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 for the most part very difficult.

---

It was a good thing that Mortimer also had classes the next morning, and even better that Mortimer wouldn't skip class no matter what. Otherwise, he probably would have lain in bed all morning with the memory of Sheila's hug. It was just a casual thing, but still, it had set Mortimer on fire and he remained in a dazzled, dreamy state all through the morning. It must be said that even though he did make it to all of his classes, he was somewhat less attentive than usual. One of his professors even remarked on it, saying in so many words that it looked like he was in love or something. It embarrassed Mortimer no end and turned his face beet red.

But classes ended, and just as he did on the previous day, Mortimer rushed to the bus and braved the weirdos with as much patience as he could muster. That was precious little, but it at least could be said that he tried.

He ran up Perry Street as quickly as he could and into his little rented house. It was about 12:30 and sure enough, there was an email from Sheila. He read it eagerly.

"Here are the pictures you wanted of the checkerboards from the second and third murders. I set up a meeting with Special Agent Purdy for four o'clock this afternoon. Just go to the FBI office and ask for him. You'll be directed to the meeting room. I'll join you there. Please don't be late and by all means don't miss the meeting. I think I can get you on the case if you make a good showing."

The checkerboard photos were attached to the email. Mortimer took a quick look. What he saw was about what he expected. Yes, he was definitely on to something.

Mortimer didn't know the neighborhood around the FBI office very well; it was in the Stapleton area, a place he didn't go often, so he left early even by his standards. As it turned out, it was a good thing; traffic was terrible and he made it to the office complex with just five minutes to spare.

Despite Mortimer's interest in solving interesting crimes, going into the FBI office was something that he found more than a little intimidating. He went to the big front desk and looked up at the security officer on duty.

He had a little trouble finding his voice, but managed to say, "Mortimer Holmes, I'm here to see Special Agent Purdy."

The burly guard gave him what can only be called a disdainful look. "Is that right, kid," he said in a deep, gravelly voice. "And just why would a busy man like Special Agent Purdy want to see the likes of you?"

Mortimer watched movies sometimes, so he thought that Federal officers were supposed to be polite, but he wisely refrained from stating this aloud.

"I'm meeting with him about the checker murders." Mortimer tried to say it with some semblance of confidence.

"Oh yeah, kid, now tell me, you've got it all figured out and you're going to tell the Special Agent how to solve the case, am I right?"

"Well, yes, you see I have a theory.."

"Beat it, punk, before I lock you up."

"No, no, I really have a meeting with Special Agent Purdy. Sheila ... I mean, Ms. Larkspur, in the Crime Lab, she set it up for me... she said to come here at four o'clock."

The officer still looked skeptical, but he picked up the phone and dialed a number. "Sheila?" His voice had changed to a tone that he probably thought was sweet. "Did you set up a meeting between Special Agent Purdy and some skinny kid?"

The officer paused. His facial expression changed at once. "Oh, you did, I see, it's all on the level. I thought .... no, no, there's no problem, I'll send him right up ... yes, yes, I won't keep the Special Agent waiting any longer."

The growling voice returned as the officer said to Mortimer. "You're lucky, kid." He pointed a thumb at a bank of elevators in the back of the entry hall. "Third floor, room 310, and be quick about it, Special Agent Purdy's getting impatient waiting for you to show up."

Mortimer didn't need to be told twice. He grabbed the visitor's badge grudgingly proffered by the officer and tore across the floor to the elevator, narrowly missing a collision with a pair of men in suits.

"In a hurry, kid?" one of them said, obviously annoyed.

Mortimer tried to look invisible, though without much success. He stood meekly in the back of the elevator and simply waited until he reached the third floor.

It was a typical government office. The floors and walls were a kind of sterile looking off-white, and the lighting came from harsh and overly bright overhead fluorescent panels.

At least he didn't have any trouble finding room 310.

There was no window in the door to room 310, not even a tiny peephole, so Mortimer had to go in cold. He pushed open the door just a crack and squeezed his way through. A bellowing voice greeted him.

"Whassamatter, door too heavy for you?"

Standing on the right side of the long, narrow room was a stocky man in a rumpled suit.

