Nabbed!: The 1925 Journal of G. Codd Fitzmorgan (5 page)

The butler threw open the doors.Cool night air swept into the room as guests poured out onto the patio. Judge and Mr. Hatherford
led the way. My eyes went directly from the tiny window that showed the plane to the view through the double doors. I saw
the plane sitting off in the distance, under a now-clearing sky. The rain had temporarily stopped.

I had to wait for the crowd to clear before I could fit out the double doors. Knowing this was a historic moments, I used
the time to sketch the landing.

I stepped out in the night air. The wet grass instantly soaked through my shoes. The light of the moon illuminated the dramatic
scene. But the only sound I heard was the pattering of water as it dripped from the eaves of the mansion.

The crowd was gathered around the plane. But there were no cheers. No shouts of congratulations. The flashbulbs of newspaper
photographers remained dark.

Why aren't they cheering? I wondered. I walked closer, politely pushing my way through the crowd.

When I saw the plane, I understood.

Judge was staring at the cockpit with confusion and fear on her face.

“Where is he?” Mr. Hatherford shouted. “Where is my son?”

Judge took his hand and answered, “He isn't here”. I gazed long and hard inside the small, battered plane. It was completely
empty. There was no sign of the pilot.

Jumpin' John Hatherford had vanished.

Mr. Hatherford collapsed.

“John! Johnny!” Mr. Hatherford's
voice cracked as he shouted his son's name. Stunned, the crowd watched in silence as the big man banged on the side of the
plane. “John, come out of there right now”.

He broke off. The reality of the situation registered on his ruddy face. There was not a living soul on board that airplane.
But how could that be? I had watched the plane land myself. My eyes had gone directly from the Great Hall window too the door—
they had not left sight of the plane long enough for someone to sneak away.

Mr. Hatherford seemed to be thinking the same thing. He turned to look at us, if searching for some-one in the crowd who was
pulling a prank. “Airplanes cannot land by the themselves! He must be on board! This isn't funny. I want whoever is involved
in this to stop it, right now. John, this is not a game—“

Mr. Hatherford's words broke off agin— his face crumpled in pain as he collapsed against the plane. One hand flew to his chest
then grasped his left arm. Was he having a heart attack?

Judge sprang into action. She touched his shoulder. “Hiram, breathe deeply.”

“This…is…not…,”he wheezed.

“Juts breathe”, Judge told Mr. Hatherford in a soothing voice. “You must come with me, Hiram”. Still bracing John's dad, Judge
leaned in closed to me. “G. Codd, I have to take Mr. Hatherford back to the house. The police will not be able to arrive until
the stormy seas die down. In the meantime, I need you to help me. Do you know what to do?”

It took me a moment to realize what she meant. “You want me to start the investigation?”

“Yes”, she answered. Her bright eyes scanned the area, probably looking for signs of foul play. “I hope this will turn out
to be a joke, and John will show up at any moment, but I'm not sure…”

“Not to worry”, I told her. “I know exactly what to do”. That might have been overstating things, but I wanted to comfort
her.

She gave me a nod that said “Then get to it!” and led Mr. Hatherford back to the house.

Now it was my turn for action. Careful not to disturb any possible evidence, I moved in front of the cockpit door so the guests
gathered around could all see me. “Ladies and gentlemen!” I called out. “We need to close off this area. We have a missing
person and a possible kidnapping. Right now, you could be trampling evidence we'll need to find John Hatherford!”

No one was listening. Guests were chattering away, throwing out wild speculations about what might have happened to John.
Mrs. Kartier was talking about creatures from Mars.

I shouted, “Excus me!” and whistled with tow fingers like Judge had taught me years ago. But still, the crowd acted as if
I wasn't even there.

Through my growing frustration, I spotted Asyla in the crowd. She was smiling so pleasantly I thought, Good, an ally!

But then she turned to the feathered woman. “He's only fourteen, you know”, Asyla said loudly, pointing at me. “Just Fitz
Morgan's child playacting as a grown-up.”

If for some reason Asyla had wanted to discredit me, he words had the opposite effect. “Didn't that kid solve the mystery
of that bank robbery in Tulsa, Oklahoma?” the woman next to Asyla asked. “His parents have cracked more cases than the Secret
Service!” someone else commented.

A ripple of excitement ran through the crowd. Faces turned toward me and everyone stopped talking.

Suddenly, I had the entire crowd's attention.

