"You okay?" He asked, patting Jenkins on the arm.
Jenkins turned to Christopher, his eyes not focusing properly. He blinked a few times, frowned, and then closed his eyes.
"Who . . . you?" He slurred. His eyes half-open.
"I'm Christopher. Tremain's my uncle. Are you okay? Looks like you had a nasty knock on your head." Jenkins felt the back of his head, winced and put his hand in his lap. He rested against the wall, staring up at the ceiling, blinking. Perlmutter hurried over with Tremain at his heels, the Professor the veritable picture of regret.
"Jenkins, my boy!" He cried. "Do you remember what happened?" Jenkins blinked again, tried to focus on the Professor, then returned to staring at the ceiling. His hand went up to rub his head again.
"N-not really." He stammered. "Went to put the pictograph on the shelf with the other artifacts, then, bam! I don't remember anything else." He dropped his hands again and closed his eyes.
The Professor wrung his hands some more, then stood straight up. His face was determined.
"We will find who did this to you, Jenkins." He pointed a pudgy finger at the storage room. "This will not go unpunished."
Tremain, who had listened to Jenkins, motioned to Christopher to follow him as he walked over to the storage room door.
"Let's take a look for ourselves before the authorities arrive." He entered the storage room. "Make sure you don't touch anything. Let's not muddy the waters here." He took a look around. Christopher did the same, not exactly sure what he was looking for.
The room wasn't very large, more like an oversized pantry with shelving running floor to ceiling on each wall. Affixed to each shelf face was a magnetic label, detailing where the contents were found, when and by whom. One shelf, directly in front of them was almost bare. A few objects, each one in its own protective case, were scattered on the floor. The magnetic label was littered among the mess. Christopher could make out the name Jenkins on the label.
"These artifacts were all from the same place, Uncle." He whispered. Tremain nodded, looking intently at the objects. He crouched down, careful not to touch anything, and examined each artifact. He rubbed his chin, stood, then marched out of the room. A confused Christopher followed.
Tremain stood in the hallway, his arms folded with his chin in one hand.
"The label stated fifteen artifacts from Jenkins' dig." He said to Christopher in a low voice. "I noted only fourteen there, either on the floor or on the shelf. The pictograph is the only thing missing." He glowered at the floor, as if it would give him the answers he sought. "It was apparently what the assailant was looking for." He threw his hands wide and dropped them to his side. "But why?" He stormed down the hallway, past Jenkins and Perlmutter, past the newly-arrived paramedics, into the lobby. The walls were reflecting the flashing lights from the various emergency vehicles outside, red, blue and yellow streaking across their vision, but Tremain saw none of that. He ignored the oncoming police officers and headed to the lab. Christopher hurried after him.
Tremain paced back and forth in the atrium just outside the lab, his brow furrowed in concentration. Not knowing if he should leave or stay, Christopher grabbed his backpack, made his decision and headed towards the door. His uncle, still pacing, didn't look up, but called to him anyway.
"Christopher,” he started, "tomorrow, being the weekend, come early so we can start our own investigation."
At first Christopher was excited, but then he thought of the reason for the investigation, which tempered his enthusiasm a little.
"Of course, Uncle. I'll definitely want to help." As his uncle nodded in acknowledgment, Christopher exited the building, making sure to stay out of the way of the emergency personnel, and headed for the train station. The dinner his mother had planned on would have to be postponed.
The following morning, Christopher found himself back at the Hawking building. He'd had to convince his mother he wasn't going to do anything dangerous, he would just be helping his uncle with some experiments. He didn't tell her about the pictograph nor it's having been stolen, so as not to worry her, but bad news spreads like wildfire, so she already knew. She trusted her brother, but still, she fussed over Christopher like he was a toddler again. He didn't mind. She meant well.
He entered the building to find Tremain already in the lobby, looking at the floor through a magnifying glass. Every now and then he'd shake the glass and continue on. Christopher walked up to him and stood close by.
"Not there, Christopher, I haven't checked there yet." Not looking up, he waved a hand vaguely behind him. "Over there."
