by Wolf Wootan
Sam sipped some lemonade, then said, “First, Becky—on her own—can’t do any of that. She’s only 13, for Christ’s sake!”
“Language, dear!” said Helena.
“Sorry. I mean, these people will be looking for a parent—or a legal guardian—to bring Becky to these tests. She can’t just walk in and say, ‘I’m smart, give me a test!’” exclaimed Sam.
“I know. I have a solution for that. You’ll go to that judge you know—Judge Manley. He was in Vietnam with you. You saved his life, I believe. You’ll have him make you Rebecca’s legal guardian without a lot of scrutiny or red tape. Then you can run interference for Rebecca,” said Helena.
The fact that Lt. Manley had become a Superior Court judge had proved useful to Sam in the past. Manley would do most anything for Sam—as long as it was legal.
“Me? What do I know about being a guardian for a 13-year-old?” exclaimed Sam.
“Just consider her a client, dear. Take care of your client. Now, what was your other point?”
Sam was flabbergasted! His mother’s plan made sense, but he wondered if he was the right person to carry it out. He decided to drop it for now and discuss alternatives later, out of earshot of Becky. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
“The second point is, with all this testing and studying at such an accelerated rate, when does Becky get to be a kid? Interact with other children? Have a life?” Sam added.
“That is a problem, but I have a partial solution. I’ll enroll her in the Grayson Academy. They’ll teach her social graces—I’ll help with that, too, of course—dancing, interpersonal dialogs. That sort of thing. All the pre-debutantes go there for their training. There will be boys and girls of her age there,” replied Helena.
“Rather stuffy solution,” interjected John, “but a good idea. We’ll need to supplement that somehow.”
“Well, the plan can be refined as we get into it. Now, Rebecca, what do you think of all of this?”
Becky, of course, was overwhelmed.
“I think it’s great! Do you really mean it?” exclaimed Becky, grinning from ear to ear.
She jumped up and ran to Helena and hugged her.
“Yes, Rebecca, we mean it,” replied Helena as she patted Becky’s back. “There will be house rules, of course. The most important one is that you will never lie to us about anything. Always tell the truth and we can work out any problem.”
Becky made the rounds, hugging everyone.
Sam’s emotions were in turmoil. He did not relish being responsible for other people’s welfare. That was why he had turned down a field commission in ’Nam—balked at promotion in the OCSD. He could look after himself very well, but a 13-year-old girl? He wasn’t sure. Was it fair to her?
Helena continued, “Having admonished you about telling the truth, Rebecca, I am sorry to say that we must start this relationship with a white lie. It should not harm anyone, however. We will say that you are a relative. You can call me ‘Nana’ and Mr. Crown ‘Grandpa.’ Samuel will be an uncle. That way, your living here will not raise a lot of unwarranted questions. Besides, we want you to feel as if you are a relative.”
Sam said, “The judge is the only hurdle for that. He may want to see some proof.”
Helena frowned. “Try it anyway, dear. If it turns out that you need papers of some sort, talk to your father. I’m sure his old boy’s network can still come up with something. Right, John?”
John Crown shrugged and puffed on his pipe. “I’m retired, dear.”
“Of course you are, dear,” said Helena, knowing her husband could still work mystical things. She had made her wishes known—that was enough.
Chapter 8
Thursday, August 13, 1998
Santa Ana, CA
On Thursday, August 13, Sam went to the Coroner’s Office in Santa Ana to negotiate the release of Rachel’s body. The guy on duty—Joe Murphy—knew Sam from his Sheriff’s days and also knew he was a private detective now, so when Sam showed him Rachel’s picture and told him he represented a client looking for a missing girl, the man bought the story. After seeing the picture, Murphy told Sam that they definitely had his missing person and the cops were still searching for a next of kin so they could release the body.
“Have this guy come in and we can get the paperwork done,” said Murphy.
“The problem is, Joe, my client is out of the country. But I’m his agent so you can release her to me. I’ll get in touch with him and see what he wants to do about burial arrangements,” lied Sam.
