| |
Within minutes, Jerry was safely put into his cushy limo in the care of one of his regular handlers. They drove off. Roland and I carefully threaded our Segways back to the convention center through the congested sidewalk traffic.
At the west entrance, we dismounted and returned our machines to the security force.
“Why kidnap Jerry Fine and then let him go immediately?” I asked. “It doesn’t fit the pattern.”
“He’s always been associated with FC comics, too.” Roland shrugged. “Maybe they picked up the wrong guy.”
“That’s it!” I cried. “What do you bet they were hired to grab Howard Hogarth? In a shabby kind of way, he looks a lot like Jerry. Very old.”
“You think?”
“If the kidnappers were young, they might mistake Jerry for Howard. There aren’t many people as old as Jerry at the comicon. Or Howard. All those old guys dress the same.”
“Why kidnap Howard at all?” Roland wondered.
“What if Howard knows who Mistress Miraculous is?”
“Genius! That must be it. And I know why,” Roland chortled. Then he sobered. “But not who.”
“What do you mean?”
“Remember I had a vague idea about who Mistress Miraculous might be, but wouldn’t tell you? That was because I remembered the big scandal at the 1977 Chicago con.”
“What happened in 1977?” I asked.
“Norman Krigstein and Charles Westover got into a fistfight.”
“Charles Westover? Is he related to Jean?”
“Was. He’s long dead. He was her husband then. They got divorced later.”
“You think Howard Hogarth was at that convention and could identify Mistress Miraculous? How can you possibly know that Howard Hogarth was at that convention?”
“Back in the day, the comic book conventions listed the names of whoever bought advance memberships in their program books. I checked. Howard was there.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know the whole story, but it was a huge deal. Norman never worked for CP Comics again, and now he’s constantly threatening to sue the company for millions.”
“So is everybody else,” I said. “That’s no help.”
Before I had a chance to ask him another question, he received a text.
“Gotta go.” He remounted his Segway and took off down the convention center concourse.
I went back to mulling over my too-short list of suspects and motives. Jean Westover. Howard Hogarth. Norman Krigstein. They shared a history, but what? According to Ray, Jean was embittered, yet she hadn’t acted that way when I talked to her. Then there was Norman Krigstein, who supposedly hated Jeff Kane’s guts. He was making do with threatening a lawsuit. Howard Hogarth was circulating an eccentric petition, but it was about FC Comics, not CP. Anyway, I couldn’t see Howard as a devious villain type. He was like a sad uncle whom time had passed by. Also, he’d been standing right next to me when Jeff Kane got shot by that dart. Howard couldn’t have done it.
Ray Herriman had exhibited the most suspicious behavior, and he did have a grudge against CP Comics even though he worked for the company. Lots of people had been screwed by CP Comics. The company had made its fortune on the coincidence that a GI in World War II had invented a superhero, drawn a complete story, and shown up at the CP offices trying to sell it before his troop transport ship left New York. The then-president of CP had leapt on the chance to pay peanuts to a naïve boy who was about to risk his life for his country.
That happened a long time ago, before Ray's time. Before Jean Westover’s, too. I consulted the net on my cell and learned that Jean’s first comic book gig was in 1977. The same year Roland said there was a scandal at the Chicago comic book con.
Who wanted to implicate Jean Westover? Who had a personal grudge against her? Perhaps I should go back in time and try to learn what the long-standing grudge was.
As if going back in time was simple. Just tell the Dimensional Diamond to take me back...where exactly?
Roland must know if anyone did. I texted him. He shot back,
Conrad Hilton Hotel. July 3, 1977. Pro cocktail party