The Kingbee

By George S. Haines

In August 1948, a daring bank robbery occurs at the First Express Bank in Marion, Indiana. At the same precise time, three inmates are sprung from the local jail by a stranger dubbed the Mayor. As special deputies, Sam and Howie are directed by Sheriff Neverfine to track down the culprits.

The trail leads to a secret chemical laboratory located in a deserted coal mine deep inside an obscure mountain in Southern Indiana. Captured and shackled inside the mine, Sam and Howie notice a faded Bible verse on the stone wall. Who scratched the verse on the wall? Why does the verse appear in such an odd location? Does the verse have any special meaning or message for people who entered the room in past years?

The deputies then discover that the devious criminals are developing a secret chemical called BrainX. When this substance is absorbed into the brain cells of subjects they become as zombies, responding only to the directives of the scheming experimenters. When Sam and Howie learn that they are destined to be the first human subjects to be infused with BrainX, their future existence as normal persons is in jeopardy. Will they ever be able to escape from the ongoing tortuous nightmare?

And how about the Kingbee? Why does he suddenly show up? How does this character fit into the ongoing mysterious saga? Is he a friend or a foe? You will have to read every chapter in this novel, the sixth in the Sam and Howie series, to find the answers to all these intriguing questions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496958921

George S. Haines

The authors, George S. and Myra Jane Haines, have shared their knowledge, ideas and experiences to develop and compose the narrative for this intriguing mystery. Both authors are career teachers at public schools. They also served many years as professors in the Department of Education at Taylor University.

Book preview

A Prologue

The exciting events occurring in this narrative titled The KingBee entangle detectives, Sam and Howie, in perilous situations that stretch their sleuthing abilities to the utmost limit and place their lives in constant jeopardy. Danger confronts them at every turn as they attempt to thwart the insidious aspirations of devious chemists who desire to develop a chemical compound that will enable them to control the mental processes of humans.

This book is the sixth in the Sam and Howie mystery series. Readers who have enjoyed novel number five, The Wreck of the ‘Cincy’ Queen, will notice the storyline of The KingBee opens directly from the close of that previous novel.

The year is 1948. It is late summer in Grant County, Indiana. The reader who has accompanied Sam and Howie through the first five mysteries will notice they have matured through the years. They are now twenty-two years old and are well settled in their offices at The S and H Detective Agency located across the street from the county jail. The long-time elected, boisterous county lawman, Sheriff Neverfine, has appointed both of them to the challenging positions of Special Deputy.

As the curtain opens, a brazen bank robbery and audacious jail break occur in Marion, the county seat. Sam and Howie are jolted into action. The scene soon shifts, however, when the sheriff directs them to pursue the culprits who are thought to be racing to an obscure locale, perhaps a secret hideout, in southern Indiana. A deserted village and an abandoned coal mine soon become the site of their greatest challenges as the renegade German scientists attempt to create the mind-altering chemical compounds in their underground laboratory.

Read along as Sam and Howie encounter life-threatening events as they attempt to solve this new challenging enigma. Perhaps you will discern the solution to their perplexing dilemma and solve this mystery before you read the final chapter……and then maybe not.

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Chapter 1

Suddenly and without warning, a horrific explosion could be heard and felt by all customers and employees of the First Express Bank, located in Marion, Indiana. The ear drum-splitting blast, reverberating in the humid air rattled the decorative, stained-glass windows, a visual trademark of the bank, one of the larger financial institutions in Grant County. The floor of the building shuddered, making the customers standing at the tellers’ windows unsure of their balance. The deafening eruption seemed to have come from the designated parking lot at the rear of the bank. Sheriff Neverfine, long-time elected law enforcer for the county, and several of his companions were conducting an inquiry in the bank’s vault at that very moment. They looked at each other with stern frowns of concern on their faces. They instinctively checked their weapons as they prepared to quickly leave the vault and investigate the source of the booming noise.