Mortimer shuddered involuntarily, drawing yet another scornful look from the man, who could only be Special Agent Purdy. Were all male cops like this? Mortimer wondered.

On the left side, toward the back, Sheila sat in one of the plastic chairs that surrounded a big composite table which dominated the room and left little space for walking. Sheila was keeping a studious silence, barely nodding at Mortimer as he came in. She must be intimidated by Purdy as well. But she looked great in her lab coat and her brown hair in its usual ponytail. Mortimer was amazed that he noticed, given the reception he was getting.

"Now, I been waiting long enough, so sit in that chair--- no, that one, the one I pointed to--- and tell me what you got. I'm only talking to you cause of Sheila." He stopped to throw what he thought passed for a smile in her direction. "Her, I trust. You, I don't know nothing about, and from the looks of you I don't think I wanna, either."

Mortimer quickly sat down in the indicated chair. "Did Sheila tell you about my ideas?" he asked quickly.

"Never mind about what Sheila told me or didn't tell me," Purdy snapped. "Let's hear it from you. And quick, cause I got better things to do than hang around here.

Mortimer started to explain his idea that the arrangement of the checker boards must have something to do with the crimes. Purdy did little more than grunt while Mortimer was talking. After a couple of minutes, Purdy's cell phone rang loudly, interrupting Mortimer's recital.

"Purdy. Yeah, I'm in 310 with... really? No kidding... that doesn't sound good. I'm on my way."

He closed the phone and turned to Sheila. "There's been another checkers murder. I gotta run. Give this kid whatever he wants. I worked with worse nuts before, maybe he'll actually come up with something."

"You mean ... I'm on the case?" Mortimer said in an incredulous tone just as Purdy was about to open the door to the hallway.

"Yeah, Sherlock, sure, you're on the case, whatever." With that Purdy hurried through the door. It closed slowly behind him.

"Wow," said Mortimer, sitting with what had to be a goofy grin on his face. He looked over at Sheila, and somewhat to his surprise, she was beaming at him.

"I told Special Agent Purdy you might have something to offer," she said in a calm voice that didn't hide its warmth. "I was right, wasn't I?"

"Uh, yeah," was all Mortimer could say.

"Now, let's go down to the Lab," Sheila said. I'll get you the addresses that you asked for. You're officially on the case, so I can do that."

"Hey, he even called me Sherlock."

Sheila gave him a little of a pitying look--- not very much, but a little. "Yes, well, Mortimer, I wouldn't carry that one too far. Let's just go look at the evidence, shall we?"

Mortimer spent an hour in the Crime Lab with Sheila, taking careful notes.

"Hmm, 914 Double D Road, Fountain, Colorado. 1014 Denny Court, Montrose, Colorado. It's all making sense in its own way, except that last one could have gone two different ways..."

"What are you getting at, Mortimer?"

"Uh... let me study this just a little more first..."

Sheila hesitated a moment before saying, "Look, Mortimer, if there's been another murder evidence will be coming in tonight and I'll have to stay here until it does. It's going to be a long night for me."

"You mean you can't go to dinner?" Mortimer just blurted the words out, amazing himself in the process, not knowing he would have the courage to ask her out again.

"Oh, Mortimer, I can't." Seeing the look on his face, she put a hand on his forearm. He seemed to relax almost at once. "Don't be hurt; I just can't get away when there's something important going on. Hey, I'm off tomorrow, why don't you call me in the afternoon--- not too early, because I'll probably be up all night working--- but maybe, after three? Then we can get together and I can bring you up to date. Will that work, Sherlock?"

Now Mortimer was all smiles. "Sure thing," he said.

"OK, now home with you," Sheila said, releasing his arm and giving him a quick kiss on his cheek.

That evening Mortimer didn't even pay any attention to the rude drivers on I-25. He floated on cloud nine all the way back to Perry Street.

The crime was all over the late news that evening and again on the morning shows. Mortimer soaked up every detail he could, even knowing that he'd get more information from Sheila later on.

A computer executive who lived in Boulder had had his skull cracked open with a heavy object. The usual checkerboard had been found at the scene. Mortimer couldn't figure out the board arrangement from the brief few frames the television news provided, but fortunately there was a legible photo in the morning newspaper. The address of the crime scene wasn't mentioned, but Mortimer did a little checking on the internet maps, and in a few minutes was certain he had deduced the address. A check with phone directories verified this; the address of the murdered man was an exact match with Mortimer's supposition: 1015 Kelso Road.

