Two Hundred and Twenty-One Baker Streets

by David Thomas Moore (ed)

  “You never know,” Holmes said. Howard grinned, then left.

  I shut the door behind him. “Sorry about that. Now, you were telling us how you know medicine isn’t my heart’s desire while rating my cleaning skills.”

  She lifted one of the statuettes. “There’s no dust under these statuettes, nor on the bookcases. You’re very thorough. And yet you rarely, if ever, think to dust your diplomas. But you haven’t turned your hand to anything else. Meaning you enjoy it well enough, but it’s not what you wanted to do, not really.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Why did you go to school in England, when there are plenty of good medical universities in the States?”

  “Family tradition. My parents immigrated here before they had children, and I’m the fifth in my line to graduate from Oxford in medicine. Huge point of pride for my family. Speaking of whom, why do you think I don’t like them?”

  “The picture of your family is low on a wall you can’t see— you love them enough to have their picture up, but you don’t like them, which is why the picture isn’t where you can see it easily. It also clearly shows architecture and landscape that’s typical of the Northeastern United States. And I can understand the resentment, being forced into a role you do well with but didn’t actually want. Why did you join the Army?”

  “It seemed like... the right thing to do.”

  “Yes, and for at least one person, it made all the difference in the world. Which is why you went—to make a difference.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Your statuettes—they’re cheaply made and inexpensive, yet you have them in a place of honor, where you can see them any time you look up from your desk. Saint George slew the dragon, Saint Rita is the patron saint of those wounded in battle. I doubt you bought those for yourself. They strike me as being gifted to you by the young woman whom you rescued.”

  “How do you know I saved a young woman?”

  Holmes took a picture off the small wall opposite the one my medals hung upon. “She’s about fourteen, based on her face, and Afghan, based on her clothing and location—somewhere in Kabul, if I’m any judge.” She handed the picture to Straude. “She’s also holding a sign that says ‘to my hero’ in Pashto, with a simple drawing of a man with blood on his left shoulder and right hip and a crown on his head. The photo is wrinkled, but you framed it anyway. It came with the Saint Rita statuette. You were injured after you rescued her. The Saint George statuette is older and shows signs of wear—she gave that to you before your injury and you kept it with you.”

  “Yes. To all of it. And she was being attacked by three men, one of whom was a relative of hers. I killed them all. They were insurgents, so my superior officers didn’t mind. Her name is Anoosheh, it means—”

  “Lucky,” Holmes interrupted. “Or happy. And she was both, thanks to you.” She took the photo back from Straude and hung it back up. “It’s a rare thing for a man to save one girl from a brutal attack, in a situation where the authorities are unlikely to ever be involved, only to rape and murder five others in a country where the police are far more concerned, Lee.”

  Straude sighed. “We need to look at every possibility, Sherlock.”

  “I’ll happily provide DNA if that’s helpful.”

  “The killer uses a condom,” Holmes said. “And he’s very good about leaving nothing much for forensics to work with.”

  “Almost as if he’s medically trained.” Saunders shot me a look that said I was definitely still his favorite suspect. “He needs to be stopped. Whoever it is. It’s why we called you in, Holmes.”

  “Four months too late,” Holmes snapped.

  Straude shrugged. “It took some convincing, Sherlock. You know I’d have had you out sooner if I could have.”

  Holmes didn’t look appeased, but before anyone else could speak, there was a knock at my door and Mrs. Hudson stuck her head in. “I’m so sorry to interrupt yet again, but you’re running late now, Doctor. Mr. Corey is here for your weekly order, and Alisa Brewer is waiting for her appointment as well. They’ve been chatting with me for a good ten minutes now, and Mr. Corey said he has to be off soon, and I know you don’t like to miss him. And Alisa has a class starting at the top of the hour.”

  Straude and Saunders didn’t look happy. “You two go to our next obvious suspects,” Holmes said. “I’ll stay here with the good doctor.”

