Published by Bob Nailor at Smashwords Copyright 2012 Bob Nailor Barry Hargrove and the Case of the Lunar Orchids All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means: electronic, mechanical or otherwise, now known or hereinafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or by any known informational storage and retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission from the author. Smashwords Edition, License Notes This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Discover other titles by Bob Nailor at www.bobnailor.com Connect with me at: Twitter: http://twitter.com/bobnailor Facebook: http://facebook.com/bobnailorauthor My blog: http://bobnailor.blogspot.com Barry Hargrove and the Case of the Lunar Orchids by Bob Nailor "Another day, another dollar," I mused while I sat at my cluttered desk, my back to the door, looking at the two checks. "Maybe the PI business will be profitable, afterall," I thought and chewed on my lower lip at the idea. "Barry Hargrove?" The stoic voice startled me as I hadn't heard the door open. I really need to get a secretary, door buzzer, even just a little brass bell that rings when the door hits it, I thought and swiveled in my chair to face the visitor. "Barry Hargrove. At your service." I was greeted by a gentleman dressed in a dark gray suit, had neatly cut hair, and was wearing sun glasses — in the office, no less. I recognized the look; a government man. He stood there holding a black, relatively new-appearing briefcase in front of him. I extended my hand in a friendly gesture of greeting. He stiffened, pulling the briefcase toward him. I could feel his eyes glancing down at my hand to assure himself there were no weapons or danger. He relaxed, barely. I fumbled in mid-movement to change from hand shaking to offering him a chair. "Seat?" "Yes." The man took the offered chair but sat on its front edge, very straight and rigid; he had to be uncomfortable. "I have come to procure your services." He carefully placed the briefcase on the floor to the right of his feet. "I see." I sat down. "Procure. Now there's an interesting term. Usually my clients attempt to retain my services." I casually watched him; his one eyebrow lifted ever so slightly above the rim of those dark glasses. I continued. "Your name?" I grabbed a pen and slid a blank sheet of paper into the writing position. "My name is not important." His manner was curt and I now raised my eyebrow. "I'm here as a representative of the United World Government." No surprise there, I thought. He reached inside his jacket, pulled out a small leather wallet and flipped it open to reveal a somewhat official appearing identification card on one side and shiny metallic badge on the opposite side. He snapped it shut. "If it's about the check," I blurted, losing composure. "Never mind the check, that's a completely different department." He took a deep breath. "Due to your uncanny abilities to solve extraordinary cases, it was decided you would be the best person to engage regarding this situation." The voice never wavered, no inflection, nothing. "I see. I'm flattered, but what situation?" As usual, I didn't see a thing, but it always seemed to be the thing to say to a client. "Exactly what do you see, Detective Hargrove? I've explained absolutely nothing." A small twitch at the edges of his mouth revealed he was inwardly enjoying this. "What do I see?" I began, stretching for any possible hints that might be able to help me. "I see you have a situation which cannot be handled internally." I now watched him for any reaction as I doodled on the paper. An eyebrow twitched slightly. "Or…" I paused. "Perhaps it couldn't be resolved by the agency assigned the task." His head jerked back ever so slightly as he tensed even more. "Very good, Mr. Barry Hargrove, Private Investigator." There was no hiding the dripping sarcasm in his sneering voice and calling me an investigator. "Just so there is absolutely no misunderstanding between us, I did not, and do not want you involved in this matter. But…" He paused. "My superiors decided to give you unlimited access to handle this case." "Again, Mister…" I stumbled for a name. "Forgive me, I usually have a name to address my client. I really feel Mr. United World Government might be slightly ostentatious, not to mention awkward and a mouthful." I smiled at the innocuous person before me. "Fine, call me Mr. Orchid, Mr. Beauregard Orchid." Again I saw that enigmatic smile. He had the secret and my job was simple? Learn it. "Beauregard? Why not Alfred or Roger? If you are going to make up a name, at least make one less conspicuous. How about it, Beau?" I couldn't believe how much of a pretentious snob this guy seemed to be. "Beauregard happens to be my real name. Orchid is the code name." He leaned toward me. "Now, is the name satisfactory, Detective Barry Hargrove?" "Perfectly." I stuck my index finger into my collar to stretch the suddenly extremely tight shirt from around my neck. I could feel the heat of embarrassment. "Code name Orchid, interesting." "I'm sure you've heard about the developments occurring at Luna Lab regarding the new discovery of the Lunar Orchid?" My mind raced to recall all the news information I