The Hidden Valley Mystery by Susan Ioannou

the basement and an empty block of holding cells. “No point giving Lou, Johnny, and Walt a good look at your faces now,” he warned, “in case they get out on bail. Besides, you’ll see enough of them when you testify in court.”
    Instead, Mike, Gunnar, and Tuan identified the men’s “mug shots” from police files. Two had criminal records: Lou for theft, and Walt for a string of petty swindles.
    Hoping for a lighter sentence, Walt had confessed the whole story to Officer Powchuk. After his last term in prison, Walt claimed he was going straight and conned his way into a job tending Mr. Winston’s dogs. When he bumped into Lou again at the racetrack, the others cut him into their scheme. They wanted to use the mansion when Mr. Winston took his next business trip to Japan.
    The brains of the operation was Johnny. He had sold computers and software in Mr. Winston’s downtown store and kept contacts in many other computer outlets. He hired Lou to steal the machines and later to make “deliveries” in his grey van. His counterfeiting had started small, by faking sales slips. A smooth talker, dressed like a businessman in suit and tie, he would “return” expensive stolen high-tech items to different stores for cash refunds. He also experimented with faked money orders and stock certificates, which he “printed” for other “clients”. It was Lou’s idea to try printing the money, their first crack at counterfeiting big-time.
    “And not a very good one,” Officer Powchuk explained as they walked back upstairs. “Several banks had spotted the bills as counterfeit weeks ago.”
    “How?” Mike wanted to know. “Did the silver smear off?”
    “Yes, if you rubbed hard.” Officer Powchuk continued, “The real tip-off was the way the bills were trimmed—a millimetre too wide. A store clerk would never notice the difference. But once the money was deposited in the bank, and the teller closed out her till, these fake dollars caused the automatic bill counters to jam. By then, of course, it was too late to trace who’d passed the bad paper.”
    “So,” Gunnar broke in, “if they had trimmed the bills more carefully, they might have gotten away with the crime.”
    Officer Powchuk shook his head. “Not for long. Remember, we’ve also been investigating several recent break-ins. We would have caught Lou and Johnny that way.”
    “What about Walt?” Mike wondered. “The other two chained him in the basement.”
    Officer Powchuk pointed to the mug shots lying on his desk. “From his last term in jail, Walt is still on parole. Last week, he didn’t report to his parole officer. That violation alone can throw him back behind bars.”
    Freddy whistled. “Crime sure doesn’t pay.”
    “Right,” Officer Powchuk agreed. “A few more years in jail might hammer that idea into their heads. Meanwhile,” he picked up his cap, and led the boys to the door and the waiting cruiser, “you sure helped wrap up this case. The Metropolitan Toronto Police owe you a big thanks.”
    Before they climbed in, one by one, Officer Powchuk shook their hands. “You know, you fellows also took some dangerous risks. In future, you can give us tips, but leave the actual detective work to us. We want you alive to receive your citations at the Police Citizen Awards ceremony next month. That should make your parents proud.”
    Mike sighed and lay back against the rear seat. He knew exactly how his mother would react—more attempted hugs and kisses!
    * * * * *
    On Wednesday afternoon a month later, Mike sat happily in the back seat of his father’s car. He unrolled his certificate and read again, “For Bravery and Good Citizenship in Assisting the Metropolitan Toronto Police”. Beside him, on the warm upholstery, he had folded his blue suit jacket. As the car turned, the sun glinted off the new silver pin studding the lapel.
    “Hey, Dad,” Mike tapped his father’s shoulder. “Didn’t you make a wrong turn? You’re headed