A little more research, and he was just about certain where the next murder would take place, for his theory also predicted that the killer would strike again.

He couldn't wait to tell Sheila. For the third day in a row, the hours passed slowly as he waited for three o'clock to come. Then he realized that Sheila had never given him her phone number.

His worst fears were realized when, as he expected, she didn't have a listed phone number. Hardly anyone under the age of about fifty had a land line any more, he thought. Everyone just had a cell phone.

Well, he knew how to get her number. The way he could do that was most definitely not on the level, and probably downright illegal. But what she doesn't know won't hurt her, he thought; anyhow, this was police business, wasn't it? He was officially on the case. That ought to give him some license.

He wasn't quite sure if he believed his own argument, but neither would he put too fine a point on it. So he went ahead and did a little creative hacking, being careful as always to use anonymous proxies and other tactics to conceal his identity and location. It only took him a few minutes to come up with Sheila's number, and by then it was three o'clock, or at least close enough not to make much of a difference.

A sleepy voice answered his call. "Hello?" It was defintely her, and picturing her in pajamas just waking up was almost more than Mortimer could handle.

"Hi, Sheila?"

"Oh, Mortimer, you know, I realized that I hadn't given you my phone number .. hey how did .... never mind, I probably don't want to know."

Mortimer could just about hear her smiling as she said it.

"Listen, it was a long night," she continued, "and I'm just waking up. But I can be at Broken Book by five if you want to meet me there again."

Mortimer would have rather gone somewhere else, but he wasn't about to argue.

"Sure," he said, "Broken Book it is, and when we get there I'll tell you where the next murder is going to take place. See you soon!"

Mortimer hung up before Sheila could ask any questions. He grinned. He'd sure gotten her attention now!

He drove his car again, more than willing to splurge on parking in return for the chance to keep his options open for later in the evening. Maybe he could talk her into going for a real dinner instead of just another sandwich.

To his surprise, Sheila was already there when he arrived, even though he was fifteen minutes early. And she didn't look very happy.

He sat across from her at the table she had taken up at the back of Broken Book. "Hi.., I didn't expect to see you so soon.."

"Mortimer." The single word cut him off at once. "You don't tell someone in law enforcement that you know the site of a potential murder and then hang up."

"But.."

"No, listen. This is serious. If I didn't like you I would have had a Special Agent bring you in for questioning. I know you don't know any better, and I know you were trying to make an impression, but don't ever do something like that again."

Mortimer sat in stunned silence. He thought he had been so clever. Women were just too hard to understand. But even he knew that an apology was in order. He offered one in a bit of a choking voice.

"Oh, Mortimer," Sheila said. "Don't take it so hard. I was just trying to keep you from getting into trouble. You're such a sweet guy in your own oblivious way... I think that's what I really like about you. There's no pretense. You really don't know any better sometimes."

She took his hand and didn't let it go. "Tell you what," she said. "Let's go someplace nicer than this. You have your car, right? Let's go to Plateau de Boeuf. I'm really hungry after last night and it's my treat. Let's have a nice splurge tonight, and you can tell me all about where you think the murderer might strike next."

"I really do know. In fact you don't need to give me the address of the scene of the last murder." Mortimer proceeded to recite the address he had researched, 1015 Kelso Road.

Sheila's eyes opened wide. "That's right!" she exclaimed. "How in the world... oh, wait a minute ... the victim's name was in the media, I bet, and you just checked some directories ..."

Mortimer looked unhappy, but he noticed Sheila was still holding his hand. "Sheila, the guy's name was Tony Garcia. There are a million Tony Garcias in the Denver area."

"You're right," she whispered, squeezing his hand even tighter, her expression changing to one of clear admiration. "You've earned the dinner I just promised. Let's go!"

---

While hardly easy, this problem may be slightly less difficult than the others in this series. Match wits with M. Sherlock Holmes and try to solve it, then click on Read More for the solution, notes, and full game.

