by Frank Smith
When the students arrived they formed into lab groups of three or four and got busy with the experiments. I walked from group to group checking that the spectrometers and the Millikan apparatus were working okay. Tracks were beginning to form in the cloud chambers and the students were photographing them. Despite hearing about subatomic particles since elementary school this was probably the first time the students had ever seen direct evidence of their existence and they were fascinated. Much of what we know about the composition of matter has been obtained by the study of tracks in cloud chambers and bubble chambers. When I see the tracks I experience something like what a paleontologist must feel when looking at fossilized dinosaur tracks in an ancient river bed. The creatures that passed tens of millions of years ago are long gone but the evidence of their passage remains and estimates of their height, weight, the fact that they traveled in groups, and even that an individual animal might have walked with a limp can be inferred from their frozen-in-time footprints. The tracks in a cloud chamber represent evidence of "creatures" that passed only a fraction of a second before and we can make inferences about their energies, masses, and electric charges.
About fifteen minutes into the lab I passed by one of the cloud chambers. One of the students said, "Doctor Donnelly, can you come back here? Look at what's happening. When you're close there seems to be an increase in the number of tracks."
"Sudden bursts are not unusual, Sam. They are random events."
"Well, it seems funny they occur when you're close. You must have a magic touch."
I kept an eye on the cosmic ray activity the rest of the period. I don't believe in magic but there did seem to be something odd going on.
When the students left I dragged Joe Amanti out of his office to take a look.
"I think you're hot, buddy. Do you have any of those radioactive poker chips in your pockets?"
"Nothing," I said, after a completely unnecessary check. Joe was referring to plastic disks that contain small radioactive sources that we use for experiments with radioactive shielding. They're kept in a lead safe. I don't carry them around in my pockets.
"Have any medical tests, nuclear stress test, or anything like that where a radioactive tracer may still be in your system?"
"Not a thing."
"Didn't something like this happen last year?"
"In one of my labs, yes,"
"What did you find?"
"Nothing really. It occurred only once and then things went back to normal. If it hadn't showed up on some of the pictures the students took I would have thought I was seeing things. I emailed a couple of the pictures to some physicists friends but they didn't know what it was either."
"You may want to try them again but I think the students are right. You have the magic touch, a cosmic green thumb."
"Thanks for the technical opinion."
"You're welcome. In your Wednesday lab we'll tackle this cosmic-ray mystery. Wear the same jeans, flannel shirt, and hiking boots you have on now. We'll treat it like a junior high science project. Warn your students. I may have to strip you naked."
"I'm forewarned. Any luck with the video?"
"Yes. Stop in my lab tomorrow morning and I'll show you something."
"Give me a hint?"
"You'll see for yourself but I'll tell you this-it wasn't kids with a twenty-two."
CHAPTER 13-NIGHT CALL
I called Vicki at nine that night. I call every night.
"How was your day?"
"Routine. No major crises. My students want to know when you are going to show them some more of your, in their words, 'super cool' science demonstrations."
"'Super cool', I like that. Your students are very perceptive."
"Maybe too perceptive. One of my girls asked me if I liked you and when these kids say 'like' it has a romantic meaning."
"So did you tell her that you 'like' me?"
"I said we all like Father Donnelly."
"Nice dodge."
"She wasn't fooled. Anyhow, how was your day?"
"Hectic and a little weird. I had a visit from a police detective and then there was kind of a freakish observation in my lab this afternoon."
"What's a freakish observation?"
"Unexplained observation is a better description. Probably nothing."
"What did the detective say about the shooting?"
"She came about the nasty emails, not the shooting. Apparently I'm not the only one who has been receiving them. She said an elderly priest has received similar ones."
I skipped the part about him being dead.
"She?"
"Detective Angela Rossi. She seemed to know what she was doing."
"Uh, huh. When do you think the Vatican will respond to your petition?"
"Soon, I'm sure."
Technically this morning's letter was not a response, so it wasn't a lie-maybe a sin of omission.
"We hope. They sure take their time. Don't forget the party tomorrow. Bounce Town. King of Prussis. Four-thirty."
"Can't wait. Love you, or should I say I like you.
"And I like you too."
CHAPTER 14- JOE'S ANALYSIS
Eight o'clock the next morning I showed up in Joe's office with two paper cups of coffee and two glazed doughnuts. Adequately fortified we went down to the electronics lab where Joe had a laptop connected to an oscilloscope.
While Joe fooled with the equipment he had fun riding me about the cosmic ray experiment.
"Was I sure I was a priest and not a witch doctor? Did I ever try rain dancing?
Finally he said, "I want you to look at the waveforms produced by the sound on the video. Turn on the laptop and bring up the video, Frank, while I make some adjustments. There, that should do it. Okay run the video."
When the shot occurred a few blips appeared on the scope's screen.
"Lower the sweep speed a bit," I said and ran it again.
