Over My Dead Body

by Dave Warner

  ‘I shall call you,’ he said, then added, ‘Do you think it would be permissible to take a look around the building?’

  ‘Of course. All the lecture theatres are on the first floor. Second floor is film and creative writing, this floor is staffrooms and postgraduate study rooms.’

  They had walked a half-dozen steps along the corridor before Holmes spoke.

  ‘Clearly Melissa Harper would be physically capable of killing any of our victims.’

  He peered through the glass door panel into a study room. The whiteboard had math equations written on it. He continued along the corridor. ‘So we have at least four more suspects,’ he said.

  Georgette felt obliged to give Holmes a rundown on the changing nature of how sexuality was treated nowadays.

  ‘I dare say it’s a good thing,’ said Holmes, ‘that Melissa and those like her need not hide in a cupboard, but it is nothing exactly new, Watson. I’ll never forget the look on your great-great-grandfather’s face when he burst into the room of the Earl of –’ He stopped at the room on their left, peered in and smiled. ‘This one I believe.’

  He opened the door and walked in to what was a basically furnished room with two clear workstations, a whiteboard affixed to the wall, a sofa, coffee table with newspapers scattered over it, and a small kitchen area, consisting of a bench with a sink. A mini refrigerator was located under the bench, propped against which was a slim young man about twenty-five with thick dark curly hair, sipping a coffee while studying his phone. He looked up, surprised at the intrusion. Holmes had downplayed his eager-collector persona with Scheer but now he resurrected it.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you. You would be Professor Scheer’s masters student.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Confusion struggled with sullen defense on the young man’s finely featured face.

  Georgette said, ‘He invited us to look around. Please don’t let us disturb you.’

  ‘I am a criminologist … Walter,’ said Holmes, whose eyes had strayed to the folder on the desk with the name Walter Morris. ‘I’d long been after the book Crimini d’Italia. You read it, I believe?’

  Georgette admired Holmes’ skill at putting Walter in a situation where he felt compelled to answer.

  ‘Just some extracts.’

  Walter’s voice was neutral, no highs or lows but there was an unmistakable polish that suggested a schooling involving blazers and oars upon a glassy river.

  ‘I am terribly rude; I am Percy Turner, and this is Doctor Georgette Watson.’

  Holmes extended his hand and Walter took it without enthusiasm. Holmes cast about the room.

  ‘Much better digs than where I studied,’ he said. His eyes fell upon a metal sculpture about a foot high, sitting beside a computer on one of the workstations. It was constructed of copper and thin strips of steel and put Georgette in mind of a medieval knight. The figure appeared to have a broadsword placed directly into the ground, point first, and its hands rested on the pommel, though its face was unformed and blank. Coming from its back, folded down, were quite distinct wings. Georgette did not like it. Simone would have called it ‘creepy’.

  ‘That is impressive. Yours?’ said Holmes.

  Walter shrugged with self-deprecation. ‘I do the odd piece when my time allows.’

  Definitely used to spending summer in the Hamptons, thought Georgette.

  ‘You did it yourself?’ Holmes was effusive.

  ‘It’s nothing much.’

  ‘Is it an angel?’ asked Georgette.

  ‘The avenging angel,’ said Holmes, beaming.

  ‘Yes.’ The young man’s eyes were carefully studying Holmes now, perhaps trying to fathom whether he was a threat, or a genuine eccentric.

  ‘Bless the Lord, O you his angels, you mighty ones who do his word, obeying the voice of his word!’ Holmes quoted with great enthusiasm. He picked up the angel and studied it.

  Walter said, ‘I’m not religious. It’s just … a hobby.’

  ‘Professor Scheer mentioned a discussion paper about the Picture Book killer.’

  Georgette watched Holmes assessing Walter Morris the way a cat waits for the first hint a mouse is going to move.

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘He said you might have a copy I could look at?’

  A bald lie. Holmes’ gaze did not waver and then Morris broke.

  ‘Um, yes.’ He reached for a folder and flicked through it, found the place he wanted.

