Moon Shot

by J. Alan Hartman

  Both officers were looking intently down at their tablets. Jacobs was the first to look up at her. He was biting his lower lip.

  “I think I see your point. Living, as we do, is bound to create stress.”

  “Exactly!” replied Amelia, “The fact that it never seemed to bother Henry just seems odd to me.”

  This time, Jacobs gave her a grin, “Ms. McGhee, did you ever think that maybe you’re a pessimist and Henry was an optimist?”

  Amelia frowned, “David says that, too. I am not a pessimist. I’m a realist. There’s a difference.”

  Jacobs crossed his legs and put his hand under his chin. “What is it?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The difference between a realist and a pessimist. I’m curious.”

  For the first time, Amelia noticed that Detective Jacobs had green eyes. Very nice green eyes. And she could swear they were twinkling. She felt her face go hot.

  “Um, a pessimist sees only the negative in everyone and everything. A realist sees things for how they are—a mixture of good and bad.”

  Jacobs nodded. “What about enemies?”

  “What?”

  “Henry Watkins. Do you know if he had any enemies?”

  “Henry?” Amelia paused for a minute. “I can’t say that I know of anyone who disliked him. I never heard anyone at school say a bad word about him. As I said, I didn’t know him outside of work, other than to run into at the store or library.”

  Jacobs looked at Smith and she said to Amelia, “Well, Ms. McGhee, thank you for your time. We have everything we need for the moment. If we need to talk to you further, we will be in touch. I’ll get an officer to take you home.”

  Smith left the room and Amelia turned to Jacobs. “May I ask how exactly he died?”

  Jacobs paused a moment. “He was electrocuted with a taser.”

  “A taser? You mean one of the weapons the police used to use a hundred years ago to subdue criminals? God. How awful. Where would someone get something like that?”

  Jacobs stood and went to the coffee pot, “Someone stole it from the Earth Museum last week. Whoever took it knew how to modify it so it would deliver a fatal shock,” replied Jacobs.

  “Wow. So, it was a premeditated crime of passion then. And now you have to find the motive behind it. Good luck,” Amelia said as she stood and put on her coat.

  “Crime of passion?” Jacobs asked.

  “Yes. If the murder wasn’t personal, then Henry would have been shot or maybe stabbed. Whoever did this wanted him to suffer,” Amelia shivered.

  Jacobs extended his hand, “Ms. McGhee, it’s been a pleasure to meet you, although I’m terribly sorry for the circumstances. You take care now.”

  Amelia shook his hand, “You too, Detective.”

  * * *

  “I am so screwed,” said David as he shoved another forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth. Amelia had agreed to meet him for breakfast at The Diner since school was canceled.

  “You’ll be fine.” She reached over and patted David’s hand.

  “They wouldn’t postpone it. Can you believe it? I called this morning and told them what had happened and the lady on the phone said they would take that into consideration when they do the eval.” David shook his head. “I’m going to fail and they’ll ship me back to Earth on the next shuttle faster than you can say Woodrow Hale.”

  Psychological evaluations were required every six months for all residents over the age of five living on Mars. This was in response to a horrifying event that had taken place twenty years earlier. Woodrow Hale had been a geologist working on planet for nearly six years when he went to work one day and attacked his coworkers with a machete. One person bled to death before the police arrived, and four others were hospitalized. When asked why he did it, Woodrow said he just didn’t know. The team of psychiatrists that evaluated him determined that the stress of living under the dome for so long caused poor Woodrow to just snap. He was still in a maximum security facility for the criminally insane.

  “They’re not going to send you back because you’re not about to go off the deep end,” replied Amelia. “I think they’ll understand why you’re a little jumpy.”

  David leaned over and whispered, “Did you hear how he died?”

  “The taser?” Amelia asked.

  David nodded, “Yeah. Somebody must have really hated him to electrocute him.”