“Well, that’s unusual, Sam.”
“Not really. What if he sent a telegram from London and told you to release her to me,” said Sam, thinking on his feet.
“That would probably be OK,” answered Joe, rubbing his chin. “Save the County some money.”
Sam called his father and explained the problem. John Crown made a long distance phone call, and two hours later a telegram originating in London and containing all the appropriate authorizations arrived at the Coroner’s Office. The body was released to Sam, who had it sent to a mortuary/crematorium in San Clemente that the family had agreed on earlier.
On Saturday the 15th, they had a private service at the mortuary—just the three Crowns and Becky. Rachel was cremated and her ashes were placed in a fancy urn bought by Helena so Becky could keep them with her wherever she might go in the future. For the moment, she put the urn on the dresser in her room at the beach house so she could talk to Rachel every night.
***
The following Monday, the reclamation and rehabilitation of Rebecca Rogers began in earnest. She had her first appointment with the renowned child psychiatrist Dr. Susan Reinhart. Reinhart had recently moved her practice from Boston to San Clemente so her schedule was not yet full. She could see Becky at 2 P.M. on Monday.
None of the Crowns viewed this as a long-term project at the time; Helena just thought that the poor, lost soul needed some help in getting through her grieving over the loss of her sister, not to mention her terrible past. Dr. Reinhart was an expert in handling victims of sexual abuse and parental abandonment.
Becky thought it was a waste of time, but she couldn’t deny Nana Crown anything at this point, so she let John Crown drop her off and then pick her up after the 50-minute hour. Dr. Reinhart was in her late thirties and after answering a few questions, Becky got the feeling that Dr. Sue—that’s what Becky called her—was somewhat like a mother figure to her. Becky had been told that she would have these once-a-week sessions for some time into the future, so she decided to make a game out of it. Becky memorized the name of several books on Dr. Sue’s shelves and intended to start reading them. Her purpose: to see if she could predict the questions she would be asked and be able to give the standard responses.
Dr. Reinhart had been told by Helena Crown that Becky was quite intelligent, so she scheduled Becky to come back on Tuesday and take a battery of IQ tests. Dr. Sue needed to know what kind of child she was dealing with. After the testing, she wasn’t quite sure. She had administered hundreds of IQ tests before, but had never seen scores like these! Plus, Becky finished every test in half the usual time. She provided copies of the test scores to Helena Crown so she could use them in arranging Becky’s schooling regimen.
It didn’t take Dr. Sue long to discover the game Becky was playing. Though she thought it amusing, she asked Becky to stop the game and be honest with her. Becky did. That allowed Dr. Sue to start working on Becky’s psychological problems.
On the last weekend of the month, Sam and his father were on the deck at cocktail hour, John with his pipe, Sam with his Cutty and water. They were alone at the moment.
John puffed his pipe and said, “Thought you’d like to know that I found Jake and Clara Rogers, Sam.”
“That’s good. Anything you need me to do?” replied Sam.
“Nope. Funny how evil people eventually get their comeuppance. Seems like the DEA made a big bust in Georgia. Swept up a big drug gang. The Rogers were p
icked up in the sweep. They were identified as part of the leadership. They’ll get 20 to life in the Federal pen.”
Hmm, thought Sam. Those two were two-bit losers, not drug-dealing masterminds! My dad must have cooked this up with one of his mysterious calls.
Sam finally said, “Well, they won’t be abusing any children in there, will they?”
“Not likely,” smiled his father.
Chapter 9
Monday, September 13, 1999
Mickey Malone Office, Santa Ana, CA
During that first year that Sam was Becky’s legal guardian, there were many times when his parents were out of town pursuing their retirement pleasures. Helena Crown deemed Becky too young to be left alone during these times, so during those periods that they didn’t take Becky with them, Becky became Sam’s problem to look after. Becky balked at having a babysitter—after all, she had never had one when she lived on the streets, and she was a year older now. Fourteen! So Sam would take her to work with him. Becky enjoyed this immensely, since not only did she get to spend time with Sam, she was interested in what he did. She even got to see some great concerts when he was on bodyguard assignments for various bands and rock groups! Even ’NSync once!