  ‘What was your take on it?’ asked Holmes as he scanned the documents.

  ‘They were all pictures of animals. I thought he viewed himself as a hunter.’

  ‘And the others?’

  ‘I don’t remember what the randoms thought. Melissa, the other masters student, believed they might represent animosity to a mother who first read him stories from a picture book.’

  ‘Well, keep up the good work. Doctor Watson here consults with NYPD Homicide. She may put in a testimonial on your behalf.’

  Morris swung towards Georgette. ‘You work homicides?’

  ‘Sometimes. Time of death mainly.’

  Holmes had some sort of coughing fit. He fumbled in his jacket for a tissue and held up his hand apologetically. ‘Sorry. Well, thank you, Walter, I apologize if we disturbed you.’ Holmes replaced the angel but in doing so knocked a pen off the bench into a work bag. ‘Oh, no, there I go. I’ve been too excited.’ He fumbled around for it.

  ‘It’s alright, don’t worry about it.’

  Holmes ignored Walter and ferreted till he emerged triumphant with the pen. He handed it to Walter and beamed, ‘The pen is mightier than the sword … although your angel may not agree.’

  ‘What do you think the name of his thesis is?’ Holmes said almost immediately after they had left.

  ‘Hmmm, “The animals two-by-two”?’

  ‘Not quite. “Victimology – the elements that attract the killer to a victim”.’

  ‘I’ll check him out on social media. How did you know that was the room?’

  ‘You saw the coat stand just inside the door?’

  ‘Yes, but there was just a coat hanging.’

  ‘Not “just a coat”, Watson. A coat whose shade matched the shoes Melissa Harper was wearing. It was what I call a reasonable leap of probability, ergo, that it was the room in which she studied.’

  Holmes had already produced his pipe. He noted her disapproval. ‘I apologize, but I need to think. And then perhaps I could buy you supper.’

  ‘You could if you had any money.’

  ‘You loan it to me and I shall repay you with extra.’

  ‘At least we have one thing in common,’ she said.

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘My credit card.’

  He forced a smile. They descended the staircase. Students scurried up late for lectures. The brightness of the day had slid away like a bored party guest, and gloom and cold were seeping into the building, defying the exposed bricks and bright plastic furniture that its architects had perhaps hoped would act as talismans.

  They stepped through the automatic doorway. The chill of evening frisked their bodies. Holmes said, ‘The fourth and final victim of the Picture Book killer had a picture of a zebra left beside her body.’

  ‘You read the entire chapter while we were there?’

  ‘I did. I presume we don’t have the finances to buy the book?’

  ‘It would be a struggle.’

  ‘Well, it is not necessary. I am sure the police will confiscate it the moment they realize the futility of their current lead. No word from Benson?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Looking up into the grey sky, Georgette found herself confronted with the twisted threatening faces of gargoyles, and this released a shudder that had been pent up from the first moment they had entered Scheer’s office.

  ‘So what is our next requirement, Watson?’ Holmes asked, tamping tobacco into the bowl of his pipe.

  ‘You shouldn’t be doing that. You’re already coug
hing your lungs out.’

  ‘My apologies. Now, answer my question. Next step?’

  ‘We need to find out who were the other two people who attended the discussion group.’

  ‘Very true. I am hoping there might be an indication here.’

  From his coat pocket he produced a sheet of typed paper that had clearly been ripped from a folder.

  ‘When did you –?’

  ‘When I told Walter Morris you worked homicides. As I predicted, it produced the necessary distraction.’ His coughing had been a ruse. He’d not been fumbling for a tissue, she realized, but pocketing the goods. ‘I already had the page open so I just …’ He made a ripping gesture.

  ‘So it seems I paid my way?’

  ‘You did. In fact, there were moments I felt I was working with the original, Watson. I mean that as a compliment.’

  She felt chuffed.

  ‘However, our vigilance, yours in particular, must remain paramount. If one of those three is Noah …’

  She really did not want to think about that. Saving the next girl, that’s all that mattered. She nodded at the page.

  ‘Any help?’