  Straude heaved a sigh. “Fine, Sherlock. Meet up with us before you chase anything down, would you? Dr. Watson, don’t leave town.” With that, the two detectives left. The tension in the office went down to something normal.

  “I’ll see David first, Mrs. Hudson. Tell Alisa it’ll just be a couple of minutes.”

  She ushered in my preferred pharmaceutical sales representative. Corey was a pleasant, unassuming man about my height, slender, with thinning blond hair, even though he wasn’t quite out of his twenties. He shoved his glasses up as he came in, shot a shy look towards Holmes, then gave me a wry smile. “Guess I can’t say you have the best job in the world today, can I, John?”

  “I’ll leave you to it,” Holmes said as she stepped into the examining room. She closed the door, but not all the way.

  Corey shook his head. “I heard about the latest. Terrible thing, John. I suppose drinks tonight is out. How are you holding up?”

  “As well as can be expected. It wasn’t my daughters who were raped and murdered, after all.”

  Corey shuddered. “Still, it’s awful, and they were all your patients.”

  “True enough. And yes, I think our regular meet-up is out for this week. ”

  Corey dropped his voice. “John, I spoke to Howard on my way up. He said you had police in here, and those were police detectives I saw leaving. Are you... alright?”

  “Hope so. Did the police question you?”

  “No, and I don’t think they’ve questioned Howard, either. I don’t think we’re here enough for them to care about us.” He shot me a reassuring smile. “Well, for what it’s worth, I know you didn’t do it. Because there’s no way my favorite customer is a lunatic.” We both managed a chuckle, Corey gave me some new samples and I gave him my order. “John, I know your living arrangement isn’t... ideal. I’m looking for a roommate. If you’d be interested, I’d like to offer it to you.”

  “Thank you, David, I appreciate that. Get me the information and I’ll see if I can make it work.”

  Before Corey could leave, I heard raised voices from the hall, and my least favorite colleague burst into the room. My office was rarely this popular except during fraternity rush week, when all the girls came for help with ‘difficult menstruation issues,’ which was the nice girl code for wanting to get on birth control pills without upsetting their parents.

  The head of the Physical Fitness Department, Frank LaBonte, slammed my door shut. “You little weasel, what have you done to my girls?” he roared at me. He was a big, muscular man, with a full head of thick hair and a walrus moustache. He seemed a century or so out of date, as if he belonged in the 1890’s or 1920’s, not now.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “The police were here, questioning you. They know it was you who took my girls. I won’t let you get Alisa, too!”

  The one commonality the murdered girls had, in addition to being New London students, was that they were all on New London’s track team. But this was close to the same as being a student, since track was the only competitive sport the college had, meaning any girl who had an ounce of athleticism in her was drafted onto the team. But it was a good program, and the team routinely medaled. That said, I didn’t like how LaBonte claimed ownership of all the girls.

  “Alisa’s here to see her school physician,” I said coldly. “And you’re interrupting a business meeting.”

  “He undoubtedly wants the sick bastard doing this brought to justice. As in you, arrested.”

  Corey edged towards the door. “That’s alright, John. I was just lea
ving. Sorry again about your loss. And, ah, Coach LaBonte, great job with the team. Hope one of them wins Campus Queen.”

  Corey fled. I couldn’t blame him.

  LaBonte glared at me. “You killed them.”

  “Hardly. You have more access to the girls than I do. You have them run through the trails in the hills behind the school. You’re in a position of authority over them.”

  His face turned an interested shade of purple. “You’re accusing me of hurting one of my girls? Of hurting five of them?”

  “Oh, stop blustering.” Holmes stepped out of the examination room. “I see Detectives Straude and Saunders have finished questioning you.”

  “For the fifth time,” LaBonte shouted. “And yet they’re no closer to finding the truth.” He stabbed a thick finger at me. “He’s the rapist, why isn’t he under arrest?”

  “I’ve heard that this country still enjoys little things like evidence and proof.” Holmes got right up into LaBonte’s face. “I said to stop blustering. You can calm down and leave, or I can make you leave. Your choice.”