had read, heard, or seen about those plants. I filtered the details: survives extreme conditions therefore very hardy, blooms are rare and no apparent seed, prefers dark or heavy shade, has extremely low moisture needs, and cannot be propagated. A total paradox in the plant world. "I see you are taking time to recall what information you know. Let me supplement your knowledge with inside information, Detective Hargrove." From behind the sunglasses, I could feel what I thought sure to be blackest of eyes piercing into my very soul. They had to be black eyes; the man certainly didn't ooze any other color of personality and the dark gray suit was probably his idea of being wild and bright. He looked down as he reached for his black, not brown, briefcase and placed it on his lap. The latches clicked loudly as his thumbs snapped open the locks. "I have a portfolio for you." He reached into the opened briefcase and pulled out a large bundled file folder and handed it to me. "The situation is simple. The seed of the Lunar Orchid was stolen last week." He waited. "Uh-huh." I replied absently as I opened the file folder and spread a few sheets out onto my desk to view. "Exactly what..." I looked up at Beauregard. He quietly sat there, waiting, knowing. "The seed?" "Yes, Hargrove. The seed." He removed his sunglasses. His eyes actually were black, and they were cold. "The seed was stolen from the laboratory on Tuesday night. We were able to retrieve what remained of the seed on Wednesday morning." He smiled at me, waiting. My forehead furrowed in thought. If they got the seed back, what are they looking for? Surely they have the culprit, or... I looked at Beauregard. "I see you have deciphered our need. Even though we have recovered the seed, it was ruined. We need to know who did it. We have three suspects, but we have not been able to ascertain which of them is guilty." "That explains three of the four photographs." I scanned the large 8 by 10 glossy pictures before me. He stood up, leaned over the desk and placed a finger on the left most photo. "Dr. Richard Biery, botany professor at Lunar Labs." I quickly checked over Biery's particulars: age 45, male, single, lunar resident for almost 8 years, exo-biologist with an extremely long list of credentials, including a current nomination for a Nobel. I absently nodded my head as my mind wandered at the thought of living on the moon for that length of time. "Dedicated worker," I finally mumbled. Orchid shrugged his shoulders at my comment. "This is Fred Pickett, most notably known as Freddy the Fence; a procurer of the unusual. If you have the cash, he will acquire the merchandise." Beau's voice muddled on. I viewed his picture, not what I would call an attractive man, obviously a difficult life. Then I scanned the hard data provided: male, age 37, entrepreneur, current address: local resident. "We've made him our number one suspect, although this theft is not his normal MO." "Normal MO?" I again looked up at my client. "Freddy doesn't normally resort to any form of violence. He prefers to work in shadows. In this particular instance, Professor Charles Scott…" his hand pointed to the picture to the extreme right. "Was knocked unconscious from behind while working in his lab." "I see." I looked at the information on Scott: age 58, male, married, botanist, current local resident with six years in London, England, prior residence was Washington, DC for seventeen years. Again, credentials and letters of scholarly learning followed. I noted the Nobel Prize winner and substantial monetary figures. "And this gentleman is Professor Bueford Hornblatt." Beauregard Orchid's index finger pinned the image to the desk. I snickered, a totally unprofessional act. "Hornblatt?" I asked looking at a picture of a man with a proboscis even Jimmy Durante would have envied. I felt the name and person deserved each other. "Ahem," Orchid cleared his throat. "He is not actually a professor in the literal sense. He is self taught and therefore, self-bestowed with the title. Nevertheless, he is very knowledgeable of botany." I reviewed Hornblatt's history: age 59, male, divorced, botanist and exo-botanist, nineteen year resident of Munich, Germany. He appeared as a very small and frail man with a self-inflated ego and matching nose. I noted his net-worth; definitely a frugal man who was extremely tight with money. "So, these are the suspects; the players in the game, if you will." I gathered the pieces of papers and the photographs together and placed them back into the file folder. "Is there anything else you are willing to let me know?" Beauregard Orchid glared. "Read the portfolio. If you need further information, please call this number." A small business card appeared from nowhere and he slid it across the desk toward me. "I will get back in contact with you." He quietly closed the briefcase, snapped the locks and stood up. "You will find a retainer of $1,000 within the portfolio and a contract. If you feel the terms of the contract are not fair, please call the number and communicate your wishes to my…" He paused. "My secretary. Good day." As the door closed silently with Mr. Beauregard Orchid's departure, I removed all the papers from my desk and