A Hidden, Almost Covert Blogger Channel

There is a simple way to use the comments on blogger-based blogs to communicate with a friend largely free from monitoring.

1. Set up. Exchange or generate a Google ID/password pair. The exchange doesn't have to happen over the net, it could be by a phone call or a physical mail. 
2. User 1 logs in and opens a comment on one of the many, many low volume blogs on blogger. (This is one, being connected with a beginning mystery author). He, she or it puts down part of the message and saves a draft comment.
3. User 2 logs in and edits the comment. He can either read and delete the comment or he can put his message in. If he isn't done with the communications, he saves the draft.

The reason I said he, she or it, is that you can automate the process. I suspect that an IRC channel could be constructed this way.

Prolog and revised chapter 1

The prolog gives the reader critical information about part of the mystery of the plot. The major actors in the book do not know about these events. This might be a 'red herring' or a 'red red herring' subplot. 

0. Prolog.

They met in a dark staircase, in the evening just past dusk, in one of the apartment towers near Donghua university in Shanghai. The stale smell of dinners past filled the air, just barely overwhelming the sulfurous smell from the coal smog.
The young man said in his most desperate voice, “I need to do well on the TOEFL to enter Harvard. My parents could not live with the shame if I fail.”
The foreigner coughed from the smog then quietly replied, in his strongly accented and not quite mastered Cantonese, “The money, you it have?” By his build, he was unmistakably a foreigner, despite his smog mask, dark glasses and hat pulled down over his eyes. Even though he wore clothes from the local department store.
“Five thousand dollars?”
“Six. Cash. Now.”
“Here.”
The foreigner counted it. “You're short. Not enough. More.”
“It's all we have, we'll pay you. I promise.”
“No. Not enough for Harvard.”
“UGA then?”
“OK.” The foreigner pocked the money. He then gave the young man a written sheet with his gloved hand. “This instructions is. Understand?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Now forget you saw me.” He left down the stairs and out into the deepening fug. He had long a series of appointments to keep that evening before catching his plane home.



Shen Yi carefully read the paper he bought. They contained detailed instructions on how to log into a site using a virtual tunnel through the 'Great Firewall of China'. He could hardly wait, and once home fired up his laptop and got started.
The most beautiful girl he ever saw was on the screen when he logged in. She looked very much Chinese, for an American. He wasn't expecting that. He sat there, agog at her, his jaw dropped with amazement. She began to speak, “Do you want to start with the English practice?”
He stammered, in Cantonese, “Do you speak Chinese?”
“A little,” she then continued in English, “I'm adopted and my parents insisted I learn my culture's language. You're here to learn English aren't you?”
“You're very beautiful,” Yi, continued this time in English. She blushed. “Thank you.” She looked down at a paper on her desk and asked him, “The first question is 'what is the difference between to and too?'”
“One means also. Can you give me your email address so we can talk later?”
The girl paused, “I'm not allowed to tell you that.” She wrote something on a sheet of paper and held it up in front of the camera. Yi hastily wrote down her address. She continued, “The second question is give me an example of using too.”
“I like know if you are a college scholar too.”
“Very good, but it would be better to say, 'I would like to know if you are a college student too'.”
“I would like to know if you are a college student too.”
“Great. And I would reply, 'I am, I am a student at Georgia State University'.”
“You are?”
“Yes. Where are you?”
“Donghua. I want to graduate study in Georgia.”
“Good, but 'Donghua, I want to do graduate study in Georgia', is correct”
“Donghua, I want to do graduate study at Georgia State University.”
The girl blushed again, Yi was a fast worker. He seemed nice enough, but coming halfway around the world after a couple of minutes of an online chat was a bit excessive. “Don't be silly.”
“What's silly about it? What is your name?”
“Jane.”
“Jane I think I you love.”
“Now you are really being silly. The right way to say it is 'Jane I think I love you', which you can't yet. We've just met.”
“Jane I know I love you.”

