by Steve Levi
“OK.”
“As far as the other robberies are concerned, I need to know what was stolen and what was missing at each of the other robberies. I also need to know if flour or any other substance was involved that showed footprints. You’ll have to call each one of the homes and ask them to give you a list of what was damaged and if there was anything else that missing no matter how trivial.”
“Is that all?”
“No, as a matter of fact. I will also need the location of each home in the sense that I want to know what is around them. Are they secluded or in neighborhoods? Are they clustered in one neighborhood or scattered around? What door was used by the intruder in each case? Were only kitchens, offices and bedrooms rummaged? What is the family make-up of each of the homes that were entered, where do the parents work, if there are children where do they go to school and when are the children supposed to be at their particular schools. . . .”
“Just a second,” said the Gnome. “I’m writing as fast as I can and I am way behind you.”
Noonan smiled and sat silently until the Gnome stopped writing. “Anything else?”
“Just one more thing. You said you were going to be wearing your pants the night they were stolen.”
“That’s correct.”
“What was the name of the nonprofit you were going to raise money for?”
“The Sydneyville Blue Ridge Hospice Tag Team Race.”
“OK. See if you can find a list of people who were supposed to be there that night.”
“Supposed to be or were there?”
“Supposed to be. I’m assuming that they sold tickets of some kind but not everyone showed up for the event. Sometimes companies buy a block of tickets and then give them one at a time to clients or friends or donate them to another charitable cause, right?”
“We sold about 300 tickets and had about 100 people show up but there is no way to tell who those people were.”
“I’m not concerned about who actually showed up, just who bought the tickets.”
“That’s going to be rough. A bank might buy ten tickets so all you will know is that the bank bought ten tickets.”
“That’ll have to be good enough.”
The Gnome gave Noonan a pleasant look. “You are really taking this seriously.”
“Just get me that information and then we’ll see about getting those pants back.”
It took two days for the midget to get back to Noonan. But he was still not sure the detective had been serious.
“You were serious, right?”
“As serious as I can be. I can’t solve every matter than comes across my desk but I try mightily for each one.”
“That’s good enough for me. In what order do you want the information?”
“Doesn’t matter. Go ahead.”
“All right,” and Noonan could hear papers being shuffled. “What was on my desk the day of the break-in was a cup of pens, a dictionary, blank pad of paper, small wooden bear, reading glasses, lamp, rolodex, desk calendar, desk blotter, scotch tape dispenser, a small scale to weigh letters, stamps in a small metal box, stapler, a pile of envelopes and a paperweight in the form of an apple.”
“But the only things amiss were the missing reading glasses, the damaged desk blotter and the torn apart desk calendar, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“Was the desk calendar a book with a spine or a notebook, maybe with a spiral binding?”
“I have both. The book with a spine is for personal items and I keep it in the desk. The day-to-day is loose-leaf and that was the one that was on the desk and destroyed.”
“Were any pages missing?”
“No way to know. It was ripped up so badly I just tossed it. I use it to log down appointments. That’s all it had in it.”
“OK,” said Noonan, “go on.”
“Do you want to tell you what was stolen robbery by robbery or just a list?”
“Let’s go with the list first.”
“Ok, but the list is long and strange.”
“I’ll bet. Go ahead.”
“Two letter openers, can of peas, half-filled bottle of ink, pile of empty cassette mailers, towel, six wooden hangers, package of peanuts, some porcelain figurines, two couch pillows, a plastic cup, a teddy bear and a pair of head phones.”
“OK.”
“Are you writing these down?”
“No, I’m just listening for the moment. Go on.”
“I called all of the homes and asked if anything had been stolen that was not reported and what had been damaged. They all said they had discovered some smaller things missing afterwards but it had not been worth their time to call the police. Those items included an olive fork, cardboard salt-and-pepper shaker set the kind you can buy in the grocery store for about a dollar, three or four oranges, can of anchovies and a box of hair color for men.”
“How about the damage?”
“Pretty much the same as my house. Paintings or artwork had been pulled off the wall, desk tops had been swept clear and paperwork scattered.”
“Were any of the areas that were attacked offices?”
“Yes and no. In two of the six homes there were stand-alone offices and they were ravaged. In the other four the desk was in a bed room or along a living room wall so you could not call the rooms an office. But all of the desks had damage. Mostly it was scattering documents and ripped up papers.”
“What kinds of things were ripped apart on the desks?”
“It was hard to tell. Everyone had the same problem I did. They saved the important papers and everything else got dumped. That included some desk calendars and date books, a college class notebook, a loose-leaf collection of poetry, some Manila file folders with bills and some check stubs.”
“Nothing else?”
“Nothing that anyone can remember.”
“Ok. Go on.”