Christopher tiptoed to stand behind his uncle.
"What are you doing?" He bent over to see if he could look through the glass. "Are those footprints?"
Tremain sighed, sat up and blinked a few times, wiggling his nose as he did.
"I'm checking for individual shoe impressions, yes." He rubbed his eyes with one hand and waved the glass with the other. "I've thrown together this analyzer which allows greater detail." He dropped his free hand into his lap. "It sees what we can't with the naked eye. It's feeding all the data to my tablet, where I've a program to sift through everything." He paused and yawned.
"Have you been here all night?" Christopher asked, noticing his uncle's rumpled clothes. They were the same he wore yesterday.
"I couldn't sleep. Not with the thief running around free. I needed to start my investigation." He brandished the glass again. "Started with this after you went home." He tapped his pocket. "Worked on the tablet app after that." He took a big breath while staring out into space. "Finished that just before I started analyzing." He resumed staring at the floor through his glass. "I'm trying to pinpoint the individual shoes, but it's difficult with all the emergency personnel who came through here last night." He arched his back a little and groaned. "Damned difficult staying crouched like this too." He stood and handed the glass to Christopher. "Here you go. Try it."
Christopher took the glass and assumed the same position he saw his uncle in.
"What do I do? What am I looking for?"
Tremain waved his free hand.
"Don't worry about looking for anything, just stick to my pattern. The glass is picking up the information and relaying it to the tablet." He jumped and quickly grabbed for his pocket. "At least I hope it is. Otherwise, I've wasted a few hours." He quickly scanned his app and sighed in relief. "We're fine. All the data is being sorted as we speak." He gave a huge yawn. "I'm going to take a nap. Come get me when you've finished with the lobby."
With a cry of protest, Christopher watched his uncle walk, unsteady, towards the lab. He stared towards the atrium for a moment, then turned back to the glass. He wanted to help, didn't he? If this helped them figure out who did this, the better. He bent back down and got to work.
A couple of hours later, Christopher was finally finishing his passes of the lobby when his uncle reappeared, this time wearing a very odd looking pair of goggles. The lenses were huge on his face, almost a good four inches wide each. From the side, they looked like small telescopes, growing longer and shorter with a whirring sound as his uncle's focus changed. Christopher let out a giggle.
"What are you wearing, Uncle?" He sat back and leaned against the wall. He waved to indicate the lobby. "I've just finished up here."
Tremain, looking at the floor and scanning back and forth, gave a satisfied grunt.
"I still couldn't sleep, so I decided to improve on my design of the glass." He looked up at Christopher and with both hands, pointed at his new appliance. "These," he said, "will do the job much faster, I think." He headed down the corridor, towards the archeology wing, his head wagging back and forth as his goggles analyzed the patterns. Christopher scrambled to his feet and followed.
As they marched down the empty corridor, Tremain gave little squeals of excitement.
"You know, Christopher, it's amazing how much our eyes just don't see. It's like most of the universe is invisible to us."
Ch
ristopher caught up to Tremain.
"Wouldn't that just get confusing?"
"Confusing?" He paused, then gave a bark of laughter. "Well, now that you mention it, it might, but just think of the possibilities." He waved to the corridor. "No more guessing who went where. You can SEE the shoe impressions." They reached the storage room door where the theft had taken place. "Now I can't wait to see what these things do for fingerprints." He took hold of the door handle, swiped his security card at the reader and with a flourish, threw open the door. "I was thinking,” he said as he began his sweep of the immediate area, "whoever did this must have followed Jenkins into this room. Either that, or we have a traitor in our midst." He indicated the security reader. "There's no known way to bypass that thing."
Christopher shook his head a little at that. His uncle, brilliant though he was, hadn't met many of his friends at school. He'd seen them hack into the school computer system as a prank to get free lunches. He didn't think a security reader would be much of a hurdle for them. As Tremain continued further into his room, he asked:
"What are you picking up?"
Tremain grunted as he scanned.