[Read More]

Summer disappears and fall comes on fast in much of the northern hemisphere. Fall in turn will go by and then it will be winter.

But enough of such thoughts. Enjoy the fall season, and enjoy this month's speed problem, too. It certainly isn't hard, but it provides just enough of a visualization challenge to be interesting ... for the fifteen seconds we're allowing on our merciless Javascript clock.

September Speed Problem (medium-easy, 15 seconds)

When you're done, come back here and click on Read More to check your solution.

[Read More]

Check the scoreboard above. It looks like Boston has blown a really big lead and will lose a game that should have easily been a win.

Something like this also happens in checkers. It's been said about such games of pure skill that for the less experienced player winning a "won" game can be one of the toughest chores. How many times have we held a decisive advantage and let the win get away from us? We're certain every checker player alive has had this frustrating experience.

In the diagram below, White by rights ought to win the game. He's a man up, though his position is a little cramped. But it shouldn't be all that hard ... should it?

Can you win this won game, or will you have one hard time with it? There just might be a little more to it than it may seem. When you've found the solution, click on Read More to verify the win that you won.

[Read More]

It's definitely the "back to school" season. And although school has already started here in Hawai`i--- public school reconvened at the early date of August 5--- the back to school rush is in progress or soon forthcoming at many locations around America.

To celebrate back to school (yes, some people do actually celebrate it) we present a small "scholarly" problem. It's simpler in appearance than those in our Checker School series, but it's definitely in the "need to know" category for all cross-board players. You'll probably recognize it, but can you solve it from the diagram?

Give this "the old school try," and then click on Read More to see the solution.

[Read More]

We've often praised the checker analysts of yore; they had only raw skill and brainpower available to them. There were no supercomputers or 10-piece databases to aid them, yet they still got an amazing amount right.

But the computer, far from "spoiling" the game of checkers, has shown us some deep and subtle things about our game. At times, the old analysts stand corrected when the computer finds something completely unexpected.

We don't think those old analysts would at all mind being overruled. Their quest was for the truth and we think they'd be happy to see that goal served.

Today we have a game that was played something like 75 years ago. The original published analysis makes a lot of sense when you read it; it's practical and more than a little compelling. But the computer has a lot to say, as we'll see in the run-up below.

1.	11-15	22-17
2.	15-18	23x14
3.	9x18	17-14
4.	10x17	21x14
5.	8-11	26-23
6.	4-8	24-20
7.	11-15	28-24
8.	6-10	...

Once considered weak but actually quite acceptable.

8.

...

31-26

The original analysis claims that 25-21 should win for White, but it really doesn't.

9.	10x17	23x14
10.	17-21	25-22
11.	1-6	29-25

The shot with 30-25 loses after 30-25 21-30 22-17 30-23 27-4 6-9 and Black should win. Here White would hold the draw most easily with 22-17. The actual move played, 29-25, was originally declared to be a loser. Deep computer analysis shows that White gets a slim draw.

12.	15-18	22x15
13.	7-10	14x7
14.	3x28

White is a man down! What's the catch? Why shouldn't this be a straighforward man-down loss?

But note that Black's man on 28 is in the dog hole. That's never a good sign. White does have a draw, though the original analysts, lacking computers, didn't see it. Can you?

This is a very hard problem indeed, but the solution is quite rewarding and useful in over-the-board practice. Do give it a try, even if you need to turn to your computer or our own computer solution, which you can access by clicking on Read More.

[Read More]

Someone once said that when the 4th of July comes along, summer is half over. That might be a bit pessimistic, but when the calendar turns to August, we know for sure that we're on the back side of the season.

Where did it go so quickly? Are we really ready for the back to school push and the inevitable turning of the leaves?

At our Checker Maven offices here in Hawai`i, of course, we don't worry so much about the leaves or colder weather, but school does start up again in a mere two days from the date of this column.

So today's offering is, fittingly, a speed problem. It's really pretty easy as these things go, so we think ten seconds is about the right solution time. When you're ready, click on the link below. When you're done--- it won't take long--- come back and click on Read More to check your solution.

August Speed Problem (easy; 10 seconds)

[Read More]

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.