“As far as the location of the homes, they are all within the city limits and not that far from one another. But that’s not saying much because all of the homes in Sydneyville are fairly close to one another. It’s a small town. Two of them are in a traditional neighborhood and have fences. Whoever burgled those homes had to get over the fence. The other four do not have fences. Other than my house, only one is what I could call secluded. The intruder entered a back door in all homes. Five of six back doors actually went into a kitchen and the sixth went into a door that was next to a kitchen. All of the homes had the kitchen, office or office areas and at least one bedroom ravaged. There is no evidence that any other rooms were entered. All of the homes have children and all the children go to the same schools. But this is not uncommon because, . . .”
“I know,” said Noonan. “It’s a small town.”
“You are correct,” said the midget. “All children are at school by 8 a.m. and home no earlier than 2:45 in the afternoon. Only my home had footprints and no other home had any damage to the kitchen that would have led to footprints being found.”
“How about the people who owned the homes. Do you know any other them?”
“Actually, yes. But they again . . .”
“Sydneyville is a small place, right?”
“That’s right. Of the 12 husbands and wives, three are clients themselves and another four worked for clients that my firm services. The rest worked in businesses ranging from a grocery store to a gas station to a hair salon.”
“OK. Now, how about those charity tickets. Did you get a list of the people who bought them?”
“Yes, but I don’t know. . .”
“You never know what you will find. Did any of the people who were burgled buy tickets?”
“Two or three individually, yes. Then all my client companies bought tickets but I don’t know to whom they gave the tickets.”
“Are any of your client companies in the top five ticket buyers?”
“One. It’s the Sydneyville Bank and Trust. They bought 30 tickets.”
“Was that a large sale?”<
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“Biggest. The next one down is 10 tickets.”
“Other than the couple that’s associated with the Bank and Trust, do any of the other home owners have anything to do with the bank – other than they do business there?”
“Well, yes, because it’s the only bank in town. Everyone does business there. We have a large hotel and golf course going in and some of the locals have been buying shares through the bank. It formed kind of an investment club to coordinate the dollars.”
“Tell me about that investment club.”
“It was started by the Sydneyville Bank and Trust to help an out-of-state company fund a hotel and golf course. Land is cheap in Sydneyville and we are just close enough to Charlotte to attract some big city golfers who’d rather spend the weekend golfing in Sydneyville that fight for start time in the bigger city.”
“And take their secretaries with them,” said Noonan slyly.
“I’d say so,” replied the midget. “As long as it’s good for business.”
“How have investments being going?”
“Pretty good. We formed a corporation and bought up the land that the hotel and golf course would need and transferred it to the out-of-state company in exchange for stock shares. Now we are waiting for the OK from the SEC or whoever approves stuff like that.”
“Well,” said Noonan sadly, “I hate to tell you this but you’ve been snookered. That hotel and golf course have been a scam to get the land at no cost. Here’s what I think happened. Someone approached the Sydneyville Bank and Trust to help with this so-called hotel and golf course. The bank bent over backwards and used its good name to get investors. But the bank did not do its homework until too late. Only then did it realize that the out-of-state company was a front. Once the title to the land was transferred to the front, it would collapse. Ownership of the land would then be an asset to a deceased company and bought for pennies on the dollar. Some large company was going to end up with the land and the investors will get nothing.”
“You’re kidding! A lot of money went into that project!”
“I’ll bet it did. Too late someone from the bank figured out what was going to happen. The only way it could prevent itself from getting sued was to remove all evidence of its involvement as anything other than a facilitator. Jiggling the records they had was not hard . . .”
“They had a fire in their offices about ten days ago.”
“Well,” said Noonan sadly. “I’ll bet you will find that the fire was in the records room. That will make suing the bank hard. The other records they had to get rid of were the people with whom they had made personal contact. I’m sure you will find that there were six couples, you included. There were no robberies. Everything that was taken was simply to throw the police off the scent. What the burglars really wanted was to destroy all of the calendars, the proof that those six couples had actually met with bank officials. With no proof any meetings had taken place there could be no law suit. The burglars ravaged the homes, stole a few trinkets and then made sure to tear out the pages in the desk diaries and calendars that related to the meetings. Then they ripped the diaries and calendars apart so well that everyone just dumped them. No one knew they were dumping evidence. They figured it was just kids gone wild.”
“We’ve been snookered? Are you sure?”
“I can only guess based on the evidence. But, yes, I think the burglaries were all part of a cover-up scheme by the bank. And I think the bank bought the 30 tickets to the charity event and passed them out as a widely as possible to dispel any suspicion that they were involved.”
“But why steal my Komodo pants?”
“You were the most important person to mislead. You’re a numbers man. Of all people in town – and it is a small town – you would have smelled something wrong. But you would have only been on the scent if you weren’t being distracted by something else. That ‘something else’ was the pair of trousers. They are your trademark, am I right?”
“That’s correct. I’m been stewing about those pants for weeks.”
“Then the burglar did his job well. You’ve been so angry about the pants you have not been 100% at work.”
“Unfortunately that is correct.”
