Swindled!: The 1906 Journal of Fitz Morgan (7 page)

I wanted to rush over to the desk and examine the broken cup. Patience, I told myself. Don’t dive into unknown waters.

We looked around the compartment quickly, just to make sure that no one was hiding in the shadows. Then we got to work.

Removing a small pad of paper from my jacket pocket so I could take notes, I said, “It’s wrong to make assumptions. But thanks
to that teacup, I think we can safely assume this is where Agent Howard was poisoned. That makes this compartment the scene
of the crime. And that means there’s loads of evidence just begging to be discovered!”

I remembered that detectives move in patterns to ensure that every inch is studied when they walk through and inspect a crime
scene. We started at the door of the compartment and circled inward toward the desk. We slowly went around and around, and
I had to force myself not to skip ahead in my eagerness to spot a clue. We had to examine every object we came to, and that
included even boring things such as a suitcase filled with mostly dirty clothes and a sports magazine from two months ago.
I made myself look at each item carefully–the solutions to many crimes are hidden in the little details.

In one corner we found an old top hat and in another we discovered a fishing rod. “Interesting,” Judge observed, holding up
the rod. “Agent Howard must enjoy fishing as a hobby.”

I was tempted to say, Interesting, perhaps, but not very helpful, but just then the lure at the end of the line caught my
eye.

“My brother was a fisherman, and I don’t think this is a real lure,” I said.

“What do you mean?” Judge looked at the rod curiously.

I answered her question with a question: “Do you have anything metallic?”

Judge reached into her pocket, took out a metal key and held it out to me.

“Watch this.” I held the lure over the key. The key shot from her hand and attached itself to the lure with a click. “This
lure is a magnet!”

“A magnet? What exactly is Agent Howard fishing for?” Judge asked. “Tin fish? Metal mackerel?”

I had no answer, so I just put the rod back in the corner.

We continued on our circular path and finally reached the desk. This is where we’ll uncover the real clues, I hoped.

It was finally time to examine the broken teacup! A pattern of dried liquid had expanded from the cup–as if the liquid had
sprayed out when the cup had been dropped and broken.

Hmmm… had there been poison in the cup? Was the cup Agent Howard’s?

A fingerprint might answer the second question.

Every detective knows that when people touch a surface, they leave behind a pattern of oil and sweat in the shape of their
fingertip ridges. Because everyone’s ridges are unique, everyone leaves behind a one-of-a-kind print.

“I need–” I started to say.

But Judge was already on the case. She had opened her evidence kit and taken out a small jar shaped like a spice shaker. “Fingerprint
powder,” she said.

“Do you have a soft brush and sticky slides in there?” I asked.

“Of course,” Judge said. She was really starting to amaze me.

I examined the cup but was careful not to touch it. I didn’t want to smudge any existing prints or add my own to the mix.

No fingerprints jumped out at me. But that didn’t mean they weren’t there. I knew that surfaces are usually covered in people’s
prints. To find them is just a matter of looking at things the right way–holding a light at a different angle or looking through
a magnifying glass.

“I don’t see anything,” Judge said from over my shoulder. I nodded, and sprinkled fingerprint powder on the cup, hoping it
would reveal at least one print.

I followed the steps my father had taught me to lift a fingerprint: Remember T.O.E.!

“There it is…” I breathed softly as I finally spotted a print.

“Yes!” Judge shouted, seeing what I meant.

There were several other bits of prints on the cup, but the one I had lifted was a nice, clear one.

“Bully for you! It’s gorgeous.” Judge took the slide from me, handling it by its edge. She slipped it in a protective paper
sleeve and put it into her collection kit.

“Now we just need a fingerprint from Agent Howard,” I said. “That way we can compare the two. If his matches this one, we
know he’s the one who drank from this cup.”

My nose began to tickle from the fingerprint powder. I raised my head to sneeze… and saw thin scratch marks on one end of
the ceiling.

“Ah!” I cried and slapped my forehead. We had very carefully looked for clues on the floor and the walls, but we had forgotten
to look up!

I pulled a chair over to stand on so I could get a better look at the marks. They started about four inches out from the wall
and then disappeared into a small gap between the ceiling and the top of the wall.

“Do you think there’s a space behind the wall?” Judge asked. That’s exactly what I thought. “But if so,” she asked, “how would
someone retrieve what they hid there?”

I pondered this for a minute and then said, “Can you hand me the fishing rod?”

When she handed me the rod, I placed the lure inside the gap and let it fall. As I did, I noticed that the top of the rod
added a thin scratch to the ceiling.

I let out line from the reel, and the lure made scuffling sounds like a mouse traveling down inside the wall. Finally, I heard
a metallic click as the magnetic lure attracted something. Very slowly, as if I had an enormous salmon on the line, I reeled
in the lure. Something banged against the wall as it rose higher and higher.

A small metal box appeared in the gap. It was about eleven inches wide but only two inches high–so it could fit through the
hole.

Climbing off the chair, I handed the rod to Judge and set the box on the desk. We stared at it for a moment.

“We should open it,” I said. My curiosity was like a strong itch I needed to scratch. “It could contain a clue.”

Judge shook her head. “It could also contain government secrets. Classified information.”

“If it does, we’ll put it back in the box and not tell anyone about it. I think we can be trusted with a few secrets–or would
you rather give it to Mr. Spike?”

Just saying his name convinced her. There was no lock on the box, and the latch clicked open with a slight push.

Inside was a dark brown file with a label reading USS MAINE.

I felt my eyes filling with tears as I looked at the name USS MAINE. It had been eight years, but the memories still hurt.

“What is it?’ Judge saw my reaction and her voice filled with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t…”

“Here.” Judge pushed a chair over for me, and I sat down.

“I just… It’s so strange to see this… It was a long time ago.” I fumbled for words but then collected myself. “My brother
Killian was lost on the MAINE. I still carry his photograph.”

Judge looked at the picture I had taken from my jacket pocket, and then put a hand on my shoulder. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

And I could see in her deep brown eyes that she was. Somehow this made me want to tell her more.

“After Killian was lost, things were never quite the same around our house. My father, he’s a great man, don’t get me wrong–but
he didn’t smile or laugh as much. We had a memorial service for Killian, but he went down with the MAINE so we didn’t have
a body.

I paused and wiped my teary eyes. “It all happened years ago. I’m being silly.…”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Judge said, smiling.

I smiled back. Taking the photograph of my brother, I looked at Killian’s face and the large birthmark under his right eye
that he used to say looked like a map of Asia. Then I turned away from the past and back to the case at hand.

Secret Service agents are in charge of protecting important people and investigating counterfeit cases. What did the MAINE
have to do with the Secret Service? And what could it possibly have to do with Agent Howard being poisoned?

Nothing was the only answer I could think of. I put the file back in the box and, like returning a fish to the sea, I dropped
this red herring back into the space behind the wall.