A Deadly Game
Cameron Sewell was only thirteen years old when he graduated from high school. With a perfect score on his SATs and a grade point average of 4.0, the gifted young man, the valedictorian of his class, had his pick of any college in the country. The future indeed looked bright for the boy genius from Pompton Plains, New Jersey, yet the teenager had always found his life as a child prodigy a lonely and unhappy one. Other children his age shunned him, and many openly ridiculed and bullied him.
Finally, toward the end of his senior year, at his guidance counselor's suggestion, Cameron joined Mensa, an international organization for people whose intelligence ranked in the top two percent of the population. It was through one of Mensa's special interest groups that the thirteen-year-old prodigy from the Garden State met his intellectual equal in Chicago, Illinois.
Gregory Latham, Cameron's senior by only seven months, had already been accepted into Harvard. Despite his academic achievement, he, like Cameron, had no friends his own age. Both hungry for friendship, the two boys soon established and maintained a constant flow of communication over the Internet.
When school ended in June, Gregory went to visit his friend in New Jersey for one month, and then Cameron was to go to Chicago for the month of August. In September, both young men would go off to college.
Although they had never actually met, the two boys had no difficulty recognizing each other when Gregory got off the plane at Newark Airport. The teenagers, normally quiet youngsters, talked incessantly on the drive to Pompton Plains, their conversation covering the gamut from the latest computers to popular movies to their favorite pastime: role-playing games. In the front seat of the Toyota Matrix, Cameron's parents smiled at each other. At long last, their son had found a friend.
Later that evening, after the family and their guest finished dinner, Cameron went to the spare bedroom and helped Gregory unpack.
"What's this?" he asked as he took a paperback out of his guest's carry-on suitcase.
"It's a book about Leopold and Loeb," Gregory replied with enthusiasm. "I started reading it on the plane. It's pretty good."
"I never heard of them. Who are they?" Cameron asked, looking at the picture of the two young men who in 1924 were credited with committing the crime of the century.
"They were two geniuses from Chicago."
"Geniuses like us?"
"Not exactly," Gregory replied with a chuckle. "Leopold and Loeb thought they were so intelligent that they could commit the perfect crime and not get caught."
"And did they?"
"No. They kidnapped and murdered a young boy, but the police eventually figured out they were the killers."
"What happened to them?"
"I didn't get that far yet."
Cameron put the book on the night table in case Gregory wanted to read it before going to bed. For the time being, however, Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb were forgotten.
* * *
The month passed quickly. Mr. and Mrs. Sewell took Cameron and his guest to spend a day at the Jersey Shore, see a baseball game at Yankee Stadium in the Bronx and visit the Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor. When July came to an end, the two boys found themselves back at Newark Airport where they both boarded a plane for Chicago.
"I finished your book," Cameron said as he prepared for take-off.
"What did you think of it?" Gregory asked.
"It was interesting, but for so-called geniuses, Leopold and Loeb sure screwed up their perfect crime."
"Finding Leopold's eyeglasses near Bobby Franks's body was a lucky break for the police, but Nathan losing his glasses was an accident that the killers couldn't have foreseen."
"True, but look at the other mistakes the so-called geniuses made. For one thing, they dumped the body near Wolf Lake, an area where Leopold often went bird-watching. Then Richard Loeb decided to play detective. Why did he make such a public display of his interest in the case? He should have kept a low profile instead."
Gregory nodded in agreement, and Cameron continued, "Why did Leopold type the phony ransom note on a typewriter that could easily be traced back to him? And what about their alibi? They told police they were out that day driving around in Leopold's car, yet the chauffeur had spent the entire day fixing that car. They may have been extremely intelligent, but they sure didn't think things through."
"I suppose you believe you could do better?" Gregory teased.
"Without a doubt," Cameron replied earnestly. "Don't you agree that you and I would succeed where Leopold and Loeb failed?"
Gregory shrugged his shoulders. He no longer felt like discussing a case that had been closed for ninety years. Instead, he turned his head to stare out the airplane window, but he was not interested in either the clouds or the towns over which they were flying. His mind was busy contemplating a new role-playing game.
* * *
The boys were met at O'Hare Airport by Gregory's parents.
"Did you enjoy your trip to New Jersey?" Mrs. Latham asked as her son and his guest waited for their luggage.
