A Bad Apple

June 23, 2008. 3 pm. We cracked the case.

It all started with the spring, when the buds on the backyard apple tree gave way to tiny green-fleshed wonders. The apples, still too young to whet a human appetite, started to disappear with alarming rapidity. One day there were 20, within a week there were but five. Finally, there was only one left. But where were they going? Nobody at the precinct seemed to know, and they were too busy with their own rash of somewhat less petty crimes to take the case.

That's where I come in. No case is too small. No crime insignificant, and with my band of operatives, it was only a matter of time before I nabbed the thief.

The plan was simple: gather evidence, set up surveillance and wait for the apple bandit to strike. Good fieldwork was essential. I went to the tree and examined all of the branches carefully, undercover, of course, in my guise of gardener. I carefully watered the ground beneath the tree and canvased for footprints or anything that may have been left behind. I found one small apple on the ground - firm, half-missing - and realized that it must have been left by the thief when he was surprised in the act by a lawnmower man or other threat. The tiny apple had been half-eaten by then but the thief had been careful not to leave identifying bite patterns.Next, I talked to one of my informants, a pretty little birdie dressed head to tail in black, with flashy good looks and a sharp beak. Still, I know she's the sort of chick who gets around in the backyard underworld on her mocking wit and quickness as much as her looks. I asked her to put her ear to the ground for me. She chattered and strutted, saying she had seen some squirrely looking guy in a fur coat hanging around the tree, but she didn't know him. She could only say that she suspected that he was part of a large "family" who run and sometimes overrun the yard like so many rodents. She didn't want to say more and she grew increasingly nervous, so she shifted her attention to flitting from branch to branch, displaying her plumage to the best advantage for a passing male of interest.

She'd already given me a lead, but I knew I couldn't trust her implicitly to tell me everything she knew. She'd not be above pointing the finger at someone to throw me off the scent of her wing-man. No, she was slippery, but she could be influenced, in spite of her mocking glances and shrill protestations. So, I laid it on the line: she helped, or I'd find some way to persuade her.

Finally told me she may know someone who can help: Red Hawkins. He was young, intimidating, and eagle-eyed and fairly new to the neighborhood himself. He was also an avid flyer. Most startlingly, though, he was on the up and up. The underworld couldn't touch him, but he knew every burrow and furrow of the area, and he kept it free of snakes and rats when they crossed him. He was a bit of a Lone Ranger, but if anyone knew who the culprit would be, it would be Red, because it was rumored that he kept one eye open, even when he slept, watching both sky and land, waiting for the right moment to pick off some member of the criminal element just often enough that they feared his talons. She said she'd put the word out, and if he wanted to get tangled up in my business, Red would come to me.

I sat in my office, pouring over my notes, a few days later, nursing a tall glass of iced tea and redistributing the North Carolina heat with a fan. The morning had been a bust. I had fielded several calls, but they were mostly false leads. That's when I saw him outside my window - nattily dressed and unruffled by the excitement. Red called to me from the fence with a voice both strong and piercing. My blue eyes met his gray ones, and we came to an immediate understanding. He would lead me to him. All I had to do was wait for his call and stay out of his way. But would we be in time, or would the final apple fall victim before we had a chance to nab the thief?
Apprehension mounted as I waited for the moment of truth to arrive. Minutes stretched into hours, and hours felt like they were days. In reality, it was only about 3 hours before I heard it -- Red's call. I grabbed my camera and ran for the window. There, bounding across the grass was a small creature dressed in the elaborate gray fur coat of the "family", and in his jaws was a tart green fruit. The culprit was soon joined by other members of the family - each wanting a piece of the spoils. But there they were, and I had proof of the theft. I would never catch him alone. I knew that. I might not even be able to thwart the plans of the family next year... but I had cracked the case wide open, and it was only a matter of time before Red would take care of the rest.

I found myself growing a bit sad. The thief had avoided detection for months, during which time he had made now fewer than 20 hits on the tree. Genius like that demands respect as much as it demands revenge. But I know that revenge isn't mine to exact. He's still on the prowl. For now. I snapped a photo for my notes and then saluted Red as he circled high above me. He called out again, his voice pierced the chatter and buzz of the afternoon. He said, "Don't you worry. I have family, too. No crime will go unpunished where we rule from the skies." It won't be long before this bad apple falls from his tree.