  ‘It appears to be a letter to the discussion group.’

  She could see now that it was an email that had been printed into a hard copy.

  He sighed. ‘Unfortunately there are no names here of the other participants.’

  ‘No names but these email addresses are as good. We should be able to find out who attended.’

  ‘You can discern that?’

  ‘I can’t but I know somebody who might know somebody who can.’

  15

  The rain, which had dropped as suddenly as a magician’s cape, now seemed to have set in. Those on the street under umbrellas or with glistening coats hoisted over their heads danced like crows around roadkill. Simone’s arrival was greeted with the inevitable fanfare of angry horns as she cut across lanes and hit the anchors, fanning up a spray. Georgette was already chiding herself for even suggesting her sister could help. Holmes opened the rear door for her – definitely not something Vance would have done. In fact, casting her mind back, she wasn’t sure any man except a concierge had ever opened a door for her. Holmes took the front passenger seat.

  Simone said, ‘If there’s one thing I place right at the top of the tree, it’s good manners.’

  She pulled straight out into the path of a vehicle, forcing the driver to jam on his brakes. Simone looked Holmes up and down and said, ‘For somebody who is a hundred and sixty-six, you’re looking good.’ She winked, Holmes smiled. It was sickening.

  ‘So, you need somebody who can chase up some email addresses?’

  Georgette had given bare bones over the phone. She explained in more detail now.

  Holmes said, ‘You are acquainted with somebody who can do this?’

  ‘Absolutely: sixteen year old boys at exclusive schools. They could crack the Kremlin. My buddy Ambrose says he can organise Valerian, the best hacker he knows, for us.’

  ‘What’s it costing?’ Georgette was suspicious of the generosity of young schoolboys.

  ‘I promised I’d teach Ambrose to drive. He’ll look after Valerian. We’re going to pick Ambrose up and he’ll take us to him.’

  Holmes said, ‘Did he give any indication of the time it might take to get the identities?’

  ‘Ambrose said for something simple like email addresses, they should have names by the morning.’

  Travelling too fast, she was forced to slam on her brakes to avoid rear-ending a van. Some object flew along the dash towards Holmes and would have smashed into the passenger window but for his lightning reflexes.

  ‘I was an unimpeachable first slip,’ he said immodestly. Georgette had no idea what he was talking about. Now he examined the object and she saw it was the snow globe.

  ‘A rather pretty ornament.’

  ‘I meant to glue it down.’

  ‘Where is this exactly?’ Holmes was examining it, fake snow falling gaily.

  ‘Central Park, I think. See the little bridge? It is Central Park, right?’ Simone looked up into the rear-view for her support.

  ‘There are two bridges in Central Park. That’s Bow Bridge.’

  ‘And this has significance for you?’ Holmes asked Simone.

  ‘It was Georgette’s.’

  ‘You think that’s my taste?’

  ‘It was in your apartment. It must have been Vance. A parting gift?’

  Georgette hoped Holmes was too busy staring at the passing billboards to be following.

  No such luck. Holmes twisted around. ‘Vance?’

  Georgette went all prickly.

  ‘The lodger,’ she said. Before Simone could blab, Georgette fessed up. ‘We lived together. People tend to do that now before they … marry.’

  ‘Oh,’ was all Holmes said.

  Damn. Now she was worried she might have offended him, yet simultaneously annoyed that she was worried about it.

  ‘Personally,’ said Simone, ‘I would have loved your era: courtship and balls and hansom cabs. And fog. Was it really foggy?’

  ‘Yes, frequently.’

  ‘That’s very mysterious too. Footsteps in the fog, a piercing scream –’

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ warned Georgette, feeling hampered by being stuck in the back, but knowing Simone was about to let loose some horrific wail.

  Her phone buzzed. It was Harry.

  ‘Hey, Dad. How’s it going?’

  ‘I’m freezing my butt off and Mirsch’s winning tear shows no sign of slowing.’

  ‘Tell Dad not to forget my show.’

  ‘Simone says don’t forget her show tomorrow.’

  ‘Are you in a car?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is she driving?’

