Enemy Match Chapter 4

Enemy Match

Chapter 4

Who would go to all that trouble? Van asked. I mean why would someone want him to fail. A jealous teammate—someone on his team who wants his spot as captain of the team.

There are other ways of doing that, I remarked. I don’t know maybe, but I really have no idea.

It must be someone who knows your total dislike of the dude, Van said taking a bite of his Ginormous Bacon Cheeseburger and slopping some Billy Sauce (ketchup + secret ingredient) on his shirt. Ah, nuts, he muttered.

Yeah, I said as I pondered the day’s events. Anyone at Port Salser Collegiate knows I don’t like him. Someone wanted Peters to look like a fool—hey I’m president of that club, I added, but I didn’t issue the challenge and I didn’t poison the water—that must be what made him sick. He was fine—well that’s a relative term—before the match. It was only after drinking Courtney’s water that he got sick.

Could it be Courtney? Raj asked. They are boyfriend and girlfriend, are they not? Maybe he broke up with her and she’s getting revenge.

They seemed awful chummy at the match and she was giving him her water. Honestly I don’t think she’s capable of doing something like this. Someone hacked into my Facebook account—which reminds me I have to check it and see if there are any more nasty surprises on there—and I don’t mean pix of our last camping trip, I added with a laugh.

I pulled out my phone and accessed the app. The usual stuff was there along with the challenge to Peters. There was the post that all my friends would see then there was the direct message to Peters account. I wasn’t a friend of Peters but it looked like we had a mutual friend.

Which one of you guys is friends with Peters, I said looking up from my phone.

Everyone shrugged.

It says I have one mutual friend, I muttered. I clicked on the button and revealed that Jake Prestwick was a mutual friend.

But Jake Prestwick wasn’t my friend either.

Well, he was now.

Guys, I said. Whoever hacked into my account made me friends with Jake Prestwick.

You’re kidding, Van remarked. Prestwick accepted your friend request?

I glared at Van. Why is that such a surprise? I muttered.

Didn’t mean anything by it, Van said with a sheepish grin. It’s just that Prestwick’s a jock and you—well you’re not. Didn’t think he even knew you existed—until today.

Thanks Van, I retorted. You know what? You’re no longer president of my fan club. That’s it—I’m finding someone else.

You have a fan club?, Raj said, taking a sip of his shake. Cool.

Yeah, I said ruefully. And it’s losing members by the minute.

Melissa spoke up at that moment. You had a bad day—but we are still your friends—always will be.

I know and I’m sorry guys, I don’t mean to be a jerk.

That’s OK, buddy, Raj said with a grin and I nodded at him.

I turned to Van. I’m sorry I snapped at you, dude. You can still be the president of my fan club again if you want.

Van shook his head and proceeded to finish his burger.

Listen, it’s been a bad day—well except when I beat Peters at basketball—but my nose is really sore and I’m really tired. I’m going to leave. You guys stay if you want. Again I’m sorry if I was rude to you guys. You guys are the best, you know that right?

They all nodded as I got up and left the table. Melissa came up behind me as I went out the door. Can you give me a ride home?

I smiled at her. Of course, I said. But wouldn’t you rather hang out with the gang. They’d be a lot more fun than me.

She just shook her head. No I’d rather be with you. After all, you’re the guy who trounced Daryl Peters at basketball. I’m just trying to bask in your glory just a bit.

A half hour later, after dropping Melissa off at her home I arrived back at my house on Ravine Rd. It was a two story nondescript home with a circular driveway out front and a small garage off to the side that housed a small apartment over the main garage.

The lights were on in the apartment so I knew Matt would be home.

Matt Logan was a young guy, about 30,  who worked as an operative for dad and was going for his PI license. We had met a while back when I solved a mystery for him while Van and I were camping at Catfish Lake. He had been living in California, but had recently moved back to Port Salser after his wife had been killed in a car accident. He had no job when he arrived, but Dad gave him a part time job at his crime lab, and Matt moved quickly up the ranks to operative.

I headed towards the house as it was getting late, but I saw Matt leaving his apartment and headed over to talk to him.

Justin? He asked when he saw me. How’re you doing, buddy?

Good, Matt, where are you off to? He was dressed in dress pants and dress shirt and tie. His short red hair was combed neatly and he had shaved, his after shave wafting in the air.

Got a meeting downtown with your Dad, he said

This time of night?

We’re meeting a client who just flew in from Vancouver. Real  urgent business. Listen, I can’t talk now, but we’ll talk tomorrow?

Sure, I said, then headed into the house.

My mom was seated at the dining room table,  working on her laptop. My younger sister Kimmy, who was 12, had already gone to bed.