  LaBonte glared at her. “Who the hell are you,” he shook his finger at her, “to try to tell me—”

  Holmes interrupted him with a lightning-fast jab to his throat, which shut him up. Then she grabbed the finger he’d waved in her face and bent it backwards. LaBonte was gasping and grimacing in pain, as well as on his knees on the floor in a moment. “I am Sherlock Holmes. I’m here, consulting for the L.A.P.D. I’m also adept in several forms of martial arts and am an excellent shot. And before you ask, I have a gun with me, and I’m truly not afraid to use it. Now, when I let you go, you’ll have two choices. You can get up and leave, quietly, or I can beat the bloody crap out of you and you can leave on a stretcher. Choose wisely. If you’re capable.”

  “I’d also apologize to her,” I added. “Because you were extremely rude. I’m used to it, but Ms. Holmes is a visitor and you should represent New London better than you have so far.”

  To his credit, LaBonte stopped struggling. “I... apologize.”

  Holmes let him up and LaBonte stalked out of the room. “He’s my top suspect,” I said as Alisa peeked her head in.

  “Maybe,” Holmes said absently. “However, you’d do well to remember that just because you find someone reprehensible, it doesn’t mean they’re guilty. And the opposite is true as well.” She looked Alisa over. “Why are any of you girls going out alone?”

  Alisa blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “Since the second murder, the police have installed officers on campus, so it’s presumably safe here. However, the five victims—they were all alone. None taken from their rooms, and their bodies weren’t found on campus. Those with cars didn’t drive them off school grounds, and all the girls were seen in the cafeteria at dinner the nights they were killed. As far as it’s been determined, they left campus alone and were never seen alive again. Why, after the second murder, are any of you going out alone?”

  “Most of us aren’t. But some of the girls have jobs off- campus.”

  “None of the murdered girls, however.” Holmes gave Alisa another piercing look. “Why, for instance, do you plan to go out tonight?”

  “It’s Friday night, and I’m done with homework and studying. Why shouldn’t I go out? Molly was killed last night, and that’s awful, but we weren’t friends. The only thing we have in common is the track team, and we aren’t in the same events. So I’m sorry, but...” She shrugged. “Besides, if it’s a pattern, that means we’re all safe for another month anyway.”

  “It’s not been quite that regular,” I said.

  “Pretty close, though,” Alisa argued. “Besides, I get the Campus Queen crew with me tonight, so what do I have to worry about?”

  Holmes stared at her. “An excellent point. Are you a chosen contestant?”

  “Not yet, but here’s hoping.”

  “Indeed.” Holmes nodded to me. “Go ahead and do your doctor patient thing. I need to see your appointment book.”

  I handed it to her and took Alisa into the examination room. “She’s strange,” Alisa said.

  “She’s on to something.” Although I had no idea of what.

  ALISA TAKEN CARE of, I sent her on her way and rejoined Holmes. “What did you find?”

  “It depends.” She gave me a long look. “Did you know that the medical examiner has found steroids in all of the victims so far? Molly included.”

  “They weren’t prescribed by me! But LaBonte likes winning. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s encouraged the girls to dope themselves.”

  “How much of that statement is based on observation, or blood work you’ve done on the girls, and how much on the fact that the two of you obviously don’t get along?”

  “Honestly? I don’t know.”

  “That’s fair.”

  “I don’t have blood work on all of them, but I did on Quannah and Molly. There were no steroids in their blood. So if Molly had steroids in her system, she started taking them after her appointment with me the month before last.”

  “The second-to-last appointment she had with you?”

  “Yes. I drew no blood at her last visit.”

  “Interesting. Watch your back.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re the point of origin.” Then she turned and left. “That was abrupt,” I said to the closed door. I waited a few seconds, then I left my office. Mrs. Hudson was able to act as my receptionist because the medical offices were on the main Administration floor, next door to the Dean’s office. None of the police were there, and Holmes was walking down the long hallway. I nodded to Mrs. Hudson, then followed Holmes.