  ‘Affirmative.’

  ‘Is she sober?’

  ‘Hopefully.’

  Simone yelled back, ‘If he asked if I’m sober ask him if he’s still a crusty old tightwad.’

  Harry was in her ear again. ‘Yes, I am. Not crusty but a tightwad, definitely. What’s this I hear about you and some limey?’

  ‘What? Who told you that?’

  ‘Never you mind.’

  But she had already narrowed the candidates to Simone or Benson.

  ‘Who is he?’

  She tried to lower her voice. ‘A friend.’

  ‘He’s in the car with you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where’s he staying?’

  ‘My place. In the spare room.’

  ‘I look forward to meeting him. What’s his name?’

  ‘Percy.’

  ‘Give Percy my regards. I gotta go and hide in the bathroom or they’ll send me to haul in the firewood.’

  Simone called out, ‘Tell him not to be late and to dress properly.’

  ‘What, no corduroy jeans? Don’t worry, I won’t disgrace her.’

  ‘What time do you get back home?’

  ‘All being well, lunchtime. Don’t sweat it, I’ll be there.’

  ‘His ticket is at the door.’ Simone pulled another sharp maneuvre.

  ‘Your ticket’s at the door.’

  ‘Gotcha.’

  ‘See you Dad.’

  ‘Love you. And love to Simone.’ He rang off.

  Simone said, ‘It wasn’t me. Must have been Benson.’

  ‘What I was thinking.’

  ‘Is there a problem with your father?’ asked Holmes.

  ‘Yes,’ they answered jointly. ‘He’s our father.’

  ‘He brought up the two of you by himself?’

  ‘Yes, he did,’ said Georgette, regretting she hadn’t spoken to Harry longer but already worrying about the complication of his return.

  ‘Well,’ said Holmes, ‘your father is very different to any of my era.’

  ‘In what way?’ asked Georgette.

  ‘We never spoke to our fathers. They spoke to us.’

  ‘We’d better get our stories straight for
Dad,’ said Georgette. ‘Percy is an old friend I met at the London conference and he is over here investigating …’

  ‘A spy ring,’ put in Simone.

  ‘No! Not a spy ring. Something simple.’

  ‘An academic teaching post,’ suggested Holmes. ‘Like Avery Scheer’s.’

  That would do the trick. Harry would want to steer clear of any academic.

  ‘So you think this professor guy is a psycho?’ Simone was darting through traffic, fearless.

  ‘I dare not yet speculate. What did you think, Watson?’

  ‘I couldn’t be sure if he was playing with us, or if that’s his normal self.’

  ‘Precisely, as though he were presenting an act. But was the act one of a killer, or simply a vain man? And we must not forget the others.’

  Georgette said, ‘Edwards seems less likely to me.’

  ‘Perhaps he disguises his true self better. There is also the fact that he restores books. In the detective squad room on the wall was a board with the names of the victims and their occupations. Lucy Bassey worked in a museum as a restorer. It is quite possible her path crossed with that of Morgan Edwards. Remember, he said that from time to time he needed the help of an expert.’

  It was true, Georgette recalled now.

  ‘That’s why you’re the detective, I suppose,’ said Simone.

  Holmes took the compliment in his stride. ‘And you, if I may say so, are a lively coachman!’

  Simone preened.

  Sickening. Georgette had been considering accompanying Simone and Holmes to meet Ambrose but duty demanded she check on her hamsters. Now she had no regrets. If this sycophancy was going to define the rest of the night she’d much rather be in her lab that now loomed ahead through the smeared windscreen. Simone pulled over, right out in front. Holmes made to jump out and open her door but Georgette beat him to it.

  ‘Allow me to walk you to the door,’ he said.

  ‘No need. We have an armed security guard.’

  ‘Then we shall wait to see you in. Be very careful, Watson. Do not underestimate our foe.’

  The earnestness of his caution scared her.

  ‘Good luck,’ she called back and ran to the door more quickly than usual, not so much because of the rain but the shapeless fear that over a few short hours had become ubiquitous.