"It was great! Cameron’s parents kept us busy. They don't live too far from New York, so we drove into the city to see the World Trade Center Memorial, Madison Square Garden and Radio City Music Hall."
Gregory's mother, not wanting to be outdone by Cameron's parents, immediately declared, "We've got some pretty interesting trips planned for you boys, too."
"Like what?" her son asked, putting his mother on the spot.
"Chicago is full of museums. I promise we won't run out of things to do."
Gregory looked at his friend and rolled his eyes. In his opinion, neither the Adler Planetarium nor the Field Museum could match the excitement of Six Flags Great Adventure.
He leaned forward and whispered, "My parents think that just because I've got a high IQ, I'm some kind of weirdo egghead who likes to see dinosaur bones, models of the universe and ancient Egyptian artifacts."
That night, while Mr. and Mrs. Latham were doing the dinner dishes, the boys went to the family room to watch television.
"There's never anything good on," Gregory complained as he skipped over dozens of uninteresting programs with the remote control. "Now that's progress for you: we have more than a hundred channels, and there's nothing worth watching on any of them!"
"Why don't we watch a DVD then?" Cameron suggested. "Got any good horror movies?"
Gregory pushed the power button on the remote, and the TV screen went black.
"I have a better idea. Let's play a game."
"Great! You want to find one online?"
"No. I thought we'd make up our own."
"How about a good, old-fashioned adventure game, one similar to Dungeons and Dragons?"
"That wasn't what I had in mind. I propose you and I plan the perfect crime. I think it will be a fun challenge."
"We're not really going to go through with it, though, are we?" Cameron asked with trepidation.
"Of course, not!" Gregory assured him. "It'll be just another role-playing game."
Cameron considered the matter for a few minutes before agreeing.
"Sure. Why not?" he replied. "It sounds like more fun than watching a stupid reality show."
* * *
Over the next three weeks, the boys discussed the particulars of their pretend murder. Time and again they changed their plan, reworking details that might lead the police to suspect them. Finally, Cameron and Gregory were satisfied that they had indeed concocted the perfect crime.
"Even the FBI wouldn't be able to tie us to this case," Cameron declared with a triumphant laugh. "I'll bet Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb would turn over in their graves if they knew we did what they couldn't do."
"We shouldn't be too proud of ourselves," Gregory said glumly. "After all, it's still nothing more than a hypothetical situation."
"No duh! Of course, it's hypothetical. It's not as though we're going to kill someone just to test our theory."
"We don't have to actually murder anyone to prove our plan will work, you know."
Camera frowned. He wondered exactly what Gregory had in mind.
* * *
The following weekend—the last one before Cameron returned to New Jersey—Gregory persuaded his parents to travel forty-five miles to take them to the Windy City Amusement Park.
"After all," he whined to his mother, knowing exactly which of his mother's buttons to push, "Cameron's parents took us to a theme park. You don't want the Sewells to think we're, well, cheap or something."
That did the trick, as Gregory knew it would. His mother always worried about what other people thought of her.
"We'll meet you back here at six," Mrs. Latham told her son after she paid the family's admission into the park.
While most of the patrons headed directly to the newest roller coaster, hoping to get in at least one ride before the line backed up to Cleveland, the two boys walked toward the kiddy section of the amusement park.
"Are you sure we should go through with this?" Cameron asked nervously, wiping his sweaty palms on his denim shorts.
"Don't be so scared. We've been over every step of the plan. It can't fail."
As the young geniuses walked through the throng of small children and harried parents, Gregory eagerly scanned the smiling faces, searching for one special child.
"There!" he whispered. "That one. The little girl with the pigtails, wearing the pink Cinderella short set."
The child, who was somewhere between four and five years old, looked terrified.
Gregory stooped down close to her and said in a soothing, low voice, "Don't be afraid. We'll help you find your mommy."
The girl's face brightened. She willingly took Gregory's hand and accompanied him to the park's maintenance garage.
* * *
"Where's Cameron?" Mrs. Latham asked anxiously when she saw her son standing alone by the main gate.
"He'll be right back. He's in the men's room, sick to his stomach."
"That's amusement park food for you!" Mr. Latham complained. "It's outrageously expensive and not fit for human consumption."
A few minutes later, Cameron, pale and unsteady, walked out of the restroom.
"Are you feeling all right?" Mrs. Latham asked. "Would you like me to take you to the first aid station?"
