![]() ![]() |
||
|
Jeremy was very familiar with Roy Donaldson's work schedule. Of course, it wasn't very hard to keep track of. The professor was at the lab all day, every day. The first time Jeremy had stolen Donaldson's research journal, he did it in the middle of the night. One trip in to get the document, thirty minutes at the 24-hour Kinko's copy center, and another trip in to the lab returned the original. No muss, no fuss.
Heather Turlington had it bad for Jeremy. They'd gone out a couple times and that was enough for Jeremy. He stopped returning her calls and a few weeks later she figured it out. Heather wasn't used to being dumped. The body she moved around in had only attracted men in the past. Everything was right where it was supposed to be. When Jeremy saw her talking to a group of four drooling jocks outside the Applied Sciences building, he knew he had one more use for the eager Miss Turlington. A few minutes of exaggerated interest in the charms Heather has to offer gave Jeremy all the cooperation he needed. According to Jeremy, he needed to fix a mistake he had made on a lab test he'd run for Dr. Donaldson the previous day. If Heather could distract the shy and mild-mannered professor for a few minutes, Jeremy could retrieve the flawed report. He would then need to take it upstairs to a campus computer, fix the numbers and reprint it. A few minutes later he would slip the correct version back into the results binder. All Heather had to do was move Dr. Donaldson away from the filing cabinets and over into the far corner of the lab. Jeremy suggested that she seek his advice on a career direction in medicine. Heather was game, as usual. In fact, she offered that becoming a "brain doctor" like Donaldson was among the options she really was interested in. Jeremy escorted his beautiful accomplice to the laboratory door. He helped her adjust a couple last things for maximum impact and sent her in with a final peck on the cheek and a manufactured groan of desire. A confidence builder, as if Heather needed one. Jeremy held the door open a tiny crack as he watched the 19-year-old guided missile seek out its unsuspecting target. If he hadn't caught himself, Jeremy might have forgotten about getting to the research journal while watching Heather do what she does best. His opening came when Heather led the confused professor around the corner to the lab area normally reserved for small student seminars. While Jeremy rifled through the journal, he heard the girl's slightly squeaky voice trying to explain a deep fascination with the brain. He was choking back laughter when he came to the page that Zeke needed. The three-ring binder snapped as Jeremy pulled open the metal rings. Heather covered for him with an excited comment about the attractive men in the brain research field. Jeremy began his dash. He went out the door quietly but ran down the hall and up the stairs wildly. Sliding into the copy center with the single sheet of paper in his hand, Jeremy quickly interrupted a freshman student who was copying from a stack of books. While the machine performed its magic on Dr. Donaldson's notes, Jeremy pulled a ten dollar bill from his pocket and placed it on top of the machine. The money transformed Jeremy into a welcome guest. A minute later Jeremy was back downstairs to replace the original in the binder. This time he remembered to open the spring-loaded hinge with care. But as he went to insert the document he noticed the punched holes had vanished. He had confused the original and the copy. That meant the true original was folded flat in the hip pocket of his pants! He quickly unfolded it and attempted to even out the ridges that had been created. But time had run out. Jeremy heard Heather's voice approaching and the sound of her tiny high-heels clicking on the tile floor. He pushed the crumpled document into the binder and closed it's cover before ducking behind the workbench. Heather and Donaldson passed him on their way to the door. In the hallway she cooed a final thank you to the professor and asked if she might stop by again. The considerate man assured her his door was always open and then watched her disappear down the hall toward the front stairs. As Donaldson staggered back toward his desk he stopped to remove his glasses and rub his face. Jeremy slipped quietly behind him to the door and slid out through it just before it banged closed. Once in the hallway, Jeremy walked quickly down the to the building's back door to avoid seeing Heather out front. From there, he took the side path through the small redwood trees and around to his car. He was gone before Heather gave up waiting for him in the Applied Sciences front lobby. When Dr. Donaldson got his mind back on work, he went to his journal. The first thing he noticed was that it was out of place. He never left the binder anywhere but on the shelf where it belonged. Looking inside, the pages fell open to the mangled sheet where Jeremy had hurried his botched attempt. Suddenly, Heather's visit made a great deal more sense to Donaldson. He left the journal open to the disturbed page and reached for the phone. He dialed the cellular phone number off the business card Tom Barnett gave him the night before.
|
||
| Tom: |
Tom Barnett here.
|
|
| Donaldson: |
Mr. Barnett, this is Roy Donaldson. We spoke last night at my lab?
|
|
| Tom: |
Sure doc. You think of something else to tell us?
|
|
| Donaldson: |
Not exactly... I'm not sure this will be of interest to you, Mr. Barnett, but I thought I'd call just in case...
|
|
| Tom: |
Doc, tell me what's on your mind and I'll let you know real fast if it matters or not.
|
|
| Donaldson: |
I think someone has been accessing my private research notes. Of course I can't be sure and nothing seems to be stolen. That's why I didn't call the police.
|
|
| Tom: |
You stay right where you are. We'll be there in a few minutes.
|
|
| Donaldson: |
All right, Mr. Bar...
|
|
|
Tom clicked off the line before the professor could finish his good-byes. For the first time, they had information while the trail was still warm. Tom Barnett had no intention of letting it cool off.
|
||
![]() ![]() ![]()
ISYS Idea System, Inc. designed and implemented the Spike Webb (tm) site, including all content and artwork.
Copyright © 1995 ISYS Idea Systems, Inc. All rights reserved. Reproduction in whole or in part in |
||