Over My Dead Body

by Dave Warner

  The cold had got to her. She suggested they head back inside where he could tell her more over coffee.

  ‘Capital idea,’ he said.

  The crowd had thinned, the warmth welcoming.

  ‘Sara Ross and Hamilton de Souza,’ announced Holmes. ‘Neither with a police record, both postgraduate students from other states and both, so far as we could establish, in a different state at the time of the murders of both Carmen Cavanagh and Lucy Bassey. De Souza would also appear to have been in Japan when Gina Scaroldi was killed.’

  ‘People can fake Facebook posts.’

  ‘So Valerian warned me, but he was able to cross-correlate photographs of them with other Facebook users. He was also adept at finding his way into Department of Immigration records. I am confident neither Ross nor De Souza is Noah.’

  ‘Which brings us back to our Endymion three.’

  ‘Plus Edwards. Don’t forget him. What do you make of Scheer, then?’

  ‘If he’s insane he hides it well.’

  Holmes concurred, added, ‘Many feel Napoleon was insane, and perhaps he was, and yet he could have explained all his actions quite soberly.’

  She’d mentioned Scheer going on about Abraham.

  Holmes nodded. ‘He takes great pains to see things from the criminal’s perspective: the woman who murdered her children and so forth. Whether that is empathy or whether he sees himself in the same light – pure egotism – I cannot decipher.’

  In other words, the great detective hadn’t a clue.

  ‘Come on,’ she ordered, taking two gulps of her coffee and leaving the rest. ‘We need to get back and changed for the play.’

  As they wound their way home, what was left of the day curled up and died, the sky dark as widows’ weeds, the chill profound. Leached of color, cars scrambled about like beetles feasting on this decay. She would only have enough time to bathe and dress before having to head out again for Simone’s play, which had an early start. Holmes went straight to the laptop on the living-room table.

  Her hair annoyed her. Having it cut and styled after Vance left had made her feel good for all of four days. Then the reality had set in about how much money it was going to cost to maintain this new vision of herself, so now she was at that awkward in-between length. Sometimes she thought Holmes’ intense stare into her eyes might have meant something more … but no, that was preposterous. No word from Garry Benson. Maybe the suspect had confessed? When she stepped back into the living room in her towelling robe Holmes was still bent over the computer.

  ‘Anything from Valerian?’ she asked.

  ‘I thought you considered yourself above our illegal ways.’ He cocked an eye at her, leaning back on his chair and allowed himself a mischievous grin. ‘Admit it, Watson, there is a criminal inside you waiting to break free.’ Then, without waiting for an answer, he said, ‘Valerian was as good as his word. He has sent me the contents of Scheer’s computer. It will take some time to go through all this but I can find no communication from him with any of the victims. He has a number of case files with clients whose names are not revealed. They are simply given a number. There is one note I found under a file “students” you may find interesting.’

  She was aware she was dripping on the carpet now but waited. Holmes savored the moment.

  ‘He writes, “MH is sexually confused and I am not sure she is classic transgender. In our discussions she has confessed to sustained periods where she thinks of herself in her head as a male, while still viewing herself externally as a female, as if both genders could be simultaneously active within the one host body.”’ Holmes tented his fingers beneath his chin. ‘There could be instances where the male takes charge of her thoughts and actions, however, the realm of the brain is best left to others than myself. Physical evidence, that is the Valhalla I seek.’ His eyes fell on her and then darted away.

  ‘I shall bathe,’ he said and moved quickly to his room.

  ‘Maybe Benson has a confession already?’

  He stopped and turned, ‘And maybe I shall go play hockey on Mars.’

  ‘As a matter of fact …’

  ‘We’ve done that?’ His face stretched the length of a football field.

  ‘Gotcha,’ she laughed and was pleased to see him smile.

  17

  Her agent, Vonny, had already taken the trouble of emailing a bunch of casting agents about the show, promising comps if they were keen, and one had said he might be attending. It wasn’t one of the big timers but, Simone told herself, you have to begin on the lower rung and haul yourself step by step to the top. She wished she could tell the whole world about working with Sherlock Holmes. That would have her Snapchat and Instagram going through the roof. Ha, imagine the Kardashians trying to compete with that!

