Mortimer and Sheila immediately recognized Dale and Slug from the previous night, and the recognition was mutual.

"Well," Dale said, "if it ain't that lady cop with the fancy fightin' moves, and her little wimpy punk boyfriend. The ones nosin' around and askin' too many questions. You two musta thought you were smart, figurin' out our little back door bolt hole. But you ain't that smart. Silent alarm, nothin' fancy. You, copper girl, shoulda figured it out. Well, too bad for you."

"I'm not a cop," Sheila said in an unsteady voice.

"Oh, no, 'course not," said Dale. "You're some kinda rock star like that gal Broccoli Spears, right? Sure ya are."

"Broccoli Spears? Hey that's a good one!" Mortimer said.

"Shut it or I'll put a slug in ya," Slug commanded. "Or maybe just slug ya one."

"Very funny," Mort said, but he kept it under his breath.

"Now," Dale resumed, "I ain't sure what you're doin' here but you're gettin' a little too deep into none a your business, and we don't like that, see? And we don't take no chances neither. So, sports, I guess you played your last little game and it ain't checkers neither. But first, you're gonna tell me what this is all about. One way or the other."

"Want me to twist the cop lady's arm?" Slug asked, "maybe break it a little." He laughed, showing stubby yellowed teeth.

"Not yet," Dale said, "and anyhow you gotta watch out for her moves. Nah, put a bullet in her right kneecap ... unless the wimp here starts talking. Fast."

Slug pointed his gun in the direction of Sheila's right knee.

"Wait, no!" Mortimer shouted, his face flushing red. "Don't hurt her! Look, it's like this. We were in the checker tournament tent when Bob Pace was shot, and well, Sheila being with the FBI and all ... "

"FBI?" Dale said. "I thought you said you wasn't no cop. You're dead for sure, now, lady ... "

"Oh Mortimer, you can be so stupid sometimes!" Sheila said. "I'm a lab tech, I'm not an agent."

"I ain't got no idea what that means, but if you're with the FBI in my book you're a cop."

"Look, look, just let me finish," Mortimer said, holding out his hands, palms facing Dale and Slug. "So anyhow we wondered about the murder and then this one cop and the Chief of Police got all nasty with us telling us not to interfere so we figured why not solve the case and then over at the bar we find out Bob Pace, he's the guy that was killed, came over here for some big time action but then when we came over you got suspicious and ran us off and we though you were maybe hiding something and so ... "

"Will you stop babbling like a fool!" Dale shouted. "Okay, you figured Pace was playing here. Well so what? He didn't owe us. We didn't have no reason to rub him out."

"Except ... oh! Now I get it! All of it makes sense! That name in the books ... "

"Whaddya mean ... "

The door to the office burst open again, and the hatch at the back flew to the floor at the same time.

"Drop the guns! Police!" a voice shouted.

Sheila dove towards Mortimer and shoved him to the floor just as shots started to ring out. Sheila and Mortimer heard bullets whiz over their heads and then everything was quiet. When they looked up again they saw Larry and Slug sprawled on the floor, unmoving.

"You're both under arrest!" a familiar voice called out. It was Detective Roger, and standing right next to Chief Easton.

"Wait, we can explain," Mortimer said, but by then he and Sheila had both already been handcuffed and pulled to their feet.

They did get to do their explaining, a lot of it, after they had been taken downtown and placed in an interview room. Sheila noted that they hadn't been booked yet, which she thought was odd, and that they were going to be interviewed together, which was odder still. They were left handcuffed to brackets on top of the interview table and made to wait.

Mortimer started to speak when they were alone in the interview room, but Sheila warned him at once that someone was almost certainly listening.

"Well, what I have to say they need to hear," Mortimer said. "Pretty funny, don't you think, that the Chief was there this morning? Why would he be? And how did they know where we were?"

"That's pretty easy," Sheila said. "They must have been watching us, ever since Detective Roger talked with us at the motel."

Just at that moment both Detective Roger and Chief Easton came in the room. It was the Chief who spoke first.

"I don't know that we can pin Bob Pace's murder on you," he said, "although I aim to try."

"You haven't got anything," Sheila said, "and you know from the ballistics it just isn't possible."

"Stuff it!" Easton shouted. "When I want to hear from little miss smarty FBI lady, I'll say so. Now like, I was going to say, I can sure get you for a lot of other stuff, like breaking and entering, possession of burglary tools, tampering with evidence, and some other stuff." He chuckled. "Maybe even assaulting an officer and aiding and abetting."

"Maybe tax evasion and jaywalking too?" Sheila said.

" ... unless," the Chief continued.

"Unless what?" Sheila and Mortimer asked, just about in unison.

"Unless you cooperate," Detective Roger said. "We're pretty sure that Bob Pace was killed by that gambling gang. You tell us what you found out, and we close the case. Those two goons are both dead, and that makes everything real easy."

"What's the option?" Sheila asked.

"We pin an accessory wrap on you two, plus all the other stuff the Chief was talking about. You both go away for most of the rest of your lives. And Iowa prisons ain't pretty places."

"And if we play along?" Sheila continued.

"You play along, you sign paperwork saying you'll keep quiet, you get to go home, and you don't never set foot in Des Moines ever again."

"As if I'd want to," Mortimer said.

"Then we'll all be happy," Roger concluded. "Now what's in going to be?"

There really wasn't any choice.