1. Put Your Hand Up before You Die.

Spring semester found me back practicing academic physics. While it was not quite as spiritually rewarding as chasing down a network of serial killers, my sudden death was a lot less likely when I was standing in the front of a classroom blathering away. It was a fair swap, especially since Laura Brown and I had hooked up. Having a reason to live changes your outlook on life. During summer, class breaks, and on the occasional evening, I still worked with Arthur Ellis, the head and sole full-time detective for Argus detectives. If I kept at it, I'd have my two years employment as a private detective and could become a certified private investigator. Given the status of funding and the way this university ran, that was looking more and more attractive each day. I'd drawn the short straw in the class assignment lottery for spring semester and was teaching PHYS 1101, non-calculus physics. Or as we liked to call it 'physics for poets'. It allowed the non-mathematical types to satisfy a science requirement for graduation, but far more importantly than that it brought credit hours and the tuition dollars that came with them to the department budget.
I'd finished lecturing a class of 50 freshmen and sophomores in Classroom South. They mostly sat there slumping in their seats almost as responsive as lumps of mud. Today's lot looked suitably glazed over, with their brains well cooked and at the limit of their endurance. While occasionally one would realize that this science stuff was interesting and worth the effort to learn it, there would be no such revelations today. One student in particular looked a bit more thoroughly glazed over than the rest. I told the class, “See you next time, and don't forget to at least try the homework.” which was followed by the bulk of them rising and running for the door. They were 'free at last'. The student who was particularly glazed over lifelessly dropped to the floor when he was jostled by the others. I ran to him, while someone screamed in the background. I shouted, “Call 911”, and watched as several students complied. One student ran up, “I know first aid, CPR. Can I help?”
“You bet. Start on CPR while I go and get the AED from the hall.”
I dashed out into the hall, then down it towards the center of the building where there were AED's mounted on the wall. The alarm on the AED holder was already sounding. Someone had just removed the device. Two heart attacks at the same time on the same day was not a foreseen event.
Racing back to the room, I found the student pumping away as hard as he could. He shouted at me, “Where is it?”
“Already in use. When you're ready I'll spell you.” For the next few minutes we alternated for a minute each at pumping on the student's chest. CPR is exhausting work and the two of us were nearly shot when the EMT's finally arrived. We'd been doing our best to match the beat of 'Stayin Alive' which happens to have the right tempo for CPR. Unfortunately it was more a case of 'Another One Bites the Dust' which also has the right tempo.
EMT's aren't allowed to declare a patient as dead, but it was pretty clear that after a few minutes of their hard work, there wasn't much hope for the student. As they were leaving I heard one say to the others, “Funny, that's the tenth one this week.” His friend replied, “Wonder what they're taking?”
It had been a while since GSU had a serious drug problem. Most of the students worked part time to pay for college and didn't have the time or inclination to spend it high. Those that had the time tended to favor beer.
2
That night at dinner Laura noticed I was distant. Ms. Laura Brown, former assistant DA for the city of Atlanta and now a rising star among the state prosecutors and I, decided to get married. As she now had full custody of her son, I was going to be an acting stepfather. It seemed wise to move in a bit ahead of time and let her 6 year old son Daniel get used to me. “Will, what happened?”
“Lost a student.”
“You don't usually get upset when one drops your class.”
“Hardy,” I laughed, “No, it wasn't that. He died from heart failure at the end of class.” At least that's when we found out about it. He could have been dead for a few minutes before without my noticing it. That thought only made it worse.
She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “That's awful.”
“I didn't think my lectures were that boring.”
“I'm sure they're not.”
Danny had a different take on things. By age 6, he'd seen his parents divorced, then had his stepmother reject him when his father was put on trial for organizing an embezzlement ring with murderous consequences at the university research foundation. Mind you, his biological father had just doped Danny's stepmother preparatory to chopping her up for smoked ribs and was extending his family in several sideways directions at the time. So she wasn't completely unjustified in dumping Danny into Laura's lap. My relationship with Danny wasn't helped by the fact that it was my efforts that put his biological father in prison. We had our good days and our not so good days. This was one of the not so good days. I was getting the silent treatment until he spoke.
“They are too.”
It was going to be interesting living as a new family.
3
Next morning I text messaged my TA. We had to discuss what happened yesterday in class and figure out a plan to deal with it for the next lecture. He showed up at my office and we talked about how to handle the death in a respectable and professional manner. I vetoed the ideas of talking about the heart as a pump and measuring the electrical impulses from its muscles. It would have to be an emotional and forthright discussion about feelings.
Since neither of us was particularly skilled at social or emotional intelligence this was promising to be difficult and I was looking through the university website to see if there were counselors who could help when the undergraduate who helped me with CPR knocked on my door.
Even though he was one of the more alert ones, with 50, well now of 49 students I hadn't learned his name yet.
“Dr. Sharpe?”
“Hi, I'm sorry, I don't quite remember your name, but thank you for helping yesterday. It's a shame it didn't work.”
“Steve Jordan, well,” he paused, “we did our best. When I took CPR they warned us it didn't usually work.”
“Steve, I'm sure you've seen my TA and graduate student Tom.”
“Yo.”
“Anyway, the student who collapsed, did you know him?”
“Same scout troop. We were buddies.”
“I'm sorry. Did he have health problems?”
“No, we just did Philmont last summer. 100 miles in a week and a half at 8000 feet. Couldn't have gone if he had a weak heart.”
“He wasn't doing any drugs? Cocaine will sometimes do things like this.”
“Sam, no. He was a straight arrow. Wouldn't even drink a beer.”
“So nothing unusual?”
“Nah, he was even earning extra money by tutoring foreign students with their English. Great guy.”
“I'm sorry.”
“He'll be missed.”