Thirty minutes earlier, when the sheriff and his entourage had entered the bank the local scene had seemed innocent enough for any small town. Shoppers, businessmen and women, and workmen walked with intent along the sidewalks that bordered the north and front sides of the bank, located at the corner of Washington and Third Streets. Patrons leaving the bank often looked fondly across the street to view the historic courthouse clad in Indiana limestone.

The courthouse, home to court rooms and county offices, was enhanced on all four sides with grassy lawns and mature maple trees. The temperature was in the low 90’s, normal for the middle of July. Men and women who kept the local businesses prospering shed their suit coats as they stared straight ahead, thinking seriously about their next appointments. Clerks and office workers were rushing back to work after utilizing the final minutes of their usual lunch hour. Everyone was anxious to seek shelter from the hot blazing rays of the mid-day sun. Vehicular traffic in front of the bank was congested with blaring horns revealing the impatience of determined drivers.

Passengers in the numerous moving automobiles and pedestrians alike gave scant notice to the electric utility truck pulling over and stopping with the passenger-side wheels resting upon the sidewalk next to the parking lot at the rear of the bank. They had seen similar vehicles many times on city streets carrying specially trained crews on their way to repair and restore electrical service to homes and businesses. The trucks were painted white with a wide, horizontal green stripe decorating the middle of the trucks front to rear.

A workman with the words Grant County Electric Utility printed on the back of his shirt emerged from the cab of the truck and strapped special climbing gaffs onto his boots. He snapped the end of a two-inch wide strip of leather to one side of his belt and approached a wooden pole that at its top supported a maze of wires and a large electric transformer. Flipping the loose end of the leather strap around the pole he fastened it to the other side of his belt.

Alternately jabbing the sharp gaffs into the wood he quickly climbed up to the transformer. Donning special insulating gloves, he reached into a leather pouch at his waist and withdrew a small roll of mechanic’s tape and a small metal cylinder. The tubular-shaped device had a short wire attached to one end. After checking his pocket watch he hastily attached the metal object with tape to the top of the transformer near the insulators and wire connections. He then climbed down, removed the parking cones from the sidewalk at the front and rear of the utility truck and entered the truck’s cab. Glancing around he smiled at the people walking on the sidewalk as he placed the gloves and leather pouch on the passenger seat next to him.

Slowly and carefully he steered the vehicle around the corner and proceeded to drive to the staging area reserved for the fleet of city utility trucks. ‘Picking’ the padlock and removing the chain holding the entrance gate closed, he pushed the gate open. After parking the truck in its designated area he wiped off his fingerprints from the steering wheel and other surfaces. He reached under the dashboard and retrieved his homemade ‘hot-wire’ tool. The workman then removed his shirt and work pants, loosely rolled them up and touched a lighted match to both articles of clothing. Tossing the charred remains over the chain-link fence he was now clad in a ragged tee-shirt and well-worn jeans.

Hastily leaving the electric company parking lot, he closed and re-locked the padlock securing the gate. Walking to the street he stepped off the curb and entered a shiny black Ford sedan that had coasted to a stop. Glancing at the watch that he had stolen from the Priceless 5 and Dime Store, he nodded at the driver. Quickly the car disappeared from the area heading toward the city center.

At the precise moment the worker had climbed the utility pole and attached the strange metal object to the transformer, Sheriff Neverfine, Inspector Snooper, Detectives Sam and Howie, Peter Guardless of the F.B.I., and Si Evermore, Chief Detective of the Cincinnati and Chicago Railroad, entered the First Express Bank through the revolving glass door. The sheriff wanted to satisfy himself and convince the other lawmen that the jeweled Christian cross held in the vault at the bank did not possess any secret writing or symbols hidden under the beautiful emerald, the centerpiece of the valuable cross.

Earlier that day the group had met in the sheriff’s office for a wrap-up discussion centering on the successful climax of a very recent criminal case. They were in a jovial mood as they shared information about their part in solving the mystery of a recent wreck of the ‘Cincy’ Queen, a powerful and fast steam locomotive that ‘huffed’ and ‘puffed’ as the monstrous engine dragged long freight trains on the polished rails between Chicago and Cincinnati.

