The Poll Bearer Part 17 see more novels at www.writemeamystery.com

“No,” Dan said. “Your secret’s safe with me. Sorry I had to have you relive it. Don’t worry, nobody else is going to bother you.”

He excused himself and left the house as Wyatt tried to comfort his wife. Andrew Slate was dead, but there was someone who had picked up Andrew’s life and continued it without Slate’s family finding out. Why, Dan didn’t know; but he was positive he was going to find out…an ocean of money might be riding on the answer.

CHAPTER 13

       On the plane ride back, he tried to sort it out in his mind. The data that they had culled on Andrew Slate was actually about two people; that was probably why there was so much diversity in a single man. Somehow, this new Slate abandoned whatever identity he had before and either absorbed the life of the original Andrew, or he forged a new path simply using the name and pertinent information like the original’s Social Security number. By establishing his new identity a thousand miles away, there was little chance of discovery. But who was this man that needed a new identity? What had he done in his past life that he needed to escape? Those were the burning questions, but at least Dan had a time frame in which to investigate.

            Back at his office, he summoned Ron.

            “Listen,” he said. “I need you to do something for me. I want you to take all the data we have on Andrew Slate, and I want you to divide it…everything in his life up to seven years ago and then seven years ago to the present. Do the profiles as if you were dealing with two separate people. Yah, I know it sounds crazy, but humor me. Then compare them for similar traits and for dissimilar ones. How fast can you do that?’

            “Should be no problem,” Ron answered. “All of the information is already there; it’s just changing how we aggregate it. Should be ten minutes.”

            “Go,” Dan said. “And tell nobody. Get me a print out.”

            Fifteen minutes later, Ron was standing in front of Dan’s desk with three folders in his hands.

            “Here’s the stuff on Slate up to seven years ago,” he said handing Dan the first folder. “And here’s the stuff to the present.”

            “Let me see the comparisons,” Dan said reaching for the third folder.

            As he checked to see which traits continued throughout the two phases of Slate’s life, he was not surprised to note that there were profound changes. The early Slate was more outgoing, a risk taker, independent, uncertain about his future goals seemingly smart; the later Slate was more conservative, patient, quiet, equally smart but in a less creative way, focused. It was as if two totally different people were occupying the same identity.

            It was obvious that somehow Dan had to get the new Slate’s fingerprints to find out who he was dealing with; unfortunately, his schedule was jammed with clients seeking to sign up the company’s services. Picking up the phone, he dialed Richie’s number.

            “Rich…Dan…I need you to do something…no, I need it today…of course I’ll pay, you mercenary little pig…I want you to get some of the trash out of a guy’s barrels…yes, trash…and wear gloves because I want his prints…no, I’m not spying, I just need his prints…look, you want the money or not because I can get…okay, then look for bottles or can lids or anything he’d touch that would leave clear prints…yah, a potato chip bag would be good…you got the idea…bring back a bunch of stuff…okay.”

            The rest of the day Dan’s schedule was busy with clients, but Slate was foremost on his mind. Everything depended on Slate’s average nature to make the choices that mirrored America; and if something was wrong, then Dan’s entire career would go up in flames not to mention dealing with Louis’ reaction. Finally, at 6:00 PM, Richie arrived, a black plastic bag in his hands.

            “This wasn’t as easy as it seems,” Richie said. “This guy keeps his trash in a locked shed. I had to pry off three boards from the back just to get in. I put them back when I left. It was dark inside, so I just emptied the contents of the barrel into this bag. Here it is. I haven’t the slightest idea what’s in it.”

            Dan opened the half-filled bag and looked inside. There were shredded papers, old magazines, a torn throw pillow, and an empty plastic apple juice container. He took a piece of paper from his desk and used it to shield his hand as he took out the plastic container.

            “I need to get the prints off this bottle and to see who they match. Any suggestions on how?” Dan asked.

            “One of the profs at school who teaches criminal science has some contacts with the police,” Richie said. “Maybe he could get it done. But I’d need a story to tell him.”

            “Tell him they…never mind,” Dan said. He just realized that the new Slate might have a record in his previous identity; he might even be wanted. Tipping off the police could be the wrong move to make; he couldn’t afford to lose Slate now. “Is there another way?”

            “Well, he could copy the prints so you’d have them, but I don’t know how you could run them against a national database without involving the police,” Richie said.

            “Get Ron,” Dan commanded.

            “He’s gone by now,” Richie answered.

            “Find him. It’s very important,” Dan emphasized. “Tell him to come down here right away.”

The Poll Bearer Part 16 see more novels at www.writemeamystery.com

“This Wyatt character sure doesn’t like to travel,” he said. “There’s nothing. Unless he had a wad of cash, this guy stayed in Nebraska and didn’t leave, at least for the last eight years.”

