Relatively Dead

by Cook, Alan

  Rigo looked at the paper. “This is fascinating. Not. A bunch of X’s. X’s are more up your alley than mine, since X is usually a mathematical term. ‘Now Is the Month tO get youR houSe in ordEr.’ If you take out the letters that are capitalized they spell NIMORSE.”

  “Great minds think alike. That’s what I did too. What in tarnation, to quote my grandmother, is a NIMORSE?”

  “Brainstorming. Morse is a code. Morse code.”

  “Which is dashes and dots, right? Which X’s are dashes and which are dots?”

  “Beats the hell out of me.”

  ***

  Frances stared at the piece of paper with the code on it. “I’m good at finding people and analyzing old photos, but I’m not known as a code breaker. I appreciate your confidence in me, but I’m not sure it was justified.”

  “You’re the only Ph.D. I know. I figured if anybody could crack it you could.”

  My own brain hadn’t gotten any further with it. I was looking for ideas. I had a free day, because I wasn’t going to meet Jason until tomorrow. Frances was about to leave on one of her person-finding trips, which took her all over the world, so I figured this was the only window I’d have to show her the code. She studied it some more.

  “What’s the name of the game you played when you scammed the scam artist?”

  I laughed. “Everyone remembers that. I didn’t actually know the name when I did it, or more likely, I’d forgotten it, but I looked it up on the Internet. Of course, it’s not easy to look something up when you don’t know its name, but after trying various combinations of key words I found it. It’s called Nim.”

  “Aha. Nim. Like the first three letters of this word, NIMORSE, that constitute the capitalized letters in the sentence.”

  “Frances, you’re a genius. Why didn’t I see that? And it makes some sort of sense. Those rows of X’s could be a gigantic Nim game.”

  “All right, let’s start with that assumption. When faced with a Nim layout like this, how would you proceed?”

  We were now in my realm. “You have to determine the winning strategy. The game goes like this: Each player in turn deletes any number of X’s from a single row. The object is to delete the last X. To figure out your strategy, first you count the number of cards, checkers, or in this case, X’s, in each row.”

  We did that: 8, 3, 15, 22, 8, 26, 5, 7.

  “Then you convert each of these numbers to binary.”

  We wrote them down: 1000, 11, 1111, 10110, 1000, 11010, 101, 111.

  “Now what?” I couldn’t see the next step.

  Frances was unfazed. “Rigo suggested this might be a form of Morse code. The M in NIMORSE may be part of both NIM and MORSE. Doing double duty. Nobody said code constructors aren’t clever. For example, the ones in the numbers could be dashes and the zeroes could be dots.”

  She got on the Internet and brought up a page showing the Morse code for each letter of the alphabet. Using her assumption, she converted the binary numerals to letters: B, M, ?, ?, B, ?, K, O.

  When she was done she shook her head. “Too many unknowns. All right, let’s assume the ones are dots and the zeroes are dashes.”

  That produced the following result: J, I, H, ?, J, ?, R, S.

  Frances threw down her pencil in disgust. “Well, I tried.”

  I’d been staring at the binary numbers. “All binary numbers start with one, because a leading zero is meaningless. It’s just like our base ten where you don’t start a number with zero. Maybe the leading ones are place holders. For example, the first number is one, zero, zero, zero. If you drop the one you have zero, zero, zero. If the zeroes represent dots you have—”

  “An S.”

  Frances caught my meaning. She quickly looked up all the numbers, assuming the leading ones didn’t count, and the other ones were dashes and the zeroes were dots. This is what she got: S, T, O, P, S, C, A, M.

  I saw it. “STOP SCAM. Stop the scam. That’s it. It is a warning. A warning that could have come from the murderer. The timing suggests the same person killed Timothy and Jason. He’d already killed Timothy and was warning Jason.”

  “Good job.” Frances was excited. “You have to take this to the police.”

  “I will. As soon as I show it to Jason. I’m seeing him tomorrow.”