I mouthed the words “thank you” to Asyla. The smile stayed on her face, yet her dark eyes had turned cold. What did she have
against me? I wondered. But I didn't have time to worry about that now. I had work to do!

Everyone was looking at me.

TEC TIP

SO YOU WANT TO BE A DETECTIVE!

The crime scene includes the exact spot where the crime took place and areas from which the site can be entered or exited.
Here's how to seal off a large crime scene:

1. Cordon off, or close, the crime scene using rope, large objects, or people
   
2. Only individuals who are absolutely necessary to working the scene are allowed in. Keep track of everyone who enters or leaves.
   
3. Watch out for nosy neighbors and members of the press–they have ways of gaining entry!
   
4. Walk through the area–careful not to disrupt evidence–and get a feel for how to approach the scene.
   
5. Document all evidence by keeping notes, drawing sketches, and taking photographs(if a camera is available).
   

Living with my parents, I had learned how to investigate a crime scene. I knew the first thing was to secure the area.

Raising my voice again, I told the crowd, “I want everyone to leave the scene at once, except for you four”. I pointed to
Charles, the man with the fur coat, Mr. Kartier, and the feathered woman. these four people stepped forward. The feathered
woman was smiling as if she'd just been named Miss Hunter Island. The other guests, including Asyla, wandered back to the
mansion.

I placed each of the four people I had selected at different corners of the scene, creating a large box around the area.

“What are we doing?” Mr. Kartier asked from his corner.

“Don't let anyone by you until I say it's all right”, I answered. “Do you understand?”

They all nodded. The scene was now secure.

Next on my list of things to do at a crime scene:

Gather evidence.

I soon discovered the plane itself held no clues. I was, as I'd first observed, completely empty. There were no bags. No food
supplies for a long trip over the Atlantic. No signs of life whatsoever.

Nothing.

I expended my search for clues to the area outside the plane. The squishy ground around the craft had been trampled by all
the grests. But I could still make out the tracks left by the plane.

Realizing I was running out of time, I hunkered down for a closer look at these tracks. The storms clouds were Swirling overhead
as if preparing for the next downpour. Another heavy rain could wash away even these deep tracks.

I took out my notebook and made this quick sketch.

The tracks were different.

Examining the tracks more closely, I saw they didn't match up with the landing I had sketched earlier. The tracks I was looking
at ran from the wheels of the plane off to the side of the airstrip where they disappeared.

But how could that be? From inside the Great Hall, a group of people, including me, had watched the plane land. We had all
seen the craft touch down at the back of the airstrip—not at the side—and roll to a stop.

Maybe I had sketched the landing wrong.

And how could a crime be committed in secret right under the noses of so many witnesses?

That's it! I realized. The answer could be with one of the other hundred witnesses. They might have seen something without
knowing it was the key to solving the case.

Just then the rain started to come down again. Deciding I had gathered all the evidence I could, I called to the four people
standing guard, “Thank you for your time! We can all go back inside now”.

The five of us rushed back to the mansion as the sky opened up. Inside the Great Hall, I stopped a tired-looking maid who
was carrying a tray of dirty glasses.

“Have you seen Miss Pinkteron?” I asked her.

“She's upstairs with Mr. Haterford”, the maid said, stifling a yawn. “Poor aman says he's having chest pains”.

“Has anyone called for medical help?”

She shook her head. “The phone lines are down. And no help could reach us anyway until the waters calm.”

“One of the guests must be a doctor”, I said, thinking of all the swanky people at the party.

“Sure”, the sleepy-eyed maid told me. “But he's a dermatologist. Miss Pinkerton said she'd stay with Mr. Hatherfor until she
can get him to relax”.

I thanked her, and the maid wandered off.

It looked like I would have to continue my solo investigation and that meant interviewing the guests— Who were not only witnesses
to a possible crime but also potential suspects!

TEC TIP

GET RESULTS!

Interviewing suspects and looking to crack the case FAST? Then just follow LASTS:

Listen be an active listener. Really hear what people say and how they say it.

Ask! Your questions should always have a point, but shouldn't be too leading.

Shut up! Do not interrupt. Let the subject talk and talk–this can be the best way to learn information.

Train your eyes! Maintain eye contact. It's harder for someone to lie effectively when you're looking directly at him or her.

Stay awake! Be attentive. You don't want to miss a single twitch or word the subject says.

I created a comfortable space in one corner of the Great Hall. I placed two overstuffed chairs so that they faced each other
next to a fireplace. Then, one by one, I started interviewing guests and staff members.