The Checker Murders is a 16,000 word novelette published in seven monthly installments. It is perhaps the most extensive work of checker fiction ever published. We hope you enjoy it, but if you wish you can skip to the end to see this week's checker problem. Be forewarned that the problems in this series are very difficult.

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Mortimer went straight back to his apartment and as quickly as he could turn on a light and throw his overcoat on the none-too-tidy floor, he sat down in front of his computer screen

He studied everything he could about the cases; all the newspaper articles, all the video clips. But there was one in particular that caught his eye. It was an interview with an FBI laboratory technician, a young lady who patiently answered the reporter's sharp questions while trying to explain how she was conducting forensic analysis on the murders.

Now, if you had asked Mortimer, he would have told you that it was the scientific descriptions of DNA testing, fingerprint analysis, etc., that held his interest. But the truth was that he was instantly smitten by the young woman.

Wearing a lab coat over a black top, with short auburn hair, she was the embodiment of intelligent eloquence. To Mortimer, she was a dream come true, a woman who was both brilliant and personable. Or at least, personable in the way that you would expect Mortimer to define the word.

"I've got to call her on Monday!" he kept saying to himself. "She'll be able to tell me all that I need to know about the case. When I tell her I'm working on it, I'm sure she'll help me out. She just has to!"

Of course, Mortimer knew deep down that what he really wanted to do was ask her out. You've got to give him credit for being observant; the girl wasn't wearing an engagement ring or wedding band. (He had to play the video back several times and enlarge a few frames to be certain about this.)

Mortimer even thought about calling the crime lab over the weekend. Surely someone was working, and maybe he'd get lucky and reach the young woman. But the phone for the crime lab wasn't on the Denver FBI internet site, and when he called the general number, they wouldn't connect him. They told him he'd have to call back on Monday and go through the main switchboard.

Waiting was absolute agony. Mortimer considered trying to hack into the FBI computer network. If he did that, maybe he could get a name to go with that beautiful face. He was pretty sure he could do it, too, but if were to be caught it would probably ruin his chances with her, so it plainly wasn't worth the risk.

Of course, none of this was a conscious thought process on Mortimer's part. At least, not that he would care to admit. It was all about solving the crimes. Naturally. What else could it be?

Monday finally came around. But Mortimer had school in the morning. He seriously thought about cutting his classes, but it was something that he simply never did. It was a close call; he was that anxious. Or maybe that desperate.

At least he would be done by noon. He could call on his cell phone as soon as his last class was over.

It was 12:01 PM when he called the Denver FBI main switchboard. They connected him to the crime lab. The phone rang a few times and then went to voice mail.

Drat. He hadn't considered the possibility that the staff would be out to lunch. He'd have to wait another whole hour to call again. And what if they took a long lunch and got back really late, like 1:15?

Finally, he decided that rather than go to his little study cubicle in the grad student's office area, he'd go back home so he could be in front of the computer when they called back. He wanted to have all his data available, of course, and the way he saw it, he might make a little better impression.

The bus ride home was pure agony. It seemed like all the weirdos and time-wasters chose /his/ bus, just to slow him down and make him get home even later. After the third bum tried to dodge paying his fare and made the driver stop the bus until the would-be freeloader got off, Mortimer was ready to scream. He even thought about helping the driver by throwing the person off himself, but then thought better of it when he realized he was about half the size and probably a quarter the strength of his proposed target.

At long last the bus pulled up at the Perry Street stop. Mortimer leapt off and ran up the street to the little house he rented. The floor upon which he threw his overcoat was no cleaner than it had been the previous Friday, but Mortimer didn't care. He was instantly seated in front of his computer and was dialing the phone.

"Crime Lab, Sheila."

The voice was as sweet and melodious as anything Mortimer had ever heard. This had to be her. He was paralyzed. He couldn't speak. It was just too much for him.

"Crime Lab, hello?" There was a slight edge of annoyance in the sweet voice.

Mortimer knew that he'd better act now. He never bothered to block caller ID, so if Sheila--- what a wonderful name--- hung up, he didn't dare call back again or she'd think he was a stalker or a nut.

"Uh, Crime Lab?" he managed to croak.

"That's what I said twice already. Do I know you? I'm very busy..."

"Um ... uh ... no, you don't know me, but I saw you on television."

"Look, I told you I'm busy! Good bye."

"WAIT!" Mortimer finally found his voice. He feared he was too late, but he didn't hear the line click. "I can help with the checkers case!"

There was a brief pause, but she was still on the line. "You can help, I see. All right, you've got about ten seconds and it better be good."

"Well, not exactly help ... I mean, I want to help ... I've been reviewing the evidence ... and I have some ideas if you could just tell me a little more ... I'm a grad student and I analyze these kinds of things ..."

