holbrook at a cement tepee motel. In addition, Gloria visited
her husband at the prison in Winslow. Quite a comedown.
“I wonder if I’ll have some of my students stay at Gloria’s old mansion.”
“You better hope not. They’ll find out where you live and come knocking
on your door for help with their classes.”
“How’s your new data base coming along?”
Pearl was in my small business computing class and had designed a
database to transfer the paper records of Navajo County livestock. As the
county livestock inspector, she tracked brands, stock, vaccinations, theft,
mistreatment, and any issue concerning cattle, equine, sheep, goats, and swine.
“We have a web page. Forms available for download. Made life easier for
everyone.”
“Why don’t we bring the new neighbor some cake? Men love homemade baked
goods. I didn’t want to nose in by myself since I figured you’d join me for a
snoop.”
“Sounds good to me. I’m curious. Who would buy that house with its
horrible reputation? The realtor had to disclose it’s unsavory past.”
Pearl and I continued to you to
commiserate about the tragic loss of my student. As parents, neither of us
could understand what brought on such a waste of a young life.
Chapter Three
January - A Fool
“Never be offended by a fool.”
Irish proverb.
Pearl and I had to
wait to see the new neighbor because when we stopped by the hoarder house, no
one was home. We agreed to try another day.
On Tuesdays, I went
into the Marshal’s office to check the cyber-crime reports and alerts.
Recently, I received complaints from customers and merchants regarding false
debit card charges. Customers demanded banks look into the problem and refund
their money. Then the banks forced the merchants to fix the charges. While
scammers ended up with the goods, and then attempted to resell the items on the
Internet.
In addition, I had to
get a search warrant from Judge Flake for my deceased student’s laptop and cell
phone. I got permission from his parents to take his tech items to investigate
the reason behind his suicide. Next, I contacted and interviewed all friends
and relatives intertwined in his life. Also, I further needed to do a thorough
search of the young man’s bedroom. The NCSO shipped the student’s body to the
Pima County Medical Examiner’s office, which handled suspicious deaths in our
county. Therefore, I prepared to wait for their report to come back.
Michael and I sat
across from each other in the office with our computers connected to the
internet. The Marshal’s office had a barometer, cowboy art, and antler hat
racks. In addition, his desk displayed a black Bakelite rotary landline phone
and an equally archaic manual typewriter. Marshal Charles Dubois didn’t trust
electronics.
Peg, the Marshal’s
secretary, checked visitors at the door now. Michael built a plastic screen
onto her desktop to wall her off from public germs. We indiscriminately
scattered intern desks in empty spaces, and they collaborated at shared
workstations. Michael, Peg, and I were the only ones with administrative
privileges. Each of us had our own login and passwords for security.
The front glass door
banged open when Loretta Steven stormed into the Marshal’s office. She must
have come straight from the hospital ER because she wore her signature navy
blue scrubs.
“Where’s that
no-show? I’ve got a bone to pick with him,” she demanded.
“Home,” Michael said.
“He called in sick today, again. If he wasn’t the Mayor’s kid, I’d fire him.”
“When he shows up,
tell him I’m looking for him,” she rumbled. Then she slammed the door behind
her as the blinds rattled.
“He’s got to learn
that when a man gives his word, he’s got to stick by it. People were counting
on him,” Michael observed.
“I’m glad he’s not
one of my students. Other teachers told me he expects straight A’s when he
doesn’t turn in assignments on time. Then his mother gets involved. It goes
downhill from then on. The mayor calls the president of the college, the
president calls the Dean, the Dean drops the hammer on the teacher, and his
grade is the entire teacher’s fault. No one blames the Mayor’s son,” I
explained.
“I think he wants the
glamor of a shiny new badge with no duty or responsibility. Hayden Robinson is
not going to make it through the Police Academy,” Michael vowed, “especially if
I have anything to do with it.”
The mayor was passing
in front of our plate-glass window. I glanced over at Michael and signaled him
with my eyebrows. The Marshal’s office, remodeled from an old grocery store,
still smelled of oranges. Michael was acting as Marshal while Charles Dubois
was stuck in Canada over a serial murder trial. The mayor knew Michael was
short one officer. She wanted her son hired full-time. When the mayor marched
through the door, I buried my nose in my computer.
“Morning Deputy
Marshal Doyle,” Mayor Ethel Robinson said, putting Michael in his place. Sturdy
described the Mayor. Beige pumps with stack heels, support hose, a beige
mannish double-breasted suit, with a white button-down shirt. Her feminine
touches were matching pearl earrings. Instead of a tie, she wrapped a colorful
1970s Vera scarf around her neck. Her hair lacquered into a Margaret Thatcher
bulletproof helmet, not one iota out of place.
“Acting Marshal
Doyle, ma’am,” Michael corrected her. His deep ‘Black Irish’ blue eyes blazed
in reproof. The mayor set off his controlled fighting spirit just as his
ancient Celtic ancestors stood up to the Roman Legion’s authority.
“Yes, I keep
forgetting,” she countered. “I noticed when I went through your budget you have
an open position. That position must be filled as soon as possible before we
lose the COPS grant money. My son is more than qualified and is almost ready to
graduate from the Police Academy. He’s received straight A’s in all his
classes, and would be a wonderful asset to your team.”
“I’ve contacted
people in local law enforcement. I’m looking for someone with experience. They
have to be vetted. Takes a while to find a responsible man, or woman,” Michael
said.
“You certainly should
know my son is reliable, and he has experience working for Marshal Dubois every
summer when the tourist season started. Of course, last year because of the
Covid 19 scare, he didn’t get many hours in, but he had many summers previous
to last term. I’m counting on you to look into this.”
“I’ll think it over
and let you know. Got to look at other candidates, too.” Michael said.
“Just so you know.
I’m rooting for him,” she smiled and touched Michael’s arm.
“See you later,” she
waltzed out of the office.
“I think I’m going to
need a clean shirt,” Michael brushed off his sleeve. “Naked nepotism. I
wouldn’t hire that kid on a bet. Enough, I have to go through the motions of
his internship. No way is he ever going to be a cop on my watch.”
I shrugged my
shoulders. He wasted time while he played games on his phone when he was
supposed to be working. Not my idea of a candidate either. Hayden wasn’t in any
of my classes thank goodness.
Chapter
Four
January–Love Reckons
“Love
reckons hour for month, and days for years, every little absence is an age.”
John Dryden.
Michael slept at the office while he took over the
Marshal’s duties. The only thing he asked for was a large recliner where he
catnapped. Police Academy students filled in at as interns, but they still had
to be under strict supervision.
I rarely saw Michael in person and raced to my
phone when I heard the ‘Bad Boys’ chime so we could face time during his long
hours. Often when he made it home for supper, he’d change clothes, shower, ate,
and returned to work. The Black Mesa town council planned to hire another
deputy since they paid for Charles Dubois’s absence as a witness in a Canadian
crime.
Therefore, I wrote another grant requesting money
for an extra deputy from COPS, a
government program for small-town police forces. They approved funds when government budgets allocated for the new year.
As soon as I got the funds for Michael to hire another deputy, I wasted no
time, and I wrote a grant for next year. The sooner the massive amount of
paperwork was done, the better. Grants had to be written by a strict formula.
One missing paragraph and the whole request meant rejection for minor details.
I left nothing to chance. My eyes were blurry because I proofread and edited it
twice. The document sat for a week. Then I re-read it again to make sure the
details were correct before I mailed it off.
My kitchen door slammed. Michael was home from
work. While Michael went through his daily sanitizing ritual, the boys wrapped
up their schoolwork. I was getting supper ready because he and the boys were
ravenous by four o’clock. Michael’s phone sounded an alarm, the ring tone he
used for the Ex.
His ex-wife traveled to England just before Covid
hit international flights. She stayed in England for over two years during the
lockdown. As International flights opened up, I expected a call from her any
day informing us she was back in the States.
Tom and Max had been communicating with her via
Zoom, but that didn’t substitute a mother’s loving arms. Max missed his Mum.
Tom and his mother were still arguing about his
choice of college. She preferred a prestigious university for him, despite the
University of Arizona’s reputation in planetary geology. Tom argued with her,
trying to get her to see his point of view with data, but to no avail. So his
conversations with her remained brief and to the point.
Max told her about his marvelous adventures in
Arizona. They could go horseback riding, camping, see an old West cowboy
shootout, and pet burros. His mother wanted him to visit famous places in England,
so she sent him pictures of the Tower of London and Stonehenge.
I listened through my
office door as Max and Thomas talked to their mother. Tom couldn’t convince his
mother that school in Arizona was equivalent to those back east, despite being
at the forefront of space research. Max missed his mother, and I heard tears in
his voice. Although Michael and I treasured him, twenty-four months was a
lifetime for a child.
Max normally visited
with Michael and I over the fall, spring, and summer school breaks. Michael’s
son spent Thanksgiving and Christmas with us one year and the next year with
his mother. The Ex had gone to England to visit her family and could not return
because of lockdowns. Max joined us for the years during Covid, but travel
restrictions made visits challenging.
After she spoke with the boys today, she requested
to speak to Michael one-on-one. I knew something was up, so I vacated the
schoolroom. This gave Michael and the boys privacy when they talked to their
Mum.
“So, what’s up this time? Why did she want to
speak to you alone?” I said.
“She tried to get Thomas to transfer schools, this
time to a University in England. Big bucks. The Ex is getting married this
fall. The new husband, a diplomat, and she bought a house outside of London.
She wants Max to move to England. Our divorce decree said we both had to stay
in the states. This is even worse than I thought. Before she wanted Max to go
to military school in Virginia; now she wants him to go to an English boarding
school. He will only be able to come during the summer, and maybe Christmas,
due to travel times. I’ll have to get a lawyer. Don’t tell Max. I’ll have to
think about the situation,” Michael said.
The news was a shock. The green beans and bacon I
cooked boiled over on the stove, smoldering on the ceramic top. I snatched the
dial and turned it off. Taking deep breaths, I tried to calm my nerves.
“Max lived here for two years. What? Does her new
hubby not want children? We’ll only see him now and then. Kids grow up so fast.
He won’t even live with her. A boarding school, for Christ’s sake?” I was
furious at the injustice.
“Not our lifestyle. When they were old enough, her
parents shunted them off to the most prestigious boarding schools. She had
nannies growing up. Summer sent to camp. Winter spent at ski resorts. She made
snide remarks about me growing up in Miami and attending a public school with
ordinary kids. Her parents fought to get her into an Ivy League college. They
pressured her to be not only thin, and beautiful, but also to succeed at all
costs with perfect grades.”
“I love you, you are a ’good hand’ as Charles is
so fond of saying, but her parents must’ve thrown a fit when she met you,” I
commented wryly.
“Yes, her father threatened to cut her out of his
will. I earned a law degree and started a suitable career in the ATF. My
political status impressed her. We met at a fancy dinner given by the
President. Little did she know I hung out with gangbangers, gunrunners, drug
smugglers, terrorists, thieves, and other miscreants daily. She disapproved of
my court appearances and testimony, as if it tainted my reputation.”
“What is your plan? Fight for Max and Tom? Maybe
we could switch visitation, school year in Arizona and summer in England. How
solid is the parental agreement? Would the boys go for it?”
“We got married, and we adopted Thomas. After a
raid, the ATF caught his mother with drugs and a gun in the diaper bag, and CPS
intervened. She swore her boyfriend hid them in there without her knowledge.
The grandmother was taking care of Tom when his Mom went to prison. It was a
hopeless situation. The Mom agreed he would have a better life, and she gave
him up.“ Michael said.
“He was an adorable little chubby toddler, with a
mop of curly black hair and huge brown eyes. He grabbed my heartstrings the
minute I saw him in court. My Ex fell in love with him at first sight.“ Michael
continued.
“We’ve kept in contact with Tom’s Mom: letters,
pictures, and cards. The woman is in for a thirty-year sentence. Someday I hope
Tom gets to meet her. The incarceration saved her life because she swears she
would have been dead by now. She’s not a troublemaker and will get out sooner
than her full sentence. She’s immersed in her Master’s degree studies. Plus, she
teaches women to read and write, and inspires them to complete high school.”