"Many, many fingerprints. Most are from the same person, either Hollis or Jenkins." He tapped the lenses. "I connected these into the personnel database. Everyone who has a card has their fingerprints on file. Matching them should be easy." He paused. "Hello? What would she be doing here?"
Christopher moved behind his uncle.
"Who? Who are you talking about?"
Tremain swiveled around to look at Christopher. The lenses made more whirring noises as they telescoped out to focus on him.
"Back there. There's a lag between scanning and the personnel results. Have to fix that." He waved towards the area where the artifacts had been scattered. "Most of the fingerprints were from Jenkins, but there were a few sets that were distinctly someone else. They just came through. They were Leesa's."
Christopher thought for a moment, trying to place the name.
"Your intern?"
Tremain nodded, the telescoped lenses waving in front of his face.
"The very same one. What would she be doing here? There are more of her prints on the desk back here as well." He rubbed his chin in thought.
"I heard she was dating someone from this department. Maybe that's it,” Christopher said. The lenses whirred as Tremain focused on him again.
"Really? Where did you hear that? Oh, wait." Tremain threw his hands up in the air. "Receptionists know all, don't they?" He waggled a finger at his nephew, a sardonic smile on his face. "Be careful with what you hear, Christopher. Gossip is mostly just that, gossip." He turned back to scanning the storage room. "But I can't begin to guess who may have entered this room illegally. There are no prints that aren't in the database." He growled in frustration. "I'll just have to wait until I hear the police report from Hollis." He pulled the goggles from his face. The lenses whirred and shrunk into themselves as he switched them off. He rubbed his face, making muffled grunting noises as he did so. Christopher restrained a giggle. Tremain finished with his rubbing and leaned towards his nephew, eyes bright. "So, we're done here. How about some lunch? I'm famished." He bustled out of the storage room and closed the door behind them. "Let's go rummage through the cafeteria, shall we?"
The cafeteria took up the top two floors of the main Hawking building. The first floor consisted of the kitchens and restrooms, but was dominated by a central garden. Populated with tropical plants and trees, it filled the lower floor and grew up through a gallery in the upper floor. The top floor contained tables and chairs, all in the ring that surrounded the foliage that grew from the floor below. Each of the walls held enormous plate glass windows that let in as much natural light as was possible for the plants. Ferns and other assorted greenery hung from the ceiling in pots, making the cafeteria easily one of the most pleasant, comforting and oxygen-rich places to be.
Tremain and Christopher sat at a table, practically alone in the large area. A few maintenance people floated around, watering plants, cleaning windows and tending to the care of the building. Those that came near them, Tremain greeted by name.
"Hello Manuel, hope your dog is feeling better." Manuel nodded yes and kept working.
"Anita, I tried that spice you recommended. My mouth stopped burning just yesterday, so thank you for that." Anita winked at Tremain and smiled widely as she moved to her next task.
Christopher sat quietly, eating his sandwich. Tremain mostly just played with the salad he had in front of him and yawned loudly every few minutes.
"When do you think the police report will be done?" Christopher asked his uncle.
Tremain set down his fork and grimaced at the plate of greens in front of him.
"I'm not sure exactly. They have to interview Jenkins, of course. I'm sure he's going to be fine. I should check on him later. Then there's the forensics they will have to analyze . . .” He pushed the plate away from him. "I should have just had a sandwich too. This has no taste." He stood, grabbed the plate and headed for the stairs. "I think I'll do just that. Be right back."
Christopher smiled and shook his head. His uncle had left his tablet on the table. Finished with his lunch, Christopher pushed his plate to the side and reached for the tablet. As he unrolled it, the icons flared to life. After searching for a little while, he found the icon for the footprint program.
The app showed a series of different colored lines, each one, Christopher assumed, referred to a distinct set of shoe impressions. Christopher saw that some lines were brighter than others. He realized the brightness of the lines' appearance corresponded with when they occurred. The brighter lines were more recent and had more relevance to the robbery. As he was playing with the settings, so as to get more information, Tremain returned, holding a plate with a huge sandwich on it, a very large bite taken from it and wiping some sort of condiment from his mouth. He smiled as he saw Christopher working with the tablet. Sitting down, he reached into his lab pocket and produced a stylus.