  Amelia was about to respond when her phone beeped. She had received a video message from Officer Smith asking her to stop by the police station at her convenience.

  “I’ve got to go,” she said to David. “I’ve been summoned by the police.”

  “Hot date with a certain Detective?” he smiled.

  “Oh please. Look, call me when you get back from your eval.” Amelia patted his shoulder and left for the station.

  * * *

  “Thanks for coming in so quickly,” Officer Smith said. Amelia noticed that her eyes looked a little bloodshot and she stifled a yawn as she sat down.

  “Long night for you guys,” said Amelia.

  “Yes, it has been.”

  Just then, the door opened and Detective Jacobs came in, “Ah, Ms. McGhee. I hope we haven’t taken you away from anything important today. I just wanted to ask you a few more questions.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  “First of all,” Jacobs continued, “you mentioned that Mr. Watkins had a twin brother. His name was James?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did Henry talk about him often?”

  Amelia thought a moment, “No, not often. Every once in awhile he would mention him. Things like ‘When Jimmy and I were little, we got into all kinds of trouble. Drove my Mom crazy.’ That kind of thing.”

  “And do you recall Henry ever stating that he talked to Jimmy recently or had any communication from him?”

  Amelia shook her head slowly. “No. Now that you mention it, he only talked about him in the past tense. I never thought about that before.”

  “Ok, let’s move on. What can you tell me about security at the Earth museum?” Jacobs asked.

  Amelia was surprised by the question but answered. “You have to have a pass key to access the museum and there are fewer than a dozen people who have one. Then you have to pass the retinal scan.”

  Jacobs agreed. “Do you have your pass key with you Ms. McGhee?”

  Amelia reached for her purse, “Yes, it’s right here in my wall…” She paused as she opened her wallet. Her key to her apartment and the school were there, but the museum key was gone.

  She looked up at Jacobs and Smith. “You knew I didn’t have it, I assume?”

  Smith nodded, “Yes. It was used to gain entry to the museum the night the taser was taken. We, however, did know you did not use it.”

  “Really? And how do you know that?”

  “The museum was breached last Tuesday night. That was the night that you attended your book club meeting at the library,” replied Jacobs.

  Amelia felt her face turn red. “I see you’ve been talking to my friends. But, wait, how did the person who stole my key bypass the retinal scan?”

  Smith interjected, “It’s quite difficult. The thief may have paid someone to help him or her. As much as we hate to admit it, no security system is foolproof.”

  “Well, thank you for coming down again Ms. McGhee. I appreciate your cooperation.” Jacobs rose from his chair, followed by Smith.

  Amelia looked from Jacobs to Smith, “What do you mean? That’s it?”

  “We’ll have an officer drive you home.”

  “Hold on,” said Amelia curtly. “You drag me down here, ask me a bunch of questions, feed me some tantalizing information and then send me home? That’s just not fair.”

  “Tantalizing?” Jacobs said, “And we didn’t drag you here. As I recall, you took a shuttle.”

  Amelia sighed. “You can’t give me one little nugget of information? I’m guessing by this point you have a suspect. Just give me a h
int?”

  “No,” Jacobs said, “but I can tell you that Henry and James Watkins were killed when they were three years old in a shuttle accident in Alberta, Canada. The man you knew as Henry Watkins died forty-eight years ago.”

  * * *

  Amelia awoke to a banging in her head. She had been so frustrated when she got home from the police station the previous afternoon that she opened another bottle of wine and started to clean her apartment. Four hours later, the wine was gone and her home was spotless. She still couldn’t believe that Jacobs had dropped a bombshell and then casually sauntered out of the room.

  The banging was getting louder. Amelia groaned and pulled herself up to sit in bed. Suddenly, she realized someone was yelling her name. She ran out of the bedroom and to her front door. It was David.

  “What the hell are you doing? Get in here. I have neighbors in this building, y’know. Christ, David, it’s 5:30 in the morning. We have to be at school shortly.”

