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There was one more piece of paper, but it only described the camp's daily activities. And it broke off in mid-sentence.

The papers sat in my desk for days. I was burning for more. I must have read them four or five times, daily. It was time to do some further research before I went loony.

The first thing I wanted to know was the guards' names. Specifically, I wanted to know if I knew any of them personally. Unfortunately, they all turned out to be strangers. And they'd also all retired or moved away.

It was now time to try to find out who wrote this account; I had heard her voice through her writing, and now I needed to give that voice a face. I also wanted to know what happened. Why didn't -or couldn't -she finish it?

I was a man on a mission. There were some obvious clues in the writing that you didn't need to be Perry Mason to see. The first of which was the name of the high school whose mascot they stole. I also knew that one of them was named Wendy. So I went to the library. (Didn't the female guard say it was in the newspaper?)

It wasn't that hard to find in the microfilmed newspaper files. (We may not have "The New York Times," but we do have a 153-year run of "The Davenport Advocate.") Since all four kids were over 18 at the time, I got their names -including a "Wendy" and (tadaa!) a "Heather."

Now that I had her name, it was time to find her. I enlisted the help from a person who, well, finds people for a living. (The old-timers called them "skip tracers.") He was quick in his search. He told me that she was in her late thirties and a single mother of three. He even gave me her current address -in Connecticut.

I had a Saturday off, so I went for a drive. Hell, maybe I could even do some gambling at Foxwoods when I was down there. Sitting in front of Heather's small house, I really didn't know what I was going to do. I mean, some may call me a jerk, or worse, but embarrassing a single mother with three kids....

Eventually, I made up my mind (sort of) and walked up to the front door with what I hoped seemed like confidence. (Ok, let the name calling begin.) I wasn't really sure exactly what I was going to say, but, when she opened the door, my badge and some police blather got me inside. We spoke briefly (about some missing person I made up on the spot),and then I left, never showing her the papers. I wondered which of us was more confused at that point. I tried to put the pieces together on my long trip home. Something just didn't compute.

Back in Vermont, it was time to locate Wendy. She was a lot easier to find, since she lived in-state and (as I was surprised to find out) married to a career politician, who was even now planning to run for governor of our great state. I crashed a fundraiser in order to meet her. (I didn't pay.) And I did meet her briefly. She was attractive, but really overbearing. It turns out she was an outspoken (some said "rabid") supporter of the "nWo" -the National Women's Organization. (It's funny how those initials can also stand for "New World Order." Coincidence?)

When I got back to my office I did a little more research on our computer. Things began falling into place.

I came to this conclusion: the papers hadn't been written by Heather, but by Wendy herself.

At first I was thrown off by the simple fact that Heather had a sister and Wendy didn't. But there were some telling clues.

Wendy went on to major in journalism in college. Heather majored in getting knocked up. Wendy wrote for her school's newspaper. Heather made the school's paper. (It was one of her professors who knocked her up.)

I'd also met both Heather and Wendy, and although they seemed about the same height and weight, Heather had by far the bigger boobs of the two. (I tend to notice that.)

Then there was the blackboard incident recounted in the journal. Heather has a simple last name, while Wendy's was a tongue twister.

The final clue hit me when I got my hands on a copy of their high school yearbook. Early in the story, the writer mentions that she can't believe Wendy is still going with Billy. Well, according to their yearbook, Wendy didn't go out with Billy -Heather did.

The only explanation was that Wendy wrote the journal, hoping to expose the boot camp. She changed the names, in case the journal was found. (Real nice friend, eh?) She also used the simple fact that Heather had a sister and she didn't, to disguise the journal as a series of letters.

Armed with this knowledge, I began to wonder about the journal's accuracy. Now when I read it, I wondered how much of it was the writer's embellishment.

It was time for another trip to Connecticut. I called Heather on the phone this time. She was hesitant to meet me, but I used a little of the old Duffy charm to get her to meet. (Honesty compels me to admit that I had to pay for her babysitter and take her out to a nice restaurant, too.)

I made the long trip and checked into a motel. I knew I'd be drinking, and I hoped she would be, too. (Ok, not for the reason you're thinking.) I was simply hoping that alcohol would free up her lips. (Ah, that didn't sound any better.)

When she showed up at the restaurant I was a little taken back. She was wearing a cleavage-spilling red dress. Scanning upwards from there, I saw her face and hair were done up perfectly. (This was gonna be harder than I thought.)

After a couple of cocktails, a nice meal, and a bottle of wine, I let her know why I was really there...sort of.