They had congratulated themselves for the capture and incarceration of the perpetrators of that serious derailment. Also, valuable gems and a jeweled Christian cross that had been stolen by the culprits were recovered. An unsubstantiated report had suggested secret letters or chemical symbols were inscribed on the metal base under a large dazzling emerald, the centerpiece of the cross. The sheriff had vehemently stated his negative views about any such etchings and he was anxious to examine the cross to validate his opinion. He felt his professional experience and judgment were at stake.

Mr. Facett, owner of the Falstone Jewelry Store located on the south side of the public square, had been requested by phone to join the group at the First Express Bank. He was an experienced jeweler and appraiser of gems. The sheriff wanted the jeweler’s experienced hands to remove the emerald from the cross and he was confident Mr. Facett would be a valid witness to the lack of any symbols etched on the metal base that held the emerald in place.

Arriving at the bank, Mr. Facett was clad as usual in his impeccably pressed black, pin-striped suit, starched white shirt and red tie with the usual diamond stick pin. He removed his derby-type hat, brushed the few strands of long, dangling black hair from his face as he met the sheriff and his cohorts who had gathered in the lobby. His pointed, shrunken chin wavered as he nervously joined the group. His thin, hooked nose twitched with anxiety. He always felt miniaturized and unimportant standing next to the barrel-chested, six-foot-five sheriff.

Sheriff, what’s up? What kind of jewels can I appraise for you today? he asked looking up at the sheriff without smiling.

Thank you for joining us on such short notice, Mr. Facett. We would like for you to remove the centerpiece from the Christian cross. This beautiful jeweled cross was stolen from this very bank but now has been recovered due to the heroic efforts of my assistant, Inspector Snooper. The inspector fidgeted, looked down at his brightly shined black shoes, cleared his throat and smiled slightly.

Expanding his stocky chest the sheriff spouted, The cross is now secure here in the vault located deep inside this bank. We have been told there is a secret inscription etched on the metal base under the emerald. He glanced down at Sam and Howie, raised one eyebrow and continued, We need to examine the cross so you can confirm that this opinion is hearsay and there is no writing to be found anywhere on the cross.

The sheriff and his companions walked over to the corner of the expansive and lavish lobby and approached the corpulent president of the bank, Mr. Sven VanderSanten, who was seated behind a huge, ornate wood desk in his plush, oversized, high-back chair upholstered in black leather. They found him in quiet conversation with his head teller, Miss Countless, who, in deference to the sheriff, smiled, hastily withdrew and returned to her station, the rapid clacking of her yellow high-heeled shoes on the marble tiles resounding throughout the opulent bank lobby.

The sheriff, assuming control of the conversation as usual, jovially greeted the bank president. "Hello, Sven, we are happy to report the bank robbers who recently accosted you on your birthday have been apprehended and are now pacing the floor in their cells at my jail. You may be asked to appear in court at a later date to give testimony regarding that unfortunate event. We appreciate your being willing to place the recovered gems and the Christian cross in your bank’s vault, despite the rather pointed publicity about the recent robbery that recently appeared in The Marion Tribune, as written by the assuming Mr. Frank Overbaring. Now, however, we would like to inspect the jeweled Christian cross. Would you remove it from the locked drawer in the vault, please?"

Yes, follow me. I unlocked the door to the vault a few minutes ago. There is a tall wooden table located inside the vault. I will unlock the proper drawer, the one holding the Christian cross and the jewels you found a few weeks ago in the body cavity of the G.I.’s corpse. I’ll remove the cross and place it upon the table. We will all be able to scrupulously view the jeweled cross because it will be illuminated by the bright overhead lights beaming down from the ceiling. I will place the cross on this small square piece of white satin cloth. Give me a few minutes to locate the correct key. He motioned them forward as he hastened, leading in short measured steps, arms swinging briskly, to the interior of the vault. Inside, the area was quite adequate with space around the table to allow patrons of the bank the opportunity to privately view the contents of their lock boxes.

Three sides of the vault were faced with stacks of metal drawers from floor to ceiling. Each drawer had a hinged brass plate with a number and a centered keyhole on the front. Crowding inside, the men gathered around the table anxiously awaiting another glimpse of the valuable cross and the precious jewels.

