Clutch of the Green Specter by Wayne

Williams Jr.
Introduction
Beneath the city of metropolitan Manhattan runs a vast, mysterious
network of sewer tunnels. These sewers, long ago built to carry away the
by-product of human subsistence to the seas, interweave and intersect
one another, here combining with one, there running into the next, and
thus culminating in an elaborate and seemingly endless labyrinth. The
inhabitants of the city, perhaps bored by their humdrum existence, have
time and again, over the years, conjured fantastic stories out of their
imaginations and connected them to this strange, sunless world that
exists under their very feet. Many a time has a man, while prodding
along the city streets and having chanced upon a covered manhole in the
round, pondered upon what manner of foul, unearthly creatures could be
lurking in the dark sewers below.

My client Charles McCormick sat slumped in a chair across the table

from me. With dark rings under his eyes and his short pale hair
ungroomed, he looked an absolute wreck. That was however not at all
unexpected, considering what he had gone through.

He and I were in an interrogation room at the city police station. As he

sat there murmuring apparent nonsense to himself under his breath, my
own mind wandered to the bizarre train of events that had brought us
there.

-
In a careless, idly fashion, the carroty rays of the late afternoon sun
stroked down upon the calm, placid waters of the pier behind me.
Innumerable vessels of all kinds - steamships, yachts, boats, dinghies,
and other sea crafts - littered the banks, their numerous masts and lines
seemingly entwined with one another to form one colorful and dizzying
tapestry.

Wiping a bead of sweat from my brow, I looked up at the shabby block

of apartments before me. I had been summoned there by an
"acquaintance" of mine. Earlier that morning sitting in my office, I had
been visited by a ragged and dirty-looking brat. He did not speak but
handed me a note. I unfolded and read it, and with some surprise saw
that it had been written by Thomas Lee, the local soothsayer. On it was
scribbled a request for my presence at his quarters that very same
afternoon, for discussion over a matter he believed to be of "grave
importance".

Thomas is a regular face around town. I know there are many who
consult with him on a regular basis. More skeptical folks considered him
nothing more than a charlatan, but still our local fortune teller owns a
reputation of being rather accurate in his predictions. Although I never
use his "services" myself, I have met his acquaintance. Thomas Lee has
in fact proven to be a valuable source in several of my own cases. Much
information he could learn of his clients through the conduct of his
business. Information that I had often found useful.

Thomas held his consultations at his apartment housed in a block known

to the locals as the Gypsy Camp. It was situated right in front of the
docks. This was simply put, the rougher side of town. Crude sailors and
crewmen, whores, and homeless children populated the streets here and
were a common sight. I was now myself jostled by some of these brats
for loose coins, whom I shooed away with angry gestures. One of them
however caught my eye. She was no more than six or seven of age, with
dirtied pale blonde hair. She stood some distance from me. I approached
her and squatted down so that her grubby but adorable face was level
with mine.

"I will tell you a secret for a coin," said she with a mischievous, childish
grin.

Retrieving one from my pocket, I pressed it into her hand, whereupon

she leaned near and whispered conspiratorially into my ear. At that, I
smiled. The girl said no more after this and went away.

I stepped out of the dying rays of the dusk, and into the shadows of the
rundown building. After some flights of poorly-paved cement stairs with
severely rusting handholds, I arrived before the unit where the
soothsayer resides. I had been there several times before, so it was not
totally unfamiliar to me.

In front of the fortune teller's apartment unit stands a little curious box,
taller than a man and looking somewhat like a telephone booth. It had
been however, fixed with a glass panel so that it served the purpose as a
sort of reception counter. I knew that it connected to the apartment
behind it. A placard hanging by the door reads:

QUICK READ - PRESS BELL

DETAIL CONSULT - KNOCK DOOR

The booth was where Thomas would give a quick read if a customer had
not the time for a longer consultation. When the bell by the booth is
rung, Thomas would appear in it and, armed with his deck of tarots or
crystal ball, would proceed with a quick reading of the customer's
fortune. If one wished for a more detailed consultation, this would be
conducted inside the premises.

I knocked on the door. After a few moments, it opened and Thomas

himself stood before me. After a brief greeting and exchange of
courtesy, he ushered me inside. Before long, I was seated in his living
room, one that was unlike any other I have ever been in. It housed a
large assortment of unnamable curiosities, probably of eastern origins. A
large tiger skin rug with the cat's mighty head still intact lay nearby my
feet, its vacant eyes glaring eerily up at me. The strong aroma of some
exotic incense constantly choked my nostrils. The dimly lit room, draped
here and there with lavish curtains and rugs, seemed the drowsier in the
heat of the late afternoon. Most peculiarly, along one wall laid several
lidded baskets, from which were heard soft sounds that sounded much
like the hissing of snakes.

Thomas had disappeared into the back, but now he returned with a cup
of tea that he handed me.

"I must apologize for having summoned you here at such short notice,
detective," said Thomas. "This business is however of paramount
importance. For it could concern, possibly, a matter of life or death. I
know I could use your advice. Now, I must tell you the story from the
beginning."

I asked him to proceed.

"Have you heard of the McCormicks, detective?" asked Thomas.

I replied that I have. The McCormicks were rather well-known in town,

for their immense wealth, if for little else.

"Two days ago, I visited the McCormick house, a large manor on the
outskirts of the city. I had been invited there by Charles McCormick, son
to the old patriarch of the house, Arthur. The younger McCormick had
summoned me there to have the fortune read for his father.

"Now it is not my usual practice to acquiesce to such "house-call"

requests. But for this instance I agreed, for Charles had promised me a
rather handsome fee for my service. When I went there however, it
became apparent to me that Arthur McCormick was not a man who
believed in such as my craft. Even before I had commenced my reading,
he made it clear that he considered it much nonsense, and had only
agreed to the meeting due to his son's persuasions.

"I do not expect you, detective, to believe in my craft yourself. How I

come by my conclusions about a man's fortune, I have my ways. But
what happened next was a thing most extraordinary. I proceeded with a
reading for Arthur's fortune, and began to have the clearest vision of the
man's destiny. It was as lucid to me as pebbles under a clear stream."

Thomas paused at this. I asked him to tell me what he saw.

"What I read from my cards," said Thomas ominously. "Was that the
man would soon meet his end. To put it plainly, I saw that the man was
about to die."

As he said this, Thomas looked at me intently with his dark, beady eyes.

"It is my professional practice to tell the truth of what I see. And so I

told Arthur what I had foreseen of his near future. I do not hold anything
I read from my clients, whether they desire to hear of it or not. Arthur
did not take it well however. He erupted into a tremendous rage, called
me a lying cheat, and just about threw me out of his house. I had learnt
about old McCormick's temper, yet it was the first time I had
experienced it. He is a rather violent man, I should say.

"Charles escorted me out of the house, and afterwards, while he and I

stood on the steps outside, apologized profusely for his father's actions. I
did not, of course, take it to heart. For I understand that no man desires
to hear of his own demise. I had consulted with Arthur alone, and
Charles did not know what had caused his father to be angered, and so
he asked me about it. I had been so sure of Arthur's impending end, so I
advised Charles about it. I saw that Charles turned very pale. This was
hardly surprising, for I knew Charles to be a filial son.
"At this point, rather to my surprise, Charles then inquired if he could
come by the next day to visit at my own quarters, presumably to learn
more about my prediction. I was pleased that my craft was at least taken
seriously by the younger McCormick if not the older, and so I agreed
readily.

"The next day, Charles indeed turned up as promised. We talked of my

reading of his father's impending misfortune, and I told him honestly,
once again, what I had seen in my cards. Upon confirmation of this he
quickly took leave. Before did so he asked, again much to my surprise, if
he could bring Arthur along the next day to visit at my apartment. He
wished to bring his father to apologize for the rudeness I had suffered at
his house. I did not believe Arthur to be capable of apologizing to me,
being the proud man he is. I told Charles there is no need for any
apology, but he was adamant on this. He said that he would come by
with his father the next day in the evening between the hours of six to
seven."

I noted that the time was half past five, now, which meant the
McCormicks were expected soon if they do decide to come.

"You must be puzzled as to what business is it of yours in all of this?"

asked Thomas.

I replied that I was.

"All I require of you, detective, is that you meet with the McCormicks
when they arrive later. And since I am convinced of the man's danger, I
wish you to derive what you can about it from the meeting, and to advise
me about it afterwards."