I showed her an old picture of the bald guard and told her I was doing an investigation on him -a white lie, more or less. She was more than a little upset, and I had to grab her wrist to stop her from leaving. I guess she thought she was on a date, and, I must say, up to that point things were going well, too. I probably should have used that motel room and forgot all about the journal, but I was consumed.

It took some sweet talk and the offer of another bottle of wine to get her to stay. After a few minutes, I slipped my hand into my pocket and pressed the record button on my little tape recorder. From my other pocket I pulled out a copy of the journal and handed it to her. She glanced at it and quickly confirmed my suspicions by denying she'd written it. Then she read it over a couple of times. She laughed, at first, at the switching of the names.

But, later on, she crumpled up the papers and spat, "that little bitch!" (And that's why I brought along a copy this time.)

"I even donated to her husband's election fund."

At first she didn't want to talk, period. She said it was in her past, and it was behind her, but I pressed on and showed her a picture of the guard again, and, honestly, I think the alcohol was working its magic, as well.

"Ok, I'll talk, but only if it helps put this asshole away," she sneered.

"It can't hurt," I said, double-checking my recorder. "So this is the first time that you've seen the journal?"

"Yeah."

"And she didn't tell you...."

"No, she didn't," she interrupted. "And it looks like she was trying to pin it on me."

"Yeah, it looked that way to me, too."

"Yeah, she always blamed me for...you know."

"Stealing that mascot."

"Yeah, it was a harmless prank."

"And then it died," I said, with an uncontrolled laugh. And then she flashed me a lethal look. "Anyway, moving on, did the story really unfold like that?"

"Like what?"

"I mean, was the journal accurate, except for the names thing?"

"I guess," she said, flipping through the crumpled papers. "Look, do we really need to go over all this?"

"It's important," I assured her. "Now did they really search you like that?"

She checked the account again. "Yeah, in the gym, like that...all of us...it was as embarrassing as she said it was."

"And then the showers?"

"Uh huh."

"And then the physicals?"

"Right..., if that's what you want to call them."

"Did they happen like that?"

She flipped through the pages until she got to what I assumed was the appropriate part. "Yeah, I almost forgot about that homeless guy. She also seemed to remember what people said, word for word."

"But everything that the journal says happened to Wendy actually happened to you?"

"Yeah," she said with a nod. "Seems that way."

"So you actually got the enema?" I said, without thinking. I had to grab her wrist again to stop her getaway. It took some apologizing to get her back in her seat, and I quickly switched gears.

"Do you know why the journal stopped so abruptly?"

She shook her head several times, but it looked insincere. So I pressed on and asked her again.

"Look buddy...you come down here, wine and dine me, and then bring up all this shit that I've struggled to forget."

"But do you know why?" I asked several times. It was so close I could taste it. Although, I felt a little bad for the small tear that rolled down her cheek.

"Alright, I'll tell yah, and then I'm out of here, and don't forget the money for the sitter," she said, wiping her face. I put some cash on the table and she continued.

"Ok, I'm pretty sure I know why they stopped," she said, as she crumpled up the papers again. "There was a little incident between her and the blonde."

"Incident?"

"Yeah, even though we were good friends back then, she always made me feel a little uneasy. Lets just say I think she liked showering with the other girls more than she should have, even though she always had a boyfriend, if you know what I mean?"

I nodded. She had nailed my attention at "showering with the other girls."

"Well, I remember that her and the sexy blonde seemed to bond really quickly. And their bunks were only a foot or two apart. I think you can see where this is going."

I did, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity. "I'm confused," I said, scrunching my face, while trying not to chuckle.

"Ok, you're not the smartest cop in the world, are you?"

"I'm no Francis Poncherello," I said, with a fake laugh. (Ponch was the good looking guy from the TV show, CHiPs.)

"Anyways," she groaned and went back to shuffling the papers.

"We had to wear these old pull-over shirts to bed, but they were sized for grade-schoolers. Well, one night, I think it was like a week into the camp, I was awakened by the lights being turned on and the bald guy's screaming. When I cleared my eyes I saw that the blonde and Wendy were in the same cot, and Wendy was scrambling to put her shirt on, but the bald guy yanked it away from her. The female guard was also there, and when she pulled the blonde off the cot, I saw that her panties were wrapped around her ankles. Even though I was still groggy, I could put two and two together."

She looked up with a wise look. I just shrugged my shoulders.