  ***

  Wednesday morning dawned clear and cloudless. And warm for an April day. Which was a good thing because Jason had proposed we climb 10,800 foot Mt. San Jacinto when I talked to him on the phone. He said he’d often climbed it from the top of the Palm Springs tramway. That made it sound easy until he told me it was a 2,500 foot vertical climb and a 5.5 mile hike from the top of the tram.

  Well, if he could do it I could do it. He said he didn’t climb all the way to the top alone anymore, because the last pitch was a scramble over large boulders, and if you slipped and hurt yourself there was no guarantee anyone would find you right away. He was always looking for hiking partners.

  I questioned the time of year, having noticed the higher mountains we could see from the home of Rigo’s parents still had snow on them. He said if the snow got too deep we wouldn’t try to make it to the top.

  Thus assured, I drove to Palm Springs in the early morning hours. I was going against commuter traffic and making good time, especially once I got onto I-10. I thought about the coded email message and wondered when I’d learned how to play Nim. I was able to play when I had amnesia, but I suspected I’d learned long before then. Supposedly, there was a Boyd math gene. Had someone in the family taught me?

  My cell phone rang while I was on the Interstate. Being a law-abiding sort most of the time now, I didn’t answer it, but I noticed it was Jason calling from his cell phone. He had to come around the mountain from his home in Idyllwild, which was on the other side of Mt. San Jacinto.

  As I approached the impressive mountain I’d figured out must be San Jacinto, I could see patches of snow at the upper elevations. I turned onto Route 111 from I-10 and drove through desert sand. I stopped at the intersection of 111 and the road that led uphill to the tram base station, which is at the outskirts of Palm Springs. I returned Jason’s call. He answered on the first ring.

  “Cynthia, I’m running a little late. Go ahead and take the ten o’clock tram up. Hike down the ramp from the station at the top into Long Valley and continue to the ranger station. Get a permit for yourself. Continue on for maybe half a mile and wait for me at some pretty spot. I’ll come up on either the next tram or the one after that. I’ll get my own permit and meet you on the trail.”

  It was noon in North Carolina. I decided to make a quick call home. Audrey answered the phone and said everything was going fine there but they missed me. Grandma was having a good day. I had Audrey put her on the line. Grandma asked me when I was coming home.

  “In a couple of days, Grandma. I’ve just about got everything wrapped up here. I can’t wait to see you. I love you.”

  “You’ve been gone so much. I thought you’d gotten tired of living with an old lady like me.”

  “Grandma, I’ll never get tired of you. Let me ask you a question while I’ve got you. Did you ever play a mathematical game called Nim?”

  She thought for a few seconds. “Nim? Is that the game where you pick up cards and try to pick up the last card?”

  “Yes.” That was the simplified version. “Did you teach me how to play?”

  “I believe so. You were very precocious when it came to playing games.”

  About then we got cut off. I tried to call her again but couldn’t get a good signal. Damn mountains. I drove up the road to the base station and parked close to the building. There weren’t many people there yet on a weekday morning.

  ***

  The round tram car rotated, turning a couple of complete revolutions during the ride up the mountain. We climbed 6,000 feet, passed five metal towers, rocking at each one to oohs and aahs from the passengers, and went through the same number of climate zones. As we ascended, almost verticall
y at times, we ogled huge rock formations. I tried to forget how far above solid ground we were and stopped looking down.

  The other tram car we were linked to via cable came whizzing by us at the halfway point like a flying saucer, heading downward and giving us an idea of how fast we were moving. As we neared the top I screwed up my courage and looked down on the artificially green golf courses of the desert communities, including Palm Springs and Indio. Across the Coachella Valley snow crowned the top of Mt. San Gorgonio, which I knew to be even higher than Mt. San Jacinto.

  The tram slid slowly into its berth. I put on my day pack and followed the other passengers into the wooden building. It had several stories. A stairway led down to the outside door and the wilderness. It was chilly in the open air. I was wearing my North Face top over a couple of layers of sweaters and my heaviest slacks. I’d also borrowed a wool hat and a pair of gloves from Rigo. I hoped I’d be warm enough.