  Not that she wasn’t in their camp. Georgette had no time for any of this stuff, no time for any fun, period. If Holmes had been sharing an apartment with her instead of her sister, she would have buttered his crumpet.

  Ambrose came up, jigging on the spot.

  ‘Nervous?’ she asked.

  ‘Nah,’ he said unconvincingly.

  She looked up to see Frank N. Furter standing in front of her.

  ‘Break a leg,’ he said, in the way that their uncle used to offer them a piece of his pie, even though you knew he wanted it all to himself but felt it was still the right thing to do.

  ‘You too,’ she said. That was a good thing about theatre, you all sank or swam together.

  To Georgette’s surprise, Harry’s attire featured not the blue blazer he’d worn to her lecture but a heavier tweed coat that fitted him better. No tie, but then you couldn’t expect miracles. Holmes was in a line for complimentary wine. She’d prepped him relentlessly on the way over.

  ‘Harry is a cop,’ she’d said. ‘He’s not stupid.’

  Holmes had assured her he knew his role but she was worried his mind was on Noah.

  ‘I bought a new shirt,’ declared Harry and spun for her. She could see he’d also had his hair freshly cut and was impressed. ‘Where’s the limey?’

  ‘Lining up for wine.’

  ‘Sort of thing I used to do for your mother. She said it evened out the time women spent waiting for the bathroom.’ He nodded at the poster, which was extremely professionally done. ‘I only ever saw the movie. I never saw the play. Your mom always wanted to.’

  ‘She liked Rocky Horror?’

  ‘Loved it. Loved musicals.’

  ‘You see it together?’

  ‘No. I hadn’t met her yet. I was sixteen. Grease, we saw that together.’

  Her father gazed into the middle distance, lost somewhere back in an era where video was a novelty. Holmes arrived with two red wines.

  ‘Dad, this is my friend Percy.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Percy.’

  ‘You too, Harry.’ Holmes was stranded with the wine glasses until Georgette took hers, and the men shook.

  ‘Would you care for a wine?’ asked Holmes, offering his.

  ‘I’m more a beer guy. So, you’re staying at Georgi’s.’

  ‘Yes, it was very kind of her to let me have her spare room.’

  Good, he remembered that, even if did hit the “spare” a bit too obviously.

  ‘You’re an investigator?’

  ‘Private.’

  ‘You were a cop?’

  ‘Mine is more a scientific background.’

  ‘You ever work with the Yard?’

  ‘Several times.’

  ‘You come across Dougal Gray? He and I worked on some stuff.’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m probably before his time.’

  Harry chuckled. ‘I see Georgi has briefed you to say all the right things.’

  Fortunately, the bell rang.

  ‘You guys can swap war stories later,’ Georgette said, and prayed there was no chance of that.

  She couldn’t believe how good the play was. And Simone was outstanding. She played the uptight goody-two shoes Janet so convincing
ly. Harry was proud as Punch, she kept taking sly looks at him. On her other side, Holmes was smiling, chuckling and more than once exclaiming, ‘Oh, capital!’

  It lifted her spirits, banished the darkness of the world in which she had lately found herself.

  All the boys in the play were very good. Simone had relentlessly run down the kid playing Frank but Georgette thought he nailed it. At interval, Harry made for the bathroom while Holmes went to get the drinks again. She made a mental note to ask where this supply of money might be coming from. There was the inevitable long line for the ladies bathroom but Georgette’s practiced eye had spied a disabled bathroom down a deserted corridor into which she’d blundered earlier while looking for Harry. She set off now for that, rounding the corner past the box-office area and then turning left again past the staircase. The bathroom showed vacant. She congratulated herself, entered, locked, slipped paper on the seat just in case and was quickly done. She opened the door, excited by the prospect of act two, and froze.

  Morgan Edwards stood in her way. ‘Doctor!’ he exclaimed.

  Later, thinking back over it, the reaction seemed overdone, staged.

  ‘Hello.’ She was ashamed to say that she stammered the greeting. He was holding a small backpack and she couldn’t take her eyes from it. What she was thinking was that there were three hundred people just twenty yards away but he could cut her throat before anybody would locate where her screams came from. He made no move to shift away.