A bit of trivia (spolier alert)

About a third of the way through one of the characters, David Breen, mentions his family recipe for ribs.









Why is this a clue?

A few snapshots related to the book

Silly book or not, GSU is a real place.

This shows the view looking down the stair case in the Petit science building. Only from the 5th floor though as I was too lazy to climb to the 7th. I'm also standing across from a surveillance camera next to a sign warning me not to take pictures (though that applies to the common area next to the labs, which is behind me through a key-carded door).

This view shows Courtland street from ground level.They've removed the nets, but the concrete still is occasionally "spalling". There are signs warning you not to park under the bridge. This is the original ground level in Atlanta, right where Sherman's men marched. If you walked under the bridge and to the left you would arrive at the train lines. Until the 1920's or so the center of Atlanta was one big level crossing with a major train line. By the way, it's an entrance to G-deck.

On to the next one.

About 1/4 of the way through "For whom the panther stalks", the working title for my next one.

More nasty villains, corrupt and clueless administrators, and mayhem at GSU. The villains aren't as Dahmler-esque in this one, preferring a quiet and too my mind much more terrifying way of killing. They're also a bit more professional about it. I'm even thinking about working in Hartsfield-Jackson airport and the Georgia Dome. (Undergraduate Graduation is held there, as it's one of the few venues around that GSU can use and which holds enough people).

When I get back to campus, I'll post pictures of some of the locations, but you can get a pretty good idea by using Google maps or *gag, choke, cough* Bing. 

Strange Oriental Poisons.

For the next book, still in its infancy, perhaps its toddlerhood, I'm planning to have the students dropping over with apparent heart attacks. These are, of course, chemically induced and used to dispose of inconvenient witnesses to an ongoing crime spree. They won't be killed with Meth or anything mundane like that. (Though I am planning on having a drug lab in chemistry busted somewhere early in the book. They'll be producing MCPP or something like that, but with maybe a touch of MPTP.)

The problem is that I need a little known poison that will mimic a heart attack. It turns out there are a whole bunch of channel blockers, especially Saxitoxin, that would do the trick. It's just a matter of finding a time-release way to administer them. I suspect there will have to be another chemist involved, perhaps one whose work on micro-encapsulating drugs makes the front page of the Signal.

Into the top 20 Free

Because no one knows me from Adam, I put my book on a free promotion (right now is the 3rd day of five so hurry up if you want to look at it). It made #16 in its primary category, so I'm a bit psyched. I can't be too bad a writer.

