Swindled!: The 1906 Journal of Fitz Morgan Read online

  “I did not! I sidestepped all your devices,” I cried, sounding more defensive than I’d intended. Justine just laughed again. “What alarm did I trigger?” I asked.

  “I can’t tell you that. I never know when that snoop Fitz Morgan might try to trespass again,” she replied, her eyes gleaming happily. “You set off my alarm, and I came to investigate. It’s a good thing, too. You need looking after.”

  Not by a spoiled girl like you, I almost said, but thought better of it. Envy was getting the better of me. Instead I told her, “I can take care of myself thank you.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” Justine said once again. She jutted out her chin in a way she probably thought made her look tough. But to me it just looked funny. Now it was my turn to laugh.

  “Don’t you dare make fun of me,” she shouted. “I forbid it!”

  This only made me laugh harder and helped to push aside my bad feelings. After all, I thought, Justine was sharing her dreams with me–not to mention, she had saved my life! It was time I got over my jealousy and acted my age.

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” I said, mimicking her and giving her a genuine smile.

  She still looked a little hurt, so after a moment of thought, I added, “In fact, from now on, I think I’ll call you Judge.”

  She shook her head. “That doesn’t make sense. There aren’t any female judges.”

  “Then calling yourself Judge Pinkerton will give you a head start in changing things.”

  She was silent for a moment, thinking it over. “Judge… hmm… I guess I could live with that.” But it was clear from her happy expression that she really liked the name.

  Just then we heard a door open in the other room. We rushed back to where Agent Howard lay motionless on the sofa in time to see William Henry enter with two men. He pointed to the shorter of the two and said, “This is Mr. Spike. He’s the lead conductor and my boss.”

  Mr. Spike was a bald, round–faced man who wore a uniform similar to William Henry’s. But this man’s thick neck bulged over the sides of his collar.

  “And”–William Henry gestured to a distinguished–looking man with a closely cropped white beard and perfectly round glasses–”may I present Dr. Sigmund Freud?”

  I felt my heart leap. Dr. Freud! THE Dr. Sigmund Freud was standing two feet away from me!

  Austrian to Amaze at Lecture

  Straight from BVienna. Dr. Sigmund Freud will give a lecture tonight on something he calls “psycho-analysis.” Come hear Dr. Freud’s strange new ideas about the unconscious mind, listen as he interprets dreams, and discover the origins of mental illness in childhood events! His talk promises to be quite exciting.

  Los Angeles is the last stop on Dr. Freud’s American lecture circuit. You will not want to miss this unique opportunity.

  Dr. Sigmund Freud

  Masonic Hall, 7:00 PM.

  Judge tore out this ad from a magazine for me

  I started to explain quickly. “Dr. Freud, this man is a government agent. And he’s been pois–”

  But I was interrupted by Mr. Spike, who waved a finger in my face. “Children,” he said in a syrupy voice, and from the very first syllable I knew that he was a talker-downer. Talker-downers can’t stop themselves from talking down to every child they meet.

  Mr. Spike said, “I’ve got a son myself, and so I know youngsters have a way of making far too much of things.” I wanted to say that I felt sorry for his son, but didn’t.

  “William Henry tells me you believe this man has been poisoned? That’s just preposterous. And such talk, even from children, could cause panic on the train. We have a schedule to keep. This man probably just ate too much bacon at breakfast. Our job is to take care of him and his stomachache. Your job is to be good children.”

  This is insane! I thought. Agent Howard didn’t have a “stomachache”!

  “That’s not–,” I started to protest, but Mr. Spike cut me off again, this time by turning his back to me and addressing Judge.

  “Miss Justine,” he said coldly, “I’d hate to have to tell your parents that you are really not mature enough to ride this train by yourself.”

  I saw Judge’s whole body tense at the threat, and she glared at Mr. Spike. But she kept her mouth closed. Seeing that he had silenced both Judge and me, Mr. Spike gave us an icy smile and left the compartment.

  William Henry looked at us. “All right, you two,” he said.

  “You heard Mr. Spike. Into the laboratory compartment with you.”

  Seeing Dr. Freud remove a needle from his bag and turn toward Agent Howard, William Henry practically pushed us along.

  Even though Judge and I were banished to the laboratory compartment, I felt better knowing that Agent Howard was in the capable hands of Dr. Freud. He would know what to do.