  ‘You have a boy at the school here?’ she asked, conjuring a carefree attitude from thin air. She was calculating if she could dart past him.

  ‘No.’ And the answer was like a slab sealing a tomb, until he suddenly smiled bashfully and said, ‘Self-confessed Rocky Horror nut. See every production I can. Is Mr Turner here?’

  ‘Yes, I should be getting back to him. It doesn’t look like Professor Scheer wants to sell.’

  ‘Oh well, if he does, it will be my pleasure to come and collect my wages of sin.’

  Now her flesh was crawling. ‘Well, nice to see you again,’ she said and squirrelled past him. She found Holmes waiting with Harry but had to restrain herself from babbling about the encounter. The last thing she wanted was to alert Harry to her sleuthing. Holmes she could tell, sensed something was up and when the lights blinked and people shuffled back inside, she whispered what had happened.

  ‘Morgan Edwards? Here?’

  She relayed his explanation and then, as if trying to convince herself said, ‘Perhaps it is pure coincidence.’ Even as she said it, she was thinking, yes, it’s possible that he just happened to be here but then he must have seen her in the crowd and followed her to the bathroom. Maybe he wanted to see if a sale had been made so he could claim his commission. But then she thought of the backpack and shuddered.

  ‘Never fear, Watson,’ said Holmes as the lights darkened. ‘I shan’t be letting you out of my sight.’

  For the remainder of the performance, the encounter sat with Georgette like unpleasant foot odor. The play finished and all three of them were on their feet applauding heartily.

  ‘Stay with your father,’ whispered Holmes during the encore and bolted out. She saw Harry’s head turn.

  ‘The wine,’ she lied. As they shuffled out she stuck like glue to Harry.

  Holmes was waiting in the foyer when they emerged with the stragglers. He gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head to indicate he’d not spotted Edwards. By now she was feeling safer. A mini-supper was served back in the reception area. Georgette announced she was going to find Simone, and Holmes, of course, said he would come with her. Harry wanted to sample more mini-burgers.

  Georgette and Holmes went back into the theatre and tracked towards the stage. Ambrose, whose ‘Brad’ had been very good, walked towards them on cloud nine, greeting Holmes with a prison-yard handshake.

  ‘A most commendable performance,’ said Holmes.

  ‘You enjoyed it?’

  ‘It was terrific.’ Georgette meant it.

  ‘You need to take a bow too,’ said the schoolboy.

  ‘What did I do?’ asked Georgette.

  ‘Simone modelled Janet completely on her sister,’ said Holmes. ‘Is that correct?’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Ambrose.

  Georgette felt impelled to say there was a distinction between being a stuck-up anal-retentive and somebody who was simply tidy but, before she could, Ambrose asked to have a photo taken with her.

  ‘Would you mind?’ Ambrose handed his phone to Holmes.

  ‘Delighted.’

  ‘It’s not every day I get my photo taken with a genius,’ said Ambrose.

  ‘Smile!’

  The flash hit.

  ‘What do you mean, genius?’ asked Georgette, her eyes throbbing.

  ‘Simone doesn’t stop talking about you. Says one day you’re going to win the Nobel Prize.’

  ‘And I believe she is correct,’ said Holmes handing back the phone, his eyes scanning the empty theatre, just in case. Ambrose shifted off to check the photo and Holmes said, ‘I was pleased to see Alfred Nobel followed my notion to initiate prizes for those who worked unstintingly for the benefit of humankind – yes Watson, I am adopting your vernacular – however, I was disappointed that he chose to name the prizes after himself instead of my suggestion.’

  ‘Which was?’ She was fairly certain she knew the answer to that. After all he had googled himself first chance he had.

  ‘The Watson prize.’ And he smiled as if he had known exactly what she’d been thinking.

  Ambrose returned. ‘I’m texting the photo to you.’ Conspiratorially he whispered, ‘There’s an agent with Simone. He loved it.’

  Holmes caught a flash of somebody lurking by the far exit.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Holmes. ‘Would you mind Georgette for me?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Ambrose. Holmes bounded across to the other side of the theatre.