I did not know what to make of this. I am to take on a case that had
come out of a hunch of the fortune teller's? It seemed like a most
ridiculous proposition to me. However, my interest had somewhat been
piqued in the matter, and I expected to be paid anyway, no matter the
outcome, and so I agreed to meet with the McCormicks and to gather
what I could from the meeting.

"I thank you, detective," said Thomas. "And that, unless I am mistaken
is the father and son upon my doorstep."

Footfalls were heard outside his door. Thomas went to receive his
expected visitors, and before long, Arthur and Charles McCormick were
seated before me. Both men seemed surprised as to my presence but
spoke no objection.

The contrast between the two McCormicks could not have been greater.
Arthur, whom I guessed to be about sixty in age, walked with a distinct
arrogance in his step despite his age and had an general air of authority
about him, so that many would be rather in awe of the old man in his
presence. His son, Charles however appeared to be rather a meek and
shy man. Our eyes met and he nodded his acknowledgement politely.

"Let us get to business," said Arthur roughly. "I do not wish to stay
long."

He glared at Thomas, who returned his stare in the calmest manner.

"Two days ago at my own house, I was told by you quite plainly that I
was about to meet my own end."

Thomas nodded.

"Do you admit you were much mistaken, or do you still stand by it?"

"I still do," said Thomas calmly. "What I read in my cards, I have told
you, and I stand by it."

Arthur McCormick boiled red in the face at this.

"Well, then, so can I tell you. I do not believe a word of your humbug!"
said Arthur severely. "Come now, let us go, Charles. We have no more
business to do here!"

This was an utter surprise, for I had not expected the meeting to be so
brief. I had not even had the chance to learn more about the two
McCormicks as I had been tasked. I expected Thomas to ask them to
stay. I turned to Thomas, but at this instance a most peculiar thing
happened. A strange countenance had passed over the fortune teller and
a distant look was in his eyes. When he spoke, it was in a voice unlike
any I had ever heard him speak before.

"Beware. Beware the clutch of the green specter..."

The two McCormicks had now turned around staring in shock at the
soothsayer. The older man's face darkened and after a while began to
shout abuse at Thomas. But Charles pulled on his sleeve and the father
and son soon left. I turned again to Thomas, but he seemed to have
reverted to his normal self, looking as if nothing odd had transpired
before.

"There is as yet no death, no crime and therefore no investigation," said

he, now in his normal voice. "I had only asked that you meet the father
and son and that is done. Now if the old man falls dead in the near
future, you may begin your investigation immediately, detective."

The whole affair at this point seemed the most ridiculous to me. Was
this some prank that the fortune teller thought to play on me and the
McCormicks? I desired to voice my objection to Thomas, but he
appeared calm and relaxed and appeared not to recall what had occurred
earlier, when he had spoke so strangely, as if he were in a trance. I tried
to query him about it, to see if this was some scheme he conceived to
play upon me and the two McCormicks, yet he only continued to chat
about the most mundane things and I failed to get more out of him.
Some ten minutes or so must have passed, and I was becoming
increasingly agitated, believing to have been played a trick by the
soothsayer when once again, sounds of footsteps were heard at the door,
and then a frantic knocking on it. Thomas stood up and went to open it.
There stood Charles McCormick, who appeared much distraught.

"Come, please! I believe my father to be in danger! Do help him,

please!" he begged.

"Pray, tell us what happened." said Thomas.

"There is no time to tell! Come now! Follow me, please!"

He proceeded to rush down the stairs, and Thomas and I followed.

After the lumbering figure of Charles McCormick we rushed out into the
street. We turned into a narrow lane by the side of the building. It was
deserted save for a stray dog. There was no sign of Arthur McCormick.

"Here!" cried Charles as we came to a manhole in the ground. The cover

had been removed revealing a dark hole. It was dim inside but I saw
there was a ladder lead down to the sewer below. "This was where my
father went!"

"For what reason did he venture down there?" Thomas asked.

"For what reason? I do not know!" said Charles. "My father and I were
walking along here, when all of a sudden he flew into a senseless rage,
as if he had been possessed by an unknown madness. He then lifted this
cover and entered the hole himself. I tried to stop him but he would have
none of it. I would have followed him, except that I would never be able
to stop him on my own. For my father is a man of immense strength,
especially when he is enraged. So I did the thing I thought best. I went
back to find you."
"No matter. We have to follow him down," said Thomas.

We clambered down the ladder and found ourselves in a cavernous

sewer. It was the most foul-smelling place ever I had been in.
Impossibly dark and dripping with unnamable filth from it ceilings and
walls, the place reeked so that my stomach turned. I could hardly see
very well in front of me and my feet were drowned in the slimy mush. I
switched on my handy portable light, which I carried with me at all
times.

"Look! Footprints," said Charles. "My father must have gone that way!"

I observed, indeed, that there were several prints on the muddy ground
leading away to one end of the tunnel. As I shone my light on them,
however, my heart must have leapt right to my throat, for I saw that
besides the prints of a man, there were those that looked so inhuman
they must have belonged to some creature! Thomas and young Charles
must have seen what I saw for I heard them gasp.
Following the prints we soon came to a smaller tunnel branching off to
the side. We entered it and before long came before a metal grilled gate,
which blocked our way so we could go no further. Flashing my light on
the gate, I observed that it possessed a part with hinges that could swing
open like a door, except that twirled around it there was an iron chain
and it had been bolted with a padlock.

Standing before this gate, I could just about make out about thirty paces
ahead, another similar gate, where the tunnel ended and led out to the
waters of the pier itself. Slumped in front of this second gate was a
human figure which I recognized to be Arthur's. As it was almost pitch
black where we were, I saw all this in silhouette, so that I could not see
much in detail.

The light of the dusk in my eyes, I tried my utmost to see what was
happening. Arthur appeared to be alive for I saw some slight movement
in his limbs. Then to my horror, I saw a second figure behind the old
man. I could not see its face or any features at all, for it was much
silhouetted against the light outside. The fiendish figure, which I
perceived to be somewhat greenish in color, stood on the other side of
the gate. It was apparently on a level lower than that of the tunnel floor
for I could see just its head and shoulders. How could it be there if it
were not standing upon the waters of the sea itself or, unless there were
some platform outside that it could stand upon, that we could not see?

The figure now had its gnarled hands reached through the gaps between
the grilles and were clutched upon the limp body of Arthur. It appeared
to me, standing there in the darkness of the sewer as if the very life of
Arthur McCormick was being drained out of his body. Was Arthur being
strangled or ripped by the hands of this unknown phantom? Was this the
hand of death by some supernatural spirit, this... green specter?!!

Wasn't this what the fortune teller had foretold back in his apartment
some moments ago? I was immensely frustrated and yet there was
nothing we could do, for we were blocked by the metal barrier between
us and Arthur.

"Stop! You evil spirit!" Charles screamed. "Stay away from my father!"

At that, the figure appeared to hear and release its grip from Arthur's
body. I saw that Arthur slumped further down and then splashed onto the
wastes of the sewer floor. The green figure had vanished. It was as if it
had never been there at all. Only the body of Arthur lay there,
motionless.
Crime Scene
By this time, the cops had been informed,
the padlock to the first gate cut, and here
we stood before the dead body of Arthur
McCormick. It was all muddied, having
lain in the mush for a time. The waste
waters gushed right past the body, between
his arms, his legs, and out underneath the
gate behind him and down into the waters of the pier below. I observed
that the sewage tunnel on which we were standing on was no more than
ten feet above the waters of the pier beneath.

The officer in charge was one Inspector Ted Murray with whom I have
some acquaintance. Murray was a proud man and generally speaking a
good cop, yet more of a police bureaucrat than a true crime investigator.
I knew him to be somewhat lacking in the reasoning powers that was
essential to the art of investigation.

I, for my part am of some reputation as a private detective and so was

allowed to stay on the scene of crime. Murray and his boys had
interviewed the three witnesses, which included myself, and had made a
preliminary examination of the body.

I bent down near the body to examine it myself. The body of Arthur
McCormick had been torn savagely apart and was in a bloodied mess.
Here and there, clothes and flesh were in tatters, apparently ripped or
slashed mercilessly by some sharp object. On one of his arms, or what
remained of it, I noticed what appeared to me to be deep bite marks.

"It was the green specter! The specter of death! We have all seen it, have
we not? My father has died at the hands of the green specter!" I looked
up and saw it was Charles speaking heatedly to a constable. "It has
occurred exactly as the soothsayer had foretold! The clutch of the green
specter! I swear those were his very words!"
I wondered in my own mind if Thomas Lee really did possess powers of
foresight. I would not have believed it if I had not seen it with my very
eyes. Was there some scheming part that the fortune teller played in this
tragedy?