then completely dumped the full contents of the portfolio. I spread the sheets of information out, attempting to make sensible piles. As I sat back and scrutinized the stacks, I was not reassured. To my left were four extremely small groups of personal data about each person, in front of me were the reports of the investigations and queries and to my right were the collaborative interests: news clippings, magazine and trade journal articles, pictures and other miscellaneous items. At the far right corner was a very minuscule pile of undetermined unknowns. I held the check in my one hand, absently flicking it with the first two fingers of my other hand while I stared at the problem before me. I grabbed up the news clippings and journals. An hour later, I was a very enlightened person. Biery was the individual who first identified the plants as part of the orchid family; the discovery of the century. It was a unique find which came into existence only when the lunar dome had filled with oxygen. The plant could not survive in full light; a medium mottling of shade was the best it could tolerate. It refused to be propagated by any method currently known to science. The botanists were perplexed. Without warning, new plant could be found growing behind another object, its roots hidden deep in the shaded area. The plant died when the object was removed to reveal the base of the plant. A situation unique to the moon, shade and shadows never move so where a plant sprouted, it would always be in shade. It was Biery who discovered the plants bloomed when a small amount of Earth soil was spread about the roots. By hilling the soil, the base of the plant was in darkness, therefore allowing the plants to be moved, even transported back to Earth. This discovery put Biery in nomination status for a Nobel. The last few sheets of paper were Professor Scott's notes for the journal, 'Scientific Botanist'. I read his notes carefully. Shipment of orchids to Earth transported in the cargo hold. Due to hardiness of the plant, no botanist needed during flight. Pinging sound heard in cargo. Lights turned on and monitors recorded projectiles being dispersed into air. Objects quickly decayed with a purple-black fume before collection could be performed. Have decided projectiles might be seeds. Also conclude light was the reason for decomposition; darkness possible basis for seed generation. Attempting to re-create and validate this unique condition. Will request assistance of Biery. I replaced the stack of clippings back onto my desk. I looked at the four piles of personal information. I fingered the individual stacks of personal data. "Hmm. No rap sheet on Freddy. An oversight?" This small detail, or lack of detail, at least was instrumental in bringing the deductive juices to flow. "Better go see Williamson. I've tied Biery to Scott and Pickett was the fence. Cute, real cute. Picket fence. Now I see where Freddy the Fence comes from. All I have to do is figure where Hornblatt fits into the picture and how all the pieces go together." * * * I wandered through the precinct and smiled at the warm feeling I got from all the noises I heard. You can take a cop out of a precinct but you can't take the precinct out of the cop; I loved the sounds and missed it now that I was a private investigator. Williamson was standing at the file cabinet attempting to read a sheet of paper he had half pulled from the drawer's file. "How's it going, Willie?" I shoved my hands into my coat pockets and plopped into the chair at his desk. He looked up from his reading. "That's Sgt. Williamson." He slid the paper back into the folder and pushed the file drawer shut. "Make yourself comfortable, as I see you have. What's the honor? Gloating?" He walked rigidly towards me, his normal smiling demeanor missing. "I've never gloated about a case. Are you having a bad day?" I watched as he slumped into his seat; there was an inner tenseness. "Real bad. I just got notified my number one suspect in a major theft was iced." He placed his hands on his desk, fingers spread out. "Now that the amenities are out of the way, what the hell do you want?" "It's moments like this that make friendship bonds even closer." I winked. A small curl at the edge of Williamson's mouth revealed he was about to smile so I continued. "I need information on Fred Pickett." "Dead." I watched as Williamson stared at me, his facial muscles frozen. "Dead?" I questioned. "I thought him to be alive. The info I got this morning didn't say he was dead." I leaned in over his desk in an attempt to be conspiratorial. "What gives?" "You tell me," he replied, staring blankly at me. "Freddy the Fence was my prime suspect who just turned up wearing a corded necktie. Cause of death: lack of oxygen due to necktie. Why the interest?" I leaned back into my chair. "Just an assignment. Pickett was one of multiple suspects in a theft I'm investigating. He was attempting to…" I paused in my words to give me a moment to select the right phrase. "Procure. Yes, procure an object." I didn't want to give all the information I had to Williamson. "Procure. Hmpf." I watched as Williamson shook his head slowly. "Freddy dealt in stolen goods, his services were less than honorable. What