Shadow Walkers

by R L Delaney

  Justin heaved a sigh of relief. Spending the evening in the presence of a dead prize fighter, covered in tattoos, was not the most desirable way of using your time and he nodded. "Thank you, Uncle."

  Half an hour later, Uncle Harry's police car quietly stopped in front of the Ames' residence and Justin climbed out. "Thanks Uncle," he said again before he closed the car door. Uncle Harry smiled at Justin, then raised his left index finger and swung it around. "No more visits to prize fights," he said as he narrowed his eyes. "It's not a good place to be."

  Justin bit his lower lip and nodded.

  "Hey Justin?"

  "What?"

  Uncle Harry already had his hand on the ignition key and was about to drive off when he said, "After school tomorrow, why don't you come by the office."

  Justin raised his brows.

  "I think you'd make a good detective," Harry continued, "and, as I said, I can use all the help I can get. It's good training for you too."

  Justin's face shone. "Thank you. Uncle. I'll be there tomorrow."

  Uncle Harry started the engine again, and seconds later Justin stared after the police car that disappeared into the night. This had been a very strange day. He couldn't really decide what had been the best part of the day. His conversation with Amy in the park, or his unexpected promotion as a helper for Dewsbury's only detective. And… there was a dog waiting for him in the bedroom. Life was sure strange.

  He stuck the key in the lock and opened the door. As he stepped in the doorway he was hit by an overwhelming sense of fatigue. Of course he was. He had hardly slept at all the night before, and this day had been very intense. He just hoped his sleep would not be bothered again by another multi-colored dream starring chemistry teacher Sternfoot.

  Chapter Six

  “How did the fight go?” Amy asked at lunch time.

  She and Justin had sauntered off the school grounds and gone into the local park. Because the weather was so mild and balmy, Amy had left her jacket at school and that suited Justin fine. She looked so pretty today, in her tight jeans and red T-shirt, adorned with countless tiny, sparkling stones at the V-shaped neck. Strolling with Amy through the park was certainly a lot more fun than sitting in a musty, stuffy schoolroom and having to listen to boring teachers, droning on and on about things that did not really interest him.

  He had not seen Sternfoot today, and he chuckled as he imagined Rigby trying to tell the various classes the poor man was still sick in bed with his deadly flu. What a liar.

  After they had walked a while Amy spotted a wooden bench under a willow tree, overlooking a pond full of quacking ducks. After they settled down, and Amy had unwrapped her sandwich, she wanted to know all about the events of the night before.

  “Well?” Amy coaxed. “How was it?” She stared at Justin with curious eyes, as she took a big bite of her peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich.

  Justin shook his head. “Awful. I guess you haven’t heard?”

  Amy looked up. “Heard what?”

  “That mighty prize-fighter, Alvaro Ironbark…”

  “Yes, what about him? Did Billy and Joey get his autograph?”

  “No, they didn’t.” Justin wrinkled his nose. “He died.”

  Amy’s eyes widened and she stopped chewing.

  “It wasn’t because of the fight," Justin explained. "My Uncle thinks he was murdered.”

  Now Amy choked on her bread and began to cough, and Justin had to gently slap her on the back. When she caught her breath, she grabbed her plastic bottle of mineral water and took a long drink.

  "Are you all right?" Justin asked, worried that he was about to ruin their intimate lunch break.

  Amy nodded, her eyes still filled with alarm. “H-How did that happen?”

  Justin scratched his head. “They don’t know yet. He might have been poisoned…" He pressed his lips together and raised his finger. "But… there’s more.”

  Her ears pricked up. "What?"

  “You know who I saw there?”

  “Who?”

  “You won’t believe it, but…" Justin lowered his voice, as if he couldn't even trust the branches of the giant willow that were stretching out above them. "… I saw Sternfoot there."

  Amy blinked. "That's not possible. He was sick in bed."

  "Yes," Justin nodded. "That's what Rigby said… but our principle was there too."

  "Rigby was at the fight? Are you sure?" Amy’s eyes were so big that Justin began to fear they would not be able to sustain the pressure.