Inside of me, I was deeply stirred. For, if this was not the work of some
supernatural force, but an elaborate ploy by a mere human being, then I
looked upon it as a huge personal humiliation, a challenge to my very
being as a private investigator. To have a victim killed right before my
very eyes, to be totally helpless about it, and to finally allow the
perpetrator to get away without revealing his or her identity; this was too
much for me. I vowed in my heart I would not rest until I had unraveled
the truth to this bizarre matter. I swore that I would nab the murderer
whatever it may cost.

Despite being troubled by the circumstances, all was not lost, for I was
able to gather some leads even with the little I had. Suppose, if the green
specter I had seen was a human, then the person must have been
standing in a vessel of some sort at the time. For I saw now, that there
was no platform of any sort outside the gate below the edge of the tunnel
floor. That meant the person must have been perched upon a vessel of
some sort, a small boat perhaps when we saw him or her. I deduced from
this, therefore, that the killer must either own a boat, or must have hired
a boat at the time of the murder.

There was also the problem of the first locked metal gate. The lock and
chain on it had prevented us from reaching Arthur, and possibly to
rescue him from his demise. I had, before the police arrived, retraced our
footsteps to check out our prints. There were only those of Arthur's,
Charles's, Thomas's and those belonging to myself. I saw, also, that there
were only one set of each man's prints. This meant that Charles was
indeed telling the truth when he said he had not followed his father down
into the sewer, before he retreated to seek our help. Thus, he could not
also possibly have been the one who had locked the first gate. As I saw
that there were no other prints besides those of the unknown "creature",
this meant that Arthur likely would have been the one who had locked
up the gate. But why should he do that and trap himself between two
gates inside a sewer?

There was also the presence of the monstrous prints that do not resemble
those of any human's. Did some sewer monster exist here? Or did those
inhuman prints belong to the green specter which after all is not human
at all, but some devilish beast or wicked mutant? Yet, if the specter had
chased poor Arthur beyond the first locked gate, and killed Arthur there,
how did it get past the second gate afterwards and escape in the vessel?

At this point, I admitted silently to my heart that the whole business

seemed most extraordinary to me and that I saw no solution to it.

Murray approached me then and broke me off from my thoughts.

"All of your testimonies have corroborated so far, detective, so it

appears all of you are speaking the truth," he said. "Being a man of
reason, however, I am rather skeptical of this green specter that you
mentioned..."

I clarified that I had not said it was a specter. I said that I did see a figure
with a somewhat greenish shade to it, but I did not know whether it was
man or ghost.

Murray looked hard at me. He was obviously displeased with my

interruption.

"Now you understand that from our viewpoint, none of you three
gentlemen are free from suspicion," he continued. "Nevertheless,
detective, you have a sound reputation as a private investigator in the
city, so you naturally come under the least suspicion. The fortune teller,
we find to be odd and exotic in his ways, yet we know of no possible
motive that he would kill Arthur McCormick.
"Charles is the last person to see his father before his old man met his
death. We do not know what could have transpired in the minutes since
he left the apartment to the time he returned to fetch you and the
soothsayer. Charles McCormick is therefore our prime suspect, for now.
We will be bringing him to the station. Meanwhile, you and the fortune
teller, after giving your official statements at the station will be free to
go where you please. Anywhere, that is, except out of town. You are to
remain available at any time to assist in our investigation.”

There has always been some professional rivalry between Murray and I,
but I had always considered him somewhat dim for an inspector and
only my inferior.

"Charles McCormick was right beside me and the soothsayer at the time
of the crime," said I. "Surely he has no part more to play in his father's
death than myself or Thomas Lee?"

"Well, that much is true according to your testimonies. He was on the

same side of the locked gate as you," said Murray, stroking his thick
curved moustache. "But we have no other lead. He seems the most
suspicious to us, and we can only hope to get something out of it by
bringing him in for questioning. Unless you have observed some other
clue that we may have missed, detective?"
Murray had grinned patronizingly at me as he said this. I said no more.
Indeed, I had clues about this business that the dense brain of Murray's
must have missed. There was the fact that the killer must be in a boat of
some sort when we saw him. Murray had also missed the fact that there
had been only one set of Charles's footprints in the mud, so that he could
not have been in the tunnel before all three of us went down it later. I
had also observed that when Charles came back for our help, that his
shoes and trousers had been unsoiled. I kept quiet about all of these to
Murray of course, not wanting to give away my own secrets.

-
At the station, after having had my statements recorded, I learnt that
Charles McCormick wanted a word with me.

"Detective, I am now hiring you to investigate my father's death," said

he. "Yes, detective. You were there with me. You and I saw what
happened. You saw the green figure kill my father, did you not? I
believe you alone of all people can find the true killer and bring him to
justice. And do not worry about the costs. You can be assured that your
reward would be most substantial."

"Looks like you got yourself some work from all this after all,
detective," said a voice behind me.

It was Murray.

"Well, I guess that is as well. You are free to hire your own private
investigators," he said to Charles. "But the official police force is already
acting upon it. And I bet my reputation that we will solve the case, Mr.
McCormick."

He smirked in his obnoxious fashion and then left us alone again.

I asked Charles if he knew of anyone who might want to kill his father.

"We have a servant by the name of Jack Hunt. He lives in the servants'
outhouse with his wife, Betsy, who is also a maid of our house. They
seem like simple enough folk to me. My fathers, however has a rash
temper and sometimes treat the servants more harsh than really is
necessary. I do not truly believe Jack or Betsy could have killed my
father, though."

I asked him if there were any feuds Arthur had with others outside of the
family.
He appeared rather hesitant when replying.

"Some years ago, I had been engaged to a lady by the name of Celeste
Bales. But the engagement was later called off as my father soon
objected to it, for reasons that he did not speak of. I never blamed my
father, of course, for I respect all his wishes. I had never fallen for the
lady after all. The engagement had been arranged by my father in the
first place. I had met the lady a few times and she did seem like a decent
girl. I don't know, but perhaps she could have borne a grudge against the
McCormick family?"
The Investigation
Twist #1
As I walked along the sidewalk by the pier I spotted Celeste Bales, one
time fiancée to Charles. She was walking briskly along, her demeanor
strange; for she peered about here and there as if she were afraid
someone may see her. She came to a flight of steps and descended down
it. Could she be meeting a lover?

The steps led down to a lower platform, from which several small boats
were attached. I crept quietly down. When I reached the bottom of the
stairs and looked about, I saw that there she was in one of the boats.
Celeste appeared to be searching for something. I hid myself behind
some barrels to watch her. She finally retrieved a small package which I
saw was a raincoat. A green raincoat. Celeste then put it into a bag and
proceeded to go up the stairs. I followed her up and saw that she had
disposed the bag into a bin nearby. From her purse, she retrieved a
matchbox. She lit some of the matches and threw them into the bin, then,
satisfied that the blaze was going strong, left quickly.

I waited for her to go some distance before dashing up to save what

remained of the raincoat. My hand was burned slightly in the process,
but I got what I sought. An unburnt corner of the green raincoat. Could
Celeste Bales be the green specter?
The Twisted Thread

I headed over to the Twisted Thread, the finest tailor shop in town.

I wanted to talk to Thaddeus Kobayashi, the Tailor.

Detective: "Do you recognize this piece of material? It came from a

green raincoat."
Thaddeus Kobayashi (Tailor): "I believe it belongs to one lad named
Jerome Black. Bought it from my store some months ago."

"And who is this Jerome? Is he of any relation to Celeste Bales?"

Thaddeus looked up at me sternly. "I am a tailor. If you want gossip, go

to the rumor mongers. Now, I have a business to run."
Charles McCormick

I went to the station to see my client, Charles McCormick. He was

obviously in a bad shape. It was hardly surprising however. I would be
worse if I were in his shoes. I also suspected he had had to suffer hours
of questioning by the cops. He looked so haggard that he seemed to have
aged ten years since last I saw him.

I asked him if he knew of anyone who might want to do his father harm,
that he had missed telling me before.

He hesitated and seemed as if he struggled inside for a time before

replying.

"You and I saw the greenish phantom that killed my father, detective,"
said Charles. "You may not know this, but I had a brother Jerome, ten
years younger than I. He never got along with my father. For one was as
headstrong as the other. One day, Jerome could stand my father's temper
no more and left home. That was about ten years ago, about the time that
my mother Bertha died of illness. I have never seen him since.

"Odd as this may seem, I swear that the first person my mind turned to
upon seeing the figure was my brother Jerome. I know not why."