Mr. VanderSanten nervously fondled each brass key that was attached to a large steel ring, squinting at the number on each as he brought it up to his eyes. Finally, satisfied he had found the right key, he turned and smiled meekly at the lawmen.

Sven, will you hurry up! boomed the sheriff, sighing as he mopped his forehead with a large red handkerchief with caricatures of pirates on both sides. Shuffling his large shoes noisily on the polished terrazzo floor he hollered, It’s getting unbearably hot in here with all those overhead lights heating up this small room.

The bank president nodded and quickly inserted the key into the lock of the appropriate drawer that held the cross and the collection of jewels. Opening the brass door he reached inside and pulled the drawer out. Placing it on the table he lifted the lid and with both hands carefully grasped the cross and deposited it gingerly upon the small piece of satin cloth he had placed in the middle of the table. Loud audible gasps, emitted from the pursed lips of the anxious men leaning over the table, filled the chamber. Again the beauty of the Christian cross overwhelmed the senses of the visitors.

Now, Mr. Facett, please remove the emerald, the fascinating centerpiece, so that we can confirm there is no chemical formula or other marks inscribed on the metal underneath, directed the sheriff, grinning and glancing slyly at Sam and Howie. He was absolutely sure in his own mind his boisterously expressed opinion of the absence of markings would be vindicated.

The perspiring jeweler pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up farther on his nose. Again he forced the few remaining strands of his black hair that dangled down over his bleached-white face back and around his miniature ears. Carefully and with practiced dexterity he donned a pair of cotton gloves and with a demonstrative flair repositioned the cross on the fabric. All eyes were on the jeweler’s hands as he adroitly and carefully caressed the cross, gently rubbing his fingers over the gems. Again he was mesmerized, almost to the point of tears, by the inherent beauty of the glittering piece of jewelry.

Quit stalling, Facett. It’s stifling in here, ordered the sheriff. Bend back those tabs and remove that emerald so we can see the metal underneath.

With small tweezers he teased back the delicate silver tabs holding the emerald in place. The jeweler hesitated again, inhaled and murmured, I hope I don’t drop this precious item of jewelry on the floor.

Will you get on with it, Facett; this heat is oppressive. It’s killing me! demanded the sheriff.

Sighing heavily, the jeweler mopped his forehead with a white silk handkerchief and gently lifted up one edge of the emerald with forceps. He leaned over to get the first view of the underlying surface. The sheriff and his companions also crowded forward against the table top straining their eyes to obtain the first glimpse of any exposed writing or chemical symbols.

Even Miss Countless and two of her tellers managed to find an excuse to walk by the vault door to get a hint as to the reason for the sudden appearance of numerous lawmen. They had not witnessed so many policemen since the day the cross was stolen from the bank, the day of Mr. VanderSanten’s birthday. Curious as to what new impetus might bring the sheriff and his law-enforcing companions to the bank, they suspected it must be a very important event to warrant such a large contingent of officers.

Returning to their work stations, Miss Countless leaned over and whispered to the other women tellers, Who is that new man, the handsome, short gentleman wearing the expensive gray suit and gorgeous green tie?

Somebody said he is a railroad detective, out of Chicago, whispered one coworker, breathlessly, checking to make sure she had both earrings on properly. She checked the back of her legs to make sure the seams were straight on her nylon hosiery.

If we have a detective here in this bank from that big city up north something very important must be going on, offered a second teller. Maybe someone has absconded with our depositors’ money.

I can hardly wait until I get home and tell my neighbors about the sudden appearance of the attractive visitor from the windy city we hosted today at our workplace, gushed another teller as she removed a small mirror from her purse and renewed the purple lipstick covering her puckering lips.

And have you noticed his gorgeous green eyes that pierce right through you? moaned the other worker, rolling her eyes and straightening her skirt. She carefully brushed her hair back with her hands.

Meanwhile it was very quiet, except for rapid, heavy breathing in the hot, stuffy interior of the vault. The scene was almost to the point of being morbid. Everyone was becoming quite uncomfortable and impatient.