“Same for Judith,” Dan answered. “Thanks. Now take these and destroy them. And don’t tell anybody what we were doing here today. I mean nobody.”

The seriousness of his tone and the somber look on his face was enough to send the message home to the young man.

When Ron was just about to leave, Dan stopped him.

“One last favor,” he said. “This time use the computer. Get Wyatt Slate’s phone number and Judith’s as well and see if there were any calls made from either phone to Andrew Slate’s present number or vice versa in the last eight years. Can you do that? And how many calls were made.”

“No problem now that you’ll let me use technology,” Ron joked. “I’ll have it in minutes.”

Ron was good to his word. He called Dan exactly five minutes later from the big room with a single word answer: “None.”

That meant that as far as anyone was concerned, Slate’s parents and sister hadn’t been in contact with Andrew in the last seven years. While that wasn’t exceptionally strange in this fast paced world, it did raise a question in Dan’s mind…why? The answer didn’t lay in the computers in the big rooms; it could only be found in the suburbs of Omaha, Nebraska, or Juneau, Alaska. Knowing that Lisa would inform Louis immediately if Dan asked her to book a flight, he decided to have Richie do it from home. It would be just an overnight so nobody would get suspicious.

Four hours later, he was in the air trying to write down what questions he wanted to ask Slate’s parents, that was if they would see him. He also had to come up with a cover story so that they wouldn’t suddenly alert him. By the time the plane landed, he had decided to pose as an insurance adjuster trying to settle a claim on behalf of Andrew. He’d tell the Slates that their son’s car had been stolen and recovered totaled, and he had the check but that Andrew had moved. It was a weak story, but he found usually people opened up when money was involved. In order to give it some credibility, he took a blank check from his own book and made it out to Andrew Slate for $25,000. This way he could flash it quickly but never really give it to them.

Taking a taxi from the airport, he arrived at the Slate home in early evening. Wyatt answered the door and invited Dan in, then he called his wife. She was a frail-looking woman who looked much older than her real age. It was obvious Wyatt was taking care of her by the concern he showed as she slowly entered the room.

“You said money?” Wyatt asked.

“Yes,” Dan answered as all three people sat down at the dining room table. “I have a check for $25,000 dollars made out to your son from the Constitutional Insurance Company in replacement for a car he owned that was stolen and totaled. Our problem is that Andrew moved and we have no forwarding address. I was wondering -.”

He stopped speaking as Janet Slate began weeping.

“Your son is okay,” Dan interjected. “It’s just his car that was damaged.”

The explanation did nothing to give comfort to the woman as she lowered her head onto her hands and began sobbing even harder.

“I don’t know what your game is,” Wyatt said angrily, standing up from his chair; “but I want you out of this house.”

“I meant no harm,” Dan said trying to plead his case while he was rising from the chair. “I’m not selling anything, I swear. I just want to give Andrew his check and then I’m on my way.”

In desperation, he pulled out the phony check and flashed it in Wyatt’s face, moving it around so the old man could only get a glimpse of the number and not much else.

“See, it’s the actual check,” Dan said, putting it away. “I just need Andrew’s address.”

“Don’t make me get physical,” Wyatt threatened. “Now get out of my house or I’ll call the…just get out.”

He had hesitated on saying “police” Dan noticed. The old man was willing to get physical, but he didn’t want to bring the authorities in on this. Dan decided to try a bluff.

“Sure, let’s call the police,” he said taking out his cell phone. “Maybe they can straighten this out.”

“No,” Janet cried out. “Please no police.”

Wyatt stopped and turned to his wife, tears still running down her cheeks.

“Tell him no police,” she pleaded to her husband. “Tell him.”

Wyatt Slate stopped, the belligerence now gone. In its place was the face of a man who held a big secret that he didn’t want revealed.

“Our son doesn’t want the money,” he said. “Keep it. Give it to charity. Give it back to the company.”

Now Dan knew he was onto something; no one gives up $25,000.

“Look,” he said. “I’ll keep your secret and nobody has to know. I’ll say I couldn’t find your son but only if you tell me why I should lie for you. I want to make sure I’m not getting involved in a criminal action.”

Wyatt looked at his wife then back at Dan. He didn’t want to say anything, but he was afraid Dan might push the issue. This way it might be kept among the three of them; but if he refused to say anything, it might cause Dan to investigate on behalf of the insurance company.

“Our son is dead,” Wyatt said. “Seven years ago.”

“Dead!” Dan exclaimed.