object?" I could see the dance we were about to embrace, both of us attempting to get the upper hand on information. "Could I get a rap-sheet on him?" I deferred. "No information? Not going to let me in on the case?" I watched as Williamson ran his hand over his chin. "Okay, Barry," he continued, "we'll keep it simple and business-like. One printout. Is there anything else that I might assist you with, sir?" I had never seen Williamson so touchy. "Could you also run a check on these guys." I said as he stood up. I handed him the list with the four names on it. He took the sheet of paper and glanced over it. I watched him as his facial expressions changed. "Hornblatt? What the hell does Hornblatt have to do with your search?" He fell back into his seat. "Okay, Barry. You level with me, now. You come in here looking for information about Pickett, then you hand me a list with the name of my number one suspect for Pickett's death. Do you think that I'm just going to waltz over there, pull the data for you and let you walk out of here?" He watched me. I cringed under Willie's barrage but I shrugged my shoulders and grinned, hoping for the best. "Maybe." Things were getting complicated and I could see our friendship beginning to strain. I knew I was going to have to research Hornblatt and Pickett a little bit more. "Damned well better have another think." I could see Williamson's jaw muscles clenching, his chin locked as he paused waiting for me. I didn't respond. "Now, either you cough up information, Hargrove, or you hit the road." "We are a bit testy, but, I'll tell you this much, Willie. I am currently on a retainer with the government and it involves the names on the list." I licked my lips then smiled at him. "All I can say is there was an incident involving one of them, an item was taken, ruined, and then later retrieved. That pretty well nutshells the who-all. Now, do I get my information I asked for?" "This here is Charles Scott." He was pointing at one of the names on the list, ignoring my request. "Wasn't his name in the paper just a few days ago? Some sort of science big-wig?" "He is a renowned professor of botany." I sighed. "Do you help me?" I raised both my hands with the question for emphasis so he knew that I meant business. "Sure. Botany, you say." He stood up and started to walk towards the file cabinet. "Botany. Right, this guy is the one working with that moon flower." He smiled at me, a knowing glint in his eyes. I was getting nervous. How much do I tell him? How much does he already know? I again licked my lips. "You're good, Willie." I beamed an innocent smile at him. "Wanna join me in the business or are you going to be my new competition?" I winked. He pulled some sheets from the file cabinet and stepped over to the copier. "Are you ready for one-upmanship?" He had returned to the desk, and sat down. A smug smile left me wishing I knew what he obviously already knew. I nodded I was ready for his inside information. "It appears that Freddy was trying to get his hands on some kind of seed." He watched me. I now knew what it felt like to be on the other end of the police interrogation. He placed the documents on the desk, folded his hands together and then placed them dead center on the papers. I couldn't see a thing. I continued to move my head up and down absently. "I see you know about the seed," he said. I nodded. "Did you know that Pickett's client was Professor Hornblatt?" He watched me closely. "We found some incriminating letters between them." "At least I now know how Hornblatt fits into the scheme." I said. My eyes searched the air in front of me for an answer in an attempt to put it all together. Something was starting to click. "Ah-ha. I see that you have come to the same conclusion. Why does the middle man always come up dead?" He continued to wait me out, hoping for more information; his fingers now strummed the desktop. "Do you have anything to add?" "Not yet, Willie. Pass me the information I asked for and I will go back to my office and correlate it with the data my client gave me. If anything gels from it, I'll let you know." He stared at me for a few seconds then handed me the copied sheets of information he had gathered. I stuffed them into a coat pocket, shook his hand and started to leave. "Don't forget me, Barry. I am putting it in a sling letting you have those documents. Keep me informed." I signaled a 'thumbs up' and left. * * * I walked into my office, the piles of information still in the individual stacks. I flopped into my chair and started reading the personal information sheets. I finished the material quickly and was intrigued by their backgrounds. Biery seemed to be a workaholic and had no time for any type of social life. Hornblatt appeared to be an introvert, even more so after the divorce and like Biery, almost a workaholic but Hornblatt was one who evaluated the coin before spending it. Scott seemed to be the sensible and stable one of the group, married and in all, a well-rounded social type person. I then proceeded to re-read the stack of queries and investigations I'd received earlier. There were pictures of the different players with each other at various times of days and locations. The surveillance was astonishing. I didn't even want to start to think of when it began. Two pictures of the notes from Bueford Hornblatt to Fred Pickett definitely linked them together. 