  ‘Strange, dude,’ commented Ambrose. ‘Come on,’ and then, with Georgette still craning to track Holmes, he ushered her down a back corridor. A middle-aged man with silver hair was just leaving Simone’s dressing room.

  ‘Call me and we’ll set up a meeting. I’ve got some things could really suit,’ he called back to where Simone waited in the doorway. Ambrose dug his elbow into Georgette’s ribs: the agent. The man forced a tight smile as he passed and congratulated Ambrose.

  Simone was beaming. ‘He loved it. Says he has some film roles.’

  ‘I loved it too,’ Georgette kissed her sister.

  Ambrose announced he had better be off to see his parents. Simone hugged him.

  ‘Don’t forget my driving lesson tomorrow,’ he reminded her.

  ‘I don’t forget my co-stars.’

  When Ambrose left, Georgette told her Harry was still scoffing his face in the foyer.

  ‘But we’re going to supper, aren’t we?’

  ‘I doubt that will affect his appetite. You know what he’s like with anything free. Dad is so proud. You were sensational. You are an actress, you really are.’

  ‘Don’t sound so surprised.’

  Georgette felt guilty. The truth was she never believed her sister would do more than dabble in anything.

  Simone read it, said, ‘I don’t blame you. I’ve always been a mess-up. I never thought I could be anything either. Did Percy come?’

  ‘I never saw him so happy. Well, for the first act.’ Georgette explained about the encounter with Morgan Edwards but there was no time for further discussion because Holmes appeared.

  ‘False alarm, sound technician.’ Harry arrived next. Georgette watched Harry hugging Simone, saw the absolute love in his eyes and then looked at Holmes, lost for a moment, watching them. I’m so lucky, thought Georgette, I have sister, a dad, flesh and blood that I can hold and feel their heart pumping against mine. Holmes has only a long, empty corridor containing nothing but a wisp of memories.

  Harry could not remember a night as good as this one in a very long
time. He wished Helen could have been there but didn’t go on about it for fear of seeming maudlin and spoiling the moment. Up until tonight he’d really wondered if Simone had it in her. I mean, playing rat excrement, he supposed, took a bit of moxy but it gave the audience no idea of the kid’s potential. Tonight, she sang, danced, acted. After he’d congratulated Simone, they rejoined the rest of the cast for the best part of an hour where Simone and the boys relived their finest moments. Then the four of them walked to a Spanish restaurant a few blocks west. Snow was falling constantly. They ate, and after toasting the late Helen Watson, Harry regaled Percy with embarrassing stories about the girls. Had them squirming. Jeez, it was fun. When the girls had gone off to the bathroom, Harry did grow sentimental. He couldn’t help it, the wine and the evening all bubbled up. He needed an ear to bend and Percy’s was convenient. The guy was calm, had an air of … gravitas, he was pretty sure was the word, so he figured what he wanted to say wouldn’t be squandered.

  ‘You know, Percy, when people hear about Georgette and what happened, they say “I know what it must have been like for you” but of course they don’t. They have no idea. As a young cop on patrol, I was sometimes not only first on the scene, but then later had to break the news of a loved one’s death. There were a couple of auto accidents, and a terrible boating tragedy where I had to swim in two injured girls. One made it, the other … I stood watching while the medics worked on her, and I felt absolutely useless.’ Percy nodded, understanding. ‘They couldn’t revive her. And believe me I thought I knew, or had some inkling how the parents felt but when I pulled the lifeless body of my own little girl from that freezing lake and laid her dead upon the ice … only then did I truly understand the utter desolation of a loved one dealing with the fact. Kneeling on that ice, it was like my body had been cleaved in two, and the universe was nothing but emptiness and pain. It was like you’re naked, split open, in a winter that’s never going to end, but is just … eternal. And the horror of that emptiness, the reality that this is your life now, I can’t … no one can explain that. And yet I was blessed. I got her back and I swore to God I would never, ever forget that gift. And with Simone … well, hell, I’ve had my heart in my mouth every day for thirty years but tonight, I felt just as blessed.’