Michael said.
“I thought you said the Ex couldn’t have
children.”
“Like a lot of times, once the pressure of wanting
a child was relieved, my ex-wife got pregnant with Max. The obstetrician said
it’s a quite common occurrence. Max came out with a mop of curly black hair
like Tom, but deep blue eyes. He was a squirmy bundle of cuteness. Tom adores
Max, his kid brother. The boys are best buddies. England is a long way off. I
worry about Max going to boarding school without family close to protect him.”
Chapter 5
January-Advocate
"I am the advocate of the
adorable, protector of the preemie, bundler of the baby, healer of the
helpless. I am a NICU Nurse." NICU Nurse.
Max gobbled supper down, dumped his dishes in the
sink with a clang, and dashed upstairs to play with his Legos. Tom savored his
meal, enjoying every bite of meatloaf, green beans with bacon, and a baked
potato smothered in butter. He asked for seconds. I swore he grew another six
inches this year. His pants from last year were above his ankles. At least they
didn’t show in virtual classes.
Tom, Michael, and I discussed the day’s events.
Voyager 2 fascinated him. I reminded him; his fancy apple watch out powered the
computer in the decades old machine. Both Michael and I were Star Trek fans
from way back, and one of our favorites in the series was when Voyager did first
contact. The discussion grew lively: Space Force v NASA, India, Russia, and
China planning a moon shot. Captain Kirk’s (William Shatner) first ride to
space brought tears to my eyes. All the wild sci-fi books I read as a kid,
movies, and TV shows I watched came to fruition. Tom stacked his dishes in the
sink and went back to the classroom for his evening class.
Michael scraped his plate, then loaded the
dishwasher. He chunked a heavy moneybag on the counter.
“Daemon’s autopsy hasn’t come back. NCSO released
the auditorium. They gave me the receipts from the NICU fundraiser- $15,078.23.
Someone gave a strange thing called a bitcoin on an usb thumb drive. It had
instructions folded around it. What is that worth? I don’t even think it’s
money. Some kind of gaming junk?” He said,
“Digital currency. Could be worthless or a lot of
money, anywhere between a couple dollars and twenty to thirty thousand
dollars,” I said as I held the small portable device in my hand.
“You’ve got to be joking. I’ve received FBI bulletins
about them. They’re mostly about money laundering, scams, and ransomware.”
“No, Bitcoin is genuine enough. For example, a
dollar, which is fiat currency, is fungible: portable, durable, acceptable,
divisible, uniform, and scarce. US currency backed by the full faith of the
United States Government is fungible. Most countries accept it, it’s divisible
by 100 (cents), portable, although the government stopped making large
denominator bills to make it harder for drug dealers to carry, Uniform, not easily
counterfeited, a dollar bill looks exactly like another except for the serial
number. No infinite amount of bills printed. The Federal Reserve keeps close
track daily of the supply in circulation, called M1 and M2,”
“What about gold? The gold standard? Silver
standard?”
“Gold is a good example of fungible currency. The
United States forbade citizens to own gold until recently. The US went off the
gold standard in 1930, and silver in 1971. For example, gold is relatively
portable, durable even though you might clean it after you dig it up. If you
find a Roman coin, it still is acceptable, scarce, uniform, although you
wouldn’t want to break it in pieces. Recently an Alexander the Great decadrachm
coin, divisible by ten, from the 4th Century BC, sold for 100,000 Euros
($127,000). There are only nineteen known worldwide.”
“So, how does a Bitcoin fit into currency?”
“It’s not fiat, backed by any government, although
a few countries have adopted it. It is divisible; 256,000 bits equal 1 Bitcoin.
A bit is an electronic 0 or 1, OFF or ON. Usually, counted in powers of 2. Such
as 2,4,8,16,32,64, 128. thus 256K magic number. They accepted it in many places
and with many vendors. The first Bitcoin purchase was for a pizza. Even ATMs
accept Bitcoin. There’s one in Flagstaff by NAU.”
“I know money is printed and gold is mined, but
how is Bitcoin created?”
“People called Miners earned Bitcoin, crypto
currency, by solving complex random number mathematical cryptograms. These
people supported the network by creating a unit called a block in about thirty
days. It’s a difficult time-consuming task, because it required large computer
memory, and electricity to guess the number. Miners found the enormous
hexadecimal number (16 digit-0,1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,A,B,C,D,E,F) which connected
to a node, and formed a blockchain of miners. The miners kept a public ledger
and tracked all Bitcoin in existence. They also verified the authenticity of
someone’s Bitcoin in 60 seconds to 90 minutes. Everyone knows how many Bitcoin
were on the network. Which, in theory, law enforcement might use to track down
Bitcoin lawbreakers. They haven’t reached the finite upper limit amount of
Bitcoin - 21 million, so yes, the laws of supply and demand apply.”
“How do we get Loretta her money out of this device?”
“In real life, we’ve been using digital money
every day. We don’t realize that only 10% of physical currency exists
worldwide. The rest is digital. Banks, institutions, stock markets, and other
financial entities accept digital money. You get your retirement check direct
deposit. You do not get actual physical paper money; no one gets a paper social
security check. We use ATMs, debit cards, credit cards, Apple pay, and PayPal,
but everyone has gotten used to it. The amount of digital currency outweighs physical
currency, which saved governments monumental costs of printing money. “
“It seems risky,” Michael warned.
“There’s a thousand versions of digital currency
similar to pounds, euros, yen, or lira. Bitcoin was the first and the original.
I’ll research how much Loretta’s digital currency is worth, hoping it’s a
Bitcoin donation. Then, I must verify the process if the flash drive includes a
20-word authentication password. Last, I’ll sell the Bitcoin for real dollars.
‘I’ll drop this off to Loretta today. ” I said.
“Why would anyone bother to use Bitcoin?” Michael
asked.
“Why use Bitcoin? If you lived in a politically
unstable country, or an unstable banking system, your money needs to be as
portable as possible. A person can connect a tiny thumb drive to any electronic
device. Most third world countries use cell phones for financial transactions,
Pandemics, fire, floods, hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes, civil unrest, and
dictators can’t take it.”
“Okay, stop by the office. Keep me posted. I love
you and your super brain. Also your other charms,” He laughed, as he tousled my
hair, and teased me by sitting me on his lap. One smoldering kiss, then he was
off to arm himself for a Friday night shift.
“Thomas, please monitor Max. I have to go to
town,” I shouted into the classroom as Thomas was taking a break. Thomas
nodded.
***
The temperature dropped when the sun went down, so
I warmed up my Ford SUV. Before the bank closed, I wanted to get this money
dropped off to Loretta. I-40 traffic jammed the highway to Holbrook. Many cars
filled the hospital lot. Next, I squeezed into a parking space and raced into
the ER.
The ER waiting room filled with people. Loretta
waved to me as I checked in at the front desk. She took a break, and we made
our way to the cafeteria.
Loretta motioned to an empty table in a corner,
and I saved her a seat. She plumped down with a sigh after getting her supper.
“I’ve got your receipts for the fundraiser. NCSO
released them. Fifteen grand. Will you be okay depositing them?”
“Yeah, there’s a safe in the ER. I’ll keep the
money there until I get off. The bank has a late night secure deposit. One of
the security guards can escort me out to my car. We have a buddy system,”
Loretta said.
“There’s one weird monkey wrench in the works.
Someone donated a flash drive with instructions how to use it. I think there’s
digital currency on it, Bitcoin.”
“Is this some kind of scam? I don’t know anything
about digital currency. How do I get the money out of it?”
“There’s an ATM in Flagstaff. Thought it was a big
scam, too. But I read the original Whitepaper. The idea is mathematically
legit, so I‘ll figure it out,” I explained the concept to Loretta.
“Glad you’re my friend. You explain this computer
crap so a normal person can understand. The fundraiser was successful, other
than the poor college kid dying. What a strange thing to do.”
“We’re waiting on the autopsy. The ME is
overwhelmed with bodies. “
“We’ve been so crowded this winter. RSV babies
inundated NICU. People are still catching Covid 19 variants. Flu struck. Then
there are the Friday night drunks. Nurses worked twelve hours shifts with no
days off since September. Grab supper, go home, shower, flop on my bed, and
start over the next day.”
“How do you keep up?”
“Fourth floor Covid 19 only. They garbed us in
full gowns and masks from the ER on up. No one allowed above the fourth floor
only NICU. They isolated the NICU from the rest of the building. Only one
parent can visit at a time. The babies have delicate immune systems and even
basic tasks like moving limbs, breathing, sleeping, eating, and pooping require
significant effort.”
“My sister’s youngest was a preemie. She fit in my
hand when she was born early, but she’s a healthy fifteen years old now,
amazing.”
“So much of the injuries in the ER are
preventable: caps on medicine, seatbelts, safety glasses, drug ODs, speed
limits, red lights, on and on. I’ve stopped arguing with people about vaccines.
Molds, bacteria, fungi, and viruses all are trying to kill off humanity. Since
Louis Pasteur, germ science has been around for hundreds of years. We’re so
lucky we have the means to combat them. Let the deniers take the consequences:
pneumonia, polio, TB, measles, mumps. Rubella, diphtheria, whooping cough,
valley fever, tetanus, rabies, black plague, flu, covid, yellow fever, rocky
mountain spotted fever, HPV, AIDS, and more are still alive and killing
millions.” Loretta declared.
“My kids are stuck at home. Haven’t seen family in
18 months. I’m worried about my sister and mom. At least Flynn is close to you,”
I said.
“Deb and I see each other daily. Pearl, my older
brother Victor, and the boys invite me over for Sunday dinner. My sister Gloria
and I don’t see each other anymore. Jennifer and my niece Lizbeth are okay. Jen
teaches virtual school, likewise my brother Flynn does too.”
“Yes, the college went to virtual classes,
especially on the Reservation. Tom is taking Flynn’s ‘Intro to Geology’, and
Max is in Jennifer’s third grade class. He loves her.”
“So, what do I do about this Bitcoin thing?”
“Back to Bitcoin. I checked the price; $26,000 for one Bitcoin today“
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“It might not be a whole coin on the device. You
may only have a tiny piece of one. Bitcoin can be divided into 256K parts, so
it's possible that you only have a small fraction of a coin on the device.
“None of this digital currency makes sense to me.
When you compared it to getting my paycheck direct deposit, it made sense. But,
I want to know how much did the NICU fund gets in real dollars and cents. Then
I’ll believe in magic internet money.”
“You’ll receive every dime that’s coming to the
babies. My solemn word. Like you, Michael’s working 24/7 until he can hire a
deputy. Hardly see him anymore I told Michael I’d stop by the office.”
“Thanks for your help. Stay safe.” Loretta bear
hugged me and dashed back to the ER.
***
It started snowing when I left the Hospital.
Before the state troopers closed down the highway, I wanted to make it to Black
Mesa. My vehicle had four-wheel drive, snow chains, and as an SUV body on top
of a Ford F150 truck engine. I plowed through the blinding storm. Black Mesa
beckoned at the next exit.
Rose, the owner, greeted me with a cup of coffee, as
I stomped my boots at the door of the Black Mesa Café. She memorized me.
Sitting at the coffee drinker counter, the aroma of hot-out-of-the-oven pies
wafted over me, fighting with the smell of wet wool, rubber boots, and
mothballs.
“A Cowboy burger and fries for Michael. How about
a dozen beef tacos and two servings of chips and salsa? Oh, and a large queso
blanco. That ought to hold the interns,” I ordered.
“How’s the highway?” Rose asked me as she refilled
my coffee cup and plunked down a gigantic bowl of creamers. Rose’s hair tied up
in a messy bun, freckles spattered across her nose. A pencil for a barrette,
western shirt, jeans, boots, and a smidge of mocha eye shadow showed her
cowgirl roots. Take-outs had been keeping her business going during the lockdown.
She survived by rethinking her café. .
“Have you heard anything from the coroner’s
office?” My student’s death at the NICU fundraiser saddened Rose. Her sister
disappeared after graduation. Twenty years later, we found the body submerged
in a car by Carriage Lake.