'Must have the seed at all cost. Money no object. If you value your life. B.' The other read more cryptically. 'You are my seed. Pursue contact immediately. B.' Both notes were succinct. Beauregard's men had found the notes hidden, taped to the back of a desk drawer in Freddie's apartment about a week earlier during their attempt at solving the case. I re-read the two notes. There was a clue; the answer was at the periphery of my mind. An hour later I completed reading all the information from the portfolio and sat at my desk, contemplating. My hands clasped with the index fingers extended, tapping together, a niggling at my mind; I was familiar with that feeling. I'd had it before. The answer was before me. I mentally reviewed the facts. 1. Biery discovers plants. 2. Plant sent to Scott. He discovers seeds. 3. Scott calls for Biery's assistance. 4. Hornblatt contacts Pickett. 5. Pickett attempts to get seed. 6. Scott hit over head, seed stolen. 7 Seed found, ruined. 8. Pickett found dead. Hornblatt suspect. 9. Search, seizure, paperwork foul-up. Agency loses face. 10. I get involved. "Hold it." The voice screamed in my head. "Who found the seed and where?" I quickly scanned the documentation. "There," I said, as I read the report. "Decomposing seed found 0748 hours on lab's east side basement windowsill." The document was signed by a Beauregard Sneed with an accompanying affidavit signed by Charles Scott. Beauregard Sneed? So much for Mr. Orchid's attempt at being covert; it was time to call Scott. I grabbed the data sheet and finally located his personal office number. "Professor Scott's office." An irritating nasally female voice answered the phone. "May I help you?" "I would like to speak with Professor Scott. This is Barry Hargrove, special investigator assigned..." "I'm sorry, Mr. Hargrove." The female voice cut me off. "Professor Scott is..." "This is Professor Scott." A soft voice with a deep resonance spoke over the nasally voice. "I'll take this Elaine. How can I assist you, Mr. Hargrove." I quickly established my position; who I was and why I was involved. I explained details as I thought I understood them then asked how the seed had been stolen. "I don't remember much of it. I was hit on the head during the night. When I came to, the seed was missing from the orchid pod. Biery was first on the scene; he's the one who found me unconscious. We were up the rest of the night with the investigation. I looked up and saw... No, Biery was the first to notice the sunrise. It was his surprise that made me look up and see the fumes at the laboratory's frosted window. That was how we discovered the seed hidden outside the window; on the sill." "Basement? Window?" I queried. "You've confused me." "I kept the orchid plants in the basement of the laboratory where the natural light is limited. There is a very small window; probably no larger than say twelve high by fifteen or eighteen inches wide. It is frosted so no direct light gets in and is used for fresh air ventilation when needed. There was a screen to cover the window but it was lost years ago I'm told. That probably allowed us to see the fumes a little easier." "I see," I said, my memory clicking about the fumes. "Just one more quick question, if I may." "Certainly, Detective Hargrove." "If you were working with the plant, and the plant can't tolerate light, I assume you were in darkness. Still, the lights were found to be on and can you explain how you were able to see in the dark?" A chuckle came from the other end of the phone line. "Detective Hargrove. I don't work in total darkness, I work in red-light, similar to that of a photographer. I also was wearing light enhancing night goggles. Professor Biery had removed mine and they lay next to his goggles. Thank heavens, or I would have gone momentarily blind when coming to with all the lab lights on." "I see." As usual, not really, there was pie all over my face. I felt foolish. "Do you know who turned on the lights?" "No, I would assume Professor Biery did when he..." There was a pause. I could almost hear the thought process. "No, Biery would have known I was working with the plant and not turned on the lights. I really don't know who did turn them on. It was still darkened when I went unconscious." "How do you know that?" "Remember? If the lights had been turned on, my night goggles would have blinded me and I would have realized someone was in the room. Not to make sport of this, but I am completely in the dark as to who may have knocked me unconscious. I never thought of that before." There was an edge of awe in his voice as he rationalized the scenario. "Well. Thank you for your time, Professor. I'll be in touch." "Yes, thank you, detective. Good bye." The phone clicked as Scott hung up. "Good bye" I said absently and placed the receiver back in its cradle. My mind raced. The answer was here. The niggling in my mind told me all I had to do was coalesce the facts I now knew. I again started to mentally count the details. Plants, seeds, notes, hit, lights, seed. Notes. I quickly