---

Mortimer thought he really ought to take the bus downtown to Broken Book Cafe, but riding the bus at night wasn't quite his thing. Parking was going to cost him, but it would be better to have his car. What if he and Sheila wanted to go somewhere after they met?

One thing at a time, he told himself. He had located clothing that was relatively clean, only worn once or twice at the most, and was busy assembling a list of questions to ask and points to make. He had to show her that he had insight into the case if he wanted to make that good impression. Yes, dazzle her with my brilliance, that's it, he thought. Charm her with my wit.

Impress her with my ...

Mortimer caught himself in mid-thought, realizing that maybe this wasn't completely about solving the case.

He decided that he had better leave early. There would still be a lot of traffic around six in the evening.

He left at four thirty. He just couldn't wait any longer. That way he'd get a table at Broken Book and be ready when Sheila came in. Anyhow, she didn't know what he looked like, while he'd recognize her from the video clips he'd watched almost incessantly, trying to a better ... well, clue.

Mortimer drove faster than he ever did, sometimes exceeding the speed limit by as much as two or three miles per hour. He even went through a couple of yellow lights--- in fact, one of them was practically red! Ordinarily, he never would have done such crazy things. But he found parking and was at Broken Book by five fifteen. He ordered an orange soda and found a table in the coffee shop.

Broken Book was Denver's largest second-hand bookstore, located downtown on the 16th Avenue Mall. It was staffed by a crew that Mortimer had never cared for. He thought they were obnoxious, rich liberal arts students who thought a lot of themselves because their parents had money. The coffee shop staff in particular always seemed kind of snooty, acting rude when taking his order and looking at him like he was some sort of inferior specimen.

But tonight Mortimer paid no attention. He was on a special mission.

He spent the next little while going over his scanned collection of clippings on his laptop, getting in a few games of checkers along the way. In fact, he was in the middle of tough game on YooHoo when he felt a warm, soft hand on his shoulder.

"Mortimer?"

It was that voice. He looked up, and saw her. She was dressed exactly in the manner that Mortimer had by now memorized from watching the video clips.

"Y..Yes, I'm Mortimer, I mean, uh, M. Sherlock Holmes." Mortimer had found his voice and said the latter with a little pride. "How did you recognize me?"

"Oh, believe me, it wasn't hard," Sheila said, taking the seat opposite him at the table. She unbuttoned her overcoat, revealing a blue blouse beneath, neatly tucked into white slacks. "I did a little research of my own, you know. There was only one Mortimer in the UC grad school directory, and when I found your web page ... well, um ... it was pretty obvious I'd found you."

Mortimer was impressed. "Wow, that's kind of how ..."

"Yes, of course, how you got my email address. Well, Mortimer, maybe you'll turn out to be a nut after all, but you're certainly a bright one. So, as I said on the phone, I'll take this one chance and have dinner with you and talk a little. But at least for now, don't expect any more and don't push your luck, OK?"

Mortimer seemed ever so slightly disappointed but he readily agreed.

"So, I'm starving. I had to work through lunch as usual, and I haven't eaten since I had some yogurt at breakfast."

She certainly looks slim, Mortimer thought. Probably lives on fruit and skim milk.

So Mortimer got a big surprise when she ordered a pastrami on rye with potato chips and cole slaw, and a large soda to go with it. OK, at least it was a diet soda.

Mortimer ordered the same thing and, as he was certain was expected, paid for both orders. They went back to their table and Sheila attacked her food as if she were starving. Mortimer kind of liked that. She certainly didn't seem like a lot of those pretentious girls that he met at the Baker Street Pub.

"OK, Sherlock," she said between large bites of sandwich, "let's hear your theories."

Mortimer gulped down the last of his own sandwich and pushed his plate to the side. He flipped his laptop open.

"Well, I'm not completely sure," he said, flipping through some of his clippings on the laptop screen. "But here, look at this." He enlarged one of the newspaper photos of the checkerboard left at the first murder. It was pretty grainy when blown up but the board and pieces were still clearly shown.

"Yes, the checkerboard from the first killing," Sheila said. "We did all the usual stuff, checked for prints, DNA, you know. Didn't turn up anything. The board and set was probably from a toy store or a department store. They're sold all over the Denver area and on the internet, so that didn't give us much either."