“The ME is
backed up. Too many deaths out in the desert. They die of heat stroke in the
summer, and freeze to death in the winter. The desert is not forgiving.” I
said.
“Heard through the grapevine Loretta got a freaky
computer thing as a donation. Who gave something creepy like that?” Rose knew
everything and everybody. Tonight, I scarcely learned about the device. Someone
in the Sherriff’s department must have spilled the beans to her when they came
in for lunch.
“Yes, I promised to find out about it. It could be
a windfall or nothing. Depends on the digital currency market.”
“I’m almost tempted to return to cash only.
Customers complained someone has stolen their accounts after they’ve eaten
here. Please God, don’t let my night shift college kids who work for me be
involved. The day servers have been here for years. You remember how I had to
get cameras because of the waitress and cook who stole from me? You helped me
then. I need a computer weenie like you again.”
“I’d be glad to stop by and check your cashier
system. I see you went to a computer entry system.”
“Yeah, makes inventory so much easier. Every order
breaks down into separate commodities. Coffee. Bread. Taco shells. Every order
itemized plus each part that goes into it. For example, it sorts out the amount
of cheese, tomatoes, beef, shell, and spices that go into a taco. I type in the
ingredients and it keeps exact record- all sorted. Great for cost containment.”
“Wow. I’d like to see how that works.”
“Went to a mom and pop Mexican restaurant in
Guadalupe down in the valley. They had an ATM by the register, and they only
accept cash. It charged a small fee for the use. They said the ATM has helped
calm tourists down who weren’t expecting a cash only bill. Seriously thinking
about it. I’d rather have the burden on the bank than make good on customer’s
stolen credit or debit cards.” She dropped off two enormous shopping bags of
food on the counter.
“Thanks. This smells scrumptious.” Nothing in the
machine seemed out of order. It spat out my receipt. Rose speared a duplicate
on a spike by the register.
“You’re welcome. I appreciate your business. You
regulars kept me going. Stay safe.”
Chapter Six
January-Everyman
" Everyman is surrounded by a neighborhood
of spies." Jane Austen
My butt was numb from sitting in front of my
computer. Coding projects graded, emails sent, I logged out, and snapped by
laptop shut. My curiosity about the new neighbor was killing me. Snow frosted
the cedar trees into delicate ice sculptures. A pale, cold sun was peeking
above the horizon when I saddled up Chico. The slothful horse groaned and
protested. He didn’t want to leave his cozy stall, even though his hair was
thick as a bear’s fur. We both needed exercise after being stuck in the house
after the snowstorm. I hadn’t checked the mail since Monday. As soon as the
frosty air hit him, he shivered in anticipation. As he trotted, his shoes rang
on the frozen ground. I persuaded him a jaunt would be fun after all.
We followed the dirt path the high school teen’s
footprints marked when they caught the activity bus. Basketball season did not
stop for a little snow. A crucial Friday night game was coming up against the
Snowflake Lobos: blue and white. Black Mesa’s mascot, of course, was a Black
Cat, snarling on a pumpkin orange backdrop. My advance placement-coding
students had just finished an HTML web page for the virtual class. Some pages
were stunning.
We turned right onto the county line row of
mailboxes. An inch of snow covered my miniature barn mailbox; then I reached
over and brushed it off. Crows in the cedar trees protested and flapped their
wings, furious that someone had invaded their slim pickings.
I tucked the mail inside my jacket and guided
Chico toward Pearl’s house. She was an early riser and already had fed her
horses. Chico whinnied good morning.
Once I settled Chico into the barn, I sat down
at Pearl’s farm table. A solid slab of live edge pine stretched out to seat a
dozen people.
Pearl’s fifty plus cousins lived close. Everyone
knew the Flake family of Snowflake. William Jordan Flake founded the town after
the Civil War. Pearl (nee Flake) married Loretta’s brother Vincent. Thus,
Loretta, Deborah, Flynn, and Gloria Steven came with the package. The Hoarder
house belonged to Pearl’s mother-in-law Elizabeth Steven, a former B movie
cowgirl. She died under mysterious circumstances.
Next, the
hoarder house had a gruesome discovery in its freezer. Black Mesa’s old timers
said the vindictive spirit of the old lady cursed the house. I couldn’t wait to
see what the new owner brought to our neighborhood.
“What do you think?” Pearl asked.
“Melt in your mouth good.” I said as I snacked
on a banana nut muffin with deep purple sugar crystals imbedded in the top.
“Tried something new, piñón nuts. Last fall I
put up candied prickly pear, and I used it for the topping because it’s so
sweet.”
“Anything else?”
“Frozen casseroles: green corn tamales and
enchiladas with red sauce. He can heat them a little at a time. Seven layer
bean dip to eat now. Also, I packed my favorite assorted hot sauces.”
“I brought a five pound bag of Black Mesa
coffee, and a quart jar of Rose’s salsa. Everybody loves it.”
Pearl’s house was catty-corner from our
objective. We ambled across the road. Pearl’s hands were full of the food box,
so I unlatched the gate for her. Cattle fencing surrounded the property. The
ranch started out as a tiny one-bedroom cabin and added to as each Steven’s kid
arrived. A peaked roof signaled the origins of the house, also the wing
additions flanked each side. An Arizona room ran across the front of the house,
a deck ran around the other three sides. Plus, a separate small barn, toolshed,
and garage finished the back layout.
A bright red metal roof was new. Likewise, the
current owner painted adobe exterior walls a subtle golden tan. He replaced the
windows, added solar panels, installed an HVAC, and a large emergency
generator. I noticed a loaded black Jeep stood out in the gravel driveway.
“It looks like he’s home,” I said.
“He’s got a thoroughbred racehorse in the back.
Definitely checking the papers and shots on it,” Pearl said.
We scraped off our boots on the sturdy straw
doormat, and I rang the school bell attached to the front door. The bell
clanged, breaking the snow packed silence.
“Let me get that for you.” The owner of the
hoarder house offered as he propped open the door with his leg. Pearl handed
him the box, and he sniffed it.
“Whatever
is in there smells mighty good. I’m starving,” he said.
“We live across the way. Your neighbors. I’m
Minerva Doyle. I live in the two story saltbox. This is my friend Pearl Steven.
She owns the cattle ranch, horse stables, and big log cabin next to mine,” I
introduced us.
“Welcome to the neighborhood. Thought you’d like
a home cooked meal. Hope you like Mexican. Moving to a new place is chaotic, so
this grub ought to hold you till you settle in,” Pearl offered.
“Clay Woodall, from Virginia, I love trying new
food,” he set Pearl’s box on the coffee table. He also grabbed my bagged coffee
and salsa. Then Clay shook my hand, limped over to Pearl, and did likewise.
His hand was dry, work hard with calluses.
Despite winter, Clay sported a skier’s tan and a gray crewcut hairstyle. He
wore a red and black plaid flannel shirt, corduroys, and white gym socks on his
feet. I noticed his boots stood on a mat by the coat rack near the front door.
Should I take mine off, I wondered?
“Sit. Take a load off. Relax.” He beckoned to
the large lodgepole pine, denim slip-covered couch.
Pearl took the equally vast identical style
chair that provided ample space for two people. The furniture was American
primitive, nothing delicate. No Southwest theme. He painted the walls a pale
blue grey with stark white trim. The new owner erased any evidence of the
previous owner's existence.
“The house needed touching up. Evidently, the
previous owner sold everything, lock, stock, and barrel. No appliances either.
It has stood empty for two years-not good for a house. A house needs to be
loved.” Clay observed.
“Yes, we wondered who bought the house. My
husband’s family used to own it. It’s the oldest home in Black Mesa.” Pearl
said.
“Want some coffee? Hope you don’t mind paper
plates and cups.” Clay said.
“No, I don’t mind. Both of us have boys. So it’s
a grand rumpus at home.” Pearl said.
Clay went into the kitchen. “How do you like
your coffee?”
“Black, extra sugar.”
“Lots of cream, with a little coffee.”
“There’s a nice antique store on Main Street,
next to the Cafe. Good bargains, fair prices, and quality goods. The furniture
would match this house.” I recommended.
“I’ll have to check out the antique store.-I
like things with a history,” Clay said.
Pearl and I checked out the open-plan kitchen.
An old barrier between the dining room and living room was gone. Thick beams
arced across the ceiling, defining a wide space. Before the house was a tiny
prissy rabbit warren. Sunlight burst through the bay window. Antique horse
racing pictures were meticulously arranged on the wall. Above the fireplace stood
a full size, magnificent painting of a thoroughbred horse, so real I swore I
saw its tail twitch.
“Here you go. A sweet black coffee and a cup of
cream with a dash of coffee. Plain strong black for me,” he joked. I saw his
brown eyes twinkle.
“That’s an amazing painting,” Pearl said. “I
raise rodeo horses. The painter knew his horses.”
“It’s one of the few things I brought from
Virginia. Came from a 200-year-old plantation they were demolishing to make way
for a development. Everyone was scrambling to buy pieces of it: mantles, doors,
ceilings, windows, chandeliers, flooring, and hardware. They even took down the
murals. That’s how I bought this painting. The artist was an African American
itinerant freeman who made his living painting people, animals, and horses. His
style was the equivalent of a Caravaggio in quality. Luckily, he painted murals
on canvas, then pasted them to the wall and trimmed them out. Smoke damage
discolored them until they looked like dark smears of paint, so no one could
tell how good they were. I did research on him, and I knew it was a once in a
lifetime chance. I bought several, cleaned this one up, and reframed it. The
story of the artist is right next to it. I’m working on finding and restoring
more.”
“So why did you move from lush green forests of
Virginia to Northern Arizona?” I asked.
“Cowboys, Zane Grey, Tony Hillerman, Louis
L’Amour. I wanted to be a cowboy since I was a kid. I read every book I could
get my hands on,” Clay said.
“Well, cowboy, my duty is to check horses and
livestock. I’m the Inspector for Navajo County. I need to look at your horse
and your ownership paperwork, also shot records. We’re careful about bringing
any diseases into Arizona from other countries or states.” Pearl stated.
I snooped around the house
while Clay and Pearl went outside. One guest bedroom filled with paintings,
saddles, collectable guns mounted on racks, a gun safe, and a lodgepole pine
bed. A throw covered the bed with a Native American Indian geometric motif. It
seemed Clay liked a red and black theme. Another bedroom held trophies,
pictures, athletic awards, and diplomas from High School, college,
Chapter Seven
February- Tiny Office
“He and I had an office so tiny that an inch smaller and it
would have been adultery.” Dorothy Parker.
Michael had his first day off since Charles Dubois, the
Marshal, left to testify at a serial killer’s trial. The arrest began in March
2020. the beginning of the pandemic. Covid 19 threw sand in the gears of
justice. Trials delayed. Witnesses forbidden to travel. Finding a place to hold
a trial was impossible, since even government offices locked down. Jails and
prisons inundated with illness. Law enforcement personnel died from the
epidemic. Even after vaccines, people isolated.
Two years later, life was back to normal. Flights resumed. Courts scheduled
trials. Six victims spanning over two decades complicated the matter. Five
states and two countries were involved. The US Postal Inspector’s Office and
Royal Canadian Mounted Police were interested in the matter. Time crept by
while they decided on the trial location, law enforcement entity, and
jurisdiction.. Canada and the United States came to an agreement. Someone
murdered a Mountie so Canada held the trial in their country.
***
“Mmmm. looks good. I’m starving,” Michael lifted the pan
lid. “Fried potatoes and onions, and veggie omelet.”
He stood beside me in pajama bottoms and barefoot. His unruly
black hair was messy from sleep. He hadn’t shaved and teased me with a whisker
rub on my cheek. I put my arm around his waist. He laid his chin on my head and
hugged me back. He lost fifteen pounds in the last two years. I worried he
wasn’t getting enough healthy food to eat by working odd shifts and forgetting
meals.
“Mmm. You smell so good.”
“Soap and water.” I giggled as his beard tickled me. Michael
hated perfume and gunky makeup. I always kept a light touch with makeup and
scents. Even my hairstyle was a short pixie cut, so easy with my busy schedule
between mothering the boys, teaching, and consulting.
“How’d you manage a day off?”