Alright, Facett, hurry up and turn over that emerald now! shouted the sheriff. The heat blazing down on us from those overhead lights is getting unbearable.

As the emerald was gingerly turned upside down the shallow space behind it was revealed. The metal base shone brightly under the illumination from the ceiling spotlights.

Look at that! shouted Sam. There are some very small letters or numbers on the surface!

Yeah, they look like some of the symbols Professor Wulf wrote on the blackboard in our Chemistry 101 class at Taylor University, gasped Howie. I’ll bet they make up the formula devised by Hilda in her laboratory back in Germany. But we may need a magnifying glass to enlarge the inscription so we can read it.

Well, I’ll be, muttered the sheriff, very subdued as he gaped at the etchings on the jeweled cross. Suddenly he became very quiet, an unusual happening.

It looks like another mystery is developing right before our eyes, declared Inspector Snooper in a serious but cautious tone. Perhaps it’s the chemical formula that’s supposed to give longer life to animals as described by Hilda, he added almost reverently.

Or, it may be the formula for the production of a substance that alters the brain cells and nervous systems of victims who ingest the chemical to make them responsive to certain sound wavelengths delivered by insidious individuals, mused Peter.

The discovery of the mysterious writing under the emerald consumed the attention of everyone. Standing on tip-toe they crowded closer to the table with their mouths wide open staring at the jewels on the cross and the etched markings on the base metal.

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Chapter 2

Meanwhile the scene next to the parking area at the rear of the First Express Bank became chaotic. Three pedestrians walking on the sidewalk alongside the bank were pelted with wood fragments and pieces of electrical wiring insulation raining down on their heads. They hurriedly scrambled for safety behind a panel truck parked nearby.

They glanced up searching the sky and surrounding buildings for the source of the deafening noise. What they saw made them gasp. The entire top half of the large wood pole that supported numerous electrical and telephone wires was missing. A large electric transformer was swinging in the breeze, dangling by one large electric cord. Other live wires were arcing and buzzing as they came in contact with each other. Stripped of their insulation the entire maze of loosely hanging wires was generating loud sparks and acrid fumes.

All lighting in the interior of the bank, including that emanating from the bright ceiling bulbs inside the vault, suddenly was extinguished. Although the sun was brightly shining outside the bank, the scene inside the financial institution became semi-dark, almost like evening dusk. For a few seconds the lawmen inside the vault were stunned, immobile.

Looking at no one in particular the sheriff yelled out loud, What on earth could have caused such an explosion? We need to leave this vault and determine the source of the blast now!

Then, as if activated by an electric switch, they all started moving about in various directions, bumping into each other. Inspector Snooper accidentally overturned the table as he scrambled toward the exit of the vault. Peter, Howie and the inspector, stumbling over the table, landed in a twisted mixture of churning legs and arms on the floor, further confusing the scene.

As chaos and uncertainty reigned inside the bank, especially around the work stations and the area inside the vault, two men, unnoticed, briskly entered the lobby through the revolving glass front door. Their faces were covered with sheer nylon stockings. Slouchy black beany hats were pulled down covering their ears and eyebrows. Their bent-over advancing silhouettes were not readily observed by the employees in the darkened interior. One man quickly skirted around the pedestal marble-topped tables in the lobby and with agility jumped over the gate separating the tellers’ stations from the lobby. Confronting the perplexed and petrified Miss Countless and her wide-eyed helpers, he sternly ordered, If you want to see tomorrow back away from your desks and counters and lie face down on the floor now.

At the same time the other masked intruder silently soft-shoed over to the vault door. Observing three members of the sheriff’s group writhing about on the floor and the other men standing but completely disorganized and disoriented inside the crowded, darkened vault, he looked at the dark form with a shiny star attached to his blouse and shouted, Sheriff, drop to the floor now!

The sheriff and Si Evermore reacted instinctively and reached for their weapons. To their amazement and horror the muzzle of a German MP 3008 machine pistol was only inches from their chests. Their 38’s clattered on the terrazzo floor.