She became an expert in all of Sam’s advanced surveillance gear, took karate classes with him (Sam was a black belt who taught, when he could, at a local karate school), and she even learned about firearms when he went to the shooting range. When Sam went out in his surveillance van, he sometimes would take her with him. She would take her backpack—full of books—with her and study during the long, boring surveillance periods, headphones on her head listening to her favorite CDs. But she was with Sam. That’s what mattered.
When she couldn’t go with Sam, Becky stayed in the office with Pearl. Pearl Cooper was the office manager of Mickey Malone Investigations and the only full-time employee. Detectives from Investigations International rotated through the office, but Pearl was the person who gave the office’s cases continuity. At 26 years old, she was a slim blonde, 5’ 7” tall, and 128 pounds. She was a devout Catholic, still a virgin, and in search of a husband—one who met her very stringent list of qualifications. She went to UCI night school in hopes of eventually finishing the required courses for her MBA.
Pearl could not be seduced, as Sam found out right away, so he had stopped trying, though he did rib her constantly about her virginity. She returned the favor by crabbing constantly about his womanizing.
Becky and Pearl liked each other, though Pearl was a little bit intimidated by Becky’s overwhelming intellect.
Becky had never actually helped Sam on a case before Monday, September 13, 1999. She went to work with him on that day, even though the Crowns were not out of town, just because she liked hanging out with Sam. Even though she was only 14, she was starting the equivalent of her junior year at UCI.
It was 10 A.M. and Sam was reviewing some papers on his desk, a deep frown on his brow. Becky was sprawled teenager style on his office couch while reading a physics book. She looked up at Sam and saw that he was perplexed. She took a swig of her Sprite.
She asked, “What’re you working on, Sam?”
He looked up and smiled at her. “Just a case. It should have been a slam dunk, but I’m stymied. I shouldn’t be, but I’ve got brain lock.”
“Why don’t you tell me about it. I know when I’m stymied by a difficult concept, talking to someone about it helps me unplug my mental roadblock,” smiled Becky. “Just forget that I’m only a 14-year-old kid.”
Sam said, “I didn’t know you ever got mental blocks, but OK. Here it is. The manager of this real estate office down on South Main Street has someone stealing their petty cash. They keep a couple hundred bucks in a metal box in the manager’s desk drawer. It’s been swiped four times now. Yesterday was the latest. This manager—Mary’s her name—hired us to catch the thief. I installed a secret surveillance camera that watches the drawer with the cash. The tape doesn’t show anyone stealing it yesterday, but the money’s gone again. Mary suspects this secretary Helen, but I interviewed her—in fact, I interviewed everyone in the office—and I can’t believe Helen would do such a thing. She’s more virtuous than Pearl!”
Becky sat up on the couch and cupped her chin in her hand, elbow on her knee.
“Hmm,” she mused. Then she continued, “Do you know Boolean algebra, Sam? You know, the math of logic? It’s used to design computers.”
“No,” shrugged Sam. “Why? Do I need to know it?”
“No, but by now you know that I’m pretty good at logic and I use it all the time. I’m going to give you a simple example. Suppose you have a set that consists of only items A, B, and C.”
“What?” exclaimed Sam, mystified.
“Strike that,” said Becky. “I don’t have time to explain set theory to you. Let’s simplify it. Suppose your real estate office has only three people: Mary, Helen, and John. Logic says that if it’s not Mary and not John, then it must be Helen. If not A and not B then C. Got it?”
“Sure. I’m not an idiot! You’re just saying that if Mary and John are innocent, then Helen is guilty. I don’t buy it though. Something’s wrong with your math.”