By this time of morning, he shaved, dressed in his uniform,
with shined boots, and a beige Stetson placed jaunty on his head. Horse fed.
Truck warmed up.
“Peg is supervising two reliable interns.”
“I met the owner of
the hoarder house,” I said as I filled his plate and poured him a cup of
coffee.
“What’s he like?”
“40s, average, history buff, especially art, horseman, moved
here from Virginia, bookworm, computer nerd, and there was a false leg in his
bedroom.”
“You learned all that in one visit?”
“I’ll admit. I snooped while Pearl did her Stock Inspector
thing.”
“I’m glad you’re on the side of the righteous guys.” He held
me in a bear hug and messed my hair. Then he kissed my neck. “I’ve missed you.
We hardly have any time together.”
“I invited Clay for lunch at the Café. I thought it would be a chance for
you to meet him at your Tuesday round table.”
Michael held an open discussion session at the Black Mesa
Café. At a huge table in the back room, Michael kept up Charles’ tradition.
Since Michael was shorthanded, townspeople drifted in and out all morning with
problems that bothered them. People opened up in a comfortable, non-threatening
place, rather than have the law show up on their doorstep with a warrant. Petty
theft, water disputes, stray animals, boundary feuds, truancy, drug rumors,
drunks, and other local problems often settled with a cup of coffee and a piece
of pie. Michael determined the ebb and flow of life in the town.
***
Monday I taught classes all day, Wednesday night, and
Saturday morning. Tuesday and Thursday, I consulted at the Marshal’s office. My
IT consulting assured it protected the network from hackers, kept records
confidential, backed up files, and secured case records. Peg and I worked
together digitizing the town’s paper records from 1850 until 2015.
Marshal Doyle was a complete Luddite. He was allergic to
electricity, and his touch wiped out electronic devices. Peg, our dispatcher,
and secretary, was a one-woman data entry person until I came on board in 2018.
A scanner streamlined the data entry process, and I switched to direct
dictation into the computer. So far, the records we entered went back to 1990,
when the internet first came into use in colleges and universities. The
Marshal’s office connected to NCSO. Fingerprints, local crime stats, and
criminal arrests updated weekly into the National Crime Information Center.
Tuesday I inputted the weekend crime information when most
incidents took place. Winter was slower than summer because we had fewer Route
66 tourists and traffic from I-40 to deal with than during the school vacation
season.. Black Mesa kept the Old Route 66 historic district reconditioned. Road
signs, shops, neon signs, and especially the Route 66 Car Show and Drive-In
were popular with tourists. The city council supported local businesses that
restored buildings and signs with grant money.
“Morning Peg. How was the weekend?” I asked her as I warmed
up my computer. I plunked a dollar in the coffee fund and helped myself to one
of her homemade scones, and my usual creamer and coffee fix.
“I-40 shut down from Flagstaff to Tucumcari, so it was
slow,” Peg said.
For thirty years, Peg was everyone’s favorite auntie who
brought homemade treats for the interns, kept the coffee going, and knew where
all the ‘bodies were buried’ at city hall. She flaunted her new badge, wore a
regulation tan skirt, pale blue denim shirt with Black Mesa Marshal’s Office,
and her name embroidered on the right pocket. Tight permed curls peeked out
underneath an immaculate tan Stetson. Mirror polished black nurse’s shoes
squeaked on the floor as she put a few folders on my in-basket. Keys to the
file cabinets, computers, evidence room, and tiny one-room jail tinkled from
her belt.
“Ok, I’m meeting Michael at the Café. Do you want anything?” I treated her
to lunch for her promotion. Michael had dropped off a luxurious plant.
“Crazy Burro-chips and salsa. The two new interns, both
gals, successful, ex-military. One was a helicopter pilot, and the other an MP.
I’m looking forward to bringing them up to speed. They caught on quick. They
didn’t sit around. Kept busy without me telling them what to do.”
“We lucked out. Michael needed a day off.”
“Yeah, but as soon as NCSO finds out, they’ll snatch them
right up. If the state cops or feds don’t get them first.”
“Why couldn’t they steal the Mayor’s kid? Get him out of our
hair?”
“No chance. They already know what a goofball he is, it
spite of his Mom’s bragging. Words got out around town.”
Spinning around in my chair, I next entered my username and
password. I dictated the fresh cases and updated them to NCIC and NSCO. Michael
waved to Peg and motioned with his hand for me to wrap it up. Finished, I
logged off, locked my laptop. Then met him at the door.
***
Michael opened the door to the Black Mesa Café for me. Customers packed the front
booths. Clay, our new neighbor, sat on a bar stool lined up along the counter
with the other coffee drinkers. I tapped his shoulder. He twitched and twisted
around. Then he followed Michael and me to the dining room at the back of the
Café.
“Hi, Minerva, plenty of cream and coffee, Michael black, and
Mr. New Bee. I see they’ve already set you up.” Rose showed up with a carafe of
coffee before we even sat down.
“Clay Woodall, “he swept off his black Stetson, and bowed.
Rose blushed.
“Crazy Burro special today. Dutch Apple pie too, “she
plunked down three menus, and dashed off to take another order,
“That’s Rose Wilde, she’s the owner. Usually fills in during
rush hour. She hardly ever sits down. Hard working gal,” Michael said. Clay
couldn’t take his eyes off Rose.
“She’s a red-headed whirlwind,” Clay commented.
“The food’s all made fresh. My favorite is the Cowboy
burger,” Michael recommended.
“If their food is anything like the coffee, I’m hooked,”
Clay said,
“Taco salad for me,” I said.
“A Crazy Burro special for Peg to go. Two Cowboy burgers,
with the works, and a taco salad for Minnie,” Michael ordered when Rose came
back. She stuck a pen in her messy bun, dropped off chips and salsa, then
whirled off.
“Minnie told me you moved here from Virginia. When I was in
the ATF, I lived there,” Michael said. “Minnie works as our IT consultant and
teaches computer science at the community college.”
“I’m retired from the Secret Service, brought my horse to
Arizona, loved the Wild West, and I’m living in the most infamous house in town
from what Minerva told me.” Clay shrugged.
“Well, Deputy Marshal, shouldn’t you be hunting down a new
deputy?” the rude voice of Mayor Robinson boomed over our table. She leaned
between Michael and I.
“That’s Marshal Doyle, ma’am. The job offer is pending.
Haven’t decided yet.” Michael’s neck turned red. “I have company. I’d be glad
to discuss this privately at City Hall.”
“Don’t forget. Hayden put his application in first. He’s at
the top of the Police Academy class. Let me know. I’m looking forward to us
being a team,” she wheedled, then pushed her way out of the room and almost
knocked the tray of food from Rose’s hand. Clay jumped up and steadied the tray
as Rose took a step back.
“Let me help you,” Clay assisted Rose.
“Thanks. That woman drives me crazy. She’s pushy,
loudmouthed, and a bully. How the hell she ever got elected, I don’t know?”
Rose burst out, and wiped her forehead.
“I’m starving. Toast and jelly for breakfast. I saved room
for lunch,” Clay said.
“When you leave here, you’ll be stuffed for sure,” Rose said
with a grin.” She filled Clay’s empty cup and handed it to him. Clay’s hand
wrapped around hers.
“Let’s dig in.” Michael said.
“So, is it true you have an opening? “Clay asked.
“Yes, stop by the office. We’ll talk. Looks like you are an
answer to my prayer.” Michael said. “Tell me about yourself. “
Michael and Clay had an instant rapport. Also, I kept
‘myself to myself’ as my grandma used to say. Clay served in Iraq. He
specialized in computer crimes, money laundering, ransomware, frauds, and
foreign financial threats.
Michael paid for lunch. Clay impressed me. As our guest, he
did not do the embarrassing macho behavior of a fight for a check. When I
glanced back at the table, I noticed he had left a note for Rose wrapped around
a twenty-dollar bill folded into a origami flower.
Clay followed Michael, who pointed into the Marshal’s
personal office and closed the door. Peg raised her eyebrows. I put my finger
to my lips. Since I didn’t want the interns to overhear us. We went into the
ladies’ room, and then I related Clay put in an application. She put her two
hands together in supplication. We both went back to our desks. The switchboard
lit up.
“Minerva, there’s an accident on Old Route 66, “Peg said.
I knocked on Michael’s door.
“Vacation’s over. Accident on Old Route 66.” I said.
Michael raced out the door with Clay on his heels. They
jumped into Michael’s Black Ford F-150. Sirens screamed down the road, as I
followed in my SUV. A produce semi-truck had overturned. It crashed into a
cattle truck. Cows bawled in pain and raced around in erratic circles. A load
of onions dumped everywhere. The stench was overpowering: smashed onions, blood,
cow manure, and urine. The truck leaked gasoline. I called the volunteer fire
department. One spark would blow up the trucks, so I raced to put out orange
traffic cones and blocked the highway from town with my SUV. Clay helped
Michael cordon off the other end of the highway. Local ranchers pitched in to
round up the hysterical cattle. Normally, the beasts were placid and spent
their lives munching on vegetation. They scrambled under a cedar tree for
protection. Michael had to put a few out of their misery. The cattle truck
driver held a broken arm, his dirt smeared face in agony. Like a manic circus
ride, the semi’s wheels spun. Small white bags spilled out from under the bags
of onions. Dangerous small blue pills leaked out the shredded sacks.
“It’s fentanyl.” I screamed to Michael. “Get back! Put your
oxygen masks on before you get in there.” I motioned to the firefighters.
Michael held his
weapon on the onion truck driver, daring him to move, and spoke the Miranda
warning, in English and perfect Spanish. Michael tossed his cuffs to Clay. Clay
grabbed Michael’s handcuffs and restrained the dazed man.
“Welcome to Black Mesa.” Michael said.” Never a dull minute.
“
The onion truck driver struggled in Clay’s grasp. Michael
swept the man’s legs out from under him. Then Michael doubled zip tied the
man’s arms and legs.
“Minnie call NSCO for backup. We’ll book him at the
courthouse and lock him up at the main jail. This is a big drug bust,” Michael
said.
Chapter Eight
February-Bad News
“Nothing travels faster than the speed
of light, except for bad news, which has its own laws.” Douglas Adams.
Michael received the FBI background
check about Clay, and decided, our new neighbor `made a perfect fit for the
Black Mesa’s Marshal’s office. Clay wore a crisp pale blue denim shirt,
embroidered with his name. Michael pinned a new shiny badge on the right
pocket, and shook hands. Clay topped off his uniform with a black Stetson and
mirrored sunglasses, which didn’t bother Michael.
During his interview, Clay revealed
how he lost his leg in a warehouse raid. A reliable tip disclosed a drug cartel
stash. The source said millions of dollars, gold, and drugs hid in an obscure
location. Disguised booby-traps injured Secret Service people, their dogs, and
destroyed a robot.
Clay took early retirement last year
after working a desk job while his left leg healed. With Zoom, he managed
through the pandemic with his experience as a cyber-forensic investigator for a
private security firm. He became an expert investigating money laundering,
black hat hackers, scams, bank fraud, and other cybercrimes. Clay and I had an
instant rapport as we geeked out for hours over the latest cyber-white hat
hacks to defend against currency crimes.
One difficulty Clay needed to overcome
involved the physical test all Arizona Law Officers had to pass: POPAT. In
addition, he must pass the firearms proficiency and tactical driving test. Clay
acknowledged he had to come up to speed on the physical test, but he felt he
had no problem with the firearms or the driving test.
Michael decided both he and Clay
worked the rowdy Payday Friday weekend shifts, and then they alternated the
rest of the slower days. Peg worked Monday through Friday days, and the
NCSO took over 911 calls at nights and weekends. The interns worked in the
office Monday through Friday on their choice of 8-hour shifts. Some preferred
the quieter night owl shift so they could study. NCC held Police Academy
classes on weekends, thus interns took 18 credits per semester. The Marshal’s
Office coordinated with the College’s schedule. Hours interns spent in the
Marshal’s Office counted as on-the-job training and hands-on lab credits.
The new Deputy Marshal’s first night
on the job proved uneventful. Michael, Clay, and I met Thursday for a late
lunch at 2 p.m. Curious townspeople came up to our table, and Michael
introduced them to Clay.