  She didn’t look behind her, just left the building. The school was quite beautiful and picturesque, and sat high on its hill, surrounded by foliage, mountains, and not much else. The visitors’ level had a circular drive from which the main buildings radiated. The Campus Queen crew had taken over most of this area, using it for equipment storage and craft services. They let the girls and school staff eat from craft services, though I refused to on principle. I was, as far as I knew, the only person on campus who hadn’t snuck at least a chocolate croissant and a latte.

  I stopped at the main doors and looked out. Holmes was standing with Straude and Saunders and the men I knew to be the show’s producer, director, and casting director—Tony Antonelli, Cliff Camden, and Joey Jackson—or, as I thought of them, the Unholy Three. Despite dressing in typically casual Southern California style, they gave off Mob vibes, but they were hugely successful in this realm. In addition to Campus Queen, they ran Campus King, High School Confidential, The Real Families of Suburbia, and The Real Families of SoCal. As moguls went, they were laid back, generous in many ways, and smarmy beyond belief.

  Antonelli and Camden were having an animated conversation with the detectives, but Jackson was talking to Holmes. I got the impression he was suggesting that she try out for Campus Queen. Sometimes they asked faculty or staff to participate, to mix things up and keep the ratings high.

  I wandered out. Beyonce’s ‘All the Single Ladies’ was playing, courtesy of the show. It was the theme song for Campus Queen and, as such, seemed to be on constant repeat everywhere. Once, the first time I’d heard it, I’d enjoyed the song. Now I wondered if we were under some form of aural torture. As I neared them, Jackson shook his head. “Can’t tell you that. It’ll ruin the show.”

  “Oh, please?” Holmes asked, voice sweet as honey. “I’m such a big fan. And the soul of discretion, I promise you.” She gave him a beaming smile.

  Jackson smiled back. “Let me sleep on it.”

  Holmes winked at him, handed him what I thought was her card, nodded to the detectives, then got into a silver sports car parked nearby and drove off. The detectives got into their far less interesting sedan and left as well, and two of the Unholy Three went back to whatever it was they did on our campus.

  Jackson waved me over. “You’re the school doctor, right? The one all the girls ha
ve a crush on?”

  “Excuse me? I’m the doctor, but no one has a crush on me that I know of.”

  Jackson laughed. “Don’t be coy. You’re a war hero, young, good looking, a doctor. You’re catnip for the kittens.”

  “I’m not that young, and I don’t date students.”

  “Then you have a baby face, which goes over well with the viewers. You could meet us down in Westwood. Alisa will be there—she’s already told us she thinks you’re hot. You two could casually knock into each other and spend the night getting to know each other offcampus.”

  “She’s only nineteen.” And now I was guaranteed to feel awkward the next time she needed medical attention.

  “Okay, we’ll find an older girl for you. But no problem if you don’t want to show off your Casanova reputation on this show. We’re going to be branching out—Know Your Soldier. More of a meaningful-month-in-the-life-of-a-returned-hero sort of thing.” He nudged me. “You know, keeping the image up and giving some of the more patriotic something to be proud to watch.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Take my card.” Jackson shoved his card at me.

  I took it and backed away. “Thanks.”

  “Call me,” he shouted, as I spun around and headed back into the Administration building. “We’ll do lunch or have drinks.”

  I returned to my office and pulled out the file I’d been looking through when Holmes and the others arrived. For all her observational skills, it appeared she’d missed my slipping it away.

  Or so I thought. As I opened the file, I saw a note, written in an unfamiliar hand. You have a good case file started here. You’re also making it very easy for the real culprit to incriminate you. Call me if you think of anything, or if anything out of the ordinary happens. And watch the show. There was a card underneath this. The only thing printed on it was Sherlock Holmes, but there was a New York phone number written on the back in the same hand as the note. I slipped the card into my wallet.

  NOTHING UNTOWARD HAPPENED for the next three and a half weeks. The entire campus was on edge, and some of the girls had been brought home by their parents, though none of the girls so far selected for Campus Queen. But no one else was attacked.