  David was pacing in her kitchen. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to call you for two hours?”

  “I’ve been here. Sleeping,” Amelia replied.

  “You didn’t hear your phone?”

  Amelia said, “I turned it off. I didn’t want to be bothered by the police anymore.”

  “Holy crap, then you don’t know?” said David.

  “What are you talking about?” asked Amelia.

  David grabbed her arm and led her to the couch. He turned on her wall monitor and switched to Settlement News and chose the Breaking News story.

  “In a stunning development,” began the news reader, “High School Principal Caroline Harris was arrested this morning for the murder of science teacher Henry Watkins.”

  “What?” Amelia cried, looking at David.

  David paused the playback, “Keep listening. It gets better.”

  The news continued, “The police have determined that the person who was believed to be Henry Watkins was, in fact, Woodrow Hale. If you recall, Woodrow Hale was responsible for the worst crime on Mars since the planet was settled. Several years ago, Mr. Hale escaped from the secure facility he had been relocated to after the incident. The warden of the facility, in an effort to save himself and the institution from an investigation, never reported Mr. Hale as missing.”

  “Oh. My. God, “said Amelia, “We’ve been working with a serial killer.”

  “The police have determined that Caroline Harris discovered Mr. Watkins’ true identity and confronted him. At this point, there is speculation that Ms. Harris acted in self-defense; however, the police have not released any further details. Stay tuned for more updates as information becomes available.”

  Amelia and David sat silently on her couch staring at each other. Amelia opened her mouth to say something just as her doorbell rang again.

  “Now who the hell is that?” she asked in exasperation.

  Detective Jacobs was on her doorstep.

  “Please, come in and join the party,” Amelia said sarcastically as she opened the door.

  “Thank you,” Jacobs said as he walked over the threshold and into her living room. He took a seat in the chair across from David. Amelia followed and sat down on the couch.

  “I take it you’ve heard the news?” Jacobs asked.

  David nodded. “I heard it earlier and came over to tell Amelia.”

  “So why are you here? You caught your man, so to speak,” Amelia interjected.

  “I wanted to clear up a few points. I thought I owed you that,” Jacobs answered.

  When Amelia didn’t say anything, he continued. “After his escape, Woodrow Hale paid someone to alter his appearance slightly and give him a fake identification, created a whole history for himself, and came back to Mars.”

  “Is the news right? Did he attack Caroline?” Amelia asked.

  “No. She attacked him. Caroline Harris took the taser from the museum. She went to Mr. Hale’s apartment that night with every intention to kill him.”

  Amelia and David looked at him in shock. David spoke first. “But why? If she figured out who he really was, why didn’t she just call the police? Why kill him?”

  Jacobs leaned forward and said, “Caroline Harris was born Caroline Whitcomb. If you recall, Roger Whitcomb was the man who died from his injuries inflicted by Woodrow Hale. He was Caroline’s father. During her interview, Caroline stated that Henry Watkins came to her office last week and revealed his true identity to her. He said his sole purpose in coming back to Mars was to apologize to her and her family and help them in any way he could. Needless to say, she was devastated. She asked him not to contact her mother or her brother until she had time to think. He agreed. She then devised the plan to kill him and stole your pass key for the museum when you were in the teacher’s lounge. The night he died, she called Henry and asked to talk to him. He, of course, agreed to meet with her.”

  “Awful. Poor Caroline. I know what she did was wrong, but I can understand why,” said Amelia.

  Jacobs nodded. “Yes, it’s a very sad situation. Obviously, you won’t be having school again today.”

  “Well,” David said, standing. “I’m exhausted. I’m going home, having a shot of tequila, and pulling the covers over my head. If you need anything, call me.” Amelia nodded.

  After David left, Detective Jacobs said, “I should get going, too, so you can get some rest. We can talk more over dinner.”

  Amelia gaped at him, “Excuse me?”