“Are you going to have the Crazy Burro
special or your usual?” Rose asked.
“Cowboy Burger, works, Black coffee.”
Michael stated his boring choice.
“Special, chicken, red. Iced coffee. I
feel like spring is coming,” I said.
“What is it?” Clay said.
“The dish starts with a flour
tortilla, refried beans, shredded chicken, shredded beef, or ground beef. It’s
stuffed with guacamole, shredded lettuce, diced tomatoes, sour cream, and pico
de gallo.. Next, you have a choice of red or green sauce. Oh yeah, grated
Mexican cheese. Includes a side of Spanish rice, too,” Rose rattled off the
concoction.
“Pico what? Red? Green?” Clay said.
“Pico de gallo is chicken feed:” Rose
giggled at his back east accent. “Finely diced tomatoes, tomatillos, onions.
Red is red enchilada sauce, and green is green enchilada sauce, like a Mexican
version of gravy. Red is usually spicy. Live dangerously. Try it,” she teased.
“Ok, ground beef, red, and whatever
else goes on it. I better have a Diet Coke too,” Clay shrugged.
Michael and Clay discussed the patrol
duties, which I didn’t have to worry about.
“The bank president stopped by my desk
this morning and told me about a rash of charges he’s had to write off. A lot
of them came right after people ate here, within an hour of someone charging a
meal at the Café,” I informed Michael and Clay. I used this relaxed time to
give my partners a heads up.
“I think I need to look at Rose’s cash
register and card reader before I leave today,” Clay said.
“Don’t we need a search warrant?” I
countered.
“Not if she gives us permission. Do
you think she’s behind it?” Clay suggested.
“Never,” Michael and I said
simultaneously, both shocked at the idea of Rose being involved in a scam.
“Sorry, she probably doesn’t even know
someone might have compromised her equipment. It’s happened to big box stores,
gas stations, and national retail chains. She’s only a little one-owner place.
It’s hard to defend yourself if you don’t have the resources international
companies do and they get scammed for millions.”
“If you know what to look for, let’s
ask her,” Michael challenged Clay.
Rose served our lunches, and scooted
over to sit by Clay. Then Clay gathered enough courage to confront her.
“Rose, the bank thinks someone has
scammed some of your customers after they eat here. I’d like to look at your
cash register and card machine before we leave, with your permission,” he
announced quietly.
“You’re right. The bank called me. I’m
worried, plus I don’t know what to do. I’ve read articles stating that even big
companies like Target fell victim to scams. Cost them millions and I don’t have
the money. If I had to pay back my customers, it could bankrupt me, because I’m
still recovering from the lockdown,” she said, breaking into tears as she hid
her head in her arms.
“I’ll take care of you.” Clay stood up
and patted her shoulder. “I’ll solve this right now. It’ll take me a
minute.”
Clay strode over to the debit card
machine. He picked it up and scrutinized it, turning it over in his hands.
Suddenly, he slammed it upside down on the counter. It broke apart. Clay
brought the rubble over to our table. The shattered machine had scattered into
tiny pieces. He picked up a faceplate with wormlike wires hanging from it.
“Here’s your problem. It’s a skimmer.
Someone put a fake digital faceplate on top of your card machine’s real
faceplate. The Bluetooth wires signal a hacker who receives card numbers and
the digital information they need to use someone’s card. There’s a thief close
to the cafe using a computer to capture the data. Then either they sell the
card info on the dark web or they use it themselves and suck money from bank
accounts. They try it with a 99 cent charge to see if it works, and they
rapidly invade and drain your customer’s bank accounts,” Clay informed her.
“It’s so tiny. I never noticed it,”
Rose said as she poked it with her finger, as if it would bite her.
“Fraudsters also insert shimmers, from
the word wood ‘shim’. The device is the size of a chocolate thin mint. Slender
metal electronics are almost impossible to detect except by Bluetooth. In the
future: Go to Settings, General, Bluetooth on your cell phone –it will warn you
if there is a signal near. Now, I recommend you return to cash only until we
track down the perpetrators of this scam,” Clay said.
Rose wrung her hands. “Oh, my God, my
customers. What will they think? I’m going back over everybody’s charges and
I’ll warn them.”
Clay gathered up the shards. “I’ll
download a prevention list for you to post for your customers. Use cash at a
gas station. Try a small value credit card less than $100, not a debit card.
Change to two-factor authentication. Watch for small 99-cent charges. Check all
charges on cards. Physically check a card reader because the manufacturers
welded the real top on. It’s heavy, sturdy, not flimsy or loose.” “We have to
check every business within our jurisdiction. I’ll bet they’ve hit the gas
stations, convenience stores, small businesses, and other restaurants along
I-40. I’ll give a heads up to NCSO,” Michael said.
“My contacts in the Secret Service
handle federal cyber-currency scams. The feds have more resources than you
could imagine. There’s an entire cyber-currency crimes section,” Clay said.
“I’ll notify them.”
“We definitely need to check every
business. I can’t believe we’ve got a major skimming operation in our town. At
the next chamber of commerce meeting, I’ll warn the business owners. Save this
machine so I can demonstrate what to look for,” I said. “What if one is on the
ATM at the bank? When we leave I have to warn the bank manager.”
Chapter Nine
February
- Nine Men
“Nine
men in ten are suicides.” Poor Richard. Benjamin Franklin.
The next day, three of us gathered
around a map spread out on a table in the back of the Café. Michael explained
to Clay the many agencies that covered law enforcement in our world. Northern
Arizona was a patchwork of jurisdictions. Founding fathers diluted the power of
the Native Americans by splitting Navajo and Apache counties lengthwise, while
the Navajo reservation sprawled over four states and several counties across
Northern Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, and Utah. The Apache reservation was in
southern Navajo County, likewise the Zuni. The Navajo reservation surrounded
the Hopi reservation. In addition, the Bureau of Indian Affairs had lesser
power than the past.
The forest service, game & fish,
and park departments controlled the Petrified Forest, Painted Desert, and Grand
Canyon. A checkerboard of federal land alternated with private land. Navajo
County Sheriff’s (NCSO) office covered Navajo county, while the Apache County
Sheriff’s Office covered Apache County. The state police patrolled I-40.
Federal Postal authorities covered mail fraud.
For example, Michael arrested a drug
cartel driver with a semi-full of fentanyl. However, Michael decided the feds,
DEA, and the state police handled taking the driver to court. In addition, the
man was a Mexican citizen, and drove a registered Mexican truck, which involved
another country. The cases proved too messy for Michael’s taste. As a retired
ATF agent, he knew the government agency could do the job in this complex case.
Case in point, Marshal Dubois was still stuck in Canada, testifying at a murder
trial.
Michael touched our little pinpoint on
Old Route 66. “We all try to cooperate. If it’s a big case, we help but
eventually let the big guns take over. During the lockdown, the Navajo Tribal
police kept non-tribal members from driving into the Reservation. It’s their
land for thousands of years, so I refused to get involved, my decision didn’t
make the mayor or ranchers happy.”
“Can I take this home so I can study
it?” Clay asked. He meticulously folded the map..
“Sure, you’ll learn soon enough who’s
in charge,” Michael clarified that it's not the Mayor, despite her belief in
her absolute authority over Black Mesa.
Rose plunked down a carafe of coffee.
“Special is Albondigas. It will warm your tummy. Weather channel predicts the
jet stream is coming down from Canada tonight. What’s on the agenda today?”
“We’ll be on call this weekend. You’d
better get a sound night’s sleep. Make sure you eat when you can. People drive
crazy when the white stuff hits,” Michael said.
“They’ll probably cancel school. The
boys will be home,” I said. We had a brief respite from winter, but we could
always count on an Easter snowstorm. “I’ll bring some home to the kids. Also,
Peg needs some for lunch.”
“Okay. You got me again. I’m going to
need a dictionary,” Clay grinned.
“It’s like Mexican grandma, abuela,
version of chicken soup. Cures all winter ailments: meatballs, chicken stock,
rice, potatoes, carrots, peas, celery, onions, garlic, olive oil, tomato sauce,
tomatoes, zucchini, and corn. Spices: cilantro, Yerba Buena, pepper, parsley. I
let people add hot sauce if they want. Tortilla or chips instead of crackers.
You won’t be sorry. It’s yummy.” Rose said.
“Okay, I’ll live dangerously,” Clay
said.
“Three bowls to-go. Plus, I need a
gallon for the boys. A bag of chips and salsa to go. A bowl for me. I’m not
cooking supper.” I said.
“Okay, me too. Looks like a long
night.” Michael made it three.
Michael, Clay and I had passed out
warning posters for business owners to put up. The game was up, so I hoped this
gave whoever was scamming people notice to get out of town.
“In addition, I finished warning the
thrift store, food pantry, homeless shelter, ASPCA, antique store, beauty
parlor, bank, clothing store, library, NCC, school system, Route 66 museum, and
motels,” I told Michael. “I checked their machines, too.”
“Also checked the machines. Plus, I hit
the gas stations, fast-food places, auto dealer, tire shop, junk yard, hardware
store, feed store, VFW, American Legion, DAV, recruiting office, and western
store,” Clay said.
“I did my part at the government
offices, utility offices, mayor’s office, newspaper, radio station, TV station,
license bureau, courthouse, NSCO county offices, ASPCA office, and the
churches: LDS, Catholic, Baptist, Protestant, Lutheran, and Jewish Temple.
Every ATM and card reader was scrutinized. Think of anything else?” Michael
listed. “We’ve covered the entire town.”
“We should mail a warning to
residents. The government has free mailers, I’ll order them. Maybe we can get
the utility companies to insert them in the bills they send out.” I offered.
“This financial storm affects every family, just like a tornado, flood, or
forest fire.”
After Rose served our food, we picked
her brain, too. “I’d be happy to put up a poster in the window,” she said. Rose
held the pulse and heart of Black Mesa. She knew all the latest gossip.
Clay gave a thumbs up to the soup.
“I’ll help you put the poster up.”
He walked behind Rose to the
plate-glass window in the Café's front. Rose reached up to secure the poster to
the window, while Clay held the bottom. Suddenly, he grabbed Rose and shoved
her behind the counter. He covered her with his body and dived to the floor.
Glass shattered over them as a car
crashed through the window and demolished the brick wall. It smashed tables to
dust. The car engine still rumbled, although the furniture had stopped the
car’s devastation. Smoke filled the Café. Michael rushed for the fire
extinguisher and smothered the car’s engine. Several people from the volunteer
fire department who had been eating lunch rushed to help Michael.
First, I called 911. Through the black
smoke, I escorted the dining room customers out the back exit. Then I ran back
in for a second batch of stunned families.
“OUT. OUT. Follow me. This way. NO,
NO, not the front door. Out. Fire. The car’s on fire.” Blocking the dining-room
double door, I guided them with my arms. Blinded and gasping for air, they were
in distress. A woman grasped her child’s hand, while the baby screamed. Then, I
pushed and shoved them out the kitchen door to fresh air. Few people knew about
the back door. Soon the Café emptied. With a scarf over my mouth, I went back
in one more time. I looked for any stragglers. Everyone was gone from the
dining room. The fire fighters had escorted the diners from the main room and
the coffee drinkers’ counter to safety. The Café was empty.
An ambulance flashed its lights, while
I stumbled around to the front of the Café on Main Street. Michael pulled the
driver out of the car and laid the man on the ground. My husband shook his
head, crooked his finger, and then I stepped up to identify the victim.
“Michael, it’s Ogden. Ogden Byfield, the CIS chair,” I recognized him
immediately, from the department meeting last Friday morning.
The fire department attempted to
extinguish the car fire, however, the new electric vehicle proved almost
impossible to quell. Reinforcements brought more fire extinguishers. The local
garage had a special extinguisher designed to put out gasoline fires. It seemed
to work.
The ambulance loaded the body up and
drove to Holbrook. Michael turned off the car. He reached in to the glove box.
On the seat of the car was the professor’s laptop. Michael gave it to me to
hold. My husband retrieved the registration and miscellaneous items. Next,
Michael handed me a small usb drive and the man’s cell phone before they burnt
up.