"Detective," said he. "I am depending on you to find the killer of my

father. If there are any news, kindly let me know, please."

Detective: "Do you have an alibi for the time of the murder?"
Charles McCormick: At that, anger flashed in his eyes and the usually
docile man turned quite savage. "Was I not with you when my father
was killed? Did we not see the green specter and how it killed my father
with its death clutches?"
The man's anger, which I did not know he had in him, caught me by
surprise. Maybe there was more to this seemingly placid man. I
reminded him that as far as the police was concerned, he was their prime
suspect and that to them his alibi was as good as none. At my reply, he
appeared dejected and slumped back in his chair.
Celeste Bales

Celeste Bales, who had once been betrothed to Charles, was a comely
and amiable lady. There was a plainness and simplicity about her that
made presence in her company a comfortable pleasure. She spoke little
but was always polite. I could not tell if she was hiding something.

"May I help you, detective?" she asked.

Detective: "Do you have an alibi for the time of the murder?"
Celeste Bales: "I was at the church," she said.

Detective: "Do you know anyone who had a motive to commit this
crime?"
Celeste Bales: "You must forgive me, detective, but I do not know of
anyone. I am sorry I can't be of any help."

I found that I enjoyed being in Celeste's company and thought she could
make a good friend. I then inquired if she was now married to someone
else.

"Yes, I am now Mrs. Black," she answered, some measure of reserved

joy showing on her saintly face.
The Mother of Innocence Cathedral

I went to the Mother of Innocence Cathedral.

I wanted to talk to Manfred Gesling, the Priest.

Detective: "Was Celeste Bales here at the time of the crime?"

Manfred Gesling (Priest): "No, Celeste wasn't here when the crime
happened."
Jack Hunt

I visited the McCormick estate to speak with its inhabitants. I went by

the servants' outhouse to see Jack Hunt, the manservant. The most
striking thing about the man was his appearance. Jack was a savage-
looking man who reminded me rather uncannily, of a vampire. He had
the palest face with slits for eyes and hair that stood out like two horns.
His ghostly appearance triggered something that had been haunting the
unconscious of my mind... the green specter?

I was broken out of my reverie by the man's rough voice. He sounded as

devilish as he looked.

"What da ya want?" said he gruffly.

Detective: "Do you have an alibi for the time of the murder?"
Jack Hunt: "Why, Ah 'appened to be in town to run an errand. Ah was
at the shoemaker's, getting' some ol' shoes repaired for the 'ousehold."

Detective: "Do you know anyone who had a motive to commit this
crime?"
Jack Hunt: "A detective, eh? Investigatin' old Master's death, ain't ya?"

"There's the man's old comrade Alfred O'Connor," said he. "Been livin'
under the McCormick 'ouse for years, ya know? Heard he was an ol' war
comrade of the old master's back in they younger days. Some years ago
Mr. Alfred came to visit old master Arthur, and from then on he's been
livin' under the roof of the McCormick 'ouse, strange as that may seem."

I asked Jack if Alfred O'Connor could be considered a family friend of

the McCormick's.
"Aye, Ah guess ya could say that. But Ah've see him and the old master
in quarrel several times. Ah know not what they quarrel o'er, though.
Ah'm of some acquaintance with O'Connor, for we share a fondness for
drink and oftentimes he 'ould come by the outhouse to share a drink or
two. Ah 'ave some feelin' he ain't like Arthur much."
The Everlasting Sole

I went to a shoe maker's shop called the Everlasting Sole.

I wanted to talk to Milton Hernandez, the Shoe Maker.

Detective: "Was Jack Hunt here at the time of the murder?"

Milton Hernandez (Shoe Maker): "No, Jack wasn't here when the
crime happened."
Alfred O’Connor

Alfred O'Connor, an old friend of Arthur's, had curiously been living on

the McCormick estate for some years.

I asked him about his relationship with the victim.

"Arthur and I, we go way back. Were in the war together. Been the best
of friends since then. Before he was brutally butchered by some bastard.
If you came here to ask who the murderer is, I am afraid I have to tell
you I do not know."

I asked him if it wasn't strange, living under another man's house.

At that, his face darkened. "You mean to say I am leeching off the old
man, aren't you? Well, even if I was, that is no business of yours, is it?
We go way back, Arthur and I. Sometimes, I wish we had not met. What
belongs to him now could all have been mine... oh never mind that! I
have spoken more than enough, I believe."

"What other questions have you, detective?" asked Alfred bad-

temperedly.

Detective: “Do you have an alibi for the time of the murder?”
Alfred O’Connor: "I was at the restaurant having my dinner," said
Alfred. "At least a dozen folks saw me. You can ask any of them."

Detective: “Do you know anyone who had a motive to commit the
murder?”
Alfred O’Connor: "You may already have heard of Arthur's objection
to Charles' marriage to Celeste Bales. I remember that time, the father of
Celeste Bale was deeply enraged by the cancellation of the engagement.
Burton Bales, his name is. He felt the whole affair brought him and his
daughter shame. I think he could have resented Arthur for that matter. In
fact, after the engagement was cancelled, old Burton came to the house
to make a scene and openly stated that he wished Arthur dead. I do not
know if he does mean it. You might want to talk to the man yourself."
Burton Bales

Burton Bales is the father of Celeste, who was once engaged to Charles
a few years ago, before Arthur objected to the marriage and called off
the engagement.

A stern, hard-faced man, Burton contrasted sharply with his mild-

mannered daughter.

"Bah! What do you want?" said Burton.

Detective: "Do you have an alibi for the time of the crime?"
Burton Bales: "What? I was having my darn shoe shined at Milton's! Is
that enough? Now, out!"

Detective: "Do you know anyone who has a motive to commit the
crime?"
Burton Bales: "I do not know of anyone who wants to do the old man
in, save perhaps myself! I would get my hands on his dead body! Now,
get out of my sight!"
The Everlasting Sole

I went to a shoe maker's shop called the Everlasting Sole.

I wanted to talk to Milton Hernandez, the Shoe Maker.

Detective: "Was Burton Bales here at the time of the murder?"

Milton Hernandez (Shoe Maker): "Yes, Burton was here the whole
time.”
Research #1
The media had caught on to the craze that was The Green Specter
Murder. The McCormick murder had apparently caught the public's
imagination. All the papers, including The City News ran big spreads on
the development of the case. The presses of course, had little first hand
material to work with and were fed only what the police gave them.
Much of the case had been sensationalized. Several of the headlines
read:

Murder in the Sewers

The Green Specter's Death Clutch
Sewer Monster Loose?

I was somewhat amused as well, to see that I myself had been mentioned
in one of the articles for my part in the case. In The City News an article
ran thus:

"Sixty-two year old Arthur McCormick, a businessman, has been found

dead in a sewer close by the pier. The police say at the time of the
murder three witnesses were present. Among them were the victim's son
Charles McCormick, the local soothsayer Thomas Lee, and a private
detective by the name of ..."

I did find something useful about the McCormick family history. Arthur
had brought his family over from Ireland with a small fortune. He had
gone into business and grown even richer from it. Arthur then bought a
large piece of land on the outskirts of the city and built a luxurious
mansion on it. There were reports on a rumored treasure believed to be
buried somewhere in the wood behind the McCormick estate. I noted
that the name of Alfred O'Connor was often quoted in the papers. It
seemed that he believed strongly that there was, indeed, a treasure buried
on the McCormick estate and seemed one of the most eager to uncover
it.
Alfred O'Connor

"What other questions have you, detective?" asked Alfred bad-

temperedly.

Detective: "The McCormick estate is rumored to hide a treasure.

Would you have anything to do with it?"
Alfred O'Connor: Alfred was taken aback at this. "Why, guess there's
no hiding anything from you, is there? You're quite the sleuth, aren't
you? Well, I admit it. Been digging the grounds and trying to get a clue
out of old Arthur for years, but to no avail. Never found nothing."

"That treasure did not belong to him, mind you," continued Alfred. "We
discovered it together, he and I. It was just after the war had ended.
When we found it, he had agreed to split the treasure. But then without
my knowing, he took off and came here to settle. I pursued him, but
when I asked him about the treasure, he would not speak a word of it. In
return, though, he agreed to pay for my living for the rest of my life and
I lived comfortably under his house. Yet still I craved for the treasure,
half of which belonged to me anyhow. Now that's no crime, is it? I never
killed old Arthur."
Sami's Greek Restaurant

I headed over to Sami's, a Greek restaurant with the best gyros in town.
The food smelled good, but I didn't have time to eat.

