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                                        Andrew Roller Presents
 
                                              JUPITER RISING

                                                Chapter Nine

         Fred Johnson did not like confusion.  As a police officer it was his 
job to bring order to the world, and this case of the missing girl was 
proving more confusing than he wanted it to be.  First theyÕd found no 
evidence at all, the girl had simply been selling cookies and vanished.  
Thanks to the fact that it was summer half the doors sheÕd knocked on had 
resulted in nobody being home.  That had slowed down their attempt to 
track which apartment complexes and units sheÕd been to, and which she 
hadnÕt been to.  Plus there was the fact that the girl was eight-years-old.  
She had apparently not been the most orderly of cookie sellers, knocking 
here and there as her mood moved her instead of going properly from door 
to door.
         Then there was Fred JohnsonÕs superior, one Ms. Beverly Hortence 
Rutherford.  She was a passing car fanatic.  If even a dog went missing, 
she insisted it must be some stranger driving a car.  So that of course had 
led them to extensive questioning of four pedestrians regarding which 
cars they remembered seeing driving through the area, over a period of 
about fifteen minutes.  Any unusual cars?  Any cars that seemed to slow 
or stop or be cruising?
         Now they thought they had the kidnapperÕs car, but it was found in 
L.A., being driven by a black man who swore heÕd never stepped out of that 
city.  And although the Yugo itself was registered, it was registered to a 
7/11 store in Sanramento.  Apparently whoever owned it had thought it 
would be clever to register it to his address of employment, instead of his 
residence.  Which would make sense if someone was going to be moving 
around a lot, but employed at the same place, Fred Johnson reasoned.  
         Then there was the cookie.  It had been found next to the apartment 
of a Mrs. Helen Morganstern, so she claimed.  She had admitted to buying 
cookies from the girl so she was briefly a suspect, as was her male live-
in lover.  But then attention had turned to the apartment.  It was leased to 
one Samuel Roy Frankfurter, who was assigned parking stall number 63 at 
the apartments.  That was where the Yugo came in.  Residents remembered 
it as being battered and generally unwashed.  It had a license plate that a 
Victor Bartley remembered, except for one numeral, because he walked his 
dog past it every day and his dog frequently, Mr. Bartley had been slow and 
embarrassed to admit, insisted on going to the bathroom on it.
         Now the F.B.I. was reporting that there was a Samuel Roy Frankfurter 
licensed to drive in Nevada.  Could it be that this was the same Samuel 
Roy Frankfurter who owned the Yugo in stall 63?  Well, everything would 
be solved in a moment, Fred Johnson told himself.  They had their search 
warrant for apartment 117 now.  (The fact that the assigned parking stall 
number didnÕt match the apartment number was deliberate; it was to 
prevent criminals from knowing who was home and who wasnÕt.)  Jeb 
signalled that he was ready to go in through the front door.  The tenant had 
apparently changed the lock without permission from the apartment 
manager.  They would have to force their way in, since nobody had 
answered when the manager had tried, earlier in the hour, to get in.  Fred 
looked around at his crew and saw that everyone was ready.  He signalled 
to Jeb.  His friend of five years on the force knocked twice, in rapid 
succession.  Then ten seconds later the door was abruptly broken through.  
Guns drawn, FredÕs friend Jeb and the entire team entered.
         Within the hour Fred was able to report to Ms. Beverly Hortence 
Rutherford, who with a social worker would report it to Mrs. Elaine 
Henderson, that little LisaÕs skirt had been found.  It wouldnÕt be the most 
pleasant of reports; the skirt had been found with sperm on it.

30

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