pulled the pictures of the notes they had found in Pickett's desk drawer. I read them again, this time aloud. I pulled the affidavits of the four men as investigated by a Beauregard Sneed and the personal data. It clicked. I looked at the whole picture. It was all explained. I called Williamson. "Willie. You said to let you know what I figure out. I have the answers." I was excited. "You have the murderer?" Williamson's voice almost cracked. "And the thief, but I need your help. Call Sneed at United Intelligence; that's Beauregard Sneed. If you need to, call him Beauregard Orchid. That will get you through. Tell him to meet us at the lab in the morning, 7:30 a.m. sharp. Also, get Scott, Hornblatt and Biery there. If you're interested, come along and bring the necessary papers. I have the culprit." Now I gloated. * * * We all stood around the laboratory waiting for Sneed. A lab technician made coffee. Sneed finally made his appearance ten minutes late. "This better be good, Detective Hargrove." He glared at me as he poured a cup of coffee. "Gentlemen," I started. "Within these surrounding walls are the people involved..." "Get on with it, Barry." Williamson was not smiling. "Save the showmanship for those who appreciate such things. I want to know the name of the person responsible." Sneed was not smiling. He sipped his hot coffee. "Let's all have a seat at the table." I offered the chairs and table as I coaxed the group across the lab. "The name?" Sneed hissed as he passed me. I ignored him. "The seed was stolen and placed on the window's edge." I started and pointed to the basement window showing the first tinges of morning light. "Professor Scott was working on the plant in a darkened room." I looked to him for support. "A room filled with red light, if I remember correctly." Professor Scott eagerly nodded agreement. "You were then knocked unconscious from behind." Again, the professor nodded agreement. "When you came to, the lights were on and the seed was missing. Is that the correct scenario?" Once more Professor Scott acquiesced in agreement. "Get on with it, Hargrove. A name." Beauregard Sneed fumed silently and glared at me. "We've been over these facts many times. Who did it? Who is the guilty party?" "Yes, Detective Hargrove." Professor Scott chimed in. "Who hit me?" "Okay, Biery did it." My voice was cold and flat as I shrugged my shoulders. They wanted the name, I gave it to them. "Wait a minute," Sneed said jumping up, almost spilling his coffee. "This is insane," Biery said. "I've never been so insulted in my life." He also jumped up from his chair, knocking it over. "What the hell?" Williamson sat there, completed befuddled with a frown. Then everyone was up walking and trying to talk over one another. It was chaotic. "Wait a minute. Hold it." I yelled to gain control. "If you all will please just wait one minute, I will explain." I looked at the men. "Please, gentlemen, be seated." "I believe you owe me an apology, Detective Hargrove. I have never met you, and now you stand there and insinuate that..." Biery huffed as he walked to his chair while Scott bent over and attempted to aright the seat. Biery snatched the chair from Scott's hand and sat down. "Thank you, gentlemen. Now let me explain." "This better be good, Barry." Williamson's face showed me he was very apprehensive with the present situation. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. "First, the theft. The person coming into the lab was either knowledgeable of the conditions necessary or was an extremely experienced cat-burglar. That eliminates the deceased, Fred Pickett." "Fred Pickett is dead?" Hornblatt whispered, his face ashen. "I'm afraid so." I glanced at Hornblatt and a tear was welling in his eye. It confused me. "Let me continue. To begin with, Pickett was not a thief; he was a fence." I looked at the puzzled faces looking at me. "Fred Pickett dealt in stolen goods. He did not steal them himself." Williamson and Sneed seemed to understand. "Those who knew of the unique working conditions here were Professors Scott and Biery." I went to the white board and picked up a marker. "If I may?" I asked and looked to Scott who nodded approval. I wrote the three names and then scratched out Pickett's. "Secondly, the people involved with finding the seed the next morning." I circled the names, both professors again. "Exactly where is this going, Hargrove?" Sneed sat in the chair, his arms firmly crossed over his chest. "I don't enjoy games." "I demand an apology," piped Professor Biery. "Let me continue," I said. "Who wanted the seed? I wrote the three names; Biery, Scott and Hornblatt. "I never," shouted Professor Hornblatt. "Why my name has been dragged into this degrading mess I shall never understand." "Because you obviously killed Pickett." Biery glared at Hornblatt. I glanced and smiled at Biery for his astute observation, shook my head then turned to Hornblatt. "You became involved the minute you contacted Pickett to attain the elusive seed." Hornblatt started to stand; I raised my hand to stop him. "Please bear me out, sir." I nodded to him. "You will be vindicated." "I didn't contact Pickett for the seed. Fred was my… he was…" It hit me as I realized why he had a tear