"Oh yah, I think the guards slept at the school, too, 'cause they were always there. Anyways, I was surprised to see the bald guard move one of their cots to the center of the room, because I thought they were bolted down. I was also surprised to see the blonde take off her night shirt and Wendy slide off her panties, leaving them both buck naked. I thought they were in for a whipping, but they had other plans."

This time when she looked up at me, and I shrugged my shoulders, I meant it. "Who's 'they'?" I asked.

"The guards...they wanted them to...ah, perform."

"Perform?" I said a little more excitedly then I wanted.

"Yeah, it had to be Baldies idea. At first, they refused, but then they were told to pack their bags. That's the way it was at camp, either you took their punishment, or got naked when they told you too, or you left. Honestly I don't know what I would have done at that point. The female guard even made the rest of us gather around their cot. It was tough to watch."

"What did they do?"

"Fucking pig," she hissed. Funny, if I had a nickel for every time someone called me that

I cleared my throat. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I meant did they actually do it...ah, do each other?"

She just nodded her head, while she looked at me with disgust. "What do you wanna hear...all the perverted details? How they sucked on each other's breasts and then got into a side-by-side sixty nine and ate each other out...all while we watched. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

(A silly little song about a dog named bingo suddenly filled my head.)

"Well, Wendy left with the two guards, and Blondie moved her cot back. When I woke up the next morning, there was another girl sleeping in Wendy's cot. They separated the two of them, and that's why it stopped.

"And she couldn't get back to retrieve the journal?"

"No, apparently not," she said, rather tartly. "The other group was on the other side of the school. We never even saw them, or worked with them. So for the next week, I never saw Wendy at all. And it took years to renew our friendship."

"And you knew nothing of the journal?"

"I said I didn't!" she snapped. But after a four or five seconds she added, "Look, I knew she was writing something, and late one night I thought I even saw her hide something behind my locker, but I never knew what it was until you showed up here tonight with these pages, 'cause I never looked."

"Did anything ever happen to you?"

"Nothing like that. I kept my nose clean, and I didn't play Baldie's games."

"Games?"

"Yeah, you know, it was in the summer, it was hot, and it was hard work. So he let us know that if we wanted a day off, come see him in his air conditioned office. He wasn't too subtle. And I never did, so don't ask."

"And did Wendy?"

"Well one day it was real hot, and I noticed Blondie wasn't around. It was actually the day of the big scene. I remember teasing Wendy about her not being there, and I remember how mad she got. At the time I thought it was 'cause she hated Baldie so much. Although Baldie seemed to have a thing for her."

"Do you think it was a set up?"

"Welcome to the party.... Yeah, to this day I think Blondie set her up. I mean, after that night Blondie never went out on work detail again, and Baldie finally got Wendy into his office."

"Are you sure?"

She just nodded her head, then paused and frowned. "Oh my god! This isn't about Baldie at all...or even me. No, this is about Wendy."

"What?" I blinked, a little confused.

"Yeah, you know the truth about her son and what it might do...."

"Unh," I shrugged. This was the first I'd heard about a son.

"To the election.... I get it, someone paid you to dig up some dirt...or maybe you're planning to do some blackmailing. Yeah, you know she'd do just about anything to make sure no one ever found out about this shit."

Heather stood up, ripped the papers into pieces (another reason for the copies), tossed them into my face, and stormed off. (She grabbed the sitter money.)

I brooded for a couple of minutes, but was then interrupted by the pretty little waitress bringing the check over. I made some small talk with her before mentioning that I was staying at a local motel, with a wink. Smooth, eh? She answered by tossing a glass of water in my face. It was pretty daring, 'cause it could've gotten her fired. But it was a small glass, and all the ice had melted, and it was kind of refreshing....

But I left her a nickel tip.

Back at my motel room, I made a phone call. It seems like Heather had been right about Wendy's having a son. I overlooked him because he was now an 18-year-old college freshman, who had been raised by his grandmother, and who still used his mother's maiden name. I had his date of birth, and the math was easy. He was born in May the year after Wendy went to boot camp. Yep, about nine months later. I also figured Heather was probably right about Wendy being willing to do anything to keep this from getting out, especially now.

On the drive back to Vermont my mind was a-buzz with possibilities. But I'm not really a blackmailer, and her husband was friendly enough with my father to know he should stay out of our business. So he had my vote.

But after all I went through to dig up the information, it was really tough to do nothing with it..., and now Wendy seemed like such an obnoxious bitch. I even found out that her husband was favored to win the election.

So I think I'll sit on the journal and my Heather tape a little while longer.

I mean -I've never strip-searched a governor's wife...yet.