“I’ll bet you will find the trousers and all of the other stuff that was stolen somewhere in the bank. Whoever took the items can’t afford to throw them away in town so he – or she – is keeping them for when he – or she – leaves. I’ll bet you will find that someone high on the food chain in the bank is planning a trip or a retirement vacation.”
“As a matter of fact . . .”
“Well, get to their office before they go. That’s where your trousers are. But I’m afraid your money is long gone.”
There was a long moment of silence. Finally the midget said, “Unfortunately you may be correct. I’ll get right on this. Thank you for your help and do I owe. . . “
“I’m a public servant. You don’t owe me anything.”
“Well, at the very least, thanks,” and that’s all the midget said. But an hour later he called back, “just one more quick question.”
“The lederhosen, right?”
“How did you know that?”
“I’m only half as dumb as I look. Your wife threw them out. She can’t stand them. Never could. When the robbery came up it was her moment to give them the deep six. They’re probably at the bottom of the Sydneyville land fill under a few tons of garbage.”
THE MATTER OF LOUIE THE LOBSTER
Captain Heinz Noonan, the “Bearded Holmes” of the Sandersonville Police Department, was contemplating a meal without the family, a once-a-month blessing when he got to cook his own meal. But, since he knew as much about cooking as he did Tibetan Monk Tantric Harmonics, he left the cooking to someone who knew what he was doing. Or, in this case, she. She, in this case, was Avalon Lone – spelled with a silent “e” she was always quick to say – at the Pamlico Lobster Pit.
Lone was always quick with the joke. She swore she got her lobsters from a pit she dug in her back yard and advised Noonan to dig the same in his back yard. Noonan said he’d love to – right next to his wife’s lemon tree so the lobster could eat the lemons and he would not have to season the claws. The two had tried to engage in a pun battle of lobster but, as both discovered, there were not that many lobster jokes and those that were, were not funny. Only two were half-funny: lobsters don’t share because they are shellfish and the difference between a decrepit bus station and a lobster with breast implants was that one is a crusty bus station and the other is a busty crustacean.
Lone – with a silent “e” – had been waiting for Noonan for a month for her latest. When the captain came in she said, “You do want a red lobster tail for $5?”
This took the captain by surprise. “A red lobster tail for $5. OK, I’ll bite. Yeah.”
Lone leaned toward the captain and said, “Once upon a time there was this red lobster who . . .” and then burst into laughter.
“It doesn’t come with sauce?” Noonan asked innocently and they both laughed.
When they finished their monthly guffaw, Lone (with the silent “e”) pulled Noonan aside and said seriously, “We’ve had an issue here lately and, frankly, I’ve been waiting for you to show up.”
“An issue. Sounds serious.”
“Not for me. For Louie.”
Louie was Louie the Lobster, the namesake of the Pamlico Lobster Pit. Louie had been pulled from the briny deep and, at the time, was the largest lobster to come out of the Outer Banks lobster bed. He had since been surpassed in weight since then but he was still alive while the other large lobsters had become human bone and tissue. So he was Louie the Lobster, largest living crustacean between Virginia Beach and Ocracoke – and 100 miles inland because there were no lobsters coming out of any part or tributary of Pamlico Sound.
“What’s Louie’s problem?”
“It’s not his problem. It’s mine.”
“What’s your problem with Louie?�
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“He’s rich. He laid a $25,000 diamond ring.”
“That’s rich, I must say,” said Noonan. “In more ways than one. He laid a diamond ring?”
“Had to have laid it. He’s in a cage by himself and the top is locked down.”
“You mean the big salt water aquarium with the rocks and kelp where Louie lives?”
“Same one.”
“How did Louie say he got the ring?”
“That’s what I need you to find out. We clean the cage once a year or so, take Louie out and give the glass a sanitary scrub. Then Louie goes back in with fresh salt water.”
“Where’s the diamond ring come in?”
“We found it inside the aquarium. Among the rocks.”
“Someone probably dropped it in. Hid it maybe. You do feed Louie so the top has to come open once or twice a day.”
“True. But we keep the lid locked the rest of the time. We had someone try to steal Louie a few years ago and since then we keep the lid under lock and key. Louie has the lock and I have the key.”
“So the aquarium has been under guard the whole time. How do you know the ring is worth $25,000?”
“I took it to an appraiser. I also asked him if it had been stolen. He told me to see the fuzz.”
“Fuzz?”
“I’m an old hippy. He’s an old hippy. For us it’s the fuzz.”
“What did the fuzz say?”
“No reports of any such ring being stolen. He said I had to put an advertisement in the paper. I did. I got a zillion responses.”
“Let me guess, everyone was missing all kinds of jewelry but no request matched the ring.”
“Correct.”
“So what’s the problem? You found the ring. You did your due diligence. Enjoy your lost and found.”
“But how did the ring get into Louie the Lobster’s aquarium in the first place?”
“Why do you care?”
“Because if someone can put a ring in a locked aquarium they can put in poison. I’d lose Louie and he’s my Number One draw.”
“I thought it was your food.”