  Following Jason’s orders, I walked down the long ramp to a relatively level area known as Long Valley. I followed a trail to the nearby ranger station, found a pad of permit forms on the porch of the small building, also made of wood, and filled out one of them. I left one copy in the box, as requested, and carried the other copy with me. Then I started hiking along the well maintained trail leading into the wilderness, amid the towering pine trees similar to those in Idyllwild. The air was fresh and the rocks and trees sharp and clean, producing a feast for the senses.

  There was no snow at this altitude, a bit under nine thousand feet, but the creek I crossed on a log was running high and fast, and the water looked to be about the temperature of the water you’re usually served in a restaurant, loaded with ice cubes. There was definitely snow above.

  I walked for another five minutes and then remembered to stop and wait for Jason. I sat on a piece of granite with a semi-flat surface and wished I were a poet so I could describe the beauty around me.

  CHAPTER 32

  I spotted Jason before he spotted me. He was coming up the trail, head down, watching his step, his long strides eating up the ground. I marveled, not for the first time, at how fit he looked for a septuagenarian. He wore one of his jackets with an infinite number of pockets, in addition to what looked like lined pants, plus boots and gloves. He also wore a day pack.

  He glanced up and saw me as he approached my rock, momentarily had a startled expression on his face, then stopped, not breathing particularly hard. “You blended in with the scenery. I almost passed you by.”

  “Thanks to you, I’m learning how to be an outdoor person. I’m one with the wilderness.” I got up from my perch and gave him a quick hug. “How far do you think we can go?”

  Jason shrugged. “No pressure. I’ve climbed San Jacinto enough times. I don’t really need to do it again. Although it would be fun for you to reach the top.”

  “Not if I have to walk through three feet of snow.”

  Jason took a sip from a water bottle he pulled from a pocket of his pack. “One advantage of snow is that it’s relatively clean. You can melt it and use it for drinking water.”

  In a minute he started up the trail, with me following close behind. The gradual ascent made it possible for us to hold a conversation. He asked me if I had the email with me.

  “I left it in the car. I figured we’d go over it at your place tonight.” Jason had invited me to spend the night at his cabin.

  “Do you have any idea who this Ironsides character is who sent it?”

  “No. But I imagine it would be easy for the police to find out. The service provider can tell them.”

  “Were you able to decode the message?”

  “It wasn’t easy, but I did it with the help of a couple of other people. It’s a combination of Morse code and the game called Nim. The message is, ‘STOP SCAM.’”

  “You haven’t showed it to the police, have you?”

  “No.” On the phone, Jason told me not to show the email to the police. I told him I wouldn’t. Didn’t he trust me?

  “I don’t want the police to see the email. If they do, the involvement of Jason and Timothy in the syndicate may come out. It will be a blot on the Boyd family name.”

  After talking to Rigo and Frances, I knew we had to go to the police. “We can’t suppress evidence. This may be an important clue to the murderer—or at least one of the murderers, assuming there’s more than one, although at this point I don’t think so. The timing of the message, just after Timothy’s death…”

  Jason didn’t answer, and we hiked upward in silence for a few minutes. Traces of snow appeared alongside the trail. By the time we arrived at a camping area called Round Valley, the snow was drifting a foot high in places, but the trail was still clear. We hadn’t seen anyone else and there were no fresh footprints in the snow.

  Jason pointed to two wooden outhouses near the trail. “Do you need to go?”

  “No, thanks.” They looked smelly and dirty and cold. I didn’t want to sit down in one of those things. If I had to, I’d go behind a tree.

  Jason, however, said he needed to use one. He went inside and closed the door behind him. Of course, he probably didn’t have to sit down. I munched on an energy bar and marveled at the silence. There was no wind to disturb the stillness of the trees.

  He came out and led the way to a spot where the trail made a ninety-degree turn to the left. He stuck out an arm in invitation. “Would you like to lead for a while?”

