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When I was young, my mother told me a ghost story to scare me home before dark. It was about a witch-shadow in Tahquitz canyon that would swoop down on bad children, taking them away from their parents, never to be seen again. I thought it just a campfire tale used by adults to scare kids-- at least, I thought so until Papa passed away.
Papa (pronounced Powpow), my great-grandfather, died in 1992. His Last Will and Testament left me a tattered old leather saddlebag containing four items: on old Rochester camera, some undeveloped plate slides, a relic of a flintlock pistol which still functions, and his Constables log. In it, he revealed a secret histry that my family kept from me my whole life. He was the second constable of Palm Springs.
The following story was the greatest case he ever cracked.