Mysterious Death

Sunday Night, March 4th

"Repent!"

The thunderous voice from the makeshift pulpit screamed into the crowd of worshippers beneath the giant tent, as hands raised into the air to show praise. Hundreds had gathered to hear the famous charismatic preacher, as he brought salvation to sinners, and knowledge of God's son, the Christ, to a people who had grown lax in their worship.

For six months the tent revivals had made its way across the state, bringing the message of Redemption to the countryside. In each town, hundreds had attended the revivals, and hundreds had came back to the fold, repenting, and promising to worship again. Not since Billy Sunday, or the early days of the Billy Graham crusades, had so many returned to Christ, and the reason was the man standing behind the pulpit.

Standing several inches over six feet, Jeremiah Crawford was beanpole skinny, His gray hair was cropped short, while a long, hawkish nose gave his profile an Ichabod Crane appearance. His long, thin face was gray as Death itself, but the deep, thunderous voice captivated the listeners as he preached the Death and Resurrection of Jesus to save the sinners of the world.

"Confess your sins!" continued the barrage from the pulpit.

Hundreds of worshipful throats answered with an Amen as the preacher slammed his fist down on the pulpit.

The tall, thin man walked back to a chair behind the pulpit, and a second individual approached the speaker's platform. Tall, and bony, the new speaker spoke in a softer tone, asking that all attendees make a profession of faith by walking to the front of the pulpit to confess Jesus as their Savior. "The Reverend, Jeremiah, will also be listening to confessions after the services ends, so anyone wishing to speak with the reverend, please come forward with the others."

Towards the back of the tent, a group of well dressed women sat in wonder at the sermon of the famous preacher. One particularly beautiful blonde said something to the others who sat beside her. What ever her words, the low voiced statement caused some disagreement among the women. Several heads shook in the negative as the shapely young blonde stood up to make her way to the front, where Jeremiah Crawford now stood to await the crowd who were slowly making its way to the front.

May 15th

"Jimmy, you need a job to take up some of that energy you were cursed with," Captain Wheeler was telling the young man who sat in the office with him.

"Dad, I have plenty of hobbies to keep me busy," the young man responded.

"But a life of idleness is nonproductive, son," the elderly man continued. "Lord knows, we could use a man of your intelligence and strength on the police force, and I could get you assigned if you would just let me."

Captain Wheeler was a tall, muscular man of middle age. Fifteen years on the force, he had worked his way up from patrolman, to captain of detectives. Wavy brown hair was turning gray at the temples, but he was still a tough cop, and, except for his family, the police force was his life. He was not Jimmy's real father. Jimmy's father, also a patrolman, had been killed ten years previously. It was then that Patrolman Wheeler had met Jimmy and his mother, eventually marrying the woman who had so recently lost her husband.*

"No, thanks, dad," Jimmy laughed. "Although I enjoy amateur criminology, I feel that the policeman's hands are tied in a bureaucracy of red tape. I'm afraid I would waste away in a job like yours."

"Fiddlesticks!" snapped the elderly cop, "you would bring new blood to the force. Do you know, we haven't recruited any young men in over a year. The department is going gray, like my temples," he grinned.

"Sorry, dad, we've had this conversation many times before. Besides, mother would never allow both of us to wear a uniform. One cop in the family is enough, at least for now."

"Yes, you're right, of course," Jimmy's stepfather admitted. "And your mother would ring my neck if she knew I was pushing you towards a career field in law enforcement.

"But, fiddlesticks, you do need something to do in your life. Why doesn't Peggy talk some sense into you!"

Laughing, Jimmy winked at his dad, saying, "Peggy is just fine with me staying at home. We are still young lovers, you know. Besides, with all the chores she gives me, I am seldom idle at home. It appears there is always something that must be done around the house."

"Oh, I give up!" sighed the elderly cop. "Some day, I'm going to have an investigator look into that inheritance you got some years ago. I never did understand why that couple left you all that money."

"After father was murdered," Jimmy reminded him, "the couple sort of took me under their wings. Not having any children or relatives of their own, they left their fortune to me. The will wasn't contested, and I accepted the fortune. But there was a private requirement that they insisted upon: I was never to reveal anything about them or the fortune.