Mortimer and Sheila explained, or tried to explain everything, starting with what they had observed in their photographs, to their research on Bob Pace, the information gathered at the sports bar, and finally the nighttime encounter at the gambling den, and their subsequent morning return.

Of course the police had indeed been following them and knew of their movements, although they did tacitly admit that the taxi driver had lost them on the way back to their motel. When the police saw the two goons enter the Sweet Corn Cafe while Mortimer and Sheila were still inside, they decided to move in and as they put it, "capture everyone all at once."

Mortimer explained further about the betting records and how Bob Pace had gambled heavily. He was about to continue and then suddenly stopped.

"Can we take a little break?" he asked.

"What for?" Roger asked.

"Uh ... my throat's dry?" Mortimer replied.

"Finish this up," the Chief growled, "I've got other things to do. Then I gotta get out a press statement. Pace was bumped off because of gambling debts."

"But," Mortimer objected, "that's not ... "

"That's how it was," the Chief interrupted, and I don't want to hear nothing else. Roger, take care of it."

"Yes sir," the detective responded as the Chief left the room.

Mortimer wiped his brow. "Look, detective, I didn't want to say this in front of the Chief. Or show you this."

Mortimer used his free hand to reach into his socks, where he had concealed a folded slip of paper.

"Look at this," said said, passing it across to the detective.

Roger unfolded the paper and read it. Then he read it again. And then a third time.

"Chief Easton bet a hundred grand on Pace's match? For Pace to lose?"

"Yep."

Sheila looked as astonished as Roger. "But that means," she began, "that ... "

"The Chief killed Pace? Or had him killed? You can't prove that, and I don't believe it."

"Look," said Mortimer, "let me have a pen and something to write on."

Roger hesitated but tore a page from his notebook and passed it and a pen to Mortimer, who drew the following diagram.

"So?" Detective Roger said.

"So? Bob Pace was going to win this one. And the Chief bet against him. The Chief was going to be out most of a year's pay. And he must have been looking the other way about the goons making book. He was in pretty deep and might be looking at jail time himself."

"I still don't believe it," Roger said. "The Chief ... he just wouldn't. Not the Chief. And you think based on this I'm putting my career on the line by accusing him? Nope."

The door opened and a woman entered. She whispered in Roger's ear and then left.

"Well ain't that interesting," he said. "There was a fire at that gambling den and everything was destroyed including all the betting records. The place was supposed to be under police seal. Stuff happens, I 'spose."

"Doesn't that tell you something?" Sheila asked. "I mean, as a detective, doesn't that lead to ... certain conclusions?"

"Maybe it does," Roger replied, "and maybe it don't. But I ain't goin' there." He unlocked the handcuffs attaching Sheila and Mortimer to the steel interview table. "But I do know something. You two better get outta here. Go get your stuff, and be on the next plane to anywhere. There won't be no arrest record or nothing. Leastwise, not if you're in a different state by midnight."

Sheila and Mortimer, again not having any other option, did as the detective had said. When they were on their flight back to Denver, Sheila said, "Well, we did solve that one, Mortimer."

"For all the good it did," Mortimer replied, and then added, "do you suppose Roger was in on it?"

"Maybe," Sheila said, "although for sure there must have been others. Chief Easton wouldn't have done the shooting himself. He would have had someone else who was part of the scheme do it. But he forgot one thing, and so did you."

"What was that?"

"That I can talk to some people at my office in Denver. The FBI takes a lot of interest in police corruption and without a doubt I'll be able to get someone to start a little look-see. Chief Easton and probably a few others are going to be behind bars within a couple of months, mark my words."

Sheila smiled and Mortimer smiled back.

"One thing for sure, though," Mortimer said. "Next time I suggest we go to Iowa, whack my head a couple of times."

THE END

---

The last problem in this series is very difficult and you may need to refer to the solution. Don't whack your own head, though; see how you do and then whack your mouse on Read More to see the solution.

Solution

*21 17, 23-26---A, *17 13, 26-31, 13 6, 31-24---C , *10 15, 12-16, *14 10, 16-19---B, *18 14, 19-23, 14 9 (or 15 19 first), 5-14, *15 19, 24-15, *6 2, White Wins.

A---9-13, *27 24, jump, *18 15, jump, *14 9, White Wins.

B---5-9 18-14 9x18 15x22 24-19 22-26 20-24 6-2 16-20 10-7 19-16 7-3 16-19 2-7 19-16 7-11 16x7 3x10 White Wins.

C---Left as a draw, A. Collings vs J. Ball, Northampton Mercury Mail Ty, 1908.

This problem is titled Tectonic and is by noted checker writer and analyst Jim Loy. It was the winner of Contest 34, August 2017, in Bill Salot's long-running problem composition contests.

The run-up is as follows.

12-16 22-18 16-20 25-22 10-14 24-19 8-12 30-25 11-16 28-24 4-8 22-17 6-10 26-22 8-11 17-13 14-17 13-6 17-26 31-22 2-9 22-17 9-13 18-14 13-22 25-18 10-17 21-14 1-6 29-25 6-9 25-21 3-8 19-15 16-19 23-16 12-28 15-10 8-12 10-3 11-16 3-7 16-19 7-10 (forms diagram).

Mr. Salot remarks, "This was probably the most difficult problem in all the contests." That's really saying something!

The Checker Maven thanks Mr. Loy and Mr. Salot for providing a fine series of problems for the episodes of our now-concluded serialized story. We hope you enjoyed the problems and the story alike.