Billy Marlin's head is still at large.
The sword-beaked fish head of the Florida Marlins' mascot slipped through the hands of a skydiving Navy SEAL on Opening Day, and arrowed to Earth somewhere in Miami - proving that true stories can be stranger than the wildest purple fiction.
Here's another one: The mystery of Whitewater could be solved by a guy who dreamed up ''Dog Patch U.S.A.'' - an Ozark Mountains hillbilly theme park for Li'l Abner and other Al Capp characters.
His name is David Hale, and the story he has been telling since the Clintons moved into the White House has more cartoon criminals than a Dick Tracy lineup. It draws Bill and Hillary Clinton like a funny-pages team of Jubilation T. Cornpone and Hagar's wife, Helga.
It stretches credulity like taffy:
In 1986, a Little Rock, Ark. agency using tax dollars to aid the ''economically disadvantaged'' gave a $300,000 loan to a wealthy banker and his pal, the governor of Arkansas.
iThe illegal loan was personally solicited by Gov. Clinton, who said ''my name cannot show up on this.''
Part of the money wound up in the Whitewater land deal owned by the Clintons and their partners, James and Susan McDougal - while the Clintons kept bank regulators from shutting down the S&L Mr. McDougal was ripping off.
The day the FBI obtained a search warrant for Mr. Hale's office, the White House ''point man'' on Whitewater, Vincent Foster, turned up dead.
White House Clintonites went into a frantic all-night scramble to comb Mr. Foster's files and remove armloads of incriminating Whitewater files.
Those ''missing'' files collected dust in the basement of Clinton golf buddy Webster Hubbell - who was convicted of stealing a half-million dollars but received another half-million in ''fees'' panhandled by all the president's men about the same time he got lockjaw whenever he was asked about Whitewater.
And then those files just ''appeared''' one day in Mrs. Clinton's White House office - as if beamed down by the Starship Criminal Enterprise.
Mr. Clinton at first had ''no recollection'' of the meeting with Mr. Hale and Mr. McDougal. Then, under oath, he swore it was ''simply not true.''
But a jury believed enough to convict Arkansas Gov. Jim Guy Tucker and the McDougals.
Mrs. Clinton, who leaves Ouija Board messages for the ghost of Eleanor Roosevelt, recently sniped that Whitewater reminds her of ''some people's obsession with UFOs and the Hale-Bopp Comet.''
When he heard what his wife said, the president hee-hawed so hard he nearly fell off his FDR crutches.
But on Monday, Mr. McDougal had the last laugh. He backed up Mr. Hale and other witnesses. He said Bill Clinton was in the room to work out the illegal loan.
Mr. McDougal, facing prison, would have stayed quiet like Mr. Hubbell if only the president had pardoned his ex-wife. ''I felt he had abandoned Susan,'' he said. ''I really thought he would pardon her. That was a big factor in my decision. . . . I just got sick and tired of lying for the fellow, you know.''
Whitewater prosecutor Ken Starr called Mr. McDougal's cave-in a major break that ''led us to additional evidence that included documents and witnesses . . . (and) matters previously unknown.''
It's also major vindication for those who stayed on the Whitewater trail while the Clinton crowd fed the public a menu of whoppers: ''It's too complicated,'' ''It's old stuff,'' ''You can't prove anything,'' ''Republican presidents have been corrupt too,'' and my favorite, ''It's a conspiracy by right-wing hate groups.''
Land swindles and perjury are not ''too complicated.'' The coverup is only as ''old'' as the Clintons' latest denials. Mr. Starr has already proved criminal fraud and corruption. And digging up President Nixon won't bury the stench from the Clintons' ethical landfill.
That ''conspiracy'' stuff is stranger than the mystery of Billy Marlin's missing head (probably kidnapped by ''right wing'' aliens along with those missing Whitewater files).
But nothing is stranger than having a president accused of lying under oath and peddling influence as if the White House is his personal theme park: ''Dog Patch, U.S.A.''
Peter Bronson is editorial page editor of The Enquirer. Call 768-8301, or write to 312 Elm Street, Cincinnati, Ohio 45202.
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