and the cryptic words of the note. "Fred Pickett was you son; he was your seed." I blurted. "Yes," Hornblatt said with a choked voice. "His mother divorced me, left for America and as I later found out, was pregnant. But she married James Pickett and Freddie always thought James to be his biological father." "Barry, this is all sweet and family-like but—" Sneed's voice was cold as he stared at Hornblatt. "Explain. The note from Hornblatt is very incriminating; he keeps talking about obtaining the seed at any cost." "Ah, yes. The notes signed with the ambiguous 'B' initial. We must assume that to be Bueford Hornblatt." "I never wrote that note." Hornblatt was standing, pounding his fist on the table. "I have been unjustly accused." "Just as I," Biery said snidely; he turned to Hornblatt. "Sit down." "But I never wrote that note." Hornblatt fell back into his chair. "Believe me, I didn't write it." I couldn't help but feel sorry for Hornblatt, his eyes wide in fear. I attempted to calm him. "I know that, sir. The note is not your style. You would never allow your money to be an open ended account. To say 'Money is no object' is completely out of character for you." "Then who is 'B', if not Bueford?" Sneed was fighting to control his temper and maintain a calm mood. "Obviously, 'B' stands for Biery." I replied. I watched for responses in any combination, facially, bodily or vocally. Any indication of hitting a possible nerve would serve my purpose. Scott looked quizzical, Biery still was inflamed, and Hornblatt was staring into space. "Now, see here, Hargrove. My colleague, Professor Biery, came to my rescue." Professor Scott's normally soft and easy voice was now harsh. He patted Biery on the back as if to comfort him. "Does it not seem strange the first person to find you was indeed, your co-worker? Not the guard or a lab assistant? Did you call for him, or did he just decide to show up?" "Show up." Professor Biery spouted as he sat stoically in his chair. "I decided on a whim to come in and see how the experiment was progressing." Only then did he cock an eyebrow. "Or is that a crime now?" "I see." I rubbed my lower lip while I thought. "Were the lights on or off when you entered the laboratory, Biery?" "On. What of it?" His eyes pierced into me as if attempting to extract some measure of retaliation. "Thank you. Now, let us go now to the hiding place." Everyone's eyes were looking directly at me as I walked over to the window and stood below it. "Who in their right mind would hide a seed on the window's ledge? A cat-burglar? No, I don't think so. That person would take the seed with them; assuming of course, no lights had been turned on to damage the goods." I watched the group sitting back at the table, bland and motionless. There was absolutely no indication of whether I was hitting or missing. "The person taking possession would be the type who felt a darkened window ledge would be a safe spot. That person would have to be someone who would think the dark area would remain such until the seed could be reclaimed a day or two later after the hubbub had died away." I walked back and sat down, joining the group. I spread my hands out over the table. "Professor Scott," I began slowly. "I want you to think and try to remember all the details very carefully." I took a deep breath. "Go back to the morning when Professor Biery noted the sunrise." I watched as Scott's eyes lightly glazed in deep thought. "Did he seem awed by the sunlight starting to come in the window or would you call it more apprehensive?" "I would say it was more a form of shock, a mild surprise." He sat there thinking, remembering. A small glimmer of knowledge started to show in his eyes. He turned to his colleague. "Why, you son..." "I want a lawyer." Professor Biery's voice was stoic as he sat quietly, his hands clasped tightly together in front of him on the table. "How did you know?" Williamson scanned the group quizzically. Mr. Sneed looked about the group completely dazed. "Very easy. Those of us bound to Mother Earth know the sun comes up in the east and sets in the west. What is dark during the night can be in full light at some point during the day. Shadows are not stationary on Earth. On the moon, what is in darkness, remains in darkness. Isn't that correct, Professor Biery?" "It proves absolutely nothing." Biery now sat back in his chair with his arms firmly folded in front of him, smug and confident. "My attorney will be in contact." "That may be so, but please, professor, let me continue. Secondly, if the lights were on when you entered the lab, why would you need light-enhancing night goggles? Professor Scott remembers his were next to yours on the floor. You have acknowledged removing his in your statement. If the lights were on, why would you have your goggles?" I smiled at Biery. "Care to elaborate?" "My lawyer will answer. Thank you." Both Williamson and Sneed had moved in and were assisting Biery up from his chair and to his feet. "But who killed Pickett?" It was Sneed who decided to ask. "Yes, who killed my son?" Hornblatt chimed in. "Oh, Professor Biery gets to claim that also. It seems he wanted to assure his chances of a Nobel. The discovery of the plants and the ability