alt.sherlock.holmes

by Gini Koch

  “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 have 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 off-campus.”

  “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.

  In addition to seeing patients and participating in what seemed like endless safety preparedness lectures for faculty, staff, and students, I did my best to avoid LaBonte, who glowered at me any time we were within eyeshot of each other.

  It was impossible to avoid the Unholy Three, and apparently Jackson had shared his desire to ‘cast’ me with the other two, because they also spent time badgering me to ‘bump into’ various girls in various spots. I drew the line at their cameras entering the medical offices, but there were several times I was ambushed by some of the girls with cameras rolling.

  Holmes was on campus frequently, as were Straude and Saunders, though she didn’t drop in to see me. I tried not to allow it to hurt my feelings, with limited success. Why it bothered me I couldn’t say, especially since she was cordial when we ran into each other in the halls. She spent quite a lot of time with Mrs. Hudson; they went to lunch together frequently.

  Other than a couple of pleasant and unremarkable nights out with Corey, wherein, despite the protests of the Unholy Three to the contrary, we got no women to pay us any mind but did get to make each other laugh, I spent my spare time looking at my file and my appointment book. Holmes had seen something in them that had set her off and I wanted to figure out what.

  Per the papers and my own experience, literally every New London student, member of the faculty and staff, including groundskeepers, delivery people, and all of the Campus Queen crew, had been questioned by now, not just by uniformed officers but the detectives in charge of the case. Some, like LeBonte, several