  “Dinner. Tonight. I’ll come by around seven o’clock? I know a great little Italian place,” he replied with a wink and a smile.

  “You want to have dinner with me?” Amelia asked.

  “Yes.”

  “But…why?” she asked.

  Jacobs laughed. “Because I think you’re the most fascinating person I’ve ever met.”

  “Oh,” Amelia replied. “And what makes you think that I want to have dinner with you?”

  He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You think I’m cute. Besides, how else are you going to find out how Woodrow escaped?”

  The Case of Frankenstein and The Spanish Nun

  By Andrew MacRae

  “Mr. Tybalt Kenyon?”

  I looked up from my desk at the man standing in the doorway of my cramped office down on Level seven and admitted to my name.

  “I’ve been told you work with discretion.”

  “I can keep a secret, if that’s what you mean, Mr. Compton.”

  It wasn’t difficult to recognize him. Henry Compton, Junior, was the scion of the Compton moon mining fortune. His face was a familiar sight on view screens. In the images he was usually in the company of one or two beauties at a swank social function up on Level One.

  I waited for him to explain his visit. People of his rank don’t make a habit of going this far down-level. He looked down at his well-manicured nails so I used the time to study him.

  His complexion was more sallow than in the photos, not surprising for a fellow Loonie. His cape looked like it was made of natural fibers, not the synthetic stuff the rest of us wear, and it probably cost more than I spent on clothes in five years.

  I decided to prod him. “I charge twenty-five credits an hour and the clock started ticking when you came in.”

  He looked up at me, took a deep breath and dove in. “A book has been stolen from the Compton Library and whoever took it is demanding an enormous sum for its return.”

  That was it. Henry Compton, Junior, great, great grandson of Lunar Colony Three’s illustrious founder, held the title of Head Librarian at Lunar Colony Three’s only such institution, indeed the only library on the moon. I also remembered why Henry held such a post. It was an open secret that his business skills were even worse than his luck at the gambling tables, and his father had shuffled him off to a quiet portion of the family mining business where he couldn’t do any harm. Turned out they were wrong.

  “Which book was taken?” It’s not like I was familiar with the collection. I had only v
isited it once, on a school field trip. But the sight of all those books made of real paper was fascinating, even to an eight-year-old. I hoped the missing book wasn’t one of the Twains.

  “Frankenstein and The Spanish Nun.”

  I stared at my would-be client. “You’re kidding.”

  He shook his head and gave a slight smile. “No, really. You see it’s a dual-book volume from 1884.”

  “Dual-book?”

  “Back then it wasn’t unusual for a publisher to combine two disparate books into a single volume to save printing costs.”

  “It still sounds like something viewed on a late night show.”

  Henry shrugged. “It’s an odd pairing, but that’s what makes it all the more valuable.”

  I shook my head and then got down to basics. I asked when he noticed the book was gone, how he thought it could have been taken, and when he received the demand for a ransom.

  Henry had noticed the book missing early that morning. He had asked Doña Svoboda, the assistant librarian, to confirm the book’s absence and she had. “I don’t have a lot of hands-on duties at the library,” he explained. From what I knew of Henry’s reputation, I wasn’t surprised.

  Soon after the book was discovered missing the first demand for money for its return arrived. I asked Henry if he had the demand with him. He did, and showed it to me.

  It was short and to the point. The Compton family was to hand over two-hundred-thousand credits or the book would be shoved down the nearest oubliette. The time and place of the handoff would be communicated in three days. That, and the usual business about not contacting the authorities.

  I looked at the date and time on the message. Early this morning. I eyed my visitor.

  “So, what is it you want me to do? Get the book back? That may not be possible. There’s better than twenty thousand people in LC3 according to the last census and that’s not counting the people who don’t get or want to be counted.”

  “I understand that. If you can’t find the people behind this and get the book back, then we’ll simply have to pay the ransom.” He grimaced. “My father won’t like that, of course.”