  Justin nodded. "Absolutely. They were having a conversation and then they shook hands. It looked very weird and suspicious. At least, it did to me."

  Amy frowned. “Maybe he took an Advil and he felt better?"

  "Of course not," Justin scoffed. "I mean, he may have taken a whole package of Advil, but that's not the point. Why was he there? And he did not appear sick at all.”

  Amy pressed her lips together. “And… you are sure it was them? Maybe you saw two folks who just looked like them?”

  “No, Amy,” Justin said while he shook his head. “I know what I saw, I even saw that annoying birthmark on his face.”

  Amy finished her sandwich in silence. At last she looked up and said, "And your Uncle was there?"

  "He's a detective.”

  Justin started an angry tirade about how Billy and Joey had left him there, but thankfully, Uncle Harry had showed up. And when he explained that his uncle had asked him for advice he couldn’t suppress a victorious smile.

  “He asked me to help him."

  Amy seemed impressed. “He did?”

  Justin leaned back on the bench. "In fact, he asked if I can come over to the station after school."

  "A detective, huh?" A slight smile played around Amy's lips. "I always thought there was something special about you."

  Justin shrugged his shoulders. "Well… of course I know nothing, but it sure felt good when my uncle asked for my advice. Who knows, I might want to become a detective myself one day." He grinned as he thought about it. “Sure beats chemistry any day.”

  Amy nodded. "I’d like to meet your uncle sometime.”

  Justin tilted his head to the side. “You would?”

  “Sure?” Amy smacked her lips. “Sounds exciting. What you are telling me beats watching a stupid soap any day. Last night you were at an actual murder scene, while I was wading through another episode of “The Dark Side of Death Row.”

  Justin sat back. The more he discovered what was going on behind the quiet, somewhat reserved, pretty mask that Amy was wearing, the more he liked it. This girl sure had a lot more spunk than Lilly Witherspoon, Sandra Appleby and all the other cheerleaders combined.

  “I am sure we can work that out,” Justin replied, while his face carried a grand smile.

  “It’s a deal,” Amy said.

  When Justin knocked on the door of Uncle Harry's office it was later than he had wanted. The biology class by Miss Minty had lasted forever. Billy and Joey had caused the frail teacher, with her thin lips and nervous eyes, to explode in a fit of anger. Time and time again they had refused to listen to her many warnings to stop fooling around. Of course, the subject had been extremely boring. Miss Minty had fruitlessly been trying to make the class understand the wonders of the glycoprotein, which was according to her, a family of integral plasma membrane proteins which, when over-expressed, function as adenosine triphosphate-dependent efflux pumps, causing multi-drug resistance.

  To be truthful, Justin had not understood it either, but he liked Miss Minty and he too had been annoyed at Billy and Joey's obstinate and muffled laughter. At last, when Sandra Appleby and Lilly Witherspoon had joined in the fun, the bubble had burst, and the aging biology teacher had gotten angry. Even her hair, always so carefully tied in a knot at the base of her neck, had come undone. Her brown locks swung around in a furious manner as she waved her fist in the air and, to Justin's horror, she had made the whole class stay in school after the lesson was over.

&
nbsp; When they were finally dismissed, Justin ran over to the station, hoping he wouldn't be too late to meet with Uncle Harry.

  To Justin's relief, after his second knock, Uncle's booming voice responded with a cheerful Enter. The detective was still around.

  Uncle Harry looked up from his desk as Justin stepped inside. “Good to see you, Justin. I wasn't expected you anymore. Anyway, I am just about to leave. You want to come along?”

  “Where to, Uncle?”

  Uncle Harry pulled out the card he had received the night before from Carl Billows. “I want to talk more to the organizers of these illegal fights. It says here that this Billows fellow can be reached in the local gym.”

  Justin nodded. “I’d like to, Uncle, but I can’t stay too long. I still have to walk the dog, and Mom expects me home for dinner on time.”

  “No problem, Justin,” Harry replied. “The gym is right on the way to your house.” He got up from his desk and grabbed his coat. “Let’s go.”

