seymoure

Legacy in the Making

"I'm not an historian but I can get interested - obsessively interested - with any aspect of the past, whether it's paleontology or archaeology or the very recent past."
-Penelope Lively

There didn’t seem to be any new great discoveries in the rest of my “testimony,” but it would need a lot more analysis before we would dismiss it completely.

Len called to report that they had found Mitchum’s office, but there was so little left that the identifiable scraps wouldn’t fill his pockets.

They were now on the way to his apartment, but it had been listed as burned, too. They had torched the place on the same day. They were losing their surreptitiousness. Not that stealth had really been one of their high points; they were easily found out, if you knew where to look or what to look for and would take the time to look.

What they were good at was quick and ruthless. They had that tied up in a neat little bloodthirsty bow. They seemed to have a mindset like that of a dictator government; they don’t think anyone will question them, much less oppose them. And if anyone does, they seem to have the idea that that alone makes them unworthy of continued residence upon this plane.

A call came up from the lobby. We were about to get a visit from the local constabulary. Once they knew I was here, they were obliged to put in an appearance. These were the entanglements of fame.

Their coming also meant that we would now get the presence of the press in all its myriad forms and needs.

That was a presence we really didn’t need. Detection works best when those doing the inspection are not constantly being evaluated for every theory or method they consider. Even if we didn’t plan anything that didn’t go by the straight and narrow, we would be hamstrung by the crowd.

We gathered up everything we could and stationed it in a single room, out of the main room where they would have to enter. We put the secretaries to work just as if nothing was different, but the others and I readied ourselves for public consumption.

Harry and Hugo installed jamming devices so that no incoming bugs, unless they were hard-wired, would be able to send radio signals out of our headquarters. If a reporter was a spy, he would have to confront us before he sent pictures or such to the other side (or his paper).

They guys had already done a sweep of the rooms for any already-existent bugs.

I had them lean me against a “Standing Board’ so I could lean back and not put any unnecessary pressure on the new cast on my leg. When the knock came at the door, I motioned for Len to permit entrance to as few as possible.

I was right. Right behind the three local officers were a dozen men with cameras and recorders. TV, Print and radio! We were getting a full court press.

Just as this was happening we got a note from Max and Chester. Mitchum’s apartment was torched. But being obviously smarter than me, he had deposited some files in his fire-proof safe. Mostly they were photos, but they were in a file with Eddie’s name on it. They would be back here in a half an hour! This was promising.

I needed promising as I looked up and saw the faces of three men who gave every indication of being politicians with badges rather than the other way around.

“Mr. Savage,” the oldest and largest of the three boomed, as if the press had entered with them and he was about to launch into a speech, rather than just extend his beefy hand, “I couldn’t be happier to meet you.”

It was P.R. time, as much as I avoided it.

I looked at their suits. They were not in uniform, but all of them sported prominent badges on their chests. They also carried Stetsons that would have been more fitting in the Southwest. They didn’t carry firearms, but they might be just outside the room, waiting to be strapped on.

“And you, sir, are?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I am Sheriff Lance Babbo,” he pointed to his comrades. “This is Captain Tully Bran, and this is Marshall Nash Comstock. They are the highest ranking lawmen in the county. We are here to offer any and all assistance to you in this investigation that we can. All our agencies and affiliates are yours until we find those who tried to kill you in our province.”

Province? He was really reaching, but he wanted to make the thing even bigger than it was. It was as close to an international incident as they would ever be part of.

How could I keep them off our backs?

We couldn’t put them off. At some time we might actually need some man power, but only at our timing.

“Sheriff Babbo, gentlemen, we are at a time when we are being tasked beyond our ability to handle the situation.”

A look of true concern came over the trio of faces. They might be called upon to DO something, and that wasn’t why they were here. They had considered bathing in reflected glory, not working.

“Our security is taxed to the limit and I am afraid that the press is going to hogtie us with their prying eyes,” I spoke with an air of conspiratorial confession, “And that is why I must call upon you for aid.”

Babbo unconsciously leaned back so far he almost forced a step from his planted size 13 boots.

“My manpower is limited,” I was contrite and needy, to a point, “I must have your assistance.”

They didn’t ask. I might want something. Three full beats passed.

“Somebody has to keep the ears of the press. Someone needs to loan me a couple of men to keep them off me, out of our way.”

After a second a wet shroud lifted from their heads. Tiny smiles crept over their faces.

“You want us to talk to the news people?” Babbo asked.

“And we could use some good men to give us some privacy.”

The three lawmen looked at each other with the kind of relief that comes after a long bout of constipation comes to an end.

“Sir,” Captain Bran said, happily extending his hairy paw, “We would be happy to be involved in any way you ask!”

Then it was a quick, jolly party. I told Babbo that one of the secretaries would have a press release for him to read to those who would want it. Then he would be more than capable of filling in the rest.

As they shook hands again and left, I swear they were close to skipping.

They were quick to station a pair of big, burly officers (the kind of guys you put on crowd control), one on either side of the door. They were given a sheet of paper with pictures of my crew and the two nurses we had accepted. These were the only people who would be admitted without express okay from one of us.

Somewhere, on a lower floor, the three lawmen were making their national debut. They were holding a press conference that would contain the footage that would make up the majority of their campaign ads for the next election.

After an interval that almost let us forget they were racing here, Max and Chester entered carrying a manila envelope that contained a folder of 8 X 10 black and white photos.

They were good pictures. They looked a bit like Hollywood Movie Stills. There was a bit of flurrying about some edges; somebody didn’t pose well. But the cases of people moving at the last moment were rare. Most of the pictures were Grade “A” quality.

They all had identifying notes on the back.

We had a scorecard for the cast of players.

Back to the Beginning

Continue on to Chapter 26