“It’s an electric car. They’re
terrible news. Everyone needs to get back at least fifty feet. It could flare
up in a minute. If it does, we have to let it burn. We need to get it away from
the building,” the firefighter warned us. Michael hugged me and we sprinted
away from the car. A mechanic hitched his hook to the car and towed it out to
the street. Then he unhooked his truck from the car. The car combusted and
exploded into flames again. The only solution was to let it burn itself out.
Clay wrapped a blanket around Rose and
cuddled her. She was shivering. Her hair was full of glass, and her face bled.
She lost her pencil somewhere so her hair tumbled down. Clay held a clean
handkerchief to the jagged wound. His hair turned white with brick dust. The
deputy’s face blackened with smoke.
“I’m taking Rose to the hospital,”
Clay stated.
“Good. I’m sticking around to make
sure this damn thing goes out. I’ve never seen anything like this,” Michael
said. “Minnie, go home, lay down. I’ll see you later.” He wrapped my coat
collar around my face. Then, he kissed me hungrily. “Stay safe, baby.”
As the adrenaline rush wore off, I sat
in my SUV. My hands were shaking, and I rested my head on the steering wheel.
The ice-cold, hard rubber soothed me. The trinkets of the professor’s
electronic life felt icy to my touch as I reached into my coat pocket for my
keys. Later, I’d tease out his secrets.
The wind blasted me, snow dusted the
air, and I drove home before it hit. My responsibility: I coordinated death
notices with the M. E. of a Black Mesa death. When I arrived home, I opened my
cell phone, and apprised the college president of another death involving the
college. Michael camped overnight at the Marshal’s Office. Clay took care of
Rose; I had confidence in the new deputy. Again, I was an angel of death.
Chapter
Ten
February-
Biggest Mistake
“The
man who does things makes mistakes, but he never makes the biggest mistake of
all–doing nothing.” Benjamin Franklin
“Help. I’m down at the Café, the
coffee drinkers are here.” My friend Rose called me at six a.m. Friday
morning.
“As soon as I get the boys settled,
I’ll be there,” I promised her.
“Tom, can you make Max breakfast?
There was a fire at the Café. I have to help Rose clean up,” I asked Tom.
“Sure, I’ll make his favorite Mickey
Mouse pancakes, bacon, and cinnamon toast,” Tom said.
Michael’s oldest son woke up early to
complete his research project in the morning’s peace, without having to vie for
Wi-Fi. The internet was erratic out in the boonies where we lived.
"Thanks, I appreciate everything you do for me, Mike,
and Max. I realize you have a heavy class load this semester, and virtual
classes aren’t normal. My advice when they say the deadline is midnight on Sunday,
they don't mean 12:01. When I was finishing my Master's degree, I learned the
hard way. I took evening classes, worked full time, the twins were high school
freshmen, and Mackie was in junior high. So much hard work, but it paid off in
the end. You've saved thousands by taking general education classes at
NCC."
"I don't commute except from my bedroom to the computer
room. Staying home worked out for me since I can grab a snack any time of day
or night. Because I have plenty of room
to spread my projects out, an amazing dark night sky, plus no lamplight or city
light interference. My project advanced tremendously. Father bought me a state
of the art telescope and new software program. Besides if Mother decides to
live in the UK this might be the last time I will be able to be with Max."
Out of nowhere, I knew Tom needed a hug, however difficult
since I was only 5’2” and he had grown to 6’5”. In spite of his somber
demeanor, he would miss Max. Somewhere in his heart, he was still a little lost
boy. Tom’s eyes glistened, and he wiped them off. Not sure, about a giving bear
hugs to an almost grown twenty-year old man, I patted his shoulder.
Michael solved the problem when he
came downstairs to the scent of breakfast burritos, sausage cooking, and coffee
brewing. He had no trouble showing affection for his boys. My husband hugged
Tom and kissed his forehead.
“That sure smells good from upstairs,
Chef Tom. What got you up so early?” Michael asked as he lifted the cover off
the frying pan.
“It is a treat for Max. Minerva Mater
has to help Rose at the Café,” Tom said.
“Yeah, the whole town got together
last night at city hall. Everybody’s going to help Rose DYI the Café. They’re
all meeting downtown: bringing paint, drywall, glass, tables, chairs, and
whatever they can spare. You know ranchers and farmers they never throw
anything away. Might use it someday is their motto,” Michael said.
Max stumbled into the kitchen. Dressed
in warm footed zip up pajamas, he dragged his favorite, Paddington Bear. It
made my heart break at how sweet and cuddly Max was. The thought of him
attending a boarding school far from home disheartened me. He hugged my waist,
and I patted his head. Michael swooped Max up and threw the boy on his
shoulders for a wild ride that made Max scream in delight.
“Dad and I have to help Rose fix her
Café. Can you help Tom clean and do your school’s work?” I asked Max as he
calmed down.
“MMMM,” Max nodded. Thanks, Tommie.”
Max stuffed his mouth with pancakes.
The boys loaded the dishwasher and
camped out in the sewing room for their virtual classes. Michael fed and
watered Chico, and then gathered together supplies left from fixing our roof.
***
Clay’s Jeep passed us. Pearl and
Victor followed. Soon we joined a caravan of vehicles headed toward town on Old
Route 66. We met at the Black Mesa Café.
NCSO removed the electric car’s burnt
hulk from the street and dragged it to the junkyard outside of town. Smoke
blackened the front wall of the Café. Wanting to be useful, I started gathering
up the condiments, salt, and peppershakers, and silverware wrapped in napkins.
Bits that decorated the tables were now filthy. I threw all the cakes and pies
out. Smoke ruined ice cream, salsa, hot sauce, and condiments, so I discarded
them. Saving the food in the walk-in and refrigerators dashed hope. Food sealed
in the pantry was fine, but open packages or cans had to be tossed. Because
fire extinguisher foam covered everything in the Café, it needed sanitized. To
save the restaurant equipment, the cleaning crew had to steam clean all the
tables, booths, and chairs.
The classic memorabilia and art from
old western movies had to be professionally restored. It would take museum
quality expert’s help. Artifacts dated from silent movies through the seventies
bloom of TV westerns. Rose’s most valuable poster was an original 1938 movie
card signed by stars: young Bette Davis, Leslie Howard, and Humphrey Bogart.
‘The Petrified Forest’ featured the town of Black Mesa. Many movie stars
donated their collections as they passed through on vacation to the Grand
Canyon.
“I’m so sorry Rose.” The devastation
appalled me. An anonymous customer set up a go-fund-me page. Maybe Rose’s
insurance would settle soon.
“Everyone arrived this morning when I
opened the door.” Rose surveyed the busy helpers.
“Last night, I covered the door and
window with boards. I’ve got 2x4’s. Plus, I bought a new bay window.” Clay
twisted his hat around in his hands. “In addition, I got a wrought iron door
and a stained glass insert for the front. I thought it would match your antique
western look. It should be here tomorrow.”
“How can I thank you?” Rose said. She
shook his hand. Somewhere in the debris, she found a pencil and shoved it into
her messy bun as a barrette. A long row of stitches marred her freckled face from
her eyebrow down to her left chin. “At least the plate glass missed my eyes.
I’m so grateful you saved me.”
Clay stroked her cheek, his forefinger
the barest whisper of touch. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t protect your face.”
“I’ll match the other scars and broken
bones I’ve got from the rodeo. You should see the one I have on my back and my
thigh,” she said, teasing him.
“Let’s get the interns going. The
Police Academy students volunteered on their day off. We have the fire
department, the state police, and the NCSO and ACSO. The American Legion, VFW,
and DAV vets brought all their tools, so let’s get this job done.” Michael
broke into Clay’s thoughtful reverie.
“LDS food warehouse replaced my food,”
Rose said. “Pearl’s Relief Society cooked breakfast for everyone at the LDS
Stake Center. My dining room cleaned up by the Our Lady of Perpetual Peace
Altar Society. Other churches and a synagogue provided lunch for OLPP Bingo
Hall workers. The American Legion wanted everyone in town to meet at the Legion
for a BBQ and cookout tonight at seven p.m. no charge.”
The heart and soul of Black Mesa
welcomed tourists and residents alike again. Busy weekend for everyone, Black
Mesa people supported each other in a crisis. Rose was back in business by
Monday.
***
After a long, hard day, Michael and I
arrived home. Both of us needed a shower. My hands were rough and red from
scrubbing pots and pans. My jeans, shirt, and hair were smoky. Next, I threw my
clothes in a one-load pile, because I wanted to wash off the stench of both our
clothes. I was skeptical about being able to remove the odor from them. When I
finished my shower, I wrapped myself in my favorite fluffy bathrobe. Then, I
lay down on my bed and plumped up my pillows.
Michael strolled out of the shower
after me. A white towel wrapped around his hips made him look sexy. He piled on
the bed next to me, still with water glistening in his hair. Michael ran his
fingers through my hair and kissed my neck. We made up for all the time we lost
when he was working 24/7.
Later, after he fell asleep, I brushed
his mop of hair back. He had thick black untamed eyebrows, and eyelashes any
New York model would die for. His face was peaceful and relaxed. I kissed his
unshaven chin. He exhaled with a gentle breath.
Forget the stupid cell phone. I
reached over to my nightstand and blocked his phone. Whatever Black Mesa needed
this evening could wait. Clay was a lifesaver. Tonight, Michael would get his
first eight-hour sleep that he had in months since Charles Dubois left for
Canada.
NCC students didn't let me rest.
Nevertheless, I felt I needed to check my cell phone. A tardy student always
begged for an extension on a project that was already due a week ago.
The President of the college texted
me. Bryce Chase denigrated adjunct faculty as if we were second-class citizens.
On my weekend off? Why was he bothering me? I wasn’t a tenured faculty member
at his beck and call. He observed no respect for family time. What did he want?
The message read:
"You are notified that you will take over Professor
Byfield's Computer Information System classes. The two coding classes meet
Wednesday and three Police Academy on Sunday. Thank You for your cooperation.
We plan to hire an interim Department Chair who will take over Professor
Byfield's administrative duties. You will receive tenured compensation as of
the first week in February. I will discuss the opportunity for fall semester to
continue your tenure as a full professor instead of Adjunct faculty. This
includes full benefits. If you have any questions please contact my secretary
for an appointment. Sincerely, President Bryce Chase, BS. MBA, Ph.D."
“Holy crap.” I joked I would get tenure after
a bus ran someone over, but I didn’t expect it to come true with Professor
Byfield’s death.
What about my computer classes on the
Navajo/Hopi reservation? Most of my students were teachers, hospital workers,
and government admins, even law enforcement. My Saturday Zoom classes were a
hoot, and I enjoyed my Senior Citizens. Wednesday, my computer class was vital
for widows, divorcees, and older women who returned to a job after years of
being homebodies. They needed upgraded skills for career level jobs. I loved my
students, and I improved their lives. Students had a safe place to learn, make
mistakes, and not feel terrified of a computer if they made an error.
This NCC job offer was super overload.
It meant ten credits on Monday, nine credits on Wednesday, three credits on
Saturday, and nine more credits on Sunday. OMG. Thirty-one credits. Fifteen
credits meant full time. Nine was adjunct. The only reason I got away with the
extra credits was because the Small Business Administration paid my Wednesday
class, and Black Mesa Senior Center paid the Saturday Zoom. I consulted for
Michael on Tuesday and Thursday, the rare time I saw him these days..
“Be careful what you wish for. Isn’t
that a curse?” I thought. Michael and I needed to discuss this opportunity
disguised as a royal command.
Chapter
Eleven
February-
Electronic Asylum
“It’s
been my policy to view the Internet not as an information highway, but as an
electronic asylum full of babbling loonies.” Mike Royko.
Tuesday meant a day at the Marshal’s
Office. My goal today: get a search warrant for Daemon’s apartment, and the
professor’s NCC office. Byfield’s wife might make it easy to search his home
since she had a restraining order against the Professor.
A search warrant allowed me to
identify the commonalities between the men's technology. So far, the only red
flag was NCC. I suspected a connection between the deaths of two individuals
within a month. The local newspaper wrote a fragment of a paragraph other than
the men’s obituaries. Which intimated that the college wanted to cover up both
deaths?