"No!" Cameron responded sharply, and then his voice softened. "I'm okay, thank you. It's the roller coaster—and the pizza."
Mr. Latham laughed.
"He'll feel better once his insides settle down. Come on. Let's go get a decent, reasonably priced meal."
* * *
During the remaining days of August, the two boys scanned the local newspapers each day and watched the morning, evening and late-night news on television.
"I can't believe it! It's been three days, and there's still no word of ...."
Cameron could not finish the sentence.
"They probably haven't found the body yet," Gregory reasoned.
"But her parents must know she's missing. Why hasn't anyone reported her disappearance to the police?"
"Don't worry about it. It's all over and done with, and you're going home tomorrow."
Suddenly Gregory's green eyes lit up with excitement.
"We did it!" he exclaimed. "We committed the perfect crime."
Cameron leaned over and vomited on his friend's bedroom floor.
* * *
Once safely back in Pompton Plains, Cameron ignored all his friend's emails and text messages. The terrible secret the two boys shared, that of the murder of the little girl in pigtails and a pink Cinderella short set, had caused an irreparable rift in their friendship.
Cameron entered Duke University that autumn and eventually went on to Johns Hopkins and became a doctor, while Gregory attended Harvard and became a lawyer. Both men were extraordinarily successful and quickly rose to the top of their professions. They both married and became pillars of their respective communities. The summer they shared had all but been forgotten.
In their fiftieth year, however, an event would occur that would thrust them back to that terrible day in Chicago and resurrect the horrific memory that the two men desperately tried to repress.
* * *
Cameron and his wife, Olivia, were sitting in Terminal B of Newark Airport, drinking coffee.
"I can't wait to see them all," Olivia declared, referring to her daughter, son-in-law and four-year-old granddaughter. "I haven't seen little Jessica since she was a baby."
Cary Huntley, their son-in-law, was a dedicated doctor who had gone to Africa with a group of missionaries three years earlier. During that time, the two families had kept in touch through letters, emails, phone calls and occasional snapshots. At long last, Cary and his wife and daughter were returning to the United States.
"Isn't it going to be wonderful having them living close by?" Olivia asked ecstatically. "I'll finally know what it's like to be a grandmother."
Cameron smiled, drained his coffee cup and looked at his watch.
"We'd better get going. The plane will be landing shortly, if their flight hasn't been delayed, that is."
They left Starbucks and were heading toward the arrivals hall when several airport security guards raced past them. Suddenly, the sound of a woman's cries could be heard above the sounds of the busy airport terminal.
"That's Trina's voice!" Olivia said and bolted toward the direction of the commotion.
Several security guards had surrounded Dr. Sewell's daughter and son-in-law.
"We need a description of your little girl," one of the guards said, holding his walkie-talkie a few inches from his mouth.
"She's four years old, blond hair, blue eyes," Trina Huntley sobbed.
"What was she wearing?"
"A pink Cinderella short set. And she had her hair up in pigtails."
Cameron stopped short in his tracks. The terrible memory resurfaced.
"She was there one moment, and when I turned around, she was gone."
Olivia tried to comfort her hysterical daughter, but Cameron remained uncharacteristically silent and withdrawn throughout the ordeal.
"What do you mean you have to go to Chicago?" Olivia cried with disbelief when they returned home later that evening. "Our granddaughter is missing, and you want to leave us!"
"I assure you I wouldn't go if it wasn't absolutely necessary, but it's a matter of life and death," Cameron said as he went to the bedroom to pack an overnight bag.
* * *
Judge Gregory Latham looked across his desk at Dr. Cameron Sewell.
"Do you remember me?" Cameron asked.
"It's not likely I could forget you. It's been a long time," the judge said uneasily. "I can't image what brought you back here after all these years."
Cameron placed a photograph on the judge's desk; it was a picture of a blond, four-year-old girl.
The judge's face lost all color.
"Where did you get that?"
"It's a recent snapshot of my granddaughter."
Gregory stared at his former boyhood friend. Horror distorted his handsome face.
"She disappeared two days ago. There's been no trace of her," Cameron announced, his throat constricted with emotion.
"It can't be," Gregory insisted.
"That's what I thought, but it's true."
"No, this is impossible."
A sudden feeble hope flashed through the judge's mind.
"This is either some kind of sick joke or—wait! I know. It's blackmail. You want to blackmail me with accusations of an old ...."