Draft (rough) of the first two chapters of the next book

1. Put Your Hand Up before You Die.

Spring semester found me back practicing academic physics. While it was not quite as spiritually rewarding as chasing down a network of serial killers, it had a much lower probability of sudden death. During summer, class breaks, and on the occasional evening, I still worked with Arthur Ellis, the head and sole full-time detective for Argus detectives. If I kept at it, I'd have my two years employment as a private detective and could become a certified private investigator. Given the status of funding and the way this university ran, that was looking more and more attractive each day. I'd drawn the short straw in the class assignment lottery for spring semester and was teaching PHYS 1101, non-calculus physics. Or as we liked to call it 'physics for poets'. It allowed the non-mathematical types to satisfy a science requirement for graduation, but far more importantly than that it brought credit hours and the tuition dollars that came with them to the department budget.
I'd finished lecturing a class of 50 freshmen and sophomores in Classroom South. They mostly sat there slumping in their seats as responsive as lumps of mud. It was very difficult to teach classical mechanics, the science that begot calculus, without using calculus. It wasn't good for either the professor or the students, but it was what the syllabus for the class said to do. So that's what I did. In the end I sneaked some of the fundamentals of calculus into the lectures. It was fun to watch as the light bulb went off in some philosophy student's or English major's head. “Maybe there was something to this math trash after all.”
Todays lot looked suitably glazed over, with their brains well cooked and at the limit of their endurance. No revelations were forthcoming today. One student in particular looked a bit more glazed than the rest. I told the class, “See you next time, and don't forget to at least try the homework.” which was followed by the bulk of them rising and running for the door. The student who was particularly glazed lifelessly dropped to the floor when he was jostled by the others. I ran to him, while someone screamed in the background. I shouted, “Call 911”, and watched as several students complied. One student ran up, “I know first aid, CPR. Can I help?”
“You bet. Start on CPR while I go and get the AED from the hall.”
I dashed out into the hall, then towards the center of the building where there were AED's mounted on the wall. Removing the AED from the box in the hall would set of an alarm to alert the emergency services. When I reached the box the alarm was already sounding. Someone else had already taken it in the last few minutes. Two heart attacks at the same time on the same day was not a foreseen event.
Racing back to the room, I found the student pumping away as hard as he could. He shouted at me, “Where is it?”
“Already in use. When you're ready I'll spell you.” For the next few minutes we alternated a few minutes each at pumping on the student's chest. CPR is exhausting work and the two of us were nearly shot when the EMT's finally arrived. We'd been doing our best to match the beat of 'Stayin Alive' which happens to have the right tempo for CPR. Unfortunately it was more a case of 'Another One Bites the Dust' which also has the right tempo.
EMT's aren't allowed to declare a patient as dead, but it was pretty clear that after a few minutes of their hard work, there wasn't much hope for the student. As they were leaving I heard one say to the others, “Funny, that's the tenth one this week.” His friend replied, “Wonder what they're taking?”
It had been a while since GSU had a drug problem. Most of the students worked part time to pay for college and didn't have the time to spend it high. Those that had the time tended to favor beer.

That night at dinner Laura noticed I was distant. Ms. Brown, former assistant DA for the city of Atlanta and now a state prosecutor and I, decided to get married. As she now had full custody of her son, I was going to be an acting stepfather. It seemed wise to move in a bit ahead of time and let her 6 year old son Daniel get used to me. “Will, what happened?”
“Lost a student.”
“You don't usually get upset when one drops your class.”
“No, not that. He died from heart failure at the end of class.” At least that's when we found out about it. He could have been dead for a few minutes before without my noticing it. That thought only made it worse.
She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “That's awful.”
“I didn't think my lectures were that boring.”
“I'm sure they're not.”
Danny had a different take on things. By age 6, he'd seen his parents divorced, then had his stepmother reject him when his father was put on trial for organizing a murder/embezzlement ring. Mind you, his biological father had just doped his new wife preparatory to chopping her up for smoked ribs and was extending his family in several other directions at the time. So she wasn't completely unjustified in letting Laura have custody. Our relationship wasn't helped by the fact that it was my efforts that put his biological father in prison. We had our good days and our not so good days. This was one of the not so good days. I was getting the silent treatment until he spoke.
“They are too.”
It was going to be interesting living as a new family.
2
Next morning I text messaged my TA. We had to discuss what happened yesterday in class and figure out a plan to deal with it for the next lecture. He showed up at my office and we talked about how to handle the death in a respectable and professional manner. I vetoed the ideas of talking about the heart as a pump and measuring the electrical impulses from its muscles. It would have to be a discussion about feelings.
Since neither of us was particularly skilled at social or emotional intelligence this was promising to be difficult and I was looking through the university website to see if there were counselors who could help when the undergraduate who helped with CPR knocked on my door.
Even though he was one of the more alert ones, with 50, well now of 49 students I hadn't learned his name yet.
“Dr. Sharpe?”
“Hi, I'm sorry, I don't quite remember your name, but thank you for helping yesterday. It's a shame it didn't work.”
“Steve Jordan, well we did our best. When I took CPR they warned us it didn't usually work.”
“Steve, I'm sure you've seen my TA and graduate student Tom.”
“Yo.”
“Anyway, the student who collapsed, did you know him?”
“Same scout troop. We were buddies.”
“I'm sorry. Did he have health problems?”
“No, we just did Philmont last summer. 100 miles in a week and a half at 8000 feet. Couldn't have gone if he had a weak heart.”
“He wasn't doing any drugs? Cocaine will sometimes do things like this.”
“Sam, no. He was a straight arrow. Wouldn't even drink a beer.”
“So nothing unusual?”
“Nah, he was even earning extra money by tutoring foreign students with their English. Great guy.”
“I'm sorry.”
“He'll be missed.”

