Chapter 24: Tuesday, Nov. 21

It was only after I had read this document through twice did I realize that it constituted evidence of a kidnap case and of a sick, deranged mind. Holding it by the edges, I forthwith placed letter and envelope in a plastic bag and phoned Lieutenant Tracy.

He arrived at my office less than a half an hour later. Donning white gloves, he examined the letter in detail. He shook his head in disbelief. "What is this? Fresh road-kill squirrel? What kind of sicko ...? Is this serious or some kind of joke?"

I nodded. "Both, I'm afraid."

He shook his head again. "Where do you find fresh toad this time of year?"

"Maybe it wasn't fresh."

Lieutenant Tracy started to laugh, something I had never seen him do before. It was an attractive, revealing laugh that had him shaking his head and wiping tears from his eyes. Then, like a squall, it stopped as abruptly as it started. He apologized. I said I understood.

I told him it was, as far as I could determine, Korky's handwriting. Over the past two years he had sent numerous notes and cards to Elsbeth and me. I said I could easily provide a sample, but I thought the editor of The Bugle should be informed immediately as to what had transpired.

Donald Patcher, the editor of The Bugle, responded with a sense of concern for Korky's welfare when we contacted him. There was no bluster about the inviolability of the press and that sort of thing. He said he would run it the next morning just as though it were Korky's regular column.

In part because it can't be avoided -- she is sure to read the column in tomorrow's Bugle, or one of her friends will mention it to her -- I called Elsbeth and let her know what had happened. I did not go into details. She took it well, saying it would be good to read his column again, whatever it said. I've told her about Corny's death as well, again without going into details. The truth in these matters is always the best policy.

Robert Remick has called again. He was his gentlemanly self, but news of the Bert and Betti fiasco had reached him, as I knew it would. I sensed a note of exasperation in his tone as he told me that he and the rest of the board had full confidence in my ability "to clean up this latest mess" at the Museum.

I had Bob's call very much in mind when I summoned Alger Wherry up for a meeting. Closing the door and having Darlene poised with her pen and steno pad did not have much effect on the man. He refused to answer any questions I had about the use of the empty room in the Skull Collections. "Good," I said, "you're fired. Effective immediately. Please collect your personal effects and remove them."

He turned surly. "There are procedures ..."

"We are no longer part of the University in that way, Alger. Appeal all you want to Human Resources, it won't do you any good. In fact I'm looking for a good excuse to get rid of Maria Cowe and her inefficient staff." It was something of a bluff, but it worked.

"The Long Piggers have been using the room."

"You mean they never stopped using the room."

"Right."

"Who are its members."

"I honestly don't know."

"You don't really expect me to believe that."

"I don't know most of the new members. Everyone has a code name. I don't know who they are. I don't really care."

"Who does have the names?"

"Brauer. And Corny did."

I believed him if only because I could tell from his air of defeat, which was more pronounced than usual, that he didn't care enough to lie. He left, agreeing to clean out the room and start using it for storing skulls.

Word of Corny's demise has spread far and wide. I have arranged for the Chard's family attorney and an officer of the Middling County Probate Court to witness the tape. I can only hope they don't start telling others about it afterwards.

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