"Oh, shut up, you fool!" Cameron cried. "I'm a wealthy man. I have a family and a position to think of. Do you honestly believe I would dredge up the past for a few measly dollars?"
"What do you want then?"
"I want you to come with me to that amusement park."
"Whatever for?"
"I want you to show me where you hid the body."
"You're insane! What good would it possibly do your granddaughter to find the remains of a child that's been dead for thirty-seven years?"
"Didn't you see that photograph? It's her, I tell you."
"How can you be so sure? It's been a long time; I've forgotten exactly what she looked like."
"There's something else. Do you care to guess what my granddaughter was wearing when she disappeared? A pink Cinderella short set."
Judge Latham closed his eyes.
"Are you suggesting that we murdered your granddaughter decades before she was even born?"
"WE? You murdered that poor child, or did you forget that detail?"
"It was an accident," the judge cried, slamming his fist on the desk. "I didn't really mean to suffocate her. I just wanted her to stop crying."
"We're going back to the amusement park," the doctor said firmly as he rose from his seat. "Right now!"
* * *
Cameron barely recognized the place; it had changed so much in the thirty-seven years that had passed since he'd been there.
"I think the maintenance garage is over in this direction," Gregory said, leading the way through the crowds.
The two men headed to the opposite end of the park in silence. They had no desire to reminisce about the summer they had shared.
Suddenly, Gregory cried, "It's gone!"
"What is?"
"The maintenance building. It used to be right over there."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. That flume ride used to be the tunnel of love. There's the Himalaya, and that's where the fun house once stood. Right where the arcade is now is where the maintenance building used to stand."
"When they tore the old building down ...," Cameron began.
"... they must have found the body," Gregory concluded. "Such a grisly discovery would surely have made the news, yet I haven't heard anything."
Cameron walked into the arcade and Gregory followed. Patrons of all ages gathered around the video games, pinball machines and Skee-Ball lanes, feeding quarters into the coin slots and hoping to win prize tickets.
"Are you satisfied?" Gregory asked. "There's nothing here. Can we leave now?"
"I don't really know what I expected to find," Cameron confessed, wiping the tears from his eyes.
"Maybe we didn't commit the perfect crime after all," Gregory suggested hopefully. "No one ever reported the girl missing, and no one discovered a body when the garage was torn down. What if she was still alive? What if we never ...?"
As Cameron listened to Gregory's theory, he felt a tug on his shirt. He looked down and saw a little girl in pigtails, wearing a pink Cinderella short set.
"I'm lost," the little girl cried. "Can you help me find my mommy?"
* * *
Olivia and Trina hugged each other tightly as they wept.
"What was he doing in an amusement park of all places?" the recently widowed woman asked her daughter. "He's always hated them."
Trina, still reeling from the disappearance of her child, now had to contend with the death of her father as well. The Chicago police had phoned minutes earlier to inform them that Cameron Sewell had suffered a massive, fatal heart attack in the arcade of a local amusement park.
"It's ironic: the last thing he said before he left," Olivia sobbed, "was that it was a matter of life and death."
As the two women tried to comfort each other, they heard a car pull into the driveway.
"It's the police," Cary Huntley told his wife and mother-in-law.
"Oh, no!" Olivia wailed, remembering the old saying that bad news usually came in threes.
In this case, however, the old superstition didn't apply. Out of the back seat of the police car stepped a four-year-old girl with pigtails, wearing a pink Cinderella short set.
"Mommy! Mommy!" Jessica cried as she raced across the front yard and flew into her mother's open arms. "I couldn't find you!"
The tearful reunion was a bittersweet one. Little Jessica had been reunited with her family, but her grandfather did not live to see it.
"You must be starving!" Trina said, her maternal instincts recovering from the shock of the past few days. "Let me get you something to eat."
"I'm not hungry," Jessica declared. "The man bought me pizza for lunch."
"What man is that?" Dr. Huntley asked. "The man in the police uniform?"
"No, the man who found me and took me to the man in the police uniform," Jessica replied.
"Did this man hurt you in any way?" the worried father asked.
"No, he was really nice. He ...."
The little girl suddenly stopped speaking and pointed to a framed photograph on the fireplace mantel.
"That's him right there," she said, indicating a photograph of her grandfather, the late Dr. Cameron Sewell.
Image in upper left corner is of Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb.
Salem enjoys role-playing games. Here he is pretending to be Pepé le Pew.