“It was an accident,” Wyatt said. “He and his sister were snowmobile riding; she was driving. She was showboating, driving recklessly, and they hit a wire stretched across a fenced in area. She was thrown clear and was okay with only bruises, but the machine came down on his chest crushing him and killing him instantly. I was on another snowmobile following and witnessed the whole thing. When I got there, I saw he was dead. Shock had set in on her. I put him in the back of my truck and her in the cab. We were afraid the police would charge her with manslaughter, so I took him to a friend of mine who runs a mortuary. He took the body and had it cremated as a John Doe. Meanwhile we took her to the hospital and told the whole story minus the fact that her brother was riding with her and was killed. She had snapped. They kept her in the hospital for three weeks under a suicide watch, mental problems they said. When they let her go, she was a changed person. She spent six months in a sanitarium. To this day, she has no memory that she killed her brother or that he is even dead. We told her and people he knew that he moved away to get a better job. If she ever found out that she was responsible for his death, I think it would be too much for her mind to handle, any way we couldn’t take that chance. We lost one child and, hopefully, saved the other one. You don’t have to report this, do you?”

The Poll Bearer Part 15 see more novels at www.writemeamystery.com

Outside in the sunlight, he walked to the nearest newsstand and bought a paper. Quickly scanning it for some lurid headline, Dan was pleased to find that the most newsworthy local story involved a fight at a local night club. There was nothing to indicate any actions toward an individual in a house in the suburbs. Going back to the parking garage, he got his car and drove home. Today, he was rewarding himself by coming in very late if at all.

On the way he tuned in the radio to hear the ball scores. Scanning the stations, he came across one that was broadcasting the news.

“…and police have said that the victim’s husband is not a person of interest at this time. He came home early this morning from an overnight business trip, discovered his wife’s mutilated body in their bedroom, and immediately called the police. An anonymous source says that there were multiple stab wounds to the chest of the victim. Police are asking citizens to report any suspicious activity at or around 32 Memford Street last night between the hours of nine and ten to their hotline. Once again…”

Dan clicked off the radio, pulled the car to the side of the road, and shut off the engine. The supermarket parking lot was eight blocks away from the crime scene. In the process of following Slate through the twisting path he took, Dan failed to keep track of the street names. It was entirely possible that Slate had gone to the Memford address, and the suspicious use of bleach and the burning of his clothes could tie him in directly to the crime. However, there was nothing in Slate’s extensive profile that would indicate such behavior or even the possibility that he might be capable of doing something like this.

Suddenly his cell phone rang.

“Hello,” he answered. “Ron…what do you mean Borley called? I’m not supposed to meet with him until tomorrow…antsy…yah, I guess I could swing by his office this morning. I need to go home and change first…email the results to my home computer and I’ll print out a copy…Slate still sleeping?...no reason, I just figured he had a tiring night…no, I don’t mean anything by that…no, everything’s okay…I’m on my way home now…oh, do me a favor…print out Slate’s total profile for me so I can get it when I come back…no…no reason, I’d just like to read it again…no, I tell you there’s no reason, just do it…yah…see you later…wait a second. What time did Borley say he’d be in…I better hurry.”

Dan knew that he had made Ron suspicious because he had handled that conversation so poorly, but that couldn’t be helped. Now, he had to go home and change into his diving clothes, so to speak, because he figured he was about to start swimming in that ocean of money he had promised everyone.

CHAPTER 12

           

            Dan showered and changed, then he ran off a copy of the figures Ron had emailed. He arrived at Borley’s office just in time. The next hour proved to be the start of digging that gold mine, since Borley was very impressed; so much so that he went to the front of the building and conducted the random test as he had before only this time with reworked pictures. This time the results matched Slate’s perfectly, and the big man was sold. By the time Dan got back to his own office, his phone was ringing constantly with other agencies trying to get into a good deal.

            “Lisa,” Dan said as he walked through the door; “start setting up appointments for everybody who calls. Give the biggest agencies top priority then work your way down. And they come here, I don’t go to them.”

            Two minutes later, Louis walked in and took his familiar seat.

            “Success?’ he asked in his one word sentences.

            “Overwhelming,” Dan answered in a mimicking tone.

            “How much?” Louis asked.

            “Lake Michigan size,” Dan answered trying to keep his responses in line with the original “ocean of money” promise. “Working toward the Gulf of Mexico. In a month, we should be swimming in the Atlantic Ocean of cash.”

            For the first time, Louis smiled.

            “I’m kind of busy today,” Dan said; “trying to strike while the iron is hot so to speak. So if you’ve used up all your single word questions for today, I have work to do.”

            He remembered when just a short time ago he would never dare talk to Louis that way, but things were different now. Louis stopped smiling and got up to leave the office, stopping at the door to give his usual cryptic remark.

