Nabbed!: The 1925 Journal of G. Codd Fitzmorgan (6 page)

I invited each person to sit and offered him or her a glass of water. Many people, like Mrs. Kartier, didn't seem to grasp
the seriousness of the situation. She just kept giggling, as if it were a game. Other people, like the man in the fur coat,
seemed so eager to play detective that I felt certain they were making up or at least exaggerating what they had seen. Still
others, such as Charles, provided excellent objective observations that helped me re-create events in my mind.

MY INTERVIEW WITH MR. VIRGIL GATES, 1:40 AM:

G. CODD FITZMORGAN: Why are you here?

VIRGIL GATES:(nervous laugh) You asked me to be.

GCF: No, Mr. Gates, not in that chair. I mean, why are you here at this party?

VG: I don't have to answer your questions.

GCF: Are you hiding something?

VG: Of course not. (pause) Fine. I'm an old friend of John's.

GCF: Really?

VG: (looking away) Well, maybe not a “friend”, but we do business together. In fact, I've hired John and Justine's delivery
company to do some work for me.

GCF: And Asyla Notabe? Does she have any ideas about what happened to John?

VG: Who knows what that woman thinks.

GCF: Isn't she you girlfriend?

VG: Yes. But if you think that means I understand her, you've got another think coming.

GCF: What is your real name?

MANGZE MAGNIFICO: Monsieur Mangze Magnifico.

GCF: That's the name that appears on your birth certificate?

MZM: You are more zan velcome to fly to France and check.

GCF: Did you see anything odd?

MZM: I always zee ze odd somethings.

GCF: I mean especially odd about John Hatherford's airplane landing.

MZM: Jean-Claude, he iz unhappy. Ze spirit wants hiz answers, and he vaz interrupted by a little boy.

GCF: What technique do you use to speak with the spirits? Table turning or desk gyrations?

MZM: Ze desk gyrations.

GCF: Now that is odd.

MZM: Why, little boy, iz that?

GCF: Because I just made desk gyrations up. It doesn't exist.

MZM: (stands up and leaves the interview area)

Here are two of the interviews I recorded in my spiral notebook.

Who should I interview next? I wondered, looking around the Great Hall. I spotted Asyla, munching on spoonfuls of caviar at
a food table.

It was clear she had something against me and might be tough to interview. But again reminded myself that a good detective
has to deal with the good and the bad. so I made my way over to her.

Asyla loves caviar.

“Miss Notabe”, I said politely, “can I ask you a few questions?”

She smiled at me with her bright red lips and popped a mound of caviar in her mouth. Her perfectly shaped eyes squinted in
delight. She chewed, swallowed, and finally answered my question. “No”.

Once again I was confused by her. “What?” I asked.

“Honey, you don't have the authority to make me do a thing.” She picked a piece of lint off the shoulder of my tuxedo. “I'll
tell you what. You can ask me one or two questions if you let me interview you first”.

I noticed she never made direct eye contact. “Why?” “I'm bored”. She shrugged.

Bored? A roaring party in a mansion, a violent storm, a dramatic landing after a historic flight, and the disappearance of
the pilot—and she was bored?

“What would you want to know about me?” I asked her. “You don't seem to like me much”.

Her lower lip jutted out slightly. “Why would you go and say that, silly boy?”

Because it's true, I thought. But I said aloud, “The séance, the landing strip, the way you've been speaking to me”.

“Oh, that. To be honest, I'm a little out of sorts here. You dear friend Justine Pinkerton and I go way back. Did you know
she was on that same train where I met your parents? I wasn't sure how she'd react to me showing up at her fancy party”.

“I'm sure that Judge is glad you're here.”

”Is that so?” Asyla's face still had the sweet smile, but I wondered if it was honey for a trap. Then again, what choice did
I have? She might have witnessed something important to the investigation.

“Okay, you can ask me questions first”, I agreed.

“Let's go over to the chairs I've set up.”