  As they walked toward the same police car that had safely delivered Justin home the night before, Uncle Harry told Justin what Doctor Barnsley had found. “It’s just as the doctor thought, Justin. Poison. Ironbark was murdered.”

  “What kind of poison?” Justin asked. Not that he knew anything about poisons, but it seemed the right question to ask.

  “Good question,” Uncle Harry answered as he opened the car door. “Apparently, it was a rather unknown poison. According to Barnsley, it can be produced in a laboratory fairly easy by someone who knows what he’s doing.” Uncle Harry adjusted his rear-view mirror as he had knocked it by accident with his head, and stuck his key in the ignition. "The poison is apparently tasteless and has no particular color either, so it can be easily slipped into a drink or something. Once the poison has been given to someone,” he continued, “it remains undetected in the blood, until, all at once, it manifests itself after about six or seven hours. Death follows almost immediately.”

  Justin frowned. “That means you can pretty much figure out the exact time the poison was given to Alvaro.”

  “Good thinking again,” Uncle Harry said as he steered the car away from the parking place. “We found him dead at around 8.30 PM. That means he received the poison somewhere between 1.30 and 2.30 PM. Now we need to know who was around him at that time.”

  All at once and without warning, the image of Sternfoot wormed its way into Justin's mind. It caused him to shiver. What was it that Uncle had just been telling him? This poison can be produced in a laboratory fairly easy by someone who knows what he’s doing. Sternfoot would know how to make such a poison. Justin tried to shake the image off. It was ridiculous, preposterous even. Sure, he didn't like Sternfoot, and he’d had a nightmare about the guy and had seen him at the prize fight, but that didn't make him a killer.

  But, then again… Their chemistry test was supposed to have been at 1.30, just around the time someone gave Alvaro the deadly poison. Could it be that Sternfoot had something to do with it? The thought was so alarming that a little yelp escaped Justin’s throat, causing Uncle Harry to glance at him in alarm.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Uncle?”

  “What?”

  “Remember when you came to our house, and we found Balthazar?”

  “Sure, son. What about it?”

  “I had the strangest dream that night. Our chemistry teacher appeared in my dream as a demon. I was terrified.”

  Uncle Harry focused on the road, and signaled with his blinkers he was about to turn right. They were close to the gym. When he had made his turn he grinned. “You probably ate uncooked or greasy pizza or something like that, before you went to bed. I've heard that causes nightmares.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” Justin shot back. “I never thought it was important, so I didn’t tell you, but I saw the chemistry teacher yesterday at the prize fight.”

  Uncle pricked up his ears. “He was there?”

  Justin nodded. “And it's getting weirder. He was talking to Principle Rigby. But Sternfoot, that's his name, was supposed to be sick in bed, yet he wasn’t.”

  Uncle Harry whistled. “That indeed is strange. Thank you for telling me, Justin.”

  Just then, the gym appeared at the end of the street. Justin often passed by the square building with the giant glass windows on his way to school. He had occasionally stopped to look in. There was always much to see. Old men, with sweat streaming down their bodies, who were plodding around on cruel treadmills that never seemed to have mercy on their aging bodies. Fresh, young ladies in skimpy shorts and tops on shiny red training bikes, with determined but painful expressions on their pretty faces, and muscled young men who were pushing up enormous weights while laying on weird stretchers. But today he wouldn’t just be watching, he would actually go in.

  After they had parked the car and got out, they walked up to the glass front door. As soon as they entered, the peculiar smell of sweat, mixed with scents of creams and healthy body lotions, entered their nostrils. On the opposite side, some ten feet away, was the front desk that was being guarded by a sporty looking, athletic young woman, dressed in a red training suit. She eyed them with curious suspicion as they walked up to her.

  She scratched her blond scalp with a ballpoint pen. Although Harry wasn’t wearing an official uniform, it was clear from his demeanor he didn’t come to improve his energy levels.

  “What can I do for you,” the lady asked, while raising her brows. She was wearing a name tag. It spelled Miss Betty Carrington.

  “Hello Betty,” Uncle Harry said with a slight smile. “Mister Carl Billows gave me his card. He told me I could meet him here.”