"Watch this,” he said as he tapped the tip of the stylus on the tablet face. As he raised the stylus, a fine line followed from the glass to the tip. A flick, and the entire screen appeared in 3D above the tablet face. Christopher gasped as he saw the shoe paths overlap, enter and exit rooms. Tremain took another huge bite, chewed for a moment, and made a few gestures over his tablet. The image above it zoomed in to show the entrance to the storage room. Christopher could see numerous paths entering and exiting, most were bright as they had occurred last evening. "I can filter out those that were obviously emergency personnel." Tremain said through his mouth of food. A couple of taps and most of the lines disappeared. There were only four lines now. "Now,” Tremain said, swallowing. "Of these remaining, two are yours and mine, and as such can be deleted." A few more taps and two lines remained.
Christopher stared at the hologram.
"So, which one is Jenkins?" Two more taps and only one path remained. The burglar. Tremain zoomed in as far as the app allowed. Christopher could then see individual shoe impressions. They were as clear as day. Christopher's eyebrows shot up. "We have him now!" He exclaimed.
"Not quite that fast, Christopher." Tremain said, shoving more sandwich in his mouth. "Remember," he said thickly, "we still need to match these to a particular shoe. Without any other evidence to point to a suspect, this is meaningless." Christopher sagged. As Tremain closed the app, the hologram disappeared, and he rolled the tablet shut.
"I hope the police get a lead then." Christopher said as Tremain finished his lunch. Tremain nodded in agreement, then looked up towards the stairs. Christopher turned to look.
They could both hear footsteps coming up the stairs, accompanied by the sound of huffing and puffing. A head appeared, the light reflecting brightly off Professer Perlmutter's balding pate as he climbed. Seeing them, he waved something at them. Christopher noticed it was his sweat-kerchief. He lumbered over to them, breathing hard from the exertion, and plopp
ed onto a seat at the table. Mopping his brow, he pinched a pickle from Tremain's plate and munched on it as he caught his breath.
"Glad to see you both. Security showed you were up here." He said, panting, using the pickle as a pointer. "Damndest thing last night, what?" He finished the pickle, licking the juice from his finger tips.
"How are you holding up, Hollis?" Tremain asked, gently.
Perlmutter waved his hands in annoyance.
"Oh, I'm fine, Tremain. It's Jenkins that I'm worried about. I hope he recovers soon or he'll miss the expedition." Reaching into his inner jacket pocket (a blue tweed today, Christopher noticed), he produced a paper. Unfolding it, Tremain could see it was a letter. Perlmutter gave it a smack as he set it on the table. "Just received this notice. It seems we have been fully funded." His eyes grew bright as he chuckled. "Fully funded!"
Tremain read over the letter. His eyebrows arching as he reached the bottom of the page.
"Congratulations, Hollis." He said, genuinely. "Amazing that it came through so quickly."
Hollis nodded as he replaced the letter in his pocket, then wiped his forehead with the handkerchief.
"Yes, but we have a devoted community here, Tremain. I was sure we'd get donations."
Tremain frowned.
"Yes, but by one company?" Tremain's eyebrows knitted as he rubbed his chin. "I've never heard of The Tyndall Foundation, have you?"
Perlmutter shook his head, his jowls jiggling.
"Oh, they've been around a while. They fund various arts and science projects throughout the year." He raised his head and looked to Tremain. "There have been some whispers that certain scientific discoveries they've funded never see the light of day, while others get full press releases. There have been rumors that the deadliest of these are the ones that get held back. Doesn't matter to me, though. They've said here in the letter that they're providing not only the funding, but manpower, whatever gear we may need and a daily stipend for staff." He beamed as he sat back. "What could be better than that? We leave in two weeks!"
The Purloined Pictograph Page 2