  I took the lead and continued up the trail. Above Round Valley the trail was covered with snow in places. I was wearing my running shoes. They worked reasonably well in the snow, which was crunchy. I had to be careful of my footing to keep from slipping, and I might get my feet wet, but the shoes had worked for our previous climb of Tahquitz Peak. Behind me, Jason plodded along. His boots didn’t seem to have a problem with the snow.

  I was wondering whether Jason was so concerned about the family honor that he’d let a murderer escape. Thoughts raced through my head related to the email. It suddenly occurred to me to wonder where Grandma had learned to play Nim. I remembered something Jason said the first time we talked on the phone. He said he’d read about my exploits when I was trying to recover my identity, and was amused that I’d gotten the best of a scam artist playing Nim. The word Nim was never used in any news reports I’d ever seen, and up to that point in the conversation I hadn’t used it. However, it didn’t register with me as being odd at the time.

  I turned my head to question Jason about it. He was walking several paces behind me, looking down at his hand that was pulling something out of one of his many pockets. At that moment a ray of sunlight snaked through the tree branches above us and reflected off it with a bright gleam. I realized what it was. It was a small but deadly knife.

  Everything came together in my head and I knew instantly what the knife was for. It was for me. Jason looked up to where I’d stopped. I was staring at it. He had a strange expression on his craggy face.

  “I don’t like to do this, Cynthia, but you know too much and you’re too pushy. You don’t understand that you should stay out of other people’s business.”

  I started walking backward without thinking, staring at the knife with the hypnotic fascination one must feel watching the head of a swaying cobra. Jason walked toward me with a steady pace, not hurrying. I couldn’t believe he would really kill me.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I have to get you out of the picture. You’re making life too difficult for me. It won’t hurt much. I’m an expert.”

  “But…but…”

  I stuttered, not being able to find words. Then the mistake of trying to walk backward on an uneven trail extracted its toll. I tripped over a root and fell on my backpack. I hit hard and was momentarily stunned, unable to move. Jason hovered over me. His knife looked much larger than it actually was. This was the end.

  I instinctively brought my knees up to my chest. Jason stood in front of my feet. He was about to move around them. It was now o
r never. Using training I’d had in martial arts, I aimed a kick at his groin with both feet. He let out an “ooof” and fell backward.

  Taking advantage of the momentum from the kick, I sprang to my feet, intending to grab the knife from him. If I’d connected with my target I would have put him out of commission. Unfortunately, he’d moved at the last instant and I missed by a hair. He was on the ground, supporting himself with one hand. The other hand still held the knife.

  His expression showed pain, and he appeared to be struggling to breathe. He’d had the wind knocked out of him. While he was incapacitated I could try to kick the knife out of his hand, but the unevenness of the ground made that difficult, and if I missed I would be within his grasp and become toast. While I hesitated he recovered his breath and started panting and the opportunity was lost.

  My next thought was to run the two-plus miles back to the tram station. I should be able to keep ahead of him, especially on the downhill where the agility of my youth would be a benefit. But this part of the trail was so narrow he was completely blocking it. A tangle of huge pine trees and rocks on either side made it impossible to go around him. I retreated a few feet up the trail.

  Jason slowly got to his feet, wincing a little. “Nice try. You almost caught me off guard. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  I went a few more feet and stopped. “Look, Jason, this isn’t going to work. Why do you want to kill me, anyway?” Then I answered my own question. “Because you killed Timothy—and Jason.”

  He didn’t say anything. He was still recovering from my kick. I hoped I’d done permanent damage. My thoughts became clearer. I needed to stall for time until I could figure out what to do.

  “You’re Ironsides. You sent the email to Jason while he was in Northern Ireland. You knew he’d solve it because you taught him Morse code and Nim. It let him know you’d killed Timothy and he was next if he didn’t stop the syndicate. Not only that, you had some sort of relationship with Timothy. I’ll bet you’ve known the Irish side of the Boyd family since you were at Oxford.”