2. Presidential Action.

The deaths of so many students was cause for consternation to the upper echelons of university administration. The president, Dr. Andrew Pace, the one faculty member whose salary approached that of the football coach, called a private emergency meeting with the provost, Dr. Alice James, the deans and the university legal counsel, Mr. David Wilcox. They met on the third floor of Dahlberg hall in a conference room off of the main corridor. A long reddish mahogany table ran from one end of the room to the other. It was surrounded by comfortable leather office chairs, and was the room routinely used for policy discussions and faculty senate committee meetings.
Carefully coiffed with an expensive haircut and a sharp Italian suit to match, the president firmly shut and locked the two doors to the room.
“Gentleman” He began, “are your cell phones off? There will be no record of this meeting.”
He waited while they checked their cells and then continued.
“Too many of our students are dying for unknown reasons. If this gets out into the press, especially after that lurid series of murders last year, 'Tech and UGA will see that we're shut down. You know that Georgia Southern and Kennesaw are gunning to replace us as a research university. Gentlemen, our collective asses are on the line.”



Arthur Ellis gave me a call. “Will, are you busy?”
“I could make some time.”
“Great, I need you to go to someplace at GSU as Argus's representative.”
“Fine, where?”
“330 Dahlberg Hall? Know where that is?”
“I can find it. What's the problem?”
“I don't know. I'd go myself, but I'm over past Panola Mountain on a stakeout and it would be hard to get to GSU this afternoon. Sound's a bit fishy since the man I talked to wouldn't give his name or any details. He said we'd met in the past. Had his secretary call me first, so he's pretty high up.”
“I guess someone in administration has been stepping out lately and needs some help.”
“Probably. It wouldn't be the first time. Oh, and Will?”
“Yes?”
“Make sure you take your recorder along. We'll need a record of the meeting.”
“Especially if it's supposed to be off the record.”
“Yup. Let me know what's up when it's over.”



