The Case of the Ruined Ram Read online

  “How?” Hannah asked.

  “I don’t know.” Ben shook his head. “But it’s too big of a coincidence to not be important. I think we need to find out more about what happened back then.”

  Corey opened a folder on Ben’s desk and took out photocopies of the two newspaper articles they’d found at the library. “This is everything the library had. And we checked the Internet. Where are we going to get more information about something that happened twenty-five years ago?”

  “Well,” Ben said, “Ricky Collins said his dad remembered all about it.”

  Corey raised his eyebrows.

  That night, after they’d gone home to eat dinner, the members of Club CSI met in front of the bakery where Mr. Collins worked.

  They stood out in front on the dark sidewalk. Inside, the bakery was brightly lit. They could smell bread baking.

  “How do we even know he’ll be here?” Corey asked.

  “Well, we don’t know for sure,” Ben said. “But I heard Ricky say his dad works the night shift. So this seems like a good chance to talk to him without Ricky being around.”

  They tried opening the front door, but it was locked. “Come on,” Ben said. “There must be an employees’ entrance around back.”

  They walked down a narrow gap between the bakery and the building next door. At the back of the building they found a door and then tried the handle. The door opened. The smell of baking bread wafted out into the night air.

  Corey took a deep breath. “Mmm,” he said. “I wonder if they give free samples.”

  As they stepped in, a man dressed in white pants, a white shirt, and a white apron walked up to them. He had flour on his hands and arms.

  “The shop’s closed, kids,” he said. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

  “Actually,” Hannah said politely, “we were wondering if we might speak with Mr. Collins.”

  The man looked surprised. “I’m Mr. Collins. How can I help you?”

  It was easy to see where Ricky got his size—his dad was a tall, large man. Ricky’s face was shaped more like his mother’s, though.

  “We’re in class with your son, Ricky,” Corey said.

  “And he mentioned you remembered the time twenty-five years ago when Rocky the Ram was destroyed,” Ben said.

  Mr. Collins nodded. “Yeah, I remember that. What did you want to know?”

  “Well, we were wondering . . . ,” Hannah began.

  But just then the back door opened.

  It was Ricky.

  “Hey, Dad, I brought your ‘lunch,’” he said, holding up a bag. Then he noticed the members of Club CSI. “What are you dorks doing here?!”

  “Hi, Ricky,” Corey said. “How ya doin’?”

  Mr. Collins took the bag. “Ricky, your friends want to hear about the Rocky the Ram thing. The one from twenty-five years ago.”

  “I’m sure they do,” Ricky said. “But Charlie and I are going to win those tickets, not you three.” He glared at them.

  Club CSI got the message.

  “Okay, I guess we’ll just see you at school,” Ben said, heading toward the door. “Thanks, anyway, Mr. Collins.”

  “Thanks?” he asked. “What for? I didn’t tell you anything.”

  Ben was already outside. Hannah followed him out. As he reached the door, Corey turned back.

  “You don’t give out free bread samples, do you?”

  Chapter 13

  The next day the three members of Club CSI were feeling a little discouraged. Ricky had stopped his dad before he’d told them anything about the destruction of Rocky the Ram twenty-five years ago, so the whole trip to the bakery had been a waste of time.

  “We didn’t even get any free samples,” Corey muttered.

  “I was thinking,” Hannah said. “Maybe instead of trying to find out exactly what happened twenty-five years ago, we should check out what happened one year ago.”

  “What do you mean?” Ben asked.

  “Remember what those football players said? About Steve?” she said.

  “The guy who wears the Viking costume for Jefferson High?” Corey asked.

  “They said he got into a fight with Mitchell,” Ben remembered.

  “That’s right,” Hannah said. “Maybe we should go talk to Steve.”

  “Find out if he has a car,” Corey added.

  “Get a handwriting standard,” Ben said.

  “Nonrequested, if possible,” Hannah reminded them.

  Right after school that day, the three friends walked up the sidewalk toward a house. A quick Internet search had given them Steve’s last name. . . . All they’d had to do was enter “Current Viking mascot, Jefferson High School, Nevada,” and his name came up in an article from the high school paper. Luckily, he had an unusual last name, so they were also able to find his address.

  They had their story ready.

  Hannah rang the doorbell. A blond guy opened the door. He looked the right age.

  “Hi!” Hannah said cheerfully. “Are you Steve?”

  “Yes,” he said a little suspiciously. He wondered if they were going to try to get him to buy something or contribute to their organization.

  “Steve the Jefferson High Viking?” Corey asked.

  He nodded.

  “We’re doing an article on mascots for our journalism class,” Ben said. “We wondered if we could ask you some questions.”

  Steve smiled. “Sure!” he said. “Come on in!”

  They all sat down in the living room. Steve even offered them water or soda. They politely said “no, thanks” since they already felt a little guilty about pretending to be working on a school assignment. Well, actually they were working on a school assignment. It just wasn’t in journalism.

  “Do you mind if we record this?” Hannah asked, getting out her phone. She figured journalists probably recorded their interviews.

  “Not at all,” Steve said, smiling again. He seemed excited to be the subject of a real interview, even if it was just for a junior high school class.