I wanted to talk to Maria Seaver, the Waitress.

Detective: "Was Alfred O'Connor here at the time of the murder?"

Maria Seaver (Waitress): "Yes, Alfred was here the whole time."
Betsy Hunt

A stocky woman with short curls, Betsy Hunt looked the part of an
unremarkable maid of the house.

"I am sorry to hear of the old master's death. He had not been unkind to
us though he has quite a temper. You are a detective?"

"I would help in any way I can," said Betsy.

Detective: "Do you have an alibi for the time of the murder?"
Betsy Hunt: "I was in town for an errand, shopping for meat at
Sylvia's," she said.

Detective: "Do you know anyone who had a motive to commit this
crime?"
Betsy Hunt: "I am but a lowly servant. I do not speak ill of my master
or his acquaintances. But..."

She leaned closer and in a mock conspiratorial tone said, "Well, old
master has a mistress, to tell the truth. Veronica Monroe her name is. A
vixen she is too. Master has had her for years, even before old madam
Bertha died. She is some twenty years younger than old Master, and
only but about ten older than young Charles. She is after the McCormick
fortune, no doubt. She can't have loved old master."
Veronica Monroe

I paid a visit to Veronica Monroe, the mistress of Arthur McCormick.

She wore thick makeup, even when alone in her own home. Her age I
might place at some years more than forty. Despite her age, however, I
could assume that many would not think her unattractive.

"I have heard of the old man's death," she said. "What are you, a
detective?"

I replied that I was, but not one with the police.

"A private detective, then," she said. "I heard people of your kind live
dangerous lives of adventure and dare, do you not?"

I told her she seemed little bothered by Arthur's death.

"I am quite sure someone of the McCormick family would have told you
that I am after the old man's money and that I do not love him. Why, I
do not deny it. Arthur was a troubled man and was in need of a woman's
comfort. I was just there to see to his needs."

"Of what other service may I be to you, detective?" she asked.

Detective: "Do you have an alibi for the time of the murder?"
Veronica Monroe: "Why, if it serves to satisfy you, detective," said
Veronica. "I was at Tricky Mister. You can speak to the bartender if you
do not believe me. We are on friendly terms, Cyrus and I." She smiled in
a flirtatiously manner. I wondered how many men other than Arthur
McCormick this woman has been involved with.
Detective: "Do you know anyone who had a motive to commit the
murder?"
Veronica Monroe: "I do not know anything," she said.

"Nothing at all? You shared your bed with the man. Surely you must
know something about him, or about the members of his family?"

"The old man told me little about his affairs, and quite frankly I don't
care much about it either. All I know is that his wife Bertha had died
early. He brought up Charles alone as a widower."
Tricky Mister Bar

Despite the early hour, I headed over to the Tricky Mister bar, an
establishment of fine spirits and ill repute. The place was crowded with
chatting locals, as always.

Lurking near the back, I could make out the shape of one of the bar's
regulars. He was the local fixer, and it seemed like every city had one, if
you knew where to look. An unpleasant person to deal with, but one who
was sometimes necessary.

I wanted to talk to Cyrus Tibby, the Bartender.

Detective: "Was Veronica Monroe here at the time of the murder?"

Cyrus Tibby (Bartender): "Yes, Veronica was here the whole time."
The Meaty Treat

I went to the Meaty Treat, a Butcher Shop and cheese emporium.

I wanted to talk to Sylvia Lee, the Butcher.

Detective: "Was Betsy Hunt here at the time of the murder?"

Sylvia Lee (Butcher): "Yes, Betsy was here the whole time."

Detective: "I am in the know that Celeste Bales is married. Can you
tell me about her husband?"
Sylvia Lee (Butcher): "Some years ago, Celeste was engaged to
Charles McCormick. Celeste is a lovely woman and appeared to be
rather decent too. Old McCormick objected to their marriage, however,
and the engagement was called off. It appears she is now married, for I
have seen her around with a young man. She usually speaks nothing of it
though, when she is here shopping for meat. But I gathered that her
husband is likely to be a boatman or sailor by trade. You might be
interested, too, detective, to know that I have seen her in the company
Arthur McCormick, of all people. Yes, it seems strange that she should
be seen with the very man who had objected to her marriage to his son. I
have no opinion on this, but many believe her to be an amorous woman
and is involved with old Arthur. She doesn't seem to me like the sort, but
who knows?"
The Cacophony Conservatory

I went to the Cacophony Conservatory; the sound of ill-tuned

instruments filled the air.

I wanted to talk to Angela Caban, the Music Teacher.

Detective: "I am in the know that Celeste Bales is married. What

can you tell me about her husband?"
Angela Caban (Music Teacher): "Celeste was engaged to Charles
McCormick some years ago. But the engagement was cancelled due to
Arthur's objection. I have seen her nowadays often in the company of a
young man, who appears to be her husband. I know not his name, but by
the looks of him I guess that he is a boatman or sailor." Angela lowered
her voice. "I have sometimes seen her with Arthur McCormick, yes,
strange as it seem. I do not see what they have to do together. Think
what you will of this, but it appears that Celeste Bales may not be as
decent girl a girl as we think her to be. Looks can be deceiving, you
know? "
Celeste Bales

“May I help you, detective?” She asked.

Detective: "I am in the know that you are married to a Mr. Black?
He is a boatman, is he not?"
Celeste Bales: "Yes, my husband's name is Jerome Black." She had
answered hesitantly and I knew she was hiding something from me.

"Where may I find him, then?" I asked.

"By the pier, perhaps. His boat is parked by the pier oftentimes."

Just as I was about to leave, I was surprised that she volunteered an

information of her own.

"Jerome, my husband, is really Charles' brother. He changed his last

name after leaving his family. After my engagement with Charles was
cancelled, I met Jerome whom I had never seen before that, and we soon
fell in love. I did not know he was Charles's brother until later."

Celeste Bales had married a McCormick after all.

I watched Celeste bow her head, as if in some unspeakable sorrow. I

thought about what I had heard about Celeste Bales. Indeed this was one
woman I could not read. My intuition told me that the case appeared to
connected in no small way to this soft-spoken and lovely woman. Such
was her gentle, unassuming demeanor that I wanted very much to trust
her and even become her personal friend. Yet there was something about
Celeste that made me suspicious, as if there was something she has not
spoken the truth about.
What part does Celeste Bales play in the McCormick family tragedy?
Jerome McCormick

I finally got to meet Jerome McCormick, who had eluded me before. He

appeared to be a guarded man and rather ill-tempered, like his father.

"Mr. Black, or Mr. McCormick, should I say?"

He appeared displeased but not surprised that I knew his previous

identity.

"I was a McCormick. My name now is Black." he said.

"Yes, detective?" said Jerome.

Detective: "Do you have an alibi for the time of the murder?"
Jerome McCormick: "I was out in my boat. I do not know if anyone
saw me, though," said Jerome.

Detective: "Do you know anyone who had a motive to commit this
crime?"
Jerome McCormick: "I do not know anything, and neither do I want to
know. I left that old man and have been on my own since I was eighteen.
I owe him nothing. I do not care to know about his business."

Then he said something which surprised me.

"Something about my brother, Charles," he said. "I think he was mad

that the old man forbade his marriage to Celeste, whom I eventually
married. Fate has its ways of making fools of us..."
I said I had been told that the engagement had been arranged by Arthur
McCormick and Burton Bales, and that Charles hardly knew the woman
he was engaged to.

Jerome looked up at me as if he was surprised at this piece of

information.

"Did Charles really tell you that? According to Celeste...Well, I wouldn't

know, since I left the house before all that happened. I guess I do not
know much about this, I'm sorry detective. I apologize, for I didn't say
that to implicate my brother, you know. It's just...Well, never mind."

Although Jerome refused to say more, I suspected there was more to the
engagement than Charles had let me know.

Detective: "Do you, by any chance, happen to own a green colored

raincoat?"
Jerome McCormick: "I don't remember if I do own one. I have several,
in fact. Perhaps I do own a green one. What business is that of yours?"

I took out the piece from the green raincoat that Celeste Bales had tried
to burn away. I laid it before him. My keen eye immediately sensed that
Jerome was taken aback by this.

I asked him if he recognized it as his own.

I didn't need an answer, actually. It was written all over his face. His
eyes had widened in recognition, and his mouth drooped open. I told
him that I knew he was the figure I had seen at the time of the death of
Arthur, and that he was under suspicion for killing his father.

He bowed his head, as if in guilt, and then finally spoke again.

