= Taped Confession
  a puzzle mystery
  by Tim Kissman


"Wow, this place is huge." Detective Fox Stint stared at the ceiling of the Metro Detroit Coliseum, home of the Detroit Attack professional basketball team.

"I'll give you the official tour when this case is solved," Gary Carlisle, team president, grunted while they walked across the polished wood floor. "Right now, I want whoever stole the payroll and receipts from yesterday's game thrown into jail."

"We've narrowed it down to one of the players. We just don't know who," Fox explained. "When I got your call a couple hours ago, I inspected the office and the safe. We're sure someone who knew the organization and that the safe held the receipts from last night's game--tough loss, by the way--pulled this caper. We've eliminated everyone in the organization except one of the Attack."

"That's all you're going on?"

Fox held up a bag with a piece of athletic tape stuck to the inside of the clear plastic. "This was sticking to the leg of a chair that was knocked over in the office, right next to the safe. According to your own statement that particular chair was upright when you left the office earlier today. We think the thief tripped over it, leaving behind the tape while making his escape. He was probably spooked by a noise down the hall and didn't have time to cover his tracks. We think the tape came from your training room and was worn by one of your players. In fact, I'll wager season tickets on it."

"Do you have a suspect?"

"We detained the only four players who were taped before practice. They all have ankle injuries. My officers have already searched their lockers."

"Anything suspicious?"

Fox leafed through his officers' reports. "They all had the same items in their lockers: a hair brush, shaving cream, razor, toothbrush, toothpaste, hair gel, a couple changes of clothes--nothing that appears incriminating.

"You know, you guys really have a shot at the playoffs this year. Think you can win it all?"

Gary reached for the handle of a closed double door. "You tell me, you've detained some of my better players."

Fox immediately regretted his question.

* * *
	
Nick McCanter, the team's star forward, stood up when Gary and Fox entered the players' lounge. Usually reserved for athletes, it was filled with several uniformed officers and the four suspects.
	
"Are you in charge here?" Nick was dressed in official Detroit Attack sweat pants and T-shirt and towered over Fox. "I was lifting weights when your officers interrupted my workout."
	
Fox was in awe. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. McCanter. I'm a big fan"
	
"Just get me out of here, will ya? I'll autograph anything you want," McCanter sat back down in his chair and started cutting tape and pre-wrap from his ankle while Fox spoke. He winced as the tape pulled off leg hairs.
	
"Sorry, but we really do have to ask questions. Where were you when the safe was robbed?"
	
"I have been lifting since practice was over. You think scoring twenty-six points a game and grabbing fourteen rebounds comes without hard work?"
	
"Good point, Champ." Fox turned to the team's point guard, Bobby Allston. "Where were you? Great game last night, by the way."
	
"Thanks." Bobby was wearing shorts and a shooting shirt. His socks covered his toes, and tape was stuck to his hairy legs. "I was in the shooting gym working on free throws. I have an incentive in my contract this year to make some extra cash if I make ninety percent from the charity stripe."

"Bobby, how are your ankles?"

"Oh, they're fine," Bobby said. "I just have them taped for good luck."

Fox turned his attention to the team's center, Vlade Sadunaite. "And you, Vlade? Where were you when the safe was robbed?

The bearded Lithuanian stretched and nearly knocked over a lamp on the other side of the room with his long legs. He spoke with a thick accent. "I was talking to my agent about a commercial we're doing for Dan's Big and Tall. I was in here on the phone after practice."

"You played pretty well last night, too. Miami's center is a goon."

"Thank you. May I leave?" He smoothed out the wrinkles in his sweatpants. Low cut socks covered most of his bare, swollen ankles.

"Not before the end of the season, I hope," Fox laughed. "We need you, big guy."

The last suspect was Levin Gathers; the team's reserve center. He had a scar on his chin that looked fresh. He was also half-naked. Fox thought he looked upset, too.

"And you, Mr. Gathers?"

"I was in the hot tub, right over there," he pointed to the training room. "Now I'm here in my towel, icing my ankle and freezing. When is this over?"

Fox looked at Levin's injury. It looked like a hairy grapefruit.

"The playoffs are going to be tough for you guys," Fox spoke to Gary, "but at least I have a pretty good idea of who the thief is."

* * *

Who does Fox suspect is the thief?

What tipped him off?

The solution is in a seperate file.


TIM KISSMAN is a children's book author and syndicated columnist who loves mysteries. His first book, Shuck-Shuck and the Princess of Namssik is set for a 2002 release date. He enjoys playing basketball, chess and is hopelessly addicted to golf. His short stories have appeared on other Internet sites as The Writer's Hood and The Murder Hole. Tim lives in Lansing, Michigan and maintains a website at www.timkissman.itgo.com.

Copyright (c) 2001 Tim Kissman