Kicking the weapons aside, the intruder repeated, Everyone except the fat man, face down on the floor now!

As soon as the sheriff, Sam and Peter joined their wriggling companions prostrate on the floor, the masked man saw the Christian cross and the emerald lying loose on the floor. Grabbing the two items he slipped them into his front pants pocket. Stepping over Sam’s prostrate form he thrust his weapon forward into the bank president’s ample belly and yelled, You, Fat Man, with the keys, since you’re still standing, empty the drawer containing the jewels into my hat.

Clutching the knitted hat containing the jewels, he ordered, Now, Fat Man, drop to the floor. Everybody, just remain real quiet and don’t move for five minutes. Backing out and exiting the vault the intruder quickly joined his partner in the lobby who had held the bank employees and patrons at gun point. Together they rushed out spinning the revolving glass door and stood on the sidewalk, their eyes searching the street for a fast-moving vehicle.

Inside the darkened bank vault Sheriff Neverfine, Si and Peter felt around on the floor trying to locate their weapons. Finally recovering their 38’s the lawmen rushed into the lobby. Looking out toward the front of the bank they could see the glass door still revolving. Spurting toward the street they witnessed the two robbers jump into the back seat of a black car.

The sheriff, with Sam and Howie, who were the next persons to emerge from the bank, could see the rear of a rapidly disappearing black sedan that looked very familiar. The vehicle was speeding south on Washington Street ignoring red stop lights and blaring the horn at any pedestrians attempting to cross the street.

Hey! yelled Sam, that’s our unmarked car, the super-charged cruiser donated to Sheriff Neverfine’s office by Speedy Crawly. Those robbers have swiped our car!

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Chapter 3

While they were standing, one shoe on the curb and the other shoe in the street in front of the bank staring down the street to their right with disbelief at Sam and Howie’s patrol car rapidly disappearing, their attention was diverted to a loud commotion at their left that easily could be judged as the most comical scene of any slapstick comedy. A man wearing work clothes was trotting awkwardly along on the sidewalk leading from the jail to the First Express Bank. He was shouting and pushing a large, wood, swivel-type office chair with one hand, his other hand waving madly in the air. Seated in the chair was a woman with her bowed legs extended yelling, Sheriff! Sheriff! hysterically at the top of her lungs, one arm flailing wildly above her head. Pedestrians stopped in their tracks gaping at the strange event occurring in their midst.

The identity of the duo became evident as the chair on rollers approached the spellbound group standing in front of the bank. That’s the janitor from the jail pushing the chair with Cindy in the driver’s seat, yelled Sam, gaping at the unusual scene.

What in the world? asked the sheriff, as they all huddled around the strange conveyance.

Cindy, why are you riding around in that office chair? asked Inspector Snooper, with sincerity.

Wait a minute, ordered the sheriff. Let Cindy talk. Give her a chance to explain this odd situation.

Gasping for breath she attempted to stand up but fell back in the chair. With her free hand she grabbed the sheriff’’s arm for support and yelled in a squeaky voice, Sheriff, Professor Wulf and two other men have escaped from their cells at the jail!

Let’s go into the lobby of the bank, Cindy, away from these curious bystanders. Try to relax, directed the sheriff, calmly. Then, looking at Inspector Snooper he directed, Help the janitor push this chair and Cindy into the lobby.

Now, in a normal voice, Cindy, try to tell us what happened down at the jail, coaxed the sheriff, leaning over toward her as the group gathered close by.

Sam, Howie and the other lawmen crowded around in a tight circle anxious to learn the details of this latest encroachment upon their daily law enforcement routines.

Breathing deeply and rubbing her free hand on her legs, Cindy looked up at the sheriff and began to speak in a high-pitched, uncertain and shrill voice. While you and Inspector Snooper were absent from your offices, a man with a stocking covering his face walked in the east door to the jail, the door that is always locked. The intruder must have ‘picked’ the lock.

Glancing at Peter and Si, she added, Sitting at my station where the telephone switchboard is located I can see all visitors as they enter the jail, either through the front or the east side door. She hesitated, gasped for air and breathed deeply. Her eyes darted