"Oh, yeah, sure, I mean I know you do all that stuff, but that's not what I was getting at."

Sheila waited for him to continue.

"Well it's ... look, I play a lot of checkers, and I think the way the board is arranged might mean something. That's where you can help me."

"That's where I can help you," Sheila repeated. "I see." She sounded a little skeptical. "I thought you were going to help me."

"Well, um, I am. But I need to see the checker boards from the other two murders."

"They're in an evidence locker, you can't..."

"No, I don't mean actually see them in person, just what they looked like at the murder site. You know, how they were set up and all."

"You think how they were set up has something to do with the case?"

"I'll bet they were all different."

"Yes, they were, as I recall," Sheila said. "But that's consistent with random placement. We think the checkerboard and checkers are symbolic of something. The psychologists don't know what, not yet, but they're working on it."

"No, no, that just can't be right," Mortimer insisted. "Please, can I just see photos? I'm sure you have them, and for the second two murders the newspapers didn't show the checkerboards."

"Well...."

"And the street addresses. I need the street addresses. They would just about prove the point I'm making."

It wasn't at all clear to Sheila just what point Mortimer was making, and she said as much. "And besides," she went on, "we only released the street name the first time. After that we just gave the general neighborhood so we could keep the nuts away. Nuts like ..."

"Like me?" There was a bit of a hurt tone in Mortimer's voice.

"Oh, Mortimer, I'm sorry," Sheila said. She reached across the table and grasped Mortimer's hand. Mortimer instantly became oblivious to anything but her touch.

"I know that wasn't very nice of me. It's just that everything you're saying seems so ... odd. But you're definitely bright and I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. You're looking at an angle we haven't considered, and I believe you when you say you're a checker expert. I know we don't have one on staff, so I'll see if I can get you on as a consultant."

Mortimer beamed, not even realizing that she had finally let go of his hand. "You mean ... a consulting detective ... like ... like Sherlock Holmes?"

She smiled, amused by his boyish excitement. "Well, Mortimer, there are probably some agents in the Denver office who wouldn't be so anxious to give you that title. But just between us, you can be a consulting detective."

Mortimer didn't think bouncing up and down in his seat would make such a good impression, so he refrained, even though that's what he wanted to do at the moment.

"Meanwhile, I'll email you those checkerboard photos. I don't think that should be a problem. I'll do that when I get to work tomorrow afternoon. I've got class in the morning or I'd do it sooner. But the addresses ... I'll have to get an OK on that. I'll ask about it when I tell the Special Agent handling of the case that I think it would be helpful to bring you on."

She stood up and started buttoning her overcoat.

Mortimer stood as well, hastily attempting to gather up his laptop and all his gear. "Uh ... can I ... do you need a ride home or anything?"

She heard the hopefulness in his voice, but responded, "No, Mortimer, let's take things slowly. I'm delighted to have met you, and we're going to meet again very soon, but I think we'll leave things as they are for the moment. I'll be quite fine taking the rail home.

"Where's home?" Mortimer asked. "I'm sure I could..."

"No you don't," Sheila said. "No home address, not yet at least. Just be patient. I'll be contacting you tomorrow afternoon as soon as I get things set up with Special Agent Purdy."

She turned to go, then stopped for a moment as if making a decision. She stepped over to Mortimer and gave him a quick hug. "Thanks for dinner," she said. "Talk to you tomorrow." Then, before Mortimer could recover his composure, she was out the door and off into the Denver night.

---

You may recognize the position above and know the solution; if you don't, you may find it challenging. Give it a try--- Mortimer surely would have--- and then click on Read More to see the solution.

[Read More]

It's a typical error for beginning writers: mistaking principal for principle. Our photo above could very well be that of three high school principals. But as for illustrating three checker principles ... it would definitely not be the right thing.

Our Beginner's Corner series today presents a position which can be solved by the application of three such checker principles. Your task is to find the principal solution, and identify and give name to the principles involved.

In principle, this is an easy problem; the principal difficulty is one of visualization. Don't sacrifice your principles; solve it from the diagram. The principal means of checking your solution will of course be by clicking on Read More.

[Read More]

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.

---

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.

---

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.

[Read More]

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.

[Read More]