  Judge sighed. “It looks like we’re going to miss all the fun.”

  I didn’t agree. “We need to get a look at the scene of the crime.”

  “Agent Howard’s Pullman. What a fantastic idea!” Judge cried. Then she grinned and said in a fake sugary voice, “But aren’t you worried about Mr. Spike? He told us to be ‘good little children.’”

  “Yes, he did,” I answered. “But I think the definition of ‘good’ is doing the right thing, and that means getting to the truth.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Judge said. “Let’s go!”

  We opened the door that led from the laboratory to the semi-public hallway. Suddenly Judge whispered, “Wait a second,” and rushed back into the laboratory. She returned moments later carrying a small black case. “A kit for collecting evidence,” she explained.

  “Good thinking,” I said and thought to myself that it looked like Justine was going to turn out to be a good investigative partner.

  We were continuing down the hall when Judge suddenly stopped in her tracks. “Fitz, I guess you triggered more than one of my alarm systems after all.” She was examining the two threads I had stepped between. Each one had been snapped in two.

  “Nonsense,” I protested. “You must have broken them when you rushed to help Agent Howard and me.”

  But Judge insisted that I had done it, so I changed the subject. “What alerted you that I was in the hall? How did I miss it?” I asked.

  She chuckled. “I’ll take that secret with me to the grave. Which, now that I think about it, I hope isn’t anytime soon. What if the person who poisoned Agent Howard is still in the government car?”

  “That would make him or her a fool,” I said, “which means he or she wouldn’t be much of a threat.”

  By now we were on the noisy platform outside the open door of the government Pullman. I knocked, and there was no answer.

  “I hope you’re right,” Judge said.

  With that, we stepped inside.

  April 14, 1906

  10:30 AM

  We stepped through a kind of foyer and found ourselves in a mobile office. The inner wall was lined with tall cabinets for documents and a bookcase holding paper and other supplies. Two dark wooden desks sat against the outer wall, facing large curtained windows. Papers were blowing around because of the wind from the open door.

  My detective’s eye found one thing especially noteworthy. There was a broken teacup on the desk closest to us. Its handle had snapped off, and the pieces lay on the wooden surface.

  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 in
ch 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.

  This is a real lure

  Why use bait whe our handy-dandy

  “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.

  Remember T.O.E.I

  1) Tap some fingerprint powder lightly over the object or surface where your suspect you’ll find a print.

  2) Overlay the sticky side of the glass slide on the powder.(Use a light glue or adhesive to make the slide sticky.)

  3) Ease the slide off the object on surface.

  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?”

  OFFICIAL MEMORANDUM

  DATE: February 12, 1904

  SUBJECT: Destruction of USS Maine

  FINDING:

  The battleship Maine exploded in the harbor of Havana, Cuba on February 15, 1898.

  At that time, Spain was blamed for the explosion—and the sinking of the ship was the final straw that led to war between the United States and Spain.

  Our investigations have shown that perhaps spain was innocent, and that one of its mines was not the cause of the sinking. They explosion was probably caused by something inside the ship, perhaps combustion in the ship’s coal bins.

  A page from the file we discovered

  “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.

  April 14, 1906

  5:30 PM

  We were repacking Judge’s evidence kit when William Henry entered the Pullman. In his arms, he held a squirming, slobbering creature, which he pushed on me as if it were a soiled baby. “Why do I know this beast belongs to you? I found him sniffing around first class.”

  “Teddy!” Just who I needed to cheer me up. I took my bulldog from him, but rather than scolding Teddy for leaving our seat, I gave him a good scratch behind his ears.

  William Henry frowned at us. “And I will not even name the thousands of reasons you should not be in this car.”

  “Good. What information do you have?” Judge asked as I put Teddy on the floor.

  Glaring at me, William Henry said, “If you don’t get out of this car now, you’re going to get me in trouble. I’m responsible for Miss Pinkerton.”

  “Oh, come on, are you a man or a schoolmarm?” I said, and saw his eyes spark.

  Judge added quickly, “William Henry, Mr. Spike is a fool. Somebody has to do something.”

  William Henry sighed, took off his cap, and ran a hand through his thick brown hair “All right but I am not helping you. I’m just passing along information.”