“My math is never wrong! But you’re missing the point. Whenever you start with a premise, do the math, and then get an impossible answer, then the premise is suspect. Maybe Mary or John did it after all. Did you see Mary put the money in the box? Maybe the fox is watching the henhouse.”
“Yes. I watched Mary put the money in the box. Then I turned on the surveillance camera and we both left,” explained Sam.
Becky pondered a moment, then said, “And the tape didn’t show anyone taking the money?”
“No.”
“Can you see the office door on the tape?”
“No, just the desk area.”
“Where are the camera controls?”
“In a closet in the office,” replied Sam. “Nobody knows about the camera and its controls except me and Mary.”
“Aha, Holmes! Something’s afoot!” exclaimed Becky.
“When did you find time to read Sherlock Holmes?” laughed Sam.
“I read the Complete Sherlock Holmes when I was 12,” she responded with a shrug. “Do you have the tape here?”
“Yes, but I assure you there’s nothing on it. Just hours of a desk. What do you think is ‘afoot’?”
“I’m not sure. I’m just readjusting the premise. Is there any bad blood between Mary and Helen?”
“I didn’t detect any—except the fact that Mary is accusing Helen of this. Of course, I had a lot of interviews to do and I might have missed something. Where is this leading?”
“If you are so sure that Helen is innocent, then I’m going to propose that Mary did it and wants to fix the blame on Helen. Mary thinks that since she hired you to find the thief that she will be above suspicion. The problem is the tape. We know the money was stolen, but the tape doesn’t show anything. The tape is suspect. Do you have equipment here so I can look at it?” mused Becky. “I have an idea.”
“Sure. In the computer office. We can set it up in there. But, I assure you, it’s a waste of time. Shouldn’t you be studying?”
“DUH! Sam, I study constantly. I need a break. While you set it up, I’m gonna go get a another soda.”
***
An hour later, Becky came back into Sam’s office with a big grin on her face. He looked at her.
“Well?” he asked. “Get bored looking at a desk?”
“No. I wasn’t looking at the desk. I know how she did it, and when,” beamed Becky.
“Stop messing with my mind, Becky!” exclaimed Sam.
“I’m not! Somebody took the money at about 1:16 A.M. this morning. I say it’s Mary, but we still have to prove it.”
“How do you know that?” asked an incredulous Sam.
“The time stamp on the tape. It took a while to find it. I used fast forward and stared intently. There is a time skip at 01:16:02 A.M. to 01:18
:22. That means the camera was turned off, then back on. Get the picture?”
“Why, you little devil! I think I’ll put you on the payroll! Now we need a way to catch her.”
“That’s easy. Do what you do best. Surveillance. Put in another camera that Mary doesn’t know about, and put more money in the box. She’ll show up in living color!”
***
Sam did as Becky suggested, and sure enough, caught Mary on his new camera. She sneaked into the office, turned off the desk surveillance camera, took the cash, then turned on the camera again and left the office. Sam kept the scam going until she had stolen enough money to make the crime qualify as grand theft, then he had her arrested. Helen was forever grateful, though Sam never pursued why Mary was trying to blame Helen.
After that case, Sam often ran his problem cases by Becky to get her views on things. The bond between them grew stronger without either of them even noticing.
Chapter 10
Wednesday, January 12, 2000
Capistrano Beach, CA
Becky turned 15 years old on Wednesday, January 12, 2000. As usual, her birthday was a memorable event at the Crowns’ beach house. Sam adjusted his schedule so he could be there for the small celebration. It was just the four of them: Sam, his parents, and Becky. Her real party would be on Saturday so she could have her friends over, and so Helena Crown—ever the elegant hostess—could turn it into a social gala.
Sam and Helena fixed veal parmegiana—one of Becky’s favorites—with sides of baked zucchini boats, spaghetti with meat sauce, green salad, and lots of garlic bread. After dinner they had a small cake, then Becky opened her gifts.
She received the newest high-tech wireless modem for use with her laptop computer from Grandpa John, and an assorted collection of new swim wear from Nana Helena.