***
My appointment with Judge Flake was
early, because I knew the Judge liked to work in the morning. His chambers
reflected pioneer roots. Old tintypes of long gone judges, law officers, and
infamous outlaws posted to his walls. Beautiful framed copies of the
Constitution, Bill of Rights, the Declaration of Independence, and the Magna
Carta hung under baby spotlights. Bookcases full of red leather bound Arizona
Statutes ran floor to ceiling along two walls. Despite digital accessibility on
the internet, which he had learned in one of my classes, he loved physical
books. He was an articulate, curious student thirsty for knowledge. Judge Flake
went beyond any required class research project. Many times, he related how he
caught himself for days researching subjects from King Hammurabi to Native
American Treaties. His new wife, Penelope, attended my women only computer
class before Covid hit.
Judge Jacob Flake, of Snowflake’s
enormous Northern Arizona family, was a student in one of my classes. I updated
him about the Secret Service National Computer Forensics Institute’s class in
Digital Evidence for Judges. While laws took years to wend their way to a
Supreme Court decision, technology adapted overnight. Therefore, a new court
ruling might throw out evidence collected for months on a case. The search warrant
was necessary to ensure legality. Never hurt to be cautious.
“Thank you for giving me time, Judge
Flake,” I said.
“Except out of the courtroom, it is
Jake to you Minerva,” Judge Flake said.
“How’s Penelope? I heard they ruled
self-defense. I hoped she’d take another one of my classes now she’s settled.
While heading to my classes, I saw her at Pearl's place.”
“Things are moving along. The new
dentist brought in many clients. She moved in with me, so Penelope sold the
ranch and the business. Kids went to college, married, and bought homes. She’s
keeping busy with our new babies and grandkids.”
“I’ve taken over Ogden Byfield’s
students and the Police Academy classes.”
“Congratulations, I knew you would get
tenure. You’re a marvelous teacher. I learned a lot from you. How can I help?”
“As you know, two suicides are linked
to the college, and I'm investigating them both. For the Marshal's Office, not
the college, since it’s a messy case. Clay Woodall, the new deputy, uncovered
some skimmers taking advantage of local businesses. Either it looks like the
Professor or some of his students are involved,” I said.
“When I looked for my teacher's
paraphernalia to take over Byfield’s class, I found skimmers in his NCC office
file cabinet. Once I saw them, I knew I needed a legal basis to cover my bases.
Although I had keys to the cabinet for supplies, the unknown pills I found reek
of doubtful origin. They were sent to the state lab for analysis. If I found
anything else suspicious, I wanted to avoid a conflict with NCC. Michael and
Clay busted a truck full of fentanyl. The case was pending in Navajo County
because they caught them outside city limits.” I explained.
“Okay, what do you need?”
“No autopsy results as yet. Both men’s
laptops, cell phones, social media, thumb drives, digital photos, financial
information, their cars, the file cabinet, their homes need searched. Although
the professor’s car burnt to a crisp, I’d like to access where he traveled.
Maybe they met somewhere outside of college grounds to plan. Cameras tracked
their license plates.” I had to state specific search areas.
“All right. The M.E.’s Office told me
autopsy results are running at least six weeks behind. Between drug deaths and
border crossings in the desert, the M.E. has more than they can handle. Just
try not to step on any official’s toes, before you receive the paperwork.” Jake
issued the warrants.
***
Before the college got wind of our
search, I rushed to the Marshal’s Office.
“We have to work fast. Judge Flake
gave me a search warrant for Daemon and Byfield. Can we split up the job? How
is Clay feeling? Tired?” I asked Michael.
“No, he said everything was quiet last
night when we switched shifts this morning. He catnapped. I’ll call him,”
Michael said.
“See if he can search Daemon’s apartment.
It’s in the Tara House, Gloria Stephen’s old place, down the street from Clay’s
house. Before anyone at the college gets wind, I want to do this quick”
“I’ll do his wife and home. She had a
restraining order against Byfield,” Michael said.
“Couldn’t help overhearing, rumor has
it Byfield had an affair with one of his students. The kid threatened to expose
the Professor. His wife kicked him out after finding about the tryst,” Peg
commented.
She shook her head and pointed to the
Mayor’s son. He had headphones on and was glued to his cell phone.
“Say nothing to him. Have him clean up
the jail cell and take out the trash while we’re gone,” Michael said.
“I’ll search the Professor’s office at
the college. Then I’ll make a mirror of all the cellphones, laptops, and thumb
drives. No chances of data deleted by accident or on purpose. Check both of
their traffic habits,” I said.
“What else did Flake give us
permission to look thru?” Michael said.
“Tonight when I get home, I’m checking
their social media accounts and screen shoot them before they get shutdown or
erased,” I said.
We lost no time in getting our
objectives finished. Digital data was as ephemeral as ice in an Arizona August.
Byfield’s office keys rattled in my pocket. Before the new department chair took
over, I wanted to search it now, afraid I might lose my advantage.
When I arrived at Byfield’s NCC
Office, I made copies of all the Professor’s papers, photographs, and diaries
just in case.
President Chase had not named our new
Computer Science Department chair, but I figured he’d promote Adrian Cole, the
IT person. Adrian and I had several run-ins over security issues. Social
Engineering concerned me, which the IT person dismissed as hearsay and word-of
mouth. Too many students lent their IDs and passwords to non-college people.
The dorms were rampant with outsiders.
***
We regrouped after the Mayor’s son
finished his shift at 5 p.m. I reserved one copy of the technology for
evidence, the other to reverse engineer. Everything locked up in the secure
room before 8 p.m. that evening, because I didn’t trust Hayden Robinson.
Up until all hours of the night, I
copied the two men’s emails and social media onto a four terabyte external hard
drive. The usual internet sites were no problem, and I checked a few of the
unusual dark web sites. Sure enough, Daemon, his team, and the professor had
their own juicy vendor site offering stolen credit card data they skimmed.
Hopefully, they wouldn’t think I’d lurk
into their Black Hat Hacker domain. I kept a clean laptop to search the Dark
Web, to prevent contamination. Keeping the channel open was crucial. The
absence of two villains may result in a new commander. Against all odds,
Byfield secured permission to take underage students to Las Vegas. Moreover,
they had the audacity to document their adventures, and the pictures showed me
they felt invincible.
Photo albums brimmed with pictures of
the Professor and his students at DEFCON, a computer nerd’s heaven. Someone
documented the hijinks. The NCC team took part in the Capture the Flag
exercises, a few hacks, webinars, classes, the tinfoil hat contest, fun and
games.
***
Word soon got out at NCC that we
searched Daemon's room, and the professor’s home. Sure enough, Friday morning,
a cease and desist order arrived from Navajo County. NCC President Chase got a
lawyer. All school property needed to be returned to the IT department:
laptops, cellphones, projects, calendars, journals, photographs, emails,
correspondence, personnel data, office contents, and thumb drives were school
property. Likewise, since the Professor drove a school car, it too was school
property.
However, I also found their social
media accounts deleted when I logged back on the next morning. Adrian Cole was
behind that deed at the behest of NCC President Chase, I reasoned. The trouble
with digital evidence it was too easy to erase.
“Whew, talk about the nick of time,”
Michael said. “Keep that idiot Hayden away from the evidence room and our computers.
No interns allowed on the network.”
“Make sure everything is secure and
locked tight,” I reminded Peg.
“Yep, he was snooping in desk drawers
this morning. So, I keep the keys in my pocket and my purse locked away,” Peg
replied.
“We need to watch a video I saw on the
DEFCON site. A white-hat hacker security expert showed how he used Social
Engineering to bypass all the safeguards at a major corporation. Sticky notes
with passwords. A smiling friendly intruder with no badge or ID skulked around.
Purses, desk drawers, car keys, no locks, laptops open, and sloppier habits
revealed,” I said.
“I’ve seen that guy in action. He’s
efficient. Michael and I need to enforce a daily checklist for procedures to
safeguard our office,” Clay suggested. “We’ve got too many non-coms wandering
around.”
“The interns had to pass a background
check before they joined the Police Academy. But average college students don’t
need one; neither do high school honor students who use the NCC computer labs,”
I added. “The labs are like the wild west.”
“We’ve got one monkey wrench in the works, the Mayor’s kid.
One more time, I catch Hayden snooping, or a no show, and he’s out,” Michael
vowed.
Clay and Peg both nodded in agreement, since they had to put
up with him more than I did.
Chapter
12
February-
Stuck With Technology
“We
are stuck with technology and what we really want is stuff that works.” Douglas
Adams.
Michael and I discussed the
possibilities of my becoming a tenured professor.
“If I stopped my Zoom class on
Saturday, I could offer it during summer and fall semesters, since it’s an
optional one day class,” I pondered.
“But you told me you get a kick out of
the senior citizens, and their fascinating lives and experiences,” Michael
said.
“Yes, one lady in my class is a WW2 vet.
She flew planes from the US to UK. She lied about her age, a kid at fourteen.”
“You mentioned others in your class
like her.” Michael said.
“But by giving up my Monday classes, I
can free up ten credits. Then I would teach all-day and evening on Wednesday
with an hour break between classes.”
“What about the Marshal’s office? Look
how many cases we’ve solved together, even a twenty-year-old cold case. Dubois
is clueless about computers. He’s an old school Mountie, who can read people.
Charles has a core feel for human unacceptable behavior that’s amazing,”
Michael protested. “But he doesn’t know from Shinola about technology. Look at
his antique office stuff. I shove it aside in order to work. There’s a
landline, for Pete’s sake, and a manual typewriter. I’d cram it in a box and
stuff it up the attic, but I can’t until he returns.”
“I know you’re frustrated about the
current situation. The mayor is on your back. You’re acting marshal until
Dubois returns, and shorthanded. I’ll continue to write government grants. When
Charles makes it back full time, the COPS grant can pay for three officers with
eight-hour shifts. Instead of Black Mesa Marshal’s Office having two officers
working twelve-hour shifts.”
“I’ll put Clay in charge of the
‘skimmers’ patrolling business since he discovered them. You and I keep our
consulting days on Tuesday and Thursday,” Michael decided.
“The Police Academy is an opportunity
I can’t pass. The Cyber Forensics is my area of expertise.”
“Yes, I’d like someone in our office
who knows interns better too,” Michael said.
“I’ll do the coding classes but, I’m
keeping my Wednesday night class, because I love my women’s computer class.”
The Navajo and Hopi communities opened
to in-person classes. A computer science instructor could take over my classes
if NCC hired another adjunct teacher. However, I knew an excellent Native
American teacher, who ate lunch with me before Covid. She finished her Master’s
degree and wanted a full time teaching job. Now she taught Medical Billing and
Legal Transcription on the Navajo/Hopi Reservation. She would make a successful
addition to a wider range of classes for students. I’d recommend her to the
President.
So, I’d teach nine credits on
Wednesday 8 a.m. to 7 p.m. and nine credits on Sunday 8 a.m. to 7 p.m., with an
hour break between each class. Each three-credit class lasted sixteen weeks for
regular classes and eight weeks for Police Academy classes. Michael agreed it
sounded like a plan. Now, I had to convince the college President.
***
So, on Monday I said goodbye to my
students, and introduced their new Native American teacher. She received all my
notes, class roster, syllabi, books, teacher manuals, and passwords.
Administrator privileges were granted to her on the laptops and network. I
showed her the fussy computers, which needed TLC
To keep the network safe, I also
recommended she follow my computer lab rules. Students kept their work on usb
drives designed for classroom use only. Each student had a small lockbox.
Working as a casino night auditor inspired my idea. The lockbox for every shift
resembled an old time card catalog and required dual-key authentication like a
bank safe deposit box. A steel cable with a combination lock wired the laptops to
the floor to prevent vandalism and theft.
Every student had a sixteen-character
passphrase, with the teacher being the admin. Like the WW2 Navajo code talkers,
my students were encouraged to use their native language. I offered the new
teacher my help if needed, but warned her about a two and a half-hour trip to
the classroom. The IT person only wanted urgent calls. She was intelligent,
nimble, and proficient even with the reluctant laptops that always caused
trouble.