            “Don’t screw it up,” he said. This time the meaning was very clear.

            Dan immediately left his office and took the elevator down to the big room where he saw Ron at the copier.

            “Just finishing up printing what you asked for,” the young man said.

            “Give it to me,” Dan replied abruptly. Then realizing he might have been too crude, he added, “Sorry, but I’ve got a million things waiting for me upstairs. I’ll make it up to you later. Lunch. Okay?”

            He even forced a smile so as not to worry the young man. Back upstairs, he started to pour over the information looking for some sort of clue that might let him know if Slate was really an average person; or, had he somehow managed to fool the information gathering system over the years. Looking at page after page of details, Dan began to think that Slate’s midnight foray was just something harmless and didn’t really have anything to do with the address in the police report. Finally, he stopped to take a break, exhausted from the intensive data they had been able to collect on Andrew Slate. He wasn’t ready to quit just yet, but he needed to turn his attention to something trivial to refresh his mind. Turning on the television set in his office in order to get the latest news, he stopped in his tracks.

            “This is Jeff Thomas of On The Spot News reporting from just outside

32 Memford Street

where last night a vicious murder took place…”

            As the reporter droned on, all Dan could see on the screen in the background was the very house that Slate had staked out and entered the night before. Even with the yellow police tape cordoning off the media from a closer view, this was definitely the front of the house. In panning the scene, the news cameras even showed the bushes where Dan had hid.

            Clicking off the set, he returned to the papers on his desk. There had to be something here, a tiny error that had slipped past the aggregation process…something that Slate had fabricated and which had been accepted as true. Dan began again sifting through the pages, taking each minute detail and checking it against all of the others. Dates and times all appeared to add up, but something bothered Dan although he couldn’t put his finger on it. Then something struck him, something almost insignificant.

            Slate’s parents lived in the outskirts of Omaha, Nebraska, while his older sister lived in Juneau, Alaska. In all the credit card purchases Slate had made over the last seven years, there were none for airline, train, or bus tickets to either of those locations. Likewise, there were no charges for gasoline purchased in either of the two states, which meant that Slate hadn’t traveled to see his parents or his sister unless he had paid for everything in cash. That didn’t mean they hadn’t come to see him, however.

            Picking up his phone, Dan called Ron.

            “Ron, I need a favor. Could you run profiles on Wyatt S. Slate of Omaha, Nebraska; his wife, Catherine G. Slate, maiden name Trywer; and Judith R. Slate, her married name is Grovsner…G-R-O-V-S-N-E-R…of Juneau, Alaska. I need them as fast as you can get them. Oh, and only include the last ten…make that the last eight years.”

            In half an hour, Ron walked into Dan’s office with three packed folders in his hands.

            “Sit down,” Dan said. “I want you to start looking at Wyatt’s folder carefully. You’re looking at charges he made to a credit card for any transportation outside the state in the last eight years. Plane, train, bus, rented car…anything.”

            “I could have done this a hundred times faster on the computer downstairs,” Ron said wondering what was going on.

            “Humor me,” Dan said showing a gravity to his expression. “I’ll do the sister.”

            Deciding not to protest further, Ron started through the pages while Dan did the same. An hour later both men were bleary-eyed.

            “Find anything yet,” Dan asked.

            “Nothing,” Ron answered. “You mind telling me why we’re doing this.”

“Just keep looking,” Dan urged.

Another hour passed before Ron closed the back flap of the folder.

The Poll Bearer Part 14 see more novels at www.writemeamystery.com

CHAPTER 11

           

That evening, Dan gave all the surveillance crews the night off figuring he and Ron would check the computer results after the commercial had been substituted and viewed. The observers welcomed the break and would report back in the morning. Sure enough, Slate’s focus had changed from the background to the product. New word phrases used to describe the hair spray also seemed to get his attention. Of the thirty seconds of the commercial, Slate was connected to the content for a full twenty-five seconds, his attention just waning slightly at the end. Dan and Ron looked at each other and smiled. They knew they had a winner and that Borley would be jumping for joy. It wouldn’t take long for the news to get out and contracts to start rolling in. Andrew Slate was a goldmine just waiting to be tapped.

            “Are you going to shut down the surveillance entirely?’ Ron asked, hinting that he’d like to go home.

            “No,” Dan answered. “You take off; I’ll stick around for awhile until he goes to sleep then I might leave him alone for a few hours until the next shift comes on. Nice job tonight. Get some rest.”

