Penny's Pass The Story - Part Five

Amos Snodgrass had been born in Bethlehem in 1958 to an Israeli mother and Scottish father, and from a very early age had exhibited great skill as an artist. When he was fourteen, Amos was taken to an exhibition of the work of Albrecht Durer, and that experience had such a profound effect on him that he was to spend the rest of his life trying to emulate the great fifteenth century German master. At the age of sixteen he had enrolled at the Bezalel Academy of Art and Design in Jerusalem and by the time he had graduated, his abilities as an artist and engraver had already come to the attention of the European art world. Amos was an extraordinary talent.

In 1978 he was invited to Scotland by the Glasgow School of Art on a years' scholarship programme, during which time he would focus solely on perfecting his exceptional skills in engraving and etching. As a parting gift, Amos left the school a copy of a Royal Bank of Scotland ten pound note that was so astounding in its accuracy that it remains exhibited there to this day. The whereabouts of the engraved plate from which it was printed is unknown.

Back in Jerusalem, Amos returned to the Bezalel Academy where he agreed to lecture on a part time basis whilst pursuing his own burgeoning career as an artist. It wasn't long before his growing reputation came to the attention of the Israeli intelligence services. Notoriety had long been an attribute that could be nurtured, influenced and shaped by intelligence agencies and a globe trotting artist of international renown would attract influential people from every walk of life and open doors otherwise unavailable. With expert handling, Amos Snodgrass could well become an invaluable asset of the Israeli intelligence and deployed anywhere required. 

*  *  *

It was a hundred degrees, and Jake Marindina sat in a police cruiser in his usual spot behind the advertising hoarding just outside of town. The 3.6 litre Dodge Charger engine burbled away, powering the air con he had running at full tilt inside the sedan. Crime in Mornington Heights was almost non existent, so issuing speeding tickets was usually the highlight of any officer's day. Today though, even that pleasure had so far been denied. Jake removed the lid from his plastic lunch box and selected one of the sandwiches Marcie had prepared for him; peanut butter and jelly.

As he chewed, Deputy Marindina mulled over what had happened over the last couple of days up at Amos Snodgrass's house, but however much thinking he did, none of it made any sense. His grotesque boss, Sheriff Milton, had been unusually unforthcoming with any results of his investigation, and even more unforthcoming when questioned on any progress back at the station. Jake knew for a fact that Milton had visited Amos the day before his disappearance, because he'd heard despatch passing on the complaint from Hawthorne Elementary over the radio and then minutes later, his boss notifying his arrival at Amos's house. Yet Sheriff Milton seemed to have erased the visit from his memory and nobody back at the station had the courage to ask why. 

He was equally puzzled as to why Milton seemed so reluctant to interview the neighbours with any serious intent. Surely, in a community as close knit as this one, it would be impossible for anyone to abduct Amos Snodgrass without being seen or heard. Sheriff Milton's behaviour was beginning to worry Jake Marindina, especially after his wife Marcie had recounted the gossip she'd picked up in the General Store the previous day, about a new hat and a forged hundred dollar bill.  

He took out a second sandwich from the lunch box and had just bitten into it when an orange VW Beetle hurtled past him, heading out of town at a speed well in excess of the limit. He knew the car and the driver and, after dropping what was left of the sandwich back into its box, set off in pursuit,. He sat well back, not just to give himself time to calculate her speed, but out of sheer curiosity as to why Jenny Padget would be hurtling out of town at lunch time on a blisteringly hot afternoon. They covered mile after mile of Route 17 at speeds varying between 60mph and 80mph until finally, some twenty five miles from home, she turned into a business trading estate on the outskirts of Cherry Creek and stopped in the parking lot outside the offices of Gerry's Printing Services. They were ten miles outside of deputy Maindina's jurisdiction.

During the thirty minute drive back to Mornington Heights, Deputy Marindina's mind raced faster than his cruiser's 3.6 litre engine. Jenny Padget's husband was in an upstate prison for handling forged currency; she had just driven well over the speed limit to a printing works in the neighbouring town; her neighbour had mysteriously disappeared; Sheriff Milton had tried spending a forged hundred dollar bill and a bag of what might also prove to be forged money had  been found by the river. He couldn't wait to see Milton's face once he got back to the station.