"Looks good," Joe said. "Now, one more time for the money and I'll capture the screen image. Perfect. The narrow spike in amplitude on the right of the screen is from the sonic boom as the bullet passed near the camera. The broader pulse behind it is the actual sound of the shot, followed by pulses of decreasing amplitude caused by the echoes. If I count the divisions along the horizontal time axis between the crack and the shot? I get just about?450 milliseconds. So, when the bullet whizzed past trailing the shock wave that produced the sharp snap the slower moving sound made by the explosion in the gun barrel took another 450 milliseconds or almost an extra half second to reach the cell phone. With sound traveling at 1100 feet per second that puts the sound pulse about 500 feet behind the bullet, almost 200 yards."
"And the gun even further back than that," I said. "Definitely not just across the street. Not good news. I could have been the target and the shooter missed."
"It's a possibility, pal, but look, given a good rifle with a scope and solid support, a decent marksman could drill that statue at 200 yards. I think even I could do it."
I took a picture of the screen with my cell phone camera.
"All that trouble just for some mischief?" I said.
"Yeah, doesn't sound like kids with a twenty-two, does it? Send that picture and the video to the police. They might be able to extract some information from those waveforms."
"Yeah, I will. Thanks, Joe."
His mouth full and the coffee cup to his lips Joe gave me a "no-problem" wave of his free hand. After a sip and a swallow he managed to say, "Tomorrow afternoon. We check you out. I'll bring a Geiger counter."
I would send the picture and video to O'Brien, as soon as I checked out something at the statue first.
Back in my office I downloaded some of the photos the students had taken with the digital cameras to my computer. I picked out three that showed the abnormal cosmic ray activity and three more with normal activity and used my secure email account to send them with a short note to a friend, Sal Lucasi. Sal is a Jesuit astrophysicist who has done work on cosmi
c rays. He spends his time teaching at Georgetown and doing research at Arizona State and the Vatican Observatory.
In the afternoon I put thoughts of cosmic rays, the CDF, and a nasty differential equation that I was having trouble solving behind me and left early to pick up Olivia. We headed to the birthday party.
CHAPTER 15-BOUNCE TOWN
Late afternoon birthday parties are fine with me. The parents of the celebrant feel obliged to feed the adults and it saves me the trouble of fixing dinner. The pizza at Bounce Town is passable but for kids' parties I prefer the pizza plus salad bar at Chuck-E-Cheese's. Vicki and I were sitting on a bench in a corner while Olivia and Joey oscillated between the giant air-filled slide and the Moon Bounce. The guest of honor was their five-year- old friend, Mark. Mark looked like he wanted to skip the festivities and get to his presents which filled a big plastic tub near the door; half of them wrapped with the free paper from Toys"R"Us. I hoped his mother had an SUV or a truck.
"What did we get him?" I asked.
"Joey is giving him a Power Ranger helmet. Looks like a motorcycle helmet but more sinister. When you wear it and talk it changes your voice so that you sound like Darth Vader. Olivia is giving him a sword that flashes and makes all kind of noise. I taped a ten-pack of batteries to the box."
"I hope Mark's parents can tolerate a high decibel level."
"They asked for it. I called Betty last week and that was one of the suggestions."
I took out my wallet. "Here's my share."
"That's too much."
"No it's not. You had gas and the trouble. Take it. How was your day?"
"Easy. My students were taking the diocesan achievement tests all day-let me see that hand. I got some writing done and, good news, a print publisher is interested in one of the mysteries I self-published on the internet; the one about the crime-solving gerbil-this bandage is looking pretty ratty."
"Hey that's great! I'm in love with a famous author."
"Oh look at Olivia on the slide!" she said pointing.
I fell for it and Vicki ripped the soiled pad off my palm.
"Ow!"
"Don't be a baby."
I looked at my palm. "Doesn't look too bad. What are you working on now?"
"I call it The Purloined Parrot. It's about a pet parrot that's kidnapped by some sixth-grade bullies" she said as she rooted around in her tote bag. "People going around shooting at shrines to the Virgin. It's not right. Serve them right if they were struck by lightning. We're not even safe at church anymore."
"A Parrot? Ouch! That stung. What was that?"
"Bactine spray."
"A Parrot?"
"A Norwegian Blue. Monty Python? The dead parrot skit? The 'ex-parrot' was a Norwegian Blue."
"That's why it was funny," I said. "Parrots are tropical birds. They don't live in Norway."
"They did-sixty million years ago. They found a fossil. Nicknamed it 'Norwegian Blue'."
"Seriously?"
"Yes," she said while doing some more rooting. "I'm taking your advice and working some science into my stories. I want them to be educational as well as entertaining."
I had read one of her stories about a hamster and suggested that she put in some "sciencey" details about the animal: diet, native environment, mating habits, et cetera.
"Mating habits, Frank? How hamsters do it?" she had said.
"Now, that looks a lot better," she said.
I looked at the crossed Spider Man bandages on my palm and flexed my fingers.
"I don't know about this, Vic"
"It's all I had in my bag. Who's going to see it anyway?"
"Me?"
"And you can smile when you look at it. You should be glad I carry a few basics for emergencies."
"I do and thank you. So what's the story with the parrot?"
"A kidnapped parrot. One that knows how to use a cell phone. You see Priscilla?"
"Priscilla Thoroughgood. Your sixth grade sleuth character."