  “So, how did you become the Viking mascot?” Ben asked.

  Steve told them all about auditioning for the mascot and how excited he was when he’d found out he’d been picked.

  “You really like being the Viking?” Corey asked.

  “I love it!” Steve said. “It’s great! I love going to all the games and the rallies and getting the crowd going so they’re really into it.”

  “Do you ever get together with any of the other mascots?” Hannah asked.

  Steve looked confused. “You mean, like, away from the games? Out of costume?”

  “Yeah,” Hannah said.

  “No,” Steve said. “That would be kind of weird.”

  “Do you know Mitchell?” Ben asked. “The guy who does Rocky the Ram?”

  Steve frowned. “Yeah, I know him.”

  “What’s the matter?” Hannah asked. “Is he not a good mascot?”

  Steve hesitated. “Well, I don’t want to say anything bad about a fellow mascot. Especially if you’re going to put it in your article.”

  Corey shook his head. “This part can be totally off the record. We were thinking about interviewing Mitchell. But then we talked to someone who thought Mitchell wasn’t dedicated to being a mascot.”

  Steve nodded. “They’re right. Mitchell’s not dedicated. I’ve seen him at games in full costume, taking off the head to talk to the cheerleaders. Like he’s not Rocky the Ram at all. He’s just some guy in a costume. And this is during the game. Where everyone can see him. Really inappropriate. I mean, to me, the mascot costume is sacred.”

  “Did you ever say something to him about it?” Ben asked.

  “Yeah, I did,” Steve said. “After the game. He d
idn’t appreciate my comments.”

  “You fought?” Corey asked.

  “No!” Steve said, surprised. “Who told you that?”

  Corey shrugged. “I protect my sources.”

  “It wasn’t a fight,” Steve insisted. “We may have . . . pushed each other a couple of times. That’s all.”

  “Did you hear about what happened to the Rocky the Ram costume?” Ben asked.

  Steve stood up. “Yeah, that was terrible. Listen, I’m going to get some water. You sure you don’t want anything?”

  Hannah, Ben, and Corey stood up too. “No,” Hannah said. “Actually, I think we’ve got all the info we need.”

  “Really?” Steve asked. “That’s it?”

  “It’s a short assignment,” Corey said.

  “Oh, but that reminds me,” Ben said. “Our teacher wanted proof of our interviews.”

  “Wow, she sounds tough,” Steve said, smiling. “Well, you’ve got your recording.”

  Ben had forgotten Hannah had recorded the interview.

  “Right,” he said slowly, “but the teacher doesn’t want to listen to all those interviews, so she asked us to get something written from each of our sources.”

  “Like what?” Steve asked, puzzled.

  Ben handed him a pad of paper and a pen. “If you could just write, ‘I gave an interview to Ben, Corey, and Hannah. They have my permission to use this interview to write an article for their journalism class.’ Then sign your name.”

  “Whoa, slow down,” Steve said. “Say that again.”

  As Steve wrote, Ben slowly repeated what he’d said, as best as he could remember it.

  The Viking finished, capped the pen, and handed it and the pad back to Ben. “Is that all you need?”

  Ben smiled. “That should do it. Thanks.”

  As they walked out the front door, Hannah pointed to a car parked out in the street. “Is that your car?”

  “No, mine’s parked in back,” Steve said.

  “You have your own car?” Corey said. “Cool.”

  Steve laughed. “Yeah, well, it’s just an old beater.”

  “Still,” Corey said, “a car’s a car.”

  Chapter 14

  Back in Ben’s bedroom, Club CSI scanned the handwriting standard they’d gotten from Steve.

  “I’ve gotta say, I really doubt Steve drove over Rocky the Ram and then threw him on the bonfire,” Corey said, bouncing his tennis ball against the wall and catching it. Ben watched him nervously.

  “Please don’t do that in here,” Ben said. “Something could break. My microscopes, my computer . . .”

  “I won’t miss,” Corey said. “I’m very good at throwing this ball and catching it.”

  “I know you don’t plan to miss, but it’s still within the realm of possibility,” Ben said.

  “Fine.” Corey sighed, shoving the ball into his backpack.

  “Why do you doubt Steve destroyed the costume?” Hannah asked. “He obviously doesn’t like Mitchell and probably wouldn’t mind getting him in trouble.”

  “Yeah, but you heard what he said,” Corey said. “To him, a mascot costume is sacred!”

  “True,” Hannah admitted.

  “Let’s compare his handwriting standard with the note before we make up our minds,” Ben said.

  They stared at the computer screen.

  “Look at his r ’s,” Hannah said. “He prints them like they’re capital r ’s, even when they’re in the middle of a word. Whoever wrote the note didn’t do that. See the r in ‘ready’?”

  “You’re right,” Ben said. “And I watched him while he was writing for us. He’s left-handed. Remember what Miss Hodges told us about clues that can help an investigator tell if a person is right- or left-handed? That’s why the bars across his t’s are heavier on the right side and thinner on the left side.”

  “Yeah,” Corey said. “But in the note, it’s the opposite. The bar across the t is lighter on the right side and heavier on the left.”