  Miss Carrington nodded, grabbed the phone and pushed a button. She listened intently for a moment, but then shook her head. “Mr. Billows is not in. Would you want to talk to Alfred Rodeo? He knows pretty much what’s going on.”

  “Who is Alfred Rodeo?” Uncle Harry queried as he narrowed his eyes.

  Betty smiled. “He’s the co-owner, together with Mr. Billows.”

  Uncle Harry nodded. “Sure. I’ll talk to him.”

  “Who may I say is here?” Betty asked while casting them both a plastic smile.

  “Harrison Ames. Police.”

  Betty’s healthy face flushed. “Police?”

  Uncle Harry did not want to repeat himself and gave her a short nod.

  Betty Carrington picked up the phone again, pushed another button and after she had listened for a few seconds, her face brightened. “Hello… Mister Rodeo? I’ve got some visitors down here… They want to talk to you. It’s… the police.”

  She listened for a moment, then nodded and after she said goodbye, she put the phone down. “Mister Rodeo is extremely busy,” she said as she looked up, “but he will see you anyway, in just a second.” She pointed to an uncomfortable looking seat near the enormous glass window that allowed a good look at all the activities that were going on, in the gym.

  “Please have a seat. Would you want some coffee?”

  “Thank you Betty,” Uncle Harry said. “We are fine.”

  They walked over to the seat and plopped themselves down. Justin reached over to the small coffee table and picked up a copy of Sports and Wonders, the magazine he sometimes read when he wanted to know how his favorite soccer team was doing. Just as he had opened the grimy magazine to an interview with world famous fitness guru Sean Slopper, somebody walked up. Justin looked up and Alfred Rodeo stood before them.

  He was from Asian descent. His black, short cropped hair was made spiky with gel, and he wore small, silver rimmed glasses. Justin figured the man was even smaller than he was himself, but that was not unusual for people from Asian countries. They always seemed rather small. But what the man lacked in height, he sure had compensated in muscles, as through the tight T-shirt he was wearing, Justin could see the contours of countless, formidable muscles. It was clear Rodeo spent a lot of time in his own gym. The man was clearly no push- over.
r />   “What can I do for you, gentlemen?” he asked in a polite voice. “I am rather busy, but Miss Carrington told me you are from the police. Nothing serious, I hope?”

  “That depends,” Uncle Harry said, as he got up. He stared for a second at the man and then gave him a hand. “Is there anywhere we can talk in private?”

  “Sure,” Rodeo replied. He made a welcoming gesture with his hand. “Come and follow me to my office.”

  Seconds later they entered Rodeo’s office. It was a rather luxurious place with lush carpets, tall glass windows and a wide, mahogany desk with two comfortable seats placed before it for visitors. Rodeo motioned with his hands for Uncle Harry and Justin to plop themselves down. His gleaming, formal shoes were creaking as he moved with athletic steps to his own place behind the desk.

  Justin disappeared in the enormous leather seat and noticed a painting right behind Rodeo’s desk that sported the famous athlete Joe Coeburn, who had won seven gold medals at the Olympics some years back.

  Rodeo noticed Justin gaping at it, and smiled. “You are right,” he said, “That’s Joe Coeburn. He used to come to my gym. I had the privilege of training him for a few months.” He licked his lips and pointed his finger in the direction of the painting. “He was the ideal student.”

  “Nice,” Uncle Harry said, not impressed. “I wanted to talk to you about Alvaro Ironbark.”

  For a moment Rodeo’s face flushed. “You mean, that illegal prize fighter that died last night? I read about it in the paper. Most unfortunate. His heart failed him, right?”

  “Not really,” Harry responded. “I believe he was murdered.” Before Rodeo could answer, he posed a question. “Did Ironbark come to the gym on occasion?”

  “Well… eh… yes. Everybody does,” Rodeo answered. “Actually, I believe his name is not really Ironbar—“

  “I know,” Uncle Harry interrupted him, “but we all know who I mean.”

  “Right,” Rodeo curled his lips. “Well detective, my gym is not only the best gym around, it is in fact, the only gym. So, yes, he’s been around. Have you talked to his manager?”