"I can only assure you that the money was honest, and their past was in the service of their country. Other than that, I am not at liberty to say."

"I already know all of that, son, I wasn't intimating otherwise. Only that the mystery intrigues me."

The sharp clang of the ringing telephone on his desk interrupted the conversation. Captain Wheeler answered the phone, "Yes?", then listened for a couple of minutes, finally: "Secure the scene, and I'll be there shortly."

Turning back to Jimmy, he asked, "Care to join me at the scene of a possible suicide?"

"Of course," Jimmy responded. Standing up, Jimmy presented a daunting figure. Standing six foot, he had a small waist and broad shoulders. His movement towards the door was feline grace, like some jungle cat moving about the bush. Blond hair and blue eyes gave him the boy next door appearance, but a sudden flash of fire from his eyes as he turned away from his father, told a much different story. Jimmy Malone was more than he presented to the world, and that was something that even his father did not know.

Taking a set of keys from the desk sergeant, Captain Wheeler escorted Jimmy to the parking lot, where he unlocked an unmarked automobile that was parked there. The captain of detectives filled Jimmy in as they drove. "One of the city's most outstanding citizens has found his wife, dead, and it looks like a possible suicide. I thought you might be interested in viewing the scene. Not all the world is peaches and cream."

Jimmy smiled at his father's wry remarks. As they drove through an extremely posh neighborhood, Jimmy marveled at the beauty of the community they were driving in. This was the area where the rich maintained homes priced in the million dollar range. This was not the first time Jimmy had been in this neighborhood. He and his wife, Peggy, had been invited to many gatherings here, but he was still unable to suppress a low whistle at the beauty of the homes and gardens of the city's most powerful citizens.

Arriving at one of the mansions, Captain Wheeler tooled the car into a paved drive that led to a heavily ornamental wooden door. Jimmy noticed a parked radio car near the shrubbery, and knew that officers were already on the scene. An elderly gentleman, wearing a tuxedo, opened the front door at their arrival. Standing behind him, was an officer in uniform, who saluted the captain and smiled at Jimmy as they entered the lobby of the big mansion.

"Mrs. German is in there," he pointed towards a side door in the big room. "Her husband is with her."

Nodding, Captain Wheeler walked towards the little door, Jimmy by his side. When the captain opened the portal, Jimmy saw that it led into a very large two car garage. The outside doors were open now, but the smell of gasoline lingered, and Jimmy could see the hose that ran from the exhaust pipe to a slightly opened window of the car.

Another uniformed officer was standing near the opened car door, where an elderly man was kneeling beside the body of a beautiful young woman, thirty years his junior. Her long blonde hair flowed over the back of the front seat, and her head tilted slightly up, a calm expression on her soft, clear skin.

"Was there a note?" Captain Wheeler asked the officer who was guarding the scene.

"Yes, sir," he responded, pointing to a small slip of white paper in the woman's lap. Using a tool he took from his pocket, the captain lifted the message from the girl's lap, and read the few words scrawled on the piece of paper. Jimmy, looking over his father's shoulder read the missive also.

"Darling, I'm sorry, but I cannot live the lie any longer. I am not what you thought when we met four years ago. I loved you so, and I tried to forget the past. But Jeremiah revealed my secret, and I have been paying blackmail for several months now. Still, they want more, and I will no longer pay their demands. I love you so, please forgive me. Connie."

Hearing a commotion at the little door, Jimmy looked to see the crime scene investigators arriving to examine the scene, but he knew the scene would reveal nothing. Jimmy had no doubt that it was merely a suicide. But what did interest him, was the mention of blackmail. Silently fading from the garage, Jimmy returned to the large lobby where he found the old butler sitting in shock. Approaching the old man, Jimmy asked, "Do you know who Jeremiah is?"

Looking up, the old man said, "Jeremiah, sir?" Isn't that a book in the Holy Bible?"

"Yes, of course," Jimmy acknowledged. "But I was wondering if perhaps Mrs. Germain may have known a person by that name."

"I'm sorry sir, but no," the old man answered, thinking that Jimmy was a detective.

