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From the The Educational Technology: ICT in Education website Articles on e-learning and information & communication technology containing practical advice Using & Teaching Educational Technology Fox went over the case in his mind: a string of apparently random murders, at least in terms of type of victim, MO, and location, but with just one thing in common. Each victim held a computer print-out with a number on. Fox had called in a few favours from his pals at the clubhouse, and managed to get a forensic analysis of the paper used. He might as well not have bothered. The paper was a relic from the 1970s. Unless he put the screws on every bum over 50 who looked like a computer nerd in this town, it would be a paper trail that led nowhere. He stretched back in the chair, started a fresh deck and lit another gasper. Above the photo of each stiff was a number: Vic #1: Johnny Dance, well-known numbers guy. But this number didn't make sense: 01. Vic #2: Maddy Hatter, 50-something bag lady with a penchant for cats. When her number came up, it was 001. Vic #3: Jimmy Chicano, up and coming example of a new breed of hoodlum who did their dirty work from an internet café. He specialised in lottery scams. This time, the winning number was 1010. And so it went on. Eight vics so far, no apparent motive, nothing to link them except a series of apparently random numbers. Oh yeah: and a Chicago coffin. He needed a break. "I'm going outside to remind myself what air is like. Maybe you could open a window and fumigate this dump?" he gritted. "If anybody calls, I'm having a smell from the barrel across the street." "Sure thing, boss", returned Grimwald. Just a little too chirpy, thought Fox: the kid just didn't seem to get the reality of life in the big city. The bar was empty apart from the barman and a babe at the counter. Fox slammed a wad of lettuce onto the surface. "Gimme bourbon, and don't worry about a glass.", he rasped. Jack knew better than to argue. The dame at the bar glided up to him. She got so close he could smell her perfume. It was like a scent of nectar in a city of broken dreams. "I like a guy who knows what he wants", she purred. "Forget it, sister. I got things on my mind." "Sure, I can see you're the brainy type. But you wouldn't let a girl go without a light, would you?". She stood holding a cigarette holder containing a king size butt. She looked too elegant for a dive like this: something didn't smell right, and it wasn't just her perfume. Fox decided to play along. "So what's a classy Jane like you doing in a place like this?". Fox gave her a light, but kept his eyes on hers the whole time. "Say, you don't waste any time, do you? You fixing on taking me away from all this?" She laughed and lowered her eyelids, like a school kid being asked out on a date for the first time. "OK, quit the game-playing", Fox grunted. "If you being here is a coincidence then I'm Miss Chicago. So what's cookin'? And don't waste my time." "My, my, you are impatient. I'm the silent type, but if you buy me a drink, maybe I'll feel more like yappin'." "Give the lady what she wants", Fox said to Jack. He waited till she had a G & T in her hand, then said, "How about you start with your name?" She smiled. "Oh, I don't think my name is important, Mr Fox. Or should I call you Jason? I feel like we're such old friends now." "Get on with it", rasped Fox. "I don't give a hill of beans what you call me. Just tell me what you know, and quit stallin'." "How about if I said ‘Dance', ‘Hatter', ‘Chicano', ‘Dempster'? You want me to go on?" There was no need. Nobody knew about Dempster yet. She had to have inside info. She must have read his mind. "That's right: I know what's what, and I know who's who. And I know plenty more that even you don't know." "Who are you working for, and what's your price?" "I ain't saying who my boss is, on account that I got a lousy memory. But I got a strange feeling that if certain papers incriminating a guy called Minelli were to get mislaid, you'd find yourself with a few more leads." "No deal, sister." "You're making a big mistake, buster." "Guess I'm gonna have to learn to live with it, babes." She smiled and slunk out of the joint. Fox waited a moment and followed her out. Next thing he knew, Jack was mopping his head with a wet cloth. "What happened? How long have I been out?", Fox demanded. "You got slugged as your feet hit the street. You been seeing stars for two hours now." Fox dragged himself upright. He felt lousy, but at least he had something to go on. He staggered out of the bar and somehow hoisted himself into his car, and weaved his way to Johnny "The Sauce" Johnson's house. The name was a feeble play on words: Johnson was a computer buff who used only open source software. Fox reeled up the path, and started hammering at the door. A window yanked open, and a face appeared. "Hey, do you know what time it is? It's 2:30 in the morning. Go take a hike." "If I needed the time I'd have called the speaking clock. I need some gen, and you owe me. Unlock this door or I'm gonna come in without even opening it." Ten minutes later, Fox had taken a couple of painkillers and was clutching a steaming cup of coffee. He wrote out the names of the victims, the numbers, and the name Minelli on the tablecloth. "Hey", protested Johnson. "That tablecloth was a wedding present." "So put it down to expenses. What's the link between all this stuff? What ain't I seeing?" Johnson looked for a couple of minutes, started speaking, almost to himself. "Minelli owns a string of internet cafes. Chicano ran a numbers racket, always from a different computer, covering his tracks with a program called Rinser. Hatter, liked cats, and had a string of people she chatted to about cats, in internet forums." He thought some more. "That's it", he cried. "That's the missing link. Every one of these guys used an online forum at some