"Yes, I confess that I hated my father, for not only is he ill-tempered, but
he is a man entirely devoid of compassion," said Jerome. "He killed
mother, did you know? He had taken a mistress, and mother had been
distraught over this. She begged him to leave the vixen, but he would
have none of it. After that she took ill, and died soon after. Yes, I blame
him for driving mother to her death."

I asked if he admitted to having murdered his father, then, for revenge.

At that, an odd expression came over his face.

"I did not kill my father," said he. "I hated him and left home soon after
mother's death. But I would never kill my own father. I do not expect
you to believe me..."
Veronica Monroe

"Of what other service may I be to you, detective?" she asked.

Detective: "I suspect you know more about Arthur's second son,
Jerome than you had let me know."
Veronica Monroe: Veronica looked at me with some surprise, and then
resumed her normal assured self.

"Why don't you tell me what you know, detective?" she said.

I told her I knew the quarrel between Jerome and Arthur had started over
the latter's taking of a mistress, which I believed to be her, Veronica.
This meant that she had been with Arthur longer than I had originally
thought. In fact, I believed she had been with Arthur for no less than ten
years at the very least, if not more.

"So what about it? Is that any strange?" She appeared somewhat up-
heaved now.

I asked her if she was in fact, Jerome's real mother.

At that, her expression blanked for an instant. And I knew I had her.

Veronica lost all her usual aloofness and superior air, and began to sob
miserably much like a little child. She then told me the whole truth about
her relationship with the McCormicks.

"That was nearly thirty years ago. I was but seventeen. I was young and
naive. Arthur was then was a matured and successful man. He seemed
every bit like the man I would live the rest of my life with. But I learned
later that he was already married, and even had a young son. Charles,
that is.

"I vowed to leave him then, but learned that I was already heavy with his
child. He could not marry me, for his wife Bertha is a sour, devious
woman, and she would not agree to a divorce despite Arthur's begging.
There was no love between them, but she would not lose her position as
mistress of the house.

"Arthur had no choice but to part with me, but secretly he provided me
the means for a comfortable living. I gave birth to Jerome but did not
want to bring up the child fatherless. Arthur begged Bertha to allow him
to take Jerome under the McCormick house. Much to my own surprise
the woman Bertha agreed.

"So Jerome was brought up by Arthur and Bertha, and I was to learn that
the woman treated Jerome like her own. I felt some comfort by the fact.
Later the woman died of some illness. That was some ten years ago, and
that was when Jerome left home too. It appeared he blamed Arthur for
his mother's death..."

Veronica paused at this. I noted that she had had mentioned Bertha as
Jerome's mother...

I asked her if there was anything more to Bertha's death than a natural
disease.

"The man is already dead," she said simply.

I understood, and decided to leave that mystery unsolved.

Veronica looked at me in the eye.

"Promise me one thing, detective," she pleaded. "Jerome does not know
the truth of this matter, and it is my wish that it remain so."
I agreed to keep her secret.

My mind turned to the current mystery at hand. The evidence I had

gathered so far seemed to point toward somebody as the most likely
killer. I needed to speak to this person again.
Jerome McCormick

"Yes, detective?" said Jerome.

Detective: "You said you blame your father for your mother Bertha's
death? Might you hate him enough as to kill him?"
Twist #2
At that moment, several persons rushed into the room, catching Jerome
and myself by total surprise. It was Murray and his boys.

"Good day, detective," said Murray as he came in. "And as for you, Mr.
Jerome McCormick, you are under arrest for the murder of your father
Arthur McCormick."

Murray had me completely fooled! He had me tailed all along. He knew

I was on the case, so he had his boys following me all this while. Now I
had led him to Jerome, a prime suspect in the death of Arthur.

Jerome stared at me with the most intense hatred, as if he believed I had

deliberately conspired with the cops and brought them to him. I said
nothing to defend myself. Just then, he relented and his expression
softened. Instinctively, I suspected there was something he wanted to
say to me. I stood up and leaned close to him.

"Letter. My drawer, from Charles," he whispered in my ear, out of the

hearing of Murray and the constables. "Please."

In the dark depths of Jerome's eyes I saw his desperate pleading. I could
tell that he wished me to do something for him. At that point, I realized
that the matter was far from over, yet. I did not know if Jerome was
indeed the killer, but I decided to give it a one final effort, if only for the
purpose of confirming that it was, indeed, Jerome McCormick, who had
murdered his father.

I waited for Murray and his boys to leave, and then ventured to the
bedroom. I opened the top drawer in a desk there, and found that there
was indeed an envelope in it. My heart beat rapidly faster as I read the
letter inside it. It was addressed to Jerome, telling him to row his boat by
the pier close to the sewer on the very day of the murder! The letter was
unsigned, and it occurred to me that it could very well have been written
by Jerome himself, but he claimed that it was written by Charles.
Unfortunately, the letter was typed, not written, so I couldn't go to my
usual source for help identifying the author.

Once again, I found myself inside the foul underground sewers of

Manhattan city. I was searching for any clues that might have been
overlooked the first time. Engulfed in my thoughts, I happen to trail my
fingers along the walls of the sewer, and found that they had gotten
entwined in some stuff, which I took to be cobwebs. I tugged hard at it
to break free but felt some pain when I did so. I saw now that this was
no cobweb, but a rope, rather thick and made of a rather transparent
material, so that it was not easy to spot. Both the police and I have
missed its presence the first time. It ran along the length of the tunnel
and into the smaller tunnel, where Arthur McCormick met his end! I
saw, however, that it was cut at one end, and not the full length that it
had once been. Could it be...?

Just then, I heard a splash behind me. I turned and flashed my light into
the darkness. In the gloom of the sewer, I could not believe what I was
seeing. An enormous, scaly tail of some creature, whitish in color was
hidden by a corner. Summoning the entire dare I had within me, I
approached slowly. As I neared it, the thing jerked suddenly. In my
fright, I slipped and fell face first into the foul wastes of the sewer floor.
My whole body, face and all, were soiled, and I spat out the mush in my
mouth as I sat up. The creature was gone.

Shaken by the encounter, yet with an inkling of a new lead now, I knew
exactly where next I was to be headed.
The Twisted Thread

I headed over to the Twisted Thread, the finest tailor shop in town.

I wanted to talk to Thaddeus Kobayashi, the Tailor.

Detective: "Did anyone buy a thick and tough rope from you?”
Thaddeus Kobayashi (Tailor): "Yes, it was rather unusual. Charles
came in and asked me for a thick rope. That must have been about two
or three months back. He wanted something that was tough and could
withstand the biting of rats. I told him I was a tailor and that I had no
rope to sell, but he insisted on it. Finally, I went to the back of the store,
and seeing there was a rope of rather resistant material, gave it to him."

I asked Thaddeus if he knew what Charles wanted the rope for.

"That I know not, but he seemed pretty anxious to get one, as if he were
in a rush," said Thaddeus pensively. "Interestingly, I asked him for about
five times the price the rope was worth, just for spite. He paid me not
one cent less."
Conclusion
Walking along the streets and weighing the clues in my mind, I finally
believed I had the answer to the whole mystery. My heart felt elated.

I happened to see Charles McCormick. After the arrest of his brother

Jerome, Charles had been released. He called out to me cheerily, a huge
grin on his face and thanked me profusely for what I had done for him. I
told him that I had done nothing actually, and that the police had arrived
at their own conclusion about things. The expression on Charles's face
made me uneasy.

It was then that a police constable called out to us. He came over and
addressed both of us.

"Gentlemen," said the constable. "Inspector Ted Murray is summoning

all witnesses, and all other persons involved in the murder of Mr. Arthur
McCormick to visit at the crime scene."

"We'll be there," I said.

Since Charles and I coincidentally happened to be together, we decided

to go there in each other's company. Along the way Charles chatted
nonchalantly, as if he had been liberated from the dark nightmare he had
been through. We soon arrived at the crime scene. I saw that all the
witnesses, suspects, and all of the McCormick household were present.
Burton and Celeste Bales, and Veronica Monroe had been summoned
there too. The fortune teller Thomas Lee stood quietly by one corner.
Murray and his boys were there already, and they had brought along the
now prime suspect, Jerome McCormick with them. I noted too the
presence of some reporters looking on curiously, their bulky cameras at
the ready.

Murray himself appeared to be in the most excellent mood. I knew

exactly what he was up to. This was his little show. He had brought
everyone back to the crime scene, and with full dramatic effect, he was
going to explain the crime and expose the murderer right in front of
everyone - witnesses, family, and the presses. He must also be imagining
the papers tomorrow splashed with large photos of himself: the hero who
had ingeniously solved the green specter murder.