  “So whoever wrote the note is right-handed,” Hannah said.

  “It’s not a match,” Ben concluded. “Steve didn’t write the note.”

  “I knew it,” Corey said.

  They sat there for a minute, thinking.

  “So, what else have we got?” Hannah asked.

  “There’s the tire track,” Corey said. “The one we saw on the costume. Maybe we could do something with that.”

  “Like what?” Hannah asked.

  “I don’t know,” Corey admitted. “But I know who does. Maybe she’s still at school.”

  “Tire tracks?” Miss Hodges asked. She was just about to leave for the weekend when Club CSI burst into her classroom. “We won’t get to that unit for another month.”

  “Couldn’t you give us a sneak preview?” Corey asked.

  “Well,” she said, crossing to the dry-erase board, “do you remember the difference between class evidence and individual evidence?”

  She wrote “class” and “individual” on the board.

  “Class evidence helps you put an object in a group of objects, like a brand,” Ben answered. “Individual evidence helps you identify one specific object.”

  “That’s right,” Miss Hodges said. “In the case of tire marks, you’re much more likely to get class evidence than individual evidence.”

  “So the tire mark could tell you what brand of tire it came from, but it might not lead you to one specific tire on one specific car,” Hannah said.

  “Exactly,” Miss Hodges. “As for the specifics of analyzing tire marks, I’d recommend talking to a tire expert.”

  “Do you know any tire experts?” Hannah asked.

  Miss Hodges looked out the classroom window. “Not here in town. I know one in Las Vegas, but that’s not real handy.”

  “There’s a tire store on Prospect Avenue,” Ben said. “My dad buys his tires there. He complains about their prices, but he says they know what they’re doing.”

  The teacher smiled. “Sounds like a good place to try.”

  The young guy behind the counter grinned. “Expert? Well, I guess we’re all tire experts here. But the man you should talk to is Bob. He’s been working with tires since before you were born. Heck, before I was born!”

  Hannah returned the guy’s smile. Bob sounded perfect. “Is he here?”

  “Yep,” the young guy said. “He’s in the garage. Follow me.”

  They went past a glass door and into the area where customers brought their cars to have their tires changed. Early this Saturday morning, it was quiet, with no cars and no customers.

  At the back of the garage an older man was running his finger along the tires on a rack. He seemed to be checking to see which tires they had in stock.

  “Hey, Bob!” the younger man called. “Got some young folks here who are looking for a tire expert.”

  “Well,” Bob said. “If I see one, I’ll let you know.”

  The younger man chuckled. “No one knows more about tires than you, Bob.”

  “I doubt that,” Bob said good-naturedly. “But I’ll be glad to help any way I can. What do you need? Bicycle tires? ’Cause we don’t sell those.”

  “We need to learn about car tires for a school project,” Hannah said.

  Bob puffed out his cheeks. “Car tires. That’s a big subject. It seems like the more I learn about them, the more I realize how little I know.”

  He walked across the garage toward a poster showing a tire cut in half, so customers could see all the pieces that went into making one. He talked as he walked. Club CSI followed him, with Ben taking notes on a small pad.

  “Every year, there are more than a billion new tires made. Lots of companies make them. They come in all sizes, but not al
l shapes. They’re all round.” He winked.

  When he reached the poster, Bob pointed to the different parts of the tire as he described them.

  “There are two main parts to a tire: the body and the tread. The body is for support—to hold the car up. The tread is for traction—to grip the road.”

  He pointed to the center hole of the tire. “The part of the tire right next to the rim is called the bead. Between the bead and the tread is the sidewall. This edge between the sidewall and the beginning of the tread is the shoulder.”

  Ben said, “It’s mostly the tread we’re interested in. We’re trying to identify a tire print.”

  Hannah showed Bob the picture on her phone of the tire print. “This is the tire print we’re trying to identify.”

  Bob raised his glasses and looked at the phone closely. “What’s the tire print on? Doesn’t look like pavement. Almost looks . . . hairy.”

  “It’s a mascot costume,” Corey explained. “Rocky the Ram.”

  Bob looked at Corey with raised eyebrows. “This sounds like a very interesting school project.”

  “Can you tell what kind of tire might have left that print?” Ben asked.

  “Hmm,” Bob said, staring at the picture. “It’s tricky. I’m trying to see the pattern from the lugs, the grooves, and the sipes.”

  “The whats?” Corey asked.

  Bob grinned. “Here, I’ll show you.” He walked over to a rack full of tires and then knelt down next to one of them.

  “The lugs are these kind of square-shaped bits of rubber that touch the road when you drive. They also make the marks in a tire print,” he explained.

  He ran his finger along a channel that ran around the tire. “This is a groove. In the tire print, these look like spaces between the marks made by the lugs.”

  He flicked his fingernail into little cuts that were angled across the lugs. “These little cuts are called sipes. They’re actually named after the guy who invented them, John F. Sipes. Legend has it that he cut slits in the soles of his shoes to keep from slipping at work. I’m not sure whether I believe that.”

  “What are they for?” Corey asked.