He heard her laugh. The edginess seemed to have softened. "Well," she said, "that's one of the best lines I've heard yet. What's your name, grad student?"

"Holmes, M. Sherlock Holmes." Mortimer couldn't believe he had said that. This wasn't the pub.

"Sherlock Holmes, oh my, another nut. I told you I'm busy---"

"Well, my name's really Mortimer, but ... look, I think I know something about the checkerboards ... you see I play checkers and ..."

"Mortimer." Sheila chuckled. "But you call yourself Sherlock Holmes. And you play checkers, so you think you can solve the case."

"Well, yes, actually, I'm a doctoral student and..."

She broke in once again. "Tell you what, doctoral student who calls himself Sherlock Holmes and plays checkers and thinks he can solve the case. I'm a grad student myself; I intern at the Crime Lab." There was a long pause. "I think I'll take a chance on you, seeing as how I've never heard quite such an... unusual... set of pick-up lines before. Send me your resume. If I think you're for real, I'll meet you at Broken Book Cafe when I get off work at six tonight. You can buy me dinner and we can talk."

Mortimer was astounded at his luck. "Uh... yeah ... uh, I mean, that would be great! My resume, sure, what's your email?"

"Oh, no, not so easy, Sherlock. You're a smart detective, you figure it out. See you tonight. Maybe."

The line disconnected, and Mortimer was left sitting in his chair, his mouth agape.

"Email, I've got to get her email address," he muttered.

He knew that shouldn't be very hard. No doubt Sheila had set him this little challenge to see if he was on the level.

I really must have come across as rather odd, Mortimer thought. She must think that maybe I'm a little ... off.

Mortimer, in fact, had often asked himself the same question, but he knew that even if he was a nut, he wasn't a dangerous one, like some of the ones that rode the bus.

But on to the email address. He was pretty sure Sheila was her real name. Trouble is, the FBI directory listed names but not occupations. How many Sheilas could there be in the Denver FBI office?

When Mortimer checked it out, he found no less than nine Sheilas. He had to narrow it down, but how?

It required some serious thinking, but then he realized she had given him another clue. She had told him she was a grad student too.

It didn't take long for Mortimer to find out what schools had internship programs with the FBI, and then find graduate students in those schools named Sheila.

Bingo! sheilalarkspur@ucd.edu matched Sheila Larkspur in the FBI directory, and her FBI email address was listed. He had it! He started an email titled "Found You" and attached his resume and quickly sent it off.

He waited anxiously. A reply came about 15 minutes later--- none too soon for the now-sweating Mortimer.

"Good work, Sherlock. See you tonight. Sheila."

Mortimer breathed a sigh of relief and began to search for a set of clean clothes. He wanted to make a good first impression. An honest to goodness first date! Or at least that's how he thought of it. He vowed to make the most of the opportunity.

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Many of our readers will recognize the above position and realize that solving it is very tough indeed. But it's worth exploring on your own. We did a computer analysis with Ed Gilbert's KingsRow and the 10 piece endgame database; you can see that analysis by clicking on Read More.

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You probably won't be surprised to hear that in The Checker Maven offices, old-time radio shows are popular; but like checkers, their heyday ended with the widespread availability of television programming in the early 1950s. But that really isn't our point today.

In those old radio shows, patriotism was in. Love of country was not only accepted, it was the norm, the expectation, the duty of all. And so as we come up on the Fourth of July, America's birthday, we have to ask: What's happened to us? Why has patriotism today become something that needs an explanation, even an excuse? Why is patriotism seemingly out?

We refuse to buy into that.

We refuse to disparage and apologize for our great nation, as regrettably even some of our top leaders have felt it acceptable to do.

We are patriots and proud of it.

We invite our many US readers to join us in celebrating the wonderful holiday of Fourth of July by affirming the greatness of America and the greatness of her people.

As always, our column recognizes the day with a problem by Tommy Wiswell, a man who served the nation in both war and peace, and arguably America's greatest checker problemist.

This is one of Mr. Wiswell's few composed stroke problems, and it is a fine and pleasing offering. Can you work it out? To verify your solution, click on Read More.

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For better or worse, the Supersonic Transport, or SST, is long gone, and there has never been a commercial replacement.

Now, we won't say that this month's speed problem requires the faster than sound swiftness of the SST. Not quite, that is. But the problem is easy enough that we're not about to let you dawdle at propeller driven speeds, either. We think ten seconds is a very generous time allotment, and that's what we're offering.

When you're ready, click on the link below to show the problem and start the timer. When you're done, come back here and click Read More to verify your solution.

June Speed Problem Easy, 10 seconds

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The Checker Murders is a 16,000 word novelette published in seven monthly installments. It is perhaps the most extensive work of checker fiction ever published. We hope you enjoy it, but if you wish you can skip to the end to see this week's checker problem. Be forewarned that the problems in this series are very difficult.