Asyla said, “I'd rather stay here, next to the caviar”. Other people in the room were now looking at us curiously. With all
these celebrities around, glamorous Asyla was choosing to chitchat with me. It was exciting! “Let's start”, she said. “I adore
the way you put that awful Mang in his place. How does a child know so much about Houdini?”

I hesitated before answering her. “I used to have claustrophobia. It started when I was six. Small rooms, snug blankets, tiny
automobiles—stuff like that could send me into fits of panic. I felt like I couldn't get out. Then my mom showed me that I
was smart enough to ‘detect’ my way out of any situation”.

“Ah, your mom”. Asyla's face remained frozen in a masklike smile. “Please go on”.

“She told me I didn't need to panic. I have sleuthing skills in my blood. I'd never find myself in a jam I couldn't get out
of. So I started training to be an escape artist. My mom would stay close by, and I'd lock myself in rooms and attempt to
‘escape’. After a few years, it got awfully hard to find any locked room that could hold me”.

I can get out of anyplace!

Asyla clapped her hands together. “I get it. So Harry Houdini, the master escape artist, is your hero! Your mother is very
clever. Is that why you use her name as your last name?”

“The name on my birth certificate is Godfrey Codd Moorie”, I said.

Asyla let out a giggle that sounded like a wind chime and then covered her mouth. “Oh. Did I just laugh out loud? So sorry”.

Shrugging, I said, “I got used to other kids making fun of my name. When I turned twelve, my parents told me I could choose
my own name”. I spoke quickly now, eager to get to the part where I go to interview her. “I decided if I was going to be a
detective I should have a name that sounds mysterious. I shortened Godfrey to G. For my last name, I put together my mom's
first name, Fitz, and her her maiden name, Morgan, into my new last name, Fitzmorgan”. “Your father must have been hurt that
you didn't choose his name”. She giggled again, but this time the sound had a few false notes.

I was starting to feel pretty uncomfortable. “Actually, Dad congratulated me on my choice. Now, I just have a few questions”,
I said before she could ask me anything else.

Asyla beamed at me. “Two”.

“What?”

“I said I would answer one or two questions, not a few”, she told me.

“Since I'm feeling kind, I'll answer two.

Let's test your detective skills. Make the questions good ones”.

Only two questions allowed.

For the first time during our conversation, her eyes met mine. I could see something prowling around behind her gaze. She
made me feel scattered, and I blurted, “Did you notice anything strange tonight?”

Asyla held up one finger and mumbled something through a mouthful of fish eggs.

“What?” I couldn't understand her.

She triumphantly held up two fingers as she swallowed. “We're all done. I answered your first question, ‘Did you notice anything
strange?’ with a ‘No’. And I'll answer your second questions, ‘What?’ with, ‘I said no’.

This was unbelievable! Before I could protest, Asyla had turned her back on me. “Thanks for the fun chat”, she said over her
shoulder. “Beat it”

And that was that. The interview was over, and I was left with no answers–just one more question. Was Asyla involved in John's
disappearance?

Someone was skulking around outside!

Before questioning the next witness
, I moved the chairs a little away from the fire. It was very late, and the warmth of the flames was making me drowsy. I needed
to stay alert!

For my eleventh interview, I asked a parlor maid to take a seat. She was still holding a few of the boxes she was moving up
to Judge's room.

“These are engagement presents”. The maid gestured toward the boxes. “I just wonder if there'll be a wedding now that the
groom has been kidnapped!”

I needed to keep rumors to a minimum. “Right now, this is a missing persons case. We are not sure that anyone has been nabbed.
There is no ransom note. There is no sign of a struggle. It is as if John Hatherford simply vanished into–“ I stopped midsentence.
Through the open double doors, I could see that someone was wandering around the crime scene.

I jumped up and ran to the doors. “You!” I shouted. Whoever it was could be disturbing valuable evidence. “Get away from that
plane!”

The person turned. I could see that it was a man. He seemed startled by my call, and he began running away from the crime
scene and toward the woods in back of the house.