            Ron exited quickly before Dan changed his mind. Dan sat back in the comfortable chair and looked as Slate continued to watch television. After awhile, he got up, clicked off the lights and left the room. The night vision cameras clicked into play as he ascended the stairs to his bedroom, feeling his way along the walls by the dim glow of night lights. He snapped on the light in the room and went to his dresser where he reached into the second drawer and pulled out an object Dan wasn’t able to see clearly even by zooming in. Slate then went to the bedroom door, shut off the lights, and made his way carefully down the stairs and out to the kitchen where he put on the lights again. He reached into a drawer near the sink and took out what appeared to be a corkscrew which he slipped into his pants’ pocket. He shut off the light and exited through the back door.

            Dan sat upright in the chair as an outside monitored picked Slate up as he walked in the darkness to the garage. This was totally out of his regular pattern of behavior. He entered through a side door and a few seconds later the large garage double doors swung open causing the automatic light inside to come on. Slate immediately backed his car out of the garage and into the quiet street. He proceeded to go north.

            Dan clicked on the in-car camera and could see Slate staring straight ahead with an intense look on his face. The camera was fixed in a permanent position just inside one of the heater vents so its view was severely limited. The GPS under the hood told Dan that Slate was traveling northeast toward the suburbs of the city. Grabbing his electronic tablet so he could continue to monitor Slate, Dan raced from the building and into the parking garage where he got into his own car. Maybe Slate was going to a pharmacy to pick up some medicine or a late night snack, he thought. If that were the case, Slate’s selection would prove invaluable in their research.

            Taking side streets, Dan tried to intersect Slate’s route; but Andrew’s car appeared to stop before Dan could catch up. According to the GPS reading on the tablet, the vehicle was located in the parking lot of an all-night supermarket, but the indicators in Slate’s shoes showed he had left the car and was proceeding on foot…however, it wasn’t into the market but down the street.

            Finally, Dan drove into the parking lot and saw Slate’s car. Leaving his a discrete distance away and taking his tablet, he began to follow Slate’s trail as he wound his way down side streets and across empty lots. For awhile, it appeared he was just rambling, but then his movement stopped long enough for Dan to make visual contact. Hiding behind some bushes, he could see Slate standing behind a tree looking in the direction of a house at the end of a cul de sac. There was a light on in a second floor room. Slate just stood there keeping himself hidden from the view of any passerby, watching the house as if he were waiting for something to happen. After an hour, the light went out in the room; and Slate continued to wait until at least a half hour more went by. Then, looking around, he slipped out from behind the tree and cautiously made his way across the street and into some bushes on the side of the house. Dan was afraid to go any further for fear he might be seen, so he waited in his position. Fifteen minutes went by and he was about to step out from his cover when he saw Slate reappear and run across the street toward him. Ducking low behind his bushy hiding place so as not to be seen, he was close enough to notice that Slate was now wearing rubber gloves which he was pealing off as he raced past him.

            Following at a safe distance, he watched as Slate returned to his car and pulled out of the lot heading in the direction of home. Keeping a focus on Slate’s movements with the tablet, Dan was not too far behind. He parked down the street as Slate pulled into his garage. When Slate re-entered his house, Dan sped off to the big rooms where the bank of monitors made tracking Slate’s movements in his house easier. By the time Dan got to his destination, Slate had already disposed of the clothes he had been wearing and was lying in bed.

            Dan rewound the tape back to when Slate had entered the house, then he played it back. Slate had entered in only his t-shirt and shorts. His pants, shirt, socks, and shoes were missing. He had gone to the sink and had taken out a bottle of bleach which he poured into one of the wells. He took the corkscrew out of his pocket and threw it and the rubber gloves into the bleach stirring them around in the liquid with a long handled wooden spoon. After a few minutes, he released the stopper and rinsed off the three items. Then he put the corkscrew back into the drawer and walked down stairs to the cellar. He stuck the rubber gloves into an old looking wood burning stove and put newspaper around them. Then he squirted some charcoal lighter fluid on the paper and threw in a match before closing the door. He picked up a large canvas bag and went back upstairs and out the kitchen door. In a minute he returned lugging the bag which now had something in it. Once again, he went into the cellar and, using a barbeque fork, opened the door of the stove. The fire was starting to sputter when he crammed the bag inside. More squirts of lighter fluid and another match caused an instant flame. Dan could only guess that Slate’s clothes and shoes were in that bag. Pushing the door of the stove shut with the other end of the barbeque fork, Slate went back upstairs to his bedroom where the monitors showed he was lying right now.

            Dan erased that portion of the tape and continued to live monitor Slate who had now fallen fast asleep. The rest of the night dragged on until the morning crew arrived to relieve him. The members were surprised to see Dan there, but he dismissed their concerns by telling them he got stood up on a date and just wanted to be alone. Ordinarily, he might have believed that Slate was having an affair with a married woman, although nothing in his extensive profile indicated that to be the case. Another possible scenario might be that he was pulling a prank on an unsuspecting colleague…but neither of these two events could explain the bleach and the rubber gloves.