"Right. Priscilla trained her parrot to answer her cell phone. She would put the phone in his cage and when it would ring he would peck a key to answer and would say, 'She's not here. Awk. I'm her pet parrot. Awk. Can I help you?' Her friends would call just to hear the parrot. Anyhow, when he was parrotnapped his abductors made the mistake of leaving him alone with a cell phone and he randomly speed-dial-pecked a bunch of numbers, always repeating his message. Well one of the kids he reached recognized his voice and?"
"Stop. This is ridiculous. Who would go for this?"
"My readers. Preteens love mysteries like this. They loved fairy tales when they were younger but they didn't believe-she flicked air quotes above her head- 'that pumpkins can turn into carriages or frogs into princes'. Did you ever read Dracula?"
"Yes, I did."
"Did you like it?"
"Yes."
"Do you believe in vampires?"
"I get the point. Speaking of stories, did you get a chance to look over what I wrote about our first meeting?"
"I'm working on it, Frank. It needs a little tweaking."
"What's wrong with it?"
"Well, for one thing, it sounds like the beginning of a bad private eye novel. Pink toenails peeking out of my sandals? A strap across my breasts? The gentle touch of my fingers in a handshake that gave you goose bumps?"
"That's just a little poetic license. Make it interesting."
"Why stop there?" she said as she reached into her tote bag and pulled out a pair of scissors, a small bag of Doritos, and a compact first aid kit before coming up with a folded sheet of paper.
"What else do you have in there? A defibrillator? Oxygen tank?" I reached for the bag.
"Nothing doing," she said grabbing it.
She unfolded the paper and smoothed it on her lap. "I think this is more what you mean. Ready?"
"Shoot."
"The first indicators of a change for the better that crummy afternoon were the wet pink toenails peeking out of a sandal in the half opened door of my office. She didn't wait for an invitation to come in. 'Vicki Meyers,' she had said as she held out her hand. The gentle touch of her cool fingers gave me goose bumps. 'I need your help,' she said as she sat and lit a cigarette. 'Someone put a bullet between my husband's eyes last night and the Philly coppers are trying to pin it on me. I could use a drink. You got any scotch in this dump you call an office?' "
Vicki squealed and clutched the paper to her breast dramatically as I reached for it.
"Well, I declare, Reverend Doctor, Herr Professor Francis X. Donnelly, I do believe you're trying to take advantage of li'l ol me. A man of the cloth? And in front of all these in-cent li'l chilrun."
"You almost had me for a minute," I said laughing. "I thought you were serious."
"Just tone it down a bit. We're not Bogey and Bacall," she said. "Remember we met on the church steps."
"And I did get goose bumps."
"That's sweet, Frank."
"It's true."
"You deserve a quick kiss. See anybody from the CIA around here?"
"It's the CDF."
"Whatever."
As if to protest that show of public affection there was a scream from the Moon Bounce as two heads tried to violate a fundamental law of physics and occupy the same space at the same time. Across the room two boys on the slide were whacking each other.
"Meltdown , Frank. Party's over. "
CHAPTER 16-WHEN I MET VICKI
After I put Olivia to bed that night I opened MS Word and clicked on the document titled, "We Meet", the one Vicki said needed tweaking. The writing business started with an innocent remark I made a few months earlier. I implied, or maybe I came right out and said it, that writing stories about hamsters and turtles was a lot easier than writing scientific papers. Big mistake.
"Oh, you think so Donnelly? Show me something you wrote."
I had dug out an article I had written for the American Journal of Physics. She read a paragraph or two and offered her c
ritique.
"Listen to this. You wrote, 'When the function was integrated from zero to infinity the unexpected non-zero result of two pi was obtained'. The whole article is like that. All passive voice."
In my defense I had said that was common for scientific papers. She didn't buy it.
"Well I'd hardly call that 'writing'. You did this integration, right?"
"Yes, an integration is a mathematical?"
"I know what it is. I had calculus in high school. Why not write, 'I integrated the function from zero to infinity and, big surprise, instead of coming out zero it was two pi?' Sounds better doesn't it? I mean you wouldn't write, 'The supermarket receipt was checked and the unexpected non-zero charge of five dollars for a can of peas was discovered.' Don't these journals have any editors?"
That led to our contest. I try to write things like she would, as a novelist that is. She tries to put information in her juvenile fiction that will teach her readers some science.
Last Spring, shortly after I was assigned to St. Elizabeth's, I had mentioned at Mass one Sunday that I would like to get involved with some activities in the parish school. A few days later I received an email from one of the teachers. She requested some help with experiments on light for her sixth grade class. We exchanged a few more emails and I volunteered to lend her some equipment.
So, I worked on my rewrite of that first meeting. I "tweaked". The pink toenails and the strap across her breast were out. The goose bumps stayed. Bogey and Bacall were out. Frank and Vicki were in.
We Meet
"My, my, now aren't you a pretty little girl?" the woman had said as Olivia and I stood on the church steps after Mass.
"Yes, I am. My daddy said so."
Regrettably I did not know her nephew, Father Martin in Abington, or her cousin, a nun at St. Barnabas in West Philadelphia.