Oh, Mom said when she saw my swollen nose. What happened?

I told her about the showdown with Daryl Peters and how he was now in the hospital. I also mentioned my theory and that I had spoken to Paul Canning already.

That’s good. I think the police should be involved. But that wasn’t right what Jake Prestwick did to you.

I did provoke him—just a little, I remarked. But he’s been suspended from school for 2 days. At least Principal Anderson sided with me.

I’m a little concerned about someone hacking into your account, though, Justin. Maybe you should go off Facebook for a while.

Yeah, I thought about that, but if someone wants to stir up trouble there are other ways to go about it and that’s what worries me. I have no idea who did this—or why.

The next day was Saturday—the day I worked in the lab for Dad. Recently Dad had set up a crime lab in downtown Port Salser. Dad had an office there—as did Matt Logan now. As well, Dad employed 2 grad students who helped him sift through evidence that he had collected from his cases. The police also used the lab from time to time when theirs was inadequate for the task.

It also sported a very powerful computer—we nicknamed it Bessie, I mean this thing was state of the art, with access to databases from many police forces around Canada and the world.

One of the grad students, Toby Gellart was in the main lab when I arrived at 9. Dad had some paperwork he needed me to file and to log into Bessie.

Toby was from Trinidad and was tall and slim and liked to go for the outrageous colours of clothing. Today was no exception. His hair was braided in small braids all over his head  with coloured beads at the tips. He had a bright orange oversized t-shirt and orange basketball shorts and neon white high top sneakers. A diamond stud earring gleamed from each earlobe as well.

Hey, Justin, my man, he said in his Caribbean lilt as I entered the lab. He pulled off goggles, took off his rubber gloves and shook my hand.

Toby, how’s it going?

I’m good. But you don’t look so good, he tsked as he surveyed my face. My nose had shrunk overnight but now my face had a yellow greenish tinge to it. What happened, my man?

I related again about the basketball game and the subsequent fight with Jake Prestwick. Toby looked impressed.

What are you working on for Dad? I asked surveying the lab table.

Big secret, Toby said, eyes wide. He put his finger to his lips as well. Very deep secret. Matthew is in his office working on something. He’s waiting for my results, so I can’t talk long, sorry, my man.

No worries, Toby. I’ll see you around.

Toby nodded and put back on his gloves and goggles and got back to work. I headed to Matt’s office to see if I could help him with anything. Filing was a pretty boring job but dad said “you have to start with the grunt work and work your way up the ladder”.

Yeah, OK. I thought as I knocked on Matt’s open door.

He was on the phone and waved me in when he saw me. He hung up a moment later.

What’s up, buddy, he said as I sat down in front of his small desk. Papers littered the top and there was a small box on the corner of the desk, the top flaps were open. I tried peeking inside, but Matt moved to close the top flap.

I’m here to do some filing and logging some stuff on Bessie for Dad and wondered it you needed any help with your case?

Matt smiled. Filing’s boring and you’re hoping I’ll let slip some information about the case your Dad and I are working on? You’d like to help, wouldn’t you?

Yeah, you know me too well, I muttered. Well, OK, filing it is.

Sorry, Justin, he said with a grin. Not this time—but once I’m able to say anything you’ll be the first to know.

I got up dejectedly and headed out into the hallway. Toby’s been sworn to secrecy as well, Matt called out.

Yeah, I know, I muttered. Already tried that.

My “office” was at the back of the lab next to the small kitchenette. It was barely big enough for a desk and a chair and a small filing cabinet that held mostly empty file folders. I had tried to keep notes about some of my cases but with schoolwork I didn’t have time. Oh well, there was always next week.

I booted up my laptop and checked a few things—namely my Facebook account. It looked normal until I went into my photos.

Wait! What was that? I said, sitting up in my chair. One of the pictures was a pink water bottle!

That was the water bottle Courtney Clubine had at the school gym. The one she was giving Daryl to drink from.

Why would it be in my list of pictures? Whoever hacked into my account must have logged that photo.

But why? To freak me out? It was working.

A commotion in the corridor caught my attention. A moment later Paul Canning was standing at my door.

Officer Canning? I said. What’s up?

He looked grim as he walked in and stood in front of my desk. Bad news I’m afraid, he said. We need you to come downtown to Police Headquarters.

You found some information on the pink water bottle? I asked getting up from my chair.

Yes, Canning said.

What is it? Can’t you tell me here?

No, he said. We found some evidence that we need to discuss downtown.

I laughed nervously. You’re freaking me out Paul. What’s going on.

The evidence links someone to poisoning Daryl Peters.

Who is it?

I’m afraid it’s you.