The Poll Bearer Part 13 see more novels at www.writemeamystery.com

CHAPTER 10

At the end of the week, Dan suggested to Ron that they try a test. He had been able to get a test commercial for a dish washing product that a manufacturer had made. The commercial had run in a very limited market in the Pacific Northwest to see if it had any potential. Reaction was generally negative with 64% of women and 78% of men expressing an unfavorable opinion of the product without ever having tried it. Each test group was asked to write down his or her specific objections to the commercial.

During one of the shows Slate was watching on a Friday night, Ron replaced the regular commercial with the test one; and Slate’s reactions were recorded. The next day, when the team knew Andrew did his grocery shopping for the week, they made up a batch of small sample bottles of dish detergent to give away for free. Both had the exact same bottle design and the exact same color liquid inside, but the labels were different. One was of a brand that didn’t exist and whose label featured the color pink while the other was the same label as appeared on the test commercial Andrew had seen the day before. As he exited the supermarket, a man approached him and other shoppers in the parking lot and offered them a choice of the two free sample dish detergents, making it appear to be a promotion. Andrew took the pink labeled one without hesitation although pink was a man’s least favorite color.

Dan tried a similar test featuring a different product two days later, and Andrew passed with flying colors. It was now time to contact an advertising agency to do this for real.

Dan made his pitch to George Borley, head man at Borley and Enwright, one of the top agencies in the business. George Borley was about to conduct a big campaign for Santana Cosmetics who were coming out with a new line of men’s grooming products. The polling numbers on their test commercial were highly favorable among men, and Borley was ready to launch. Dan had already obtained a preview copy of the ad and had shown it to Slate through the commercial substitution ruse. Then, Andrew’s facial reactions were measured against the commercial second by second with the computer spitting out the results. According to Slate, the focus was not on the product but more so on the background images. When the grooming aid was in a close up shot, Slate’s eye contact with the screen wandered. In wide shots where water skiers were seen skimming across the surface in the background, Slate was focused. The polling company had registered a false positive. When Dan suggested to Borley that he try another polling sample but ask specific questions about what the viewers were specifically looking at in each frame, Borley balked. Dan then tried a different tactic asking Borley to accompany him to any public gathering place of Borley’s choosing and to bring with him the photo ad they were going to use in their magazine spreads. Borley could ask the question to anyone he wanted: “What do you see in this picture?”

Hesitatingly, Borley agreed figuring he would shut this loud mouth up. Going down to the street in front of the building with Dan at his side and the ad picture in his hand, he stopped people at random and asked what they saw in the picture. Out of twenty men and women of various ages and backgrounds, fourteen said water skiers; two said a beach setting; one said the ocean; one said the blonde water skier in the yellow bikini; and two said a can of hair spray.

“Let’s try it again down the block,” Borley said. Together the men walked to the corner, and Borley tried the experiment again with practically the same results only this time there was only one noticing the hair spray and five picking out the blonde in the bikini.

Dan was tempted to say “I told you,” but he refrained instead suggesting to Borley how the commercial could be tweaked to produce the desired results. The same was true for the print campaign. Dan offered to test the new version for free whenever Borley wanted. With that he left the ad executive and returned to his own office hoping that his tactic had worked and that he would be getting a phone call in a few days.

Sure enough, on Wednesday, the phone rang.

“Hello,” Dan said. “George, nice to hear from you…of course I meant what I said about testing the commercial…yes, for free…results…probably Friday at the latest…you’ll send it over by courier…sure…I’ll get back to you then…how many people will we be polling...more than the other guys you’ve used in the past, that’s all I can say…sure…I’ll get back to you on Friday…no, it’ll be earlier than that…okay.”

Immediately, he called in Ron who was now in a leave of absence from the college and working full time for Dan, that prospect of an ocean of money as a lure; but the young man was more excited about the work they were doing on human research. Ron could smell a doctorate in his future based upon the results he was helping to make happen.

“A courier is bringing over a tape. I need you to do the substitution  tonight. Make sure we do the facial comparison second by second. I need the results by Friday morning,” Dan said. “This is our big chance, so make it happen.”

The Poll Bearer Part 12 see more novels at www.writemeamystery.com

“Why not use your people,” Dan continued. “They’re obviously good at what they do; they’re already on the payroll; and if you allow them to transfer some of their equipment off me and onto Slate, it’ll probably be the most cost effective way to go.”

Dan stopped again, but Postadolas still remained silent. He was busy processing everything he was hearing.