I found my way to 330 Dahlberg. It didn't exactly strain my powers of detection as I'd been there before. The door was locked, but when I knocked it opened. The dean of the college of arts and sciences looked out. I bowed and said.
“Argus Detective agency at your service.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
“You?”
“I'm the vice president of the company.”
The dean reluctantly opened the door and let me in. If I hadn't already developed a second career option I'd have been seriously troubled to see the president, the provost and several deans staring at me. The temperature in the room dropped several degrees. As it was I produced my detectives license and business card.
“Aren't you Dr. Sharpe from physics?”
“Yes.”
Dr. Pace frowned at the dean of my college. “He's one of yours, isn't he. Can we trust him?”
“I suppose so.”
“But still using a professor. One of ours. Couldn't we at least get someone from 'Tech?”
“It could have its advantages.”
“Should we tell him?”
I interjected, “Look, I'm here as a representative of Argus detectives. I've done my conflict of interest paperwork about it with the university. Please don't waste my time.”
This brought them to a decision.
“It's just we've been losing students. I mean, they've been dying. It's affecting our recruiting.”
“I know, one of the students was in my class. I gave him CPR. Is there any reason to believe the deaths are related, or the result of criminal activity?”
“No.”
“Then what do you want Argus to do?”
My dean answered, “Make sure it stays that way.”
“Are you sure you understand what you're saying? We can find evidence, that's all.”
Dr. Pace hastily replied, “No that's not what we want. We need you to give us a heads up, a warning if it is criminal.”
“We can do that. What do you know so far?”
The provost replied, “Nothing.” This was not a helpful answer. He continued, “and as you're a GSU employee, we expect you will work for your normal salary as part of your normal duties.”
“Argus does not do pro bono work.” This was not strictly true, we occasionally would help out a poor client who was stuck in a bad situation, but never with something that was likely to be shady. Absolutely not when the client had deep pockets and could easily pay. My statement caused more than a little consternation. I continued, “I'll inform Mr. Ellis of your interest, and see what he has to say.”
They quickly decided that would not be necessary, and told me to forget what I'd heard. I mumbled something that they could take as an assent.
Once I was outside on Courtland street, I immediately emailed my recording to Arthur. Insurance was always a good idea, especially with such slippery characters.
I wondered what to do. Clearly there was criminal activity involved, and it wouldn't surprise me if refusing to investigate or conspiring to cover it up wasn't criminal in itself. But I had no dog in that fight and the costs might be severe. The sound of sirens as another ambulance from Grady rushed to campus made my decision for me. As much of a nuisance as teaching undergrads could be, there was no excuse for killing them. Laura, was going to be in court this afternoon, so I knew I couldn't get in touch with her. I reached for my cell and called my friend Alvin Morrison, a detective at the APD. He'd know who I should talk to.
“Detective Morrison here.”
“Alvin, it's me Will Sharpe.”
“Will, it's been a while, thought we'd be seeing you and Ms. Brown in a few weeks at your party. What's up or is this business?”
“Business, sort of. Did you know that there have been a lot of students dying at GSU lately?”
“No. I guess the AJC hasn't paid attention to you.”
“That's just as well. I had one die in my class day before yesterday.”
“Damn, Will. What did they die from?”
“I don't know. A student helped with the CPR, but it didn't help. There was at least one more at the same time because the AED was gone when I went for it.”
“Gone?”
“Gone and active. The alarm was going off.”
“The EMT's said that there had been about ten of them in the last couple of weeks. Even discounting their natural story telling, there's more than there should be. There was one just a few minutes ago.”
“So what do you want me to do?”
“Could you ask the medical examiner to take a look?”
Morrison paused. “Will, you aren't freelancing again, are you?”
“Sort of. The university president almost asked Argus to investigate, then backed away. There's something going on.”
“Talk to Laura. If she asks me I'll do it.”
I walked back to my office. The sixth floor of 25 park place wasn't that far away, but it seemed to take forever. I felt distressed, something was going on at GSU, and 'by the pricking of my thumbs' it was something evil.
About mid-afternoon Laura called.
“Will, the court has a brief recess. I'm going to be late. Can you pick up Danny?”
“Sure, no problem. I need to talk with you about getting some death records looked at.”
“What? Will you're not freelancing again, are you?”
“Not yet.”
“Don't. Talk with Arthur.”
“I will, but something's going one here.”
“This isn't related to that student who died in your class is it?”
“It is. He wasn't the first nor was he that last. There's something like ten of them.”
“Oh. I see. We'll talk this evening, the judge is coming back. Love you.”
While Laura loved me, her son Danny's feelings were less favorable.



3
The school had an after-school program for the youngest children and since Danny's friends were there we enrolled him in it. Danny was not pleased to see me, and wanted to continue playing for a bit. There was a student teacher supervising them, and I took advantage of a chance to learn a bit about child psychology from her.
“Are Ms. Jane? Danny mentioned you a couple of days ago.”
“Yes, I suppose you're Will, the evil stepfather?”
“Not quite yet, but yes. I've heard you're a student teacher.”
“Yes, at GSU.”
“Can I ask you for pointers about young children? I'm not exactly an old hand at being a parent, and Danny's had a hard time.”
We discussed things, but mostly it was a matter of patience and remembering who was the adult. Danny was till happily playing with his friends, so we continued to talk and inevitably GSU came up.

Murder on G-Deck is live

I've put my first book out. It's titled Murder on G-Deck, and set at Georgia State University.

Oxford has its 'Inspector Morse', GSU gets this.

G-Deck is the parking deck used by most of the faculty. The picture on the cover shows it.