"Thank you," Jimmy told the old man, then he walked around the big room, admiring the many paintings that adorned the walls of the big living room. On one wall, he found a painting by Wilber, illustrating a scene of early 16th Century France. Next to that was a painting by a famous Canadian artist named Dickison, illustrating the powerful scene of a family with a dog at play in a meadow. Both were famous artists, and Jimmy knew that the paintings had cost a fortune. Other paintings were throughout the room, with famous names like Duncan, Capella, Fraker, many others.

Jimmy wanted to go upstairs where, undoubtedly, the bedrooms were located. He wanted to search through the woman's belongings, knowing there might be a clue there, while the investigators merely talked to friends and relatives, trying to determine the truth behind the woman's suicide. Jimmy knew that crooks were involved, and a blackmail scheme was in operation within their city, something that interested Jimmy Malone. Strange that blackmail and gangsters should interest the young man. After all, he had declined the offer from his father to join the police department.

Walking into the kitchen area, Jimmy examined a set of glasses on a cabinet near the sink. One glass caught his eye, it was one with lipstick on the rim. Jimmy recognized it as the same color the victim wore. Using his handkerchief, Jimmy picked up the glass and put it into his light jacket pocket, a smile crossing his lips as he did so.

Hearing men returning to the lobby, Jimmy joined them as his father came into the room. The officers paid no attention to Jimmy, thinking he had accompanied his father from the garage. The crime scene investigators also left the garage, shaking their heads. The head CSI investigator shook his head as the captain looked toward him. "Nothing, sir," he confessed. "The scene is clean, except for personal touches. No crime is evident. It appears to be a simple suicide."

Jimmy noticed the old butler leading two men from the outside door, As they approached, one of the gentleman stopped in front of Captain Wheeler and, shaking his hand, introduced himself as Jonathan French, the family lawyer. The other man continued into the garage, and the lawyer stated, "The family doctor."

"Our Medical Examiner is with the CSI team," the captain stated, pointing out a man who had accompanied the group to the scene.

"As the family attorney, I think you can leave the rest of the problem to me, captain. Mr. Smith-German will need to be sedated and looked after by his personal physician. I insist there be no more intrusion into his home, or questioning for the time being. You may call in a couple of days, and we will give you a statement."

"We will be in touch," the captain of detectives told him. "There are some unanswered questions that we would like to ask. After all, a crime may have been connected to the death."

"Right now, that is not important," the lawyer continued. "It was a suicide, pure and simple, and Mr. Germain will not want any publicity on the matter. I will speak directly with the DA on this matter. I think you should let the rest alone."

As Captain Wheeler turned to leave, Jimmy heard him mutter his favorite word, "Fiddlesticks!"

Back in the car, Captain Wheeler told his son. "Your advice was a good one, but we couldn't get her fingerprints at the scene. Her husband wouldn't let us touch her, except for the ME to examine her. I am afraid we are at a loss on that front."

"Not quite," Jimmy smiled, reaching into his pocket. Pulling out the glass, he kept in wrapped in the cloth as he laid it on the seat. "If I'm correct, her fingerprints will be all over this glass."

Captain Wheeler laughed. "See, what did I say earlier? You would make a top notch investigator. Unfortunately, we'll have to talk about your stealing of evidence." Again, he laughed heartily at the evidence his son had placed in his hands.

Death, though mysterious, was proven to be suicide; Jimmy Malone did not doubt the fact. But behind the calm facade of Jimmy's smile, the mysterious crime fighter known as the Black Ghost was not satisfied with the findings. For Jimmy Malone was the mysterious Compere, called the Black Ghost by the Underworld, and the death of the young woman was going to bring this creature of the night out to battle minions of the underworld, to destroy the sore that had descended upon the city.

No wonder Jimmy had declined his father's offer of a job. Hindered by the very law they served, the police could go no further with the investigation. As a lone wolf, Jimmy Malone was not restricted by rules and paperwork. He could fight gangland with their own weapons, and his prowess were legend among the denizens of the underworld. When young Jimmy left his father at the station that evening a soft laugh floated through the night air. The Black Ghost was on the prowl.