“They’ll be responsible for bugging his house and car and following him everywhere he goes, twenty-four hours a day, using listening and video devices to record everything he says or does. They’ll feed the tapes back to my team for analysis, and we do the print outs that are necessary to satisfy advertisers, political campaigns, the lot. If I’m correct, Mr. Slate will make all of us that ocean of money I promised.”

Louis looked up at Dan, then rose from the chair and walked toward him. When he was two feet away, he was now a foot taller than the sitting Dan.

“Done,” he said, then turned and walked to the door stopping just before he exited. “And neither do I.”

“What?” Dan asked confused. “Neither do I what?”

“Have any scruples,” Louis said as he shut the door behind him.

Whereas Dan was having a joke at the expense of his guest, Louis was delivering a message.

CHAPTER 9

Within thirty-six hours the surveillance equipment was in place inside Slate’s home. Part was installed each time he left the house to do an errand or to go to work, and some was put into place by expert burglars who entered while the subject was sleeping. Tiny tracking devices were sewn into his clothes and inserted into the heels of all of his shoes. There wasn’t a place in the house where Slate couldn’t be viewed since it was important that all of his decisions be recorded for analysis. A series of cars and vans would trail him wherever he went; each was equipped with night vision gear and photo and audio surveillance equipment. It was essential that he not know he was being watched so that his decision-making was untainted by outside pressures.

One of the days, a technician posing as a cable repair man, got access to Slate’s two television sets on the pretext of checking the incoming signal. In the process, he substituted the regular cable boxes for rigged ones that would allowed Dan to insert special commercials in place of those regularly broadcast. In this way, the advertisers could test the commercials on Slate then fine tune them to his likes and dislikes. Naturally, they would have no knowledge that Slate was involved; they would just receive a print out addressing specific parts of the commercial that should be reviewed. This action would be done on a limited basis so that Slate would be unaware that he was viewing something that regular Americans weren’t able to see…yet. In addition, from time to time Slate would receive sample products in the mail so that his reactions to them could be tabulated

Dan got Ron and Richie to act as the coordinators of the data that was to be fed into the computers in the big rooms. All of the outside feeds, both picture and sound, were sent in as they occurred; and the programs would boil Slate’s reactions into patterns of behavior that could be attributed to large parts of the population as well. The field agents saw little snippets of Slate’s behavior and had no real idea of the big picture; that was only available to Dan, Richie, and Ron.

All Dan could think of was that this was something like the movie The Truman Show where a person’s life was chronicled from the time he was born until the time he died. It was the tops in reality television; the difference here was that only a limited number of people were watching.

Dan looked at the original print outs on Slate to try to determine why the computers picked a man and not a woman; why a guy in his late 20’s and not somebody older; why him in particular. He was unmarried, bisexual, moderately educated, an upper class blue collar worker on the fringes of being a middle class white collar worker, had an older sister, both parents still living, four years in the Army, liked sports and movies, good dancer, price comparison shopper, stylish dresser, 20/20 vision, excellent overall health, very slightly overweight, artistically inclined, independent, recycler, played the guitar, liked to read, better than average photographer, owned a hybrid car, loved to garden, snow boarder, owned a dog and a cat, donated to seven charities, and a church goer. There was no real one defining attribute that singled him out; that’s why he was the average person…he blended in with many groupings of people.  

Dan made the decision to do observations and analysis for a week before reporting anything to Louis, who was strangely quiet since Dan had bluffed that there were other backers interested in the project.

The first thing the team discovered may have been one of the reasons the computer picked Slate: he had an affinity for the colors blue and purple. While the average man rated blue as his favorite color with green and black distant seconds, purple generally ranked in with his least favorite; but it was a color women preferred most. In observing Slate, however, the team found that he liked both colors equally indicating that he had some strong affinity with women’s preferences. In addition, they found he was very aware of different scents, liked antiques and old books, and alternated between baths and showers. His physical contact with his male friends was always very masculine with hits in the arm, pats on the ass, slaps on the back; but his physical contact with women was always soft, and courteous, and bordering on delicate. Both sexes ranked him highly as a friend they could count on.

The Poll Bearer Part 11 see more novels at www.writemeamystery.com

He began with the overall chronology of Stryker’s life going year by year. When that didn’t produce anything, he went month by month; that’s when he found something. The family moved across country when the boy was in the equivalent of eighth grade and Stryker was transferred from one private school on the east coast to another one on the west coast. He went for one month, then he transferred to another private school. It could have been something as simple as him outgrowing the school mentally or in not finding suitable companions or teachers to his liking, but it was the only thing Ron had so he figured he might as well give it a try.