to force them to flower had put him up for nomination of the elusive Nobel. He just wanted to secure a win with the seed. Scott had already won a Nobel, so Biery was very sensitive to the fact that Scott discovering the seeds could jeopardize his chances. Since Hornblatt already had taken steps to contact Pickett in regards to a strictly familial bond; Biery, unknowing of the true nature between Hornblatt and Pickett, became enraged then killed Pickett to make it look like Hornblatt was the murderer. Pickett was very wise in hiding the notes he had received not only from Biery, but also his father, Hornblatt." "You can't prove it." Biery spat the words. "You're only guessing." "But I already have. Although the note appears to be written by Hornblatt, the 'B' is most definitely your signature. I could see the difference and I'm quite sure a writing analysis will show it to be yours and therefore prove Hornblatt's innocence." Hornblatt glanced up at me, a tear in his eye and a small smile curling the edges of his mouth. Biery silently glared at me as Williamson and Sneed stood him up then started to lead him out of the lab, both their voices claiming jurisdiction for the arrest. Hornblatt fumbled with his jacket then stood abruptly. At that instant, a gun fired and I watched Williamson move away from Biery and slowly crumble to the floor. A second shot echoed through the room, much closer sounding than the first. I turned to see Hornblatt with a gun in the air. I followed the line of fire back to Sneed, Williamson and Biery who now fell toward Sneed who was lurching for Williamson. Everything was in slow motion. I reacted. I jumped forward, removed the gun from Hornblatt's hand. "That bastard killed my son," Hornblatt mumbled and collapsed to the floor. I knelt down. "Freddie may not have been perfect but he was all I had." The self-made professor broke down and started to cry. "Call 9-1-1 and get an ambulance here for Williamson," Sneed yelled. "He's not good but should survive." I watched the government agent move swiftly back to Biery. He touched the neck for a pulse then shook his head letting me know Biery was dead. I slammed the phone to my ear. "We have an officer down and need an ambulance." It sounded like Laura Van Heusen on the phone but I really didn't care who was doing dispatch, just as long as an ambulance got here two minutes earlier than I called. I watched Sneed comfort Williamson; Hornblatt struggled beneath me. "Forgive me," the professor whispered and popped a capsule into his mouth. I listened to it crunch and smelt bitter almonds before I had a chance to shove my finger between his teeth in an attempt to extract it. Potassium cyanide, I thought. Hornblatt smiled, his eyes brightened, glazed, he winced in pain as the poison took then went limp. He was dead, that much I was sure. I felt for a pulse, there was none. From the other side of the room I heard Williamson moan then yell at me, "Hargrove! Get those damned medics here now; this hurts." I smiled; Williamson was going to be fine. THE END About The Author My name is Robert S. Nailor but most people call me Bob. I retired in 2006. I was a computer geek and still do some programming yet today. One would think I should have plenty of time to write but I actually seem to have less now. So, to make sure that things work out correctly, I try to force myself to sit down and write. That doesn't always happen. Today, writing is fun and I find it relaxing. I get to visit those fantastic and strange places within my mind and well, if I don't come back right away, at least there is no longer a boss sneaking up behind me writing on a pink sheet of paper. I am a resident of NW Ohio and live with my wife, Violet, in a ranch home snuggled into a small wooded acre. I have four sons and currently have eight grandchildren - 6 granddaughters and 2 grandsons. My interests are travel (have RV, will travel), gardening, music, cooking and reading. Now as to what I read; well obviously a lot of science fiction, horror and fantasy. While romance, adventure, international thrillers and many of the other genres are also great reads - when they catch my attention. As to what I have written, I have a Barry Hargrove novel out titled "2012: Timeline Apocalypse" and a short story with him titled "Barry Hargrove: Private Investigator." I also have a fantasy novel "Three Steps: The Journeys of Ayrold" which is available in multiple formats. I am also in several anthologies: "Timeless," "Shadow Street," "Mother Goose Is Dead," "The Guide to Writing Paranormal Novels," "Dead Set: A Zombie Anthology" which won a bronze award at the 2011 Independent Publisher Awards, "Nights of Blood II: More Legends of the Vampire," "A Firestorm of Dragons," The Complete Guide to Writing Science Fiction, Vol 1: First Contact" which happens to be a 2008 EPPIE Award winner, "The Complete Guide to Writing Fantasy, Vol 2: The Opus Magus," "13 Nights of Blood: Legends of the Vampire," "The Archives of Arrissia," and "Spirits of Blue and Gray: Ghosts of the Civil War." Of course, I have several short stories and poems in different magazines and many scattered throughout the internet. View tidbits, samples and updated information at www.bobnailor.com