To ensure honesty, my students had to
sign in and out on a time log verifying a working laptop. No broken mice
without batteries, no keyboard letters exchanged, and no one used someone
else’s password or login. I suggested she walk around, preventing monkey
business. Some high school students acted like the infamous coyotes
(tricksters) in old Native American legends. Elders supervised the lab, as
mature students disliked computer interruptions.
***
Last night, I searched the professor’s
laptop for classroom information. He didn’t change the NCC password default.
What a lazy ass. He was the department chair. No rules, no security.
Meanwhile, I agreed to take over Ogden
Byfield’s lab on Wednesdays, which was a catastrophe. First, I checked his
desk. No syllabi, no textbooks, no teacher’s manual, and no usb thumb drives.
Next, I rummaged through the file cabinet: skimmers, usb drives, and software
CDs. Another mysterious medicine bottle with no label fell out of a corner.
Laptops were filthy. Food and crumbs
scattered on the tables. Setting drinks was a long-standing student custom. The
lab was disgusting, but I spent hours fixing it to my standards.
For security, I cleaned the laptops,
wiped the hard drives with a magnet, and threw all the random hand lettered
disks and miscellaneous thumb drives into a box. Software reloaded to a clean
hard-drive. Nothing from the previous class could touch the reconditioned
laptops. Each machine had a new user ID, two-factor authentication, and a
sixteen-character passphrase.
First day dawned, the class contained
fifteen students, five female, and ten males. No seating chart. The morning
class had a few college-age students and the rest high school seniors. These
were supposed to be honor students.
Students wandered in.
“Morning. Please sit down. My name is Minerva
Doyle. I’m taking over for Professor Byfield. He was involved in a car accident
and passed. I’m sorry.” I imparted the news.
The students sat silent.
“My educational background includes a
BS in Computer Science and a Master's in Computer Information Systems. My past
job experience was in law enforcement as a Cyber-Forensics expert for Navajo
and Maricopa Counties. Yes, I worked for Sheriff Joe Arpaio.”
The class murmured and buzzed.
“Please pass the syllabus and class
expectations.” I handed out my rules for behavior.
“I do not assign seats, but you will
sit at the same computer during each class period from today on.” Serial
number, IP address, and code number identified each laptop on a slip of paper.
Thus, I next had each student write his
or her name on a laptop. Students received a thumb drive. A secure cabinet,
with two keys for each drawer stood in the corner.
“Save nothing on the hard drives,
ever, another lesson. The only thing on the hard drive is the software you use
to code. Of course, they have MS Office Suite, Publisher, Adobe, Java, html,
C++, Python and Linux. You will use these programs for your projects.” I
rendered all hard drives unrecoverable by wiping them out with a magnetic
device yesterday. The laptops were pristine.
“But Professor Byfield had us working
on projects of our own. We’ve already started,” one student protested.
“Everyone starts over with a clean
slate. You've all earned an 'A' for the first four weeks. I have no idea about
your project. Learn to make a backup copy of your work. If not, this is the
most valuable lesson you will learn from my class. I wiped the laptops, so you
cannot recover what you wrote on them. You may retrieve your old devices, but
do not use them in my lab. You will use the thumb drive assigned to you, and
store it in the safe deposit box.”
“We already made our teams, “another
said.
“In the real world, expect to
collaborate with a diverse group of individuals, including those from other
nations. Remember, your project manager, me, will choose your project and who
you will work with.”
I brought out a black Stetson, which
contained fifteen slips of paper. On each scrap were a default user ID,
two-factor authentication, and a sixteen-character passphrase. By tomorrow’s
class, none of them would work. Another hard lesson: never use the default. All
the sloppy network and computer security habits that Byfield let them get away
with would shock them out of their complacency. My class taught them all the
dangers characterized by lazy, trusting, social naiveté, of the computer
generation.
“Ensure the laptop and all its
components are in perfect working order before signing out. If there is any
monkey business, you fix it before you leave. Login now. Please lock your usb
drive in your assigned drawer. Luck with your new team. Don’t lose your key.
There’s only one copy.”
The last ten minutes of class, they
used to log off, power down, and put away their items. The astute ones would
choose a new login, user ID, two-factor authentication, and sixteen-character
passphrase. If not, they would have a rude awakening next week’s class. Some
students compared slips of paper to see whose team they were placed.
Nevertheless, as I said, using the default was a hard lesson to learn. Last, I
hoped the symbolism of a black hat, did not lose its significance on some
students.
My afternoon class received the same
drill. By next Wednesday, they all knew I was serious, and cyber-security was
no joke, or fun and games as it had been in Professor Byfield’s class.
Chapter
Thirteen
February-
Good News v Bad News
“The
good news about computers is that they do what you tell them to do. The bad
news is that they do what you tell them to do.” Ted Nelson.
Although Friday was my day off,
Michael and I regrouped, and compared notes at work. Good news: the mayor’s son
was a no-show as usual. The Bad news was that each smartphone and laptop had a
metal tag inserted on it, identifying it as Property of NCC. Their lawyer had
filed a motion with the superior court for the return of the men’s belongings.
When the NCC representatives came, we decided they must ask for the possessions
they believed were school property, not any property the men had bought.
Especially after we had dug up evidence, complied with a Supreme Court ruling,
and used a search warrant. Our team spent the entire morning photographing
everything we planned to give back, no matter how insignificant. I ensured that
the copies of the laptop's hard drive, thumb drives, video tapes, phone data,
and traffic patterns were sheltered in our evidence repository. Michael snapped
photos of the professor’s home, with Mrs. Byfield’s cooperation. Everything the
Marshal found at the professor's house added to our case files. Daemon’s
dormitory was a different story, since NCC owned the Tara house. In addition, I
cataloged the articles in the evidence room. In case I needed them, I pocketed
an extra set of Byfield's keys. As the person taking over his classes, I had a
right to the computer information systems department supplies. I wasted no time
taking proof to the Marshal's Headquarters, I discovered in the file cabinet
including the unmarked pill bottle. Privacy laws ceased to apply once a person
was dead.
A massive amount of technology
research lay in front of me. Copying was effortless, but comprehending and
correlating information on the devices was a complex task. One terabyte
(trillion bytes) of the backup hard drive filled with files. The old saying of
a picture is equivalent to a thousand words is true. As an illustration, the
entire book's written content required less storage capacity than either an
audio file or an image of the book's cover.
Peg locked the Marshal’s Office door.
She stayed to guard the front desk and the phones. We had private interviews,
so she gave all the interns the day off. We enjoyed the lunch from the Café
brought in by Rose. While Clay, I, and Michael viewed the DEFCON photos, we
viewed another video from a convenience store hit by the skimming machines. All
of her clients were familiar to Rose, so Clay suggested Rose watch the video in
case she identified the card skimmer thugs.
While we watched the skimmer video,
perpetrators had their game plan down to a science. One of them distracted the
clerk while the other fitted a device over the payment terminal. Likewise, they
parked a van in front of the gas pump. The first person hid behind the vehicle
door while the second tackled the credit card machine. The non-digital choice
they paid cash in small bills. In less than thirty seconds, they handed over
the payment for their fuel and munchies and disappeared. They used low-tech
black electrical tape to adjust the numbers on the license plate. Their
identity concealed with sunglasses, no-name hoodies drawn over their heads,
sports gloves eliminated fingerprints, baggy clothes disguised physical builds,
and tennis shoes gave no clue to sex.
Byfield recorded several of his
lectures and webinars. The students wore lanyards with the NCC emblem. When we
watched the DEFCON footage, I couldn’t identify the people by name. The
computer programming classes were for skilled learners. Therefore, I’d have to
pay close attention, make notes, and look closer at my new Wednesday class.
Even though his classes were honors high school level and college coding
geniuses, none of them won any awards or medals at DEFCON. They proved wrong
about their experience when challenged by international masters in real world
programming.
In order to interview Daemon's
roommates away from their college comfort zone, Michael planned to separate
them and bring them to our Office. Clay took notes while I recorded in the
background. Each person, including Byfield's wife, watched the videos. The
widow noticed when the educator stayed out late. The new deputy Marshal hoped she
could identify the person who had threatened to expose her husband.
Black Mesa offered only a few places
to hide, such as a lone casino, bar, cafe, moonlit lake, and motel. Many
gossips, nosy neighbors, and tattle-tales noticed a professor squiring a protégé.
Michael utilized the round table method: ask around, a shoe leather trail,
knock on doors, and talk to everyone who knew your business. I reverted to the
modern equivalent of small-town gossip exposé, which was Facebook, Twitter,
Snapchat, Tic-Toc, and Instagram.
Michael wanted to place the location
of each student during the night Daemon died and the instance the Professor
crashed his car through Rose’s Cafe window. In the ATF, Michael was adept at
penetrating the defenses of witnesses. He disarmed suspects with his blue
collar, easygoing manner. He never played the Bad Cop card. Interrogations were
a chess game, a battle of wits where the coolest head prevailed. After we
secured our video and audio interviews, we locked up Marshal’s Office.
***
The following day, Michael, Rose, and
I assisted Clay in constructing a difficult obstacle course in his rear garden
to assist him in preparing for his final evaluation. He aced the written exam
with a perfect score. Then the weapons trial was no problem. The new deputy
requested a waiver for years of service and education. He had a Master’s in
criminal justice. However, he had to finish the physical training program test.
“I remember my hardest was the body
drag. It slipped out of my sweaty hands. My grip on the darn canvas cover kept
slipping. It wasn’t the weight, I’ve lifted bags of feed heavier than it. The
sack was stubbornly stuck, but I angrily dragged it over the line.”
“The running killed me. I couldn't
breathe due to a stitch in my side after I finished. Here I was in the dry
Arizona terrain doing a test in 120-degree heat. If it was swimming
proficiency, I could pass no problem. If I were in Miami, I could show them how
to police the canals and beaches,” Michael said.
Clay remarked as he attached a long,
slender, spring-like leg to his body. “I practiced with it in the high jump
competition at the Paralympics, when I lived in Virginia. Rose watched in
astonishment, while he ran with leaps and bounds similar to a kangaroo.
We set up railroad ties, dog food
bags, and hay bales in Clay’s yard. The deputy didn't have to worry about the
wooden fence as he relied on his upper body strength to cross it without
touching it. Clay had to practice the chain-link vaulting over the metal
enclosure as his artificial foot could get ensnared. Could he use the false
leg, which worked like a spring, to give him enough momentum to leap across the
barrier?
Because he fulfilled all the
prerequisites, Clay was qualified to apply for a Police Officer position in
Arizona.
First: Served as a certified law
enforcement professional in Arizona, another state, or federal agency, the
secret service.
Second: Advanced training that showed
substantial compatibility to Arizona’s basic course the secret service
training.
Third: Qualifications appointment from
an Arizona law enforcement agency, the Black Mesa’s Marshal’s Office Deputy
Fourth: Meeting all the
qualifications, and peace officer physical aptitude test, a Master’s degree in
Criminal Justice.
He only had (POPAT) left including:
-the obstacle course run is 99 yards
long and has several sharp turns, and curb height obstacles.
-clear a 14-inch high obstacle
-body drag left with a 165 pound dummy
32 feet
-5 yards to 6-foot chain-link fence
run 25 yards
-5 yards to 6-foot solid fence run 25
yards
-500 yards one lap + 60 yards of
standard running track
-one concurrent session with the
stopwatch
-warm up 15 minutes three times
-agility run two trials 15 minutes
-short grass order body drag two
trials 15 minutes 32 feet grass lift under arms
-obstacle course chain-link two trials
20 minutes
-solid fence two tries 20 minutes
-May continue trying. If its first
attempt is unsuccessful,
The scoring system is pass/fail and
time all events.
-The written component comprises a
comprehensive test divided into three blocks. -70% pass only one retake. Clay
passed with a perfect score.
Firearms POPAT: Clay passed on target.
-Service weapon holster 150 rounds
-weapon cleaning
-Eye and ear protection
-twice average time scored
-50 shot daytime Q–15 silhouette
minimum score to 10
-50 shot nighttime Q–15 silhouette
minimum score to 10
-one target fail