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Mortimer S. Holmes was a nerd, if not exactly an unabashed one. He very predictably spent a lot of time in front of his computer, playing the old adventure games, with interludes of online chess and checkers.

Still, he tried not to look and act the part. He made an effort to be cool. Sometimes he wore a baseball cap backwards and dressed in a tee shirt and baggy shorts. He went to the bar and had a beer or two. He tried to make time with the chicks.

But it just didn't seem to work out. The beer made him dizzy, the chicks ignored him, and the baggy pants didn't fit his skinny frame and kept slipping down. Usually after an hour or two at the bar, he and his friend Roger paid their tab and left. Or more like slunk out a side entrance, trying not to garner any more negative attention.

You have to give Mortimer credit, though; he kept trying. Twenty-two years old and an engineering grad student at University of Colorado in Denver, he was nothing if not persistent. He kept on trying, figuring that he'd eventually get it right.

His favorite place was the Baker Street Pub, in nearby Lakewood, Colorado. He liked it because they served food and eating kept down the dizziness. He also thought he somehow fit in. His middle initial, S, stood for Stephen but he always said his middle name was Sherlock. "M. Sherlock Holmes," he would say, "the Modern Sherlock Holmes," and then he'd wonder why the girls suddenly had something they needed to do and left him sitting alone.

He kept going back every Friday evening with great predictability. Other regulars learned to steer clear, lest they hear yet another tale about how the Modern Sherlock Holmes solved yet another difficult mystery, even if that mystery happened to be embedded in an adventure game.

So it happened that one Friday evening in the spring Mortimer and his friend Roger were at the Baker Street Pub, eating chicken wings and drinking draft beer. Roger was showing Mortimer the latest edition of the Denver Post newspaper.

"They're calling it ''The Checker Murders'," Roger said, pointing to the photo on the front page. "This is the third one already."

The photo showed a checkerboard with checkers arranged on it, right next to a picture of the deceased. "Checkers Murderer Strikes Again," the large headline read.

"Terrible, just terrible," Mortimer said.

"Yes, three dead already," Roger replied.

"No, no," Mortimer said, "that's not what I mean, well, sure, it's tragic, but look at this!" He pointed to the photo.

"Look at what?" said Roger.

"The checkerboard, of course," Mortimer said, "it's just not right."

"Huh?"

"It's one of those red and black things, with red and black men. An /official/ checkerboard is green and buff with red and white men. Obviously the murderer didn't know about regulation checker sets."

Roger was Mortimer's best friend, but he still couldn't suppress a groan.

"And not only that," Mortimer went on, "the headline should read 'Checker Murderer,' not 'Checkers Murderer.' I've got half a mind to call the newspaper first thing Monday morning and tell them to run a correction."

Mortimer's seeming insensitivity aside, it was a bizarre case. Someone, evidently a serial killer, was murdering people and leaving a checkerboard at the scene of the crime. The checkerboard was set up in a different way at each location. The murder victims seemed to be a random group, and for that matter so did the methods of murder.

The first murder took place in Littleton, Colorado. It was an elderly woman. She had burned alive in her bed, and in a bizarre twist, the murder apparently extinguished the fire afterwards. The second murder, in Fountain, Colorado, was a fifty five year old sales executive who had been bitten by a rattlesnake that was evidently released by the killer. The third murder, in Montrose, Colorado, was a thirty year old factory worker, thrown head first into a deep hole freshly dug in his back yard.

There was no robbery and no other evidence of foul play. The police were baffled. The murders seemed arbitrary and without motive, and the checkerboard aspect was beyond their comprehension.

It was just the kind of case that would intrigue someone who called himself M. Sherlock Holmes.

Mortimer would be up late that night, long after he and Roger would inevitably give up, once again, trying to find dates at the Baker Street Pub.

To be continued.

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As always, you can click on Read More for the solution and explanatory notes.

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We're continuing our new Beginner's Corner series with a problem that has to be "seen" to be believed.

Don't worry; this problem is not especially hard, but requires a real effort at visualization. Try to solve the problem from the diagram if at all possible; only set up the position on a board if you must, and only move the pieces if absolutely necessary.

When you've "seen" the solution, click on Read More to check your answer.

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Byron had just proposed to Yvette. On bended knee, he had offered her a beautiful ring and asked her to be his wife.

But somewhat to his surprise, she did not take the ring at once.

"Pray thee stand, Byron," she said, "and hear what I have to say, for I have long anticipated this moment."

Byron stood, still holding the ring in his outstretched hand, clearly looking uncomfortable and uncertain. "Yes?" he said. It was more like a croak than a word.

"I take the counsel of Uncle Harvey," Yvette began.