point. Gimme some more vics' names." Fox reeled off half a dozen more. Over the past couple of months he'd come to know these guys even better than he knew himself. Johnson was right: all of them had been active in an online forum at least once in the last 6 months. Johnson was animated now; he'd forgotten about the time. "Gimme some more numbers. Come on!" he shouted. The sound pierced through Fox's throbbing skull, but he had the numbers written down on the back of a deck. He showed it to Johnson: Dance 01 Hatter 001 Chicano 1010 Dempster 11011 Grimes 1101101 Granola 111011001 Davis 000110110 Rostovitch 001100101 Johnson stared at the numbers. Suddenly, his eyes widened. "I got it, I got it! Put the numbers together, and what do you got?" "A headache", Fox grunted. "I was educated before they invented the numeracy hour. Get to the point, would ya?" "OK. Put them all in a line, and here's what you get: 010011010110111101101111011001000110110001100101 That's binary code. It spells ‘Moodle'." "Of course! It's so obvious now that you pointed it out. How come I never saw that before? I just got one question, if it ain't too much to ask: what the hell's Moodle? And I ain't even gonna ask what binary is." "It's an open source forum-type program. You can do everything with it: create online courses, start a discussion group, create quizzes -- you name it. And you know the best part? It's free. Hey, wait a minute. I got a hunch." Johnson almost ran to the gizmo sitting on the table in the corner. A computer. Fox hated them, distrusted them. He avoided using them whenever he could. Johnson's hands were a blur, and the screen showed rows and rows of incomprehensible data, appearing for a second, then disappearing, over and over. Johnson swivelled round with a look of triumph on his face. "I was right. All of these vics used commercial forums. That's what they all had in common. None of them ever used open source stuff, which meant that none of them used Moodle. You find a Moodle maniac, and you got your perp." Now it was Fox's turn to have a hunch. "I'm going to the airport. Call them and reserve me a ticket on the next flight to Scotland." "But your passport…" "Can the chat. I never go nowhere without it. Book that ticket." With that, the door slammed, there was a revving of machinery and a screech of tyres, a distant roar of a car engine, then silence. Fox reached Scotland, and rented a car. For some reason, everyone else drove on the wrong side of the road. "They sure like to live dangerously", thought Fox as he narrowly avoided one head-on after another. At last, he reached the house he had in mind. The guy who lived here was a big noise. He even had his initials carved in the driveway: DB. Fox jemmied the lock, and found himself inside. It seemed too easy somehow. He heard a chink of glass, and followed the sound: it led to the drawing room. DB had his back to him, and was pouring a whisky. There were two glasses. "Ah, good evening, Mr Fox, I've been expecting you" he said quietly with a slight burr. "I'm afraid I don't have any bourbon, but I do hope a sample of my collection of finest malts will suit your palette." "Stow it", hissed Fox. "You're coming back with me. Get your coat and passport." "Why do you Americans always have to be so melodramatic?", sighed DB. "I'm afraid I won't be able to accompany you, Mr Fox, but I trust you will have a pleasant, if lonely, trip yourself. My colleagues will see you out." Fox noticed that two apes had appeared. Fortunately, years of watching martial arts movies paid off. After a couple of minutes, it was just him and DB. "OK, I got no more time to waste. You're either walking, or I'll carry you. What's it to be?" DB looked dejected. Fox almost felt sorry for him. But then he remembered the string of stiffs. "Just answer me one question", said Fox. "Why did ya do it?" "Why? Why?" DB's face contorted into a grimace. "Those fools wouldn't use Moodle. I built up a whole library of user guides. I created quizzes, forums, timed courses. I put it on a plate for them. Did they show any gratitude? They laughed at me. Said the commercial stuff was better, but all the time they were getting a rake off. But I got even. I showed them. Now they ain't laughing so loud!" Poor guy had flipped, thought Fox. Maybe the judge would feel sorry for the poor sap and let him live out his life in an institution. They got places where they can do something about that kind of madness. ~~~ Fox walked into his office, and eased himself into his chair. Grimwald was just opening a second bottle of correction fluid. He'd managed to complete three pages so far. "Say, boss", he said. "You been gone quite a while." "Yeah", said Fox as he started to check his emails. "Quite a while." All names are fictitious. Any similarity between characters in the story and living persons is purely coincidental. I should like to acknowledge the assistance I gained from the following websites: http://nickciske.com/tools/binary.php, for translating text into binary code; http://www.miskatonic.org/slang.html for a dictionary of hardboiled slang. OK, now the advert. Here is what Drew Buddy, the person who first approached me about the project, said. I've reproduced the whole thing because maybe you would like to help. We want to push the www.helpusgettobett.com site heavily and we expect media interest to be quite high. Not least because of the guerrilla nature of our endeavour as we try to be the first non-commercial stand ever at Bett. One of your number, Miles Berry has just won the prestigious BECTA ICT in Practice Primary Teacher of the Year Award -- he attributes his success entirely to Moodle -- so this is more good news. At the time of writing we still await notification as to whether or not our nomination of Moodle, for the equally prestigious Bett Awards, has resulted in a shortlisting. Drew's email address is: drew@buddie.plus.com & © Terry Freedman Fri, 28 Oct 2005 |