He hacked into the records of the Thomas Carlyle School for Gifted Children and found the scholastic records for one Mathias Stryker. Everything was perfectly normal: Stryker was a genius; he was in perfect health; his tuition was paid on time; and…and there was an asterisk. Trying to penetrate deeper into Stryker’s one month stay at the school, Ron found another one page record hidden under a PRIVATE file. Mathias was asked to leave due to a suspicion of tampering with student grades…not his own, which was first in any class he ever attended, but with all of the other students. Apparently, he changed all of their grades to Failing. Whether he did it out of spite or as a prank or to show that he could do it, suspicion fell directly upon him and he was quietly asked to leave, a slight blemish on a magnificent career.

Why would he do it, Ron asked himself. To even the uninformed eye, it would be obvious that the only student with an “A” would be responsible for changing everybody else to an “F.” Therefore, he was just showing his superiority over the students and the administrators.

Ron thought back to the example he had given Dan concerning the true-false test. He remembered saying that no one would make all of the answers true then false then true and so on because it would mimic the exact title of the test. Ron had said he’d have an advantage in eliminating that possibility because it would be the most obvious. But what if that was the key to beating Stryker? What if there was no protection on the third level? The super hacker would become stymied because all of his efforts wouldn’t produce the desired results of opening another piece of the puzzle. It would be like trying to unlock an already unlocked door. Your efforts would only succeed in having you lock it yourself. What if every key stroke you made simply turned the key tighter and tighter? What if simply hitting ENTER was the special Open Sesame key stroke, anything else triggered a response?

            Ron was now faced with the most important decision in the entire process. If he had figured correctly, one key stroke would open the file; if he was wrong, the whole thing would collapse in on him like a mine cave in. Now he had to decide whether to tell Dan or to take the risk himself.

            An hour went by and then another without him making the decision. He could hear Dan pacing in the background out of sight of Louis’ spy devices. Ron was sure Dan was wondering why he was delaying.

            Suddenly, out of the clear blue, he hit ENTER. Nothing happened. The world kept turning; the sun still rose in the east; and gasoline prices were still rising…but on the computer, the screen was black. A minute went by…then another…and another. Nothing. Then all hell broke loose as the screen filled with data so fast that it was impossible to read. It was as if all the prize lights on every slot machine in Vegas signaled WINNER all at the same time. This was the El Dorado of information.

            “You did it!” Dan shouted and came running up to Ron and hugging him in his chair. “You did it!”

            Ron just smiled, mentally and physically and emotionally drained, but happy in a way he couldn’t describe. All he could think about was the line, “The king is dead, long live the king.” When an idol falls, it’s only fitting that his former worshipper should take his place.

            Louis came running into the room.

            “What’s next?” he asked in his clipped dialogue style.

            “Aggregation,” Dan said smiling knowing that he had seventeen million reasons off his back to do so. “Aggregation.”

CHAPTER 8

            The next two days, the computers worked non-stop filtering through names and dates and everything else there was on all of the people who lived in the United States of America. All of this data was cross-referenced a thousand different ways until finally, at 11:58 PM on the last day, a single name, picture, and profile filled the screens of each of the dozen monitors in each of the big rooms: Andrew J. Slate. The whole search had boiled down to one person: the most average individual in the fifty states. Theoretically, by monitoring the activities of this single man without his knowledge that this was being done, the observers would be able to get honest opinions on what the Average American was thinking, doing, buying, liking, hating, cheering, wishing for, and voting for.

With the first part of the process completed, Dan now turned his attention to phase two. He paid off everybody and let them go, but he kept Ron on as a consultant. Next, he decided to try a bold approach that deviated slightly from his original plan. He told Lisa that he had to speak to Louis immediately, and within five minutes the man was in Dan’s office from which the dorm room atmosphere had been eliminated. Taking his usual chair, the dapper man sat back to listen.

“In order to enter phase two,” Dan said standing up from his chair and then sitting on the edge of his desk so he was physically speaking down to Louis; “we need round-the-clock surveillance on Andrew Slate. My original intention was to hire a private detective firm to do the job, but there was a slight catch. Slate’s house had to be bugged without his knowledge, an activity frowned upon by law abiding citizens. Then I thought to myself, I’m being bugged right now by Mr. Postadolas; so why reinvent the wheel. Obviously the people you are using have no scruples.”

Dan stopped to see Louis’ facial expression and his body language, hoping it wasn’t going to be violent. He was mildly surprised that there was absolutely no reaction at all on his guest’s part. Louis appeared to be listening intently, not letting any personal jibes interfere with his opportunity to make legal money, the kind that is so plentiful that even if you pay taxes on it you are still filthy rich.