Byron groaned inwardly, though he didn't dare let it show. Uncle Harvey was Yvette's stuffed shirt uncle in Chicago, a checkerist of a certain reknown, and well known for his opinions on how young people ought to be raised. So what came next was no surprise.

"Uncle Harvey has taught that a young lady should test the character of her intended young man by means of the game of checkers," she said. "By such trials, she will learn if the young man is indeed suitable."

Byron didn't say what he was thinking: that Uncle Harvey was a big blowhard with ideas as outdated as his starched collars. Instead, he said, "I thought Uncle Harvey also believed that checkers is for the boys at home, and the girls should stay with knitting or cooking."

Yvette stiffened. "That is of little consequence," she said. "If you wish me to marry you, then you shall submit to trial by checkerboard. If you succeed in the trial, I shall give you my hand. If you fail, or if you refuse the trial, then even though I love you dearly, we must part company for ever more."

What Byron really wanted to do was to take the next train to Chicago and strangle Uncle Harvey with his bare hands. But that wouldn't be likely to win him a bride.

"Very well, then," Byron said. "I shall undertake the challenge, but you must promise me that, if I am victorious, you will accept my offer of marriage and set an early date."

Yvette smiled. "But of course," she replied. "Come in to the dining room. I have laid out a position on the checkerboard. You must solve it ere you leave here this afternoon. Pray thee do not ascribe a failure to solve to an error in the setting."

Straight out of Uncle Harvey's booklet, Byron thought. He had read the booklet once, at Yvette's urging, and had gotten quite a laugh out of it until he realized that the old geezer was actually serious about what he said.

Now, Byron was a hard working and ambitious young man, helping his father sell modern luxury buggies, a fine business that would one day be his. He had little time for checkers, and frankly wasn't at all good at it.

"The position is not one that is easily solved," Yvette was saying, "but it is one that will prove--- or disprove--- the worth of a suitor."

Great, just great, Byron thought. I probably couldn't even solve an easy problem, let alone one that would prove "the worth of a suitor."

The two of them stepped out of the parlor and into the dining room. Byron looked and saw a checkerboard on the dining table, set up to the following position.

Would you have passed Uncle Harvey's test and won Yvette's hand? Click on Read More for the conclusion of our story and the solution to the problem.

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Although it doesn't come until later in the month, May is the time of year for the famed Indianapolis 500 car race, surely one of the best-known automotive sports events anywhere.

Our checker speed problems do garner a little less media attention than the Indy 500, but we think in their own way they're just as interesting, and don't require travel and tickets to experience in person. This month, our problem is relatively easy and we're only giving you ten seconds to solve it. Click on the link below when you're ready. Ladies and gentlemen, start your engines!

May Speed Problem (easy, 10 seconds)

When you've raced to a solution, click on Read More to check your answer.

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Now, we're not saying beginners at the great game of checkers should stay in the corner, be put in the corner, or for that matter, be cornered. But after a spate of some pretty difficult problems and positions, we decided we should run a few easier ones, of the kind that our newer players can both solve and benefit from. More experienced players can solve these as speed problems, so it's our hope that there's something here for everyone.

This problem embodies two tactical motifs, which we'll explain in the solution. Try to solve the position from the diagram, without setting up or moving the pieces. Then click on Read More to corner the market on the answer.

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Did winter speed by, and are we speeding into spring? Does time race by as fast as those cars race around the track?

Time certainly seems to subjectively pass faster as we get older; many studies have proven that assertion. On the checkerboard, too, time can speed by, especially when the clock is running.

You'll see what we mean when you try this month's speed problem. We're allowing 60 seconds--- a full minute--- because the problem is quite a bit harder than most of our speed problems.

April Speed Problem 60 seconds; relatively difficult

When you've sped through to a solution, click on Read More to verify your answer.

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North Dakota! The very name conjures images of snow and cold, and winters that seem to go on forever. Indoor activities definitely dominate the scene during the winter months.

It's no surprise, then, that North Dakota for many years had a very active checker scene, producing a well-regarded checkers magazine, and contesting numerous tournaments including a regular state championship.

The current state champion is Larry Atwood, a mathematics teacher at Minot State University in Minot, North Dakota (we were unable to find out by press time how long Mr. Atwood has held this title, though we think it's quite a little while).

In today's column, we go back in North Dakota history to the time of a player with a most checker-like name, Howard King. We don't have any information on Mr. King other than our supposition that he was a North Dakota checkerist in the first half of the 20th century. However, Mr. King is credited with the problem shown below.

Black has just played 16-19, striving for the win with a clever trap. But White has an instructive draw here if he doesn't fall into Black's snare. This is definitely one of our more difficult problems, but the solution is there, and illustrates a very important point in checker play.

Don't be left out in the cold or stay in the dark; find the moves that save the draw. But if you find yourself snowed in, you can always click on Read More to dig out the solution.

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