"Ah, good day, detective," said he, his bushy brown moustache
twitching. "I am glad to see you have arrived. Have you come to the
solution to the murder, detective?"

I replied that I was still puzzled over it.

"Well, I have quite come to the conclusion myself, no small thanks to

you," he said, obviously alluding to his having me tailed and leading him
right to Jerome McCormick. "Well then, settle yourself detective, and
watch how I, Inspector Theodore Murray, unravel the crime and the
mystery."

Murray cleared his throat loudly. "I see we have all arrived. We are
gathered here today for the conclusion to the mystery of the murder of
Mr. Arthur McCormick. After thorough investigations by the official
police force, and upon the application of my reasoning prowess, I
declare now that I have arrived at the solution to this mystery. I know
who the killer is."

Murray paused and looked around. He was truly enjoying himself.

"The green specter murder, as the presses have dubbed this case, is
indeed a most bizarre affair that has baffled the most profound minds
among us," said Murray solemnly. "Let us first recall the scene of the
crime. As you can see, before us are two gates with gaps between the
grilles large enough for a man's arm to pass through. This first gate
before us has one part that may swing open to serve as a door. During
the occurrence of the crime, however, it had been locked through an iron
chain and padlock.
"Arthur McCormick's body was found at the second farther gate which
we can see ourselves from here, but given that the gate before us is
locked, we obviously cannot get near to. It was from this vantage point
that our three witnesses, Charles, Thomas Lee and our good detective
saw by their very eyes Arthur being murdered, and yet had been
powerless to do anything about."

Murray glanced at me briefly as he said that last sentence.

Murray then ordered the gate unlocked. We were all ushered through it
and now were cramped in the space before the spot where Arthur had
been found dead.

"Arthur's body was found right here lying against this second gate,
facing toward our three witnesses. This tunnel leads right to the pier's
waters, several feet below as you can see. I had deduced from this that
the so-called specter was but only a man standing in a boat on the waters
below. Reaching his arms between the gaps of the grilled gate, he was
able to attack the victim thus.

The reporters seemed impressed. Murmurs of approval were heard

among them.

"Now the question remains as to who the killer is," Murray continued.
"The killer, as any person with some amount of intellect is bound to
deduce, must either own a boat or he must have hired one at the time of
the murder. Fortunately, after some good old police legwork by my own
men, we have turned up the primary suspect to this case. Not only does
he own a boat, but he was reported to have passed by this location in it at
the time of the murder. You might not know that right above where we
stand, on the ground above, is the very sidewalk that lines the pier.
Several passersby saw a boatman passing by in his vessel. It was he,
standing upon his little boat outside, who reached up and murdered the
victim."
At that, Murray walked to where Jerome stood handcuffed and held by
two constables.

"And that person is you, Jerome," said Murray. "You are the green
specter, Jerome McCormick. "

All eyes turned toward Jerome, who himself seemed shaken.

"I did not kill my father!" he bellowed and struggled savagely. The two
constables holding him down were having a hard time despite him being
handcuffed. "You fool! I hated my father, yes. We were never on good
terms, but I would not ever murder him."

Angered at being insulted by Jerome, Murray turned on Jerome sharply.

"There, there! See how he reacts! That is enough proof of your guilt!"

A soft laugh was heard coming from a corner. Heads turned now toward
the owner of that chuckle.

I could not have helped myself.

Murray looked at me, a taunting look on his face, as if daring me to

challenge his theory.

"My dear detective," he said rather menacingly. "What, if I may ask, is it

that you find to be so funny? Would you be kind enough as to share your
joke with us? For I do not see what might be amusing in so grave a
matter as a murder?"

"I apologize, good inspector," said I. "I must admit to having

underestimated your reasoning prowess. I have given you scant less
credit than you deserve. Brilliant! All those deductions you have made
are without a doubt, absolutely correct."
Murray looked at me suspiciously. "Detective, what exactly is your
point? This is no laughing matter. I believe you were also investigating
the case, were you not? I have beaten you to its solution. That much I
know is true."

"Kindly allow me continue, inspector," I said, stepping out from the

shadows and into the middle of the group. Everyone now looked at me
expectantly.

"I said that all your deductions were right. Except that you have arrived
at the wrong conclusion. The murderer is, indeed a son of Arthur's. But
it is not the one you have accused."

It took a moment for what I said to sink in. Then, realizing the
implication of my words, everyone now turned to stare, this time at
Charles McCormick.

Charles looked at me blankly.

"You ought to be careful with your words, detective," he said. "How can
I possibly be the murderer of my father? You and I, and Thomas the
soothsayer, we all saw my father killed by the green specter with our
very eyes, did we not? Did we not see the devilish figure, whom we now
know is my brother Jerome, reach his hands through the gaps of the gate,
and brutally tore at my father with its claws? Do you not remember the
clutch of the green specter, the hand of death that took my father's
death? Has the good inspector here not proved without any doubt, that it
was my brother, guised in that green cloak, who had murdered my poor
father?"

"I must confess that I had at first been most puzzled too. It does seem
like an impossible case. I had personally been angered by the fact that I
had borne witness to a crime, a most treacherous murder, and yet despite
being a private detective myself, had been unable to stop it. But now the
pieces have come together and justice must be served. I began to have a
clear vision of the actual happenings and events and how they all tie
together. All of the matter became evidently simple. I ask now of all
those present to listen to my explanation of the case."

"First, I wish to confirm the inspector's conjecture that it was indeed

Jerome McCormick whom I myself, and Charles, and Thomas Lee had
seen that day. He was standing in a small boat outside just beyond and
below this gate. But think now! If we assume he wished to harm the
victim, how came he to know that his father Arthur was going to be at
this very place, at the very time, on the very day of the murder?"

"Perhaps he had some person to conspire with him, to pass him the news
of his father, and to lure the old Arthur into this place?" Murray
volunteered.

"Yes, inspector, that is possible, and for some time I did deliberate on it.
But where was the motive? Think! Jerome had indeed fallen out with his
father, but that was ten years ago. He had left home for many years, and
had found his own living and his own life. As far as I know, he had had
no contact with the McCormick family for years. What motive had he to
plot for his father's death after so long a time? It seems unlikely to me."

I looked to Veronica Monroe as I said this. Her heavily powdered face

was an unreadable mask.

"There is yet another problem. Suppose, for an instance that we assume

Jerome McCormick had somehow received information of his father,
and planned to kill him here. But how was he to carry out the murder
efficiently, separated as such by this great barrier? What if the victim
had not approached near enough, or if the victim had managed to
struggle free from his grasp? Standing on a rocking boat on the waters,
how was Jerome to get enough leverage to properly attack his father?
How came Arthur to have his flesh and clothing torn apart so savagely,
by an arm reaching through the gaps in a grilled gate? Does that sound
likely to you?"
"Now, let us see how the real killer perpetrated this foul murder, shall
we not? Unless I am much mistaken, the actual events of the case went
like this. Two days before the day of the murder, Charles McCormick
had invited the fortune teller to the McCormick manor to read the
fortune of his father Arthur. Charles himself, of course, could not know
the outcome of the reading. So when Thomas told Charles that he saw
his father's death in the cards, the latter immediately turned as white as a
ghost. He had not expected the fortune teller's reading to be so accurate.
For he had indeed, been planning to kill his father!

I now turned toward Charles.

"Yet in your heart, Charles, you secretly rejoiced. For while you were
shocked by the accuracy of the soothsayer's reading, you also thought it
surely must mean that your plan will succeed, did you not? Your foul
heart was then further resolved to carry out your murderous plan.

"The very next day, at your own request, you visited the fortune teller's
apartment, apparently for the purpose of discussing his reading of your
father's impending doom. That was but an excuse. You did not stay long
at Mr. Thomas's apartment now, did you? You were here to survey the
grounds and to get ready the setting for your crime.

"On the day of the murder, you brought the victim to visit at Thomas's
apartment. I was there too that day, of course, at the invitation of the
fortune teller. And again, you did not stay long, for the true purpose of
the visit was neither to meet me nor the soothsayer.

"Think now! What reason would propel Arthur, having been so angered
at Mr. Thomas's first reading to agree to visit at his quarters? It seems
improbable that Arthur would agree to visit at all. Unless, that is, there
was some other strong reason that made him come. Did you not Charles,
secretly promised to show him something that he could only see if he
visits here?
"Detective," asked Murray, who now was totally absorbed in my theory.
"What is it that lured old Arthur here then? And how did he end up in
this foul sewer?

"Why, simple! It was to see his other son, Jerome McCormick, of

course."

At that, Jerome looked at me as if scarcely believing what he was

hearing.

"You, Charles, some days before the murder, sent a letter to your
brother." I continued. "That letter told him that if he wanted to see his
father he was to row his boat, between the hours of six and seven in the
evening, along the waters just yonder, below this very sewer tunnel."

"On the other hand, Charles lured Arthur with the promise of seeing his
son Jerome, whom he had not met for many years and had missed
desperately. At your prompting, the poor victim eagerly ventured down
the sewers thinking to see his son. But unbeknownst to him, his other
son Charles had been plotting harm against him."

"How came Charles to harm his father, then?" interjected Murray. "Did
he venture into the sewers after his father to kill him, and to return later
to the soothsayer's apartment pretending to beg for your help? This
cannot be, for I tracked your footprints - your own, detective, the
soothsayer's and Charles's. There were but one set of each man's. So
Charles could not possibly have come down the sewers before he went
to fetch you. How do you explain this?"

"That is the most puzzling problem to this mystery," I replied. "In

addition to the footprints which you observed, inspector, I had had also
the luxury of noting that Charles's shoes and trousers were not soiled
when he returned to Thomas and me for help. Indeed, he had not entered
the sewers before he went down with us. How came Charles to harm his
father, if he did not go down the sewer?

"For a long time I deliberated on the problem, but could arrive at no

solution. It was then that, by some chance, I came upon evidence which
lighted the truth for my seeing. The matter became plain after that."

"Pray, tell us," said Murray, sounding the more deflated. "If you please."

"Some months before, after a visit by Charles at his apartment, Thomas

had found one of his pets missing. It was a rare albino alligator. An
infant one, housed in a little basket. Charles had stolen it, of course. And
that is the tool that was used to carry out the murder."

At this, I heard some in the group gasp.

"The day before that of the murder, Charles came here to set up his
plans. With a thick rope he bought from the tailor, he tethered one end to
the alligator. With the other, he tied it near the top of the ladder that
leads down to the sewer. The length of the rope was just long enough so
that the beast could reach near the first gate, but not long enough so that
it could pass it. The beast, of course, had not been fed for days, and
when old Arthur came down the ladder unsuspectingly, he was
immediately attacked by the famished creature. The alligator chased
Arthur down the sewer, but upon reaching the first gate, was then halted
by the rope tied round its neck.

"The lock and chain on the first gate had also been planted by the killer.
Charles had anticipated that the old man would likely run further down
the tunnel, and seeing that there was a gate with lock, would
immediately lock himself up for safety from the vicious beast. By this
time, however, the man had been mortally injured, and he lapsed onto
the gate we see before us, dying from his wounds.
"At this instance, Jerome passed by in his boat, and the victim in his
dying breath called out to his son. Jerome heard his cries, and seeing that
it was indeed his father as promised by the letter he had received, rowed
near to meet him. He did not expect, however, to see his father a
bloodied mess, so much that he could hardly recognize him. Jerome,
dressed in his green raincoat and standing in his boat on the waters
outside, could then do nothing but reach his hand up through the gaps
between the grilles, to comfort his father as much as he could before as
his father died. Indeed, Jerome was the green specter that we saw.
Except that, unknown to us at the time, his hands were not 'death
clutches' that we had supposed."

At this, Jerome sobbed miserably. I knew I had it right.

"Not so fast, detective," said Murray. "You said the alligator was tied to
the rope. How did the creature get away after that? We did not see the
creature when we get here, nor did you and the fortune teller when you
came down, did you?" asked Murray. "If it was tied by the rope, it
should have still been here when you arrived?"

"I think I can answer that. Before Charles left to fetch us, he simply cut
the end of the rope that was tied near the top of the ladder leading to the
sewer. He could do this by climbing a little way down the ladder,
without getting his clothes muddied. After the rope is severed, where the
creature went, I cannot say."

Everyone was stunned by what I had just revealed. They stood

nervously, scarcely believing what they were hearing. Murray now
turned upon Charles.

"Well, do you confess?" he barked. "The detective here is accusing you

of the murder of your father. Do you plead guilty?"

At that, Charles broke into a hysterical fit of laughter.

"Yes, I confess. The detective had it all correct. It was I who did it," said
he. "I guess there is no denying it now."

"The remaining question is why?" I asked. "Why did you plot against
your father?"

After a pause, Charles said, "You all thought I was the filial son. The
daddy's boy. The one that obeyed his father's every wish. You did not
know the truth. How much I hated his guts!

"He took away the only woman I ever loved. I adored her more than
anything in the world! We were already engaged and I wanted so much
to marry her. I knew that she loved me too. Everything seemed to be
going so well at the time.

"Yet later, for some unknown reason of his own, the old man suddenly
objected to the marriage. He offered no reason to me, and I was deeply
hurt. Immediately, my world fell into decay all was lost in an instant. By
the simple will of the old man! Oh you were all mistaken! He did not
love me! I was but his slave! He rejoiced to see me suffer, that tyrant!"

He looked toward Celeste Bales, who was in tears.

"Then some months ago, I came to know that she had married Jerome
my brother. At the news, my heart became dead. Not only had I been
deprived of my love, she has now come to marry my very brother. My
brother, Jerome! He, unlike myself, had had the guts to free himself
from the clutches of my tyrant father. While I was forever destined to be
my father's prisoner, until the day he or I were dead!

"Dead, indeed! It was then that I conceived of this plan. It was a plan
conceived not only to do my father in, but to also possibly implicate my
brother Jerome. It happened exactly as the detective has told you. I, of
course, could not be sure of the success of my plan. For it could happen
that my father may survive the attack by the creature, or he could have
run in the other direction away from here. But I had given him
instructions to find this place, where he would see his precious prodigal
son Jerome. I predicted that he would find his way here, and hoped that
the beast would deal him fatal blows before he arrived and I anticipated
that he would lock himself up with the lock and chain I had set up there.
It all turned out the way I had hoped, fortunately."

He now stepped forward toward Celeste Bales. "Save those false

crocodile tears of yours, woman," He said coldly. "I know that not only
have you married my brother, but that you also had an affair with my
father himself! Deny it not, woman, for all of the town know about it.
How I hate you! You are the root of all this tragedy, you amorous
woman!"

We were all surprised when, at this, Celeste Bales, who had been
sobbing miserably, suddenly looked up and hit Charles sharply across
the face. I saw her lips tremble uncontrollably with emotions stirring
inside her.

"Did you ever know why your father terminated our engagement?" she
sobbed as she struggled to speak. "It was because I am terminally ill, and
I do not have not much longer to live!"

Now Charles looked in shock at her.

"Sometime after our engagement, Charles, I came to the know that I had
been diagnosed with a terminal illness," she continued. "I could not
bring myself to speak of it to you, for I loved you so dearly. But I
approached your father, and told him the whole truth.

"He was shocked at the news at first, but after a time he came to a
decision. Arthur begged me to break off the engagement to you. For he
could not bear to see the son he loves most dear to lose his wife. He
knew you were deeply in love with me, and he knew how distraught you
would be if you were to be married to me, and lose me shortly
afterwards.

"After our engagement had been cancelled, he continued to see me to

show me care as for a daughter, and to pass me money for my medical
expenses. Oh he was not as evil a man as you thought! Arthur felt guilty
at having asked me to leave you. Everything your father did, he did it for
your sake! And yet you say he does not love you! Oh, how mistaken you
are!"

At that, Celeste collapsed into the arms of those around her and could
say no more.

Charles was dumbfounded by this revelation, but it was all too late now.
He was re-arrested, and brought back to the station.

Before we left the sewer, I approached Thomas, for I had a question for
him.

"I have been meaning to ask you, did you really foretell of the man's
death?" I asked. "Your prediction has been too uncannily accurate. How
came you by it? It seems all too magical to me."

Thomas only smiled and replied thus, "You are only baffled by my craft
because you do not comprehend it. Just the same as I do not understand
yours. Your reasoning prowess, the ingenious thought processes that
enabled you to derive at the solution to the crime, seem as magical to me
as my powers of prophecy may seem to you. Your little speech just now
has been quite an eye-opener to me, I must say, detective."

In my mind, I told myself that I would never see the fortune teller the
same way again.

I was the last to climb out of the manhole. As I watched the others walk
away, something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye. I saw
the same blonde-haired girl child whom I had met some days ago. She
stood at a corner of the lane, looking back at me.

I recalled the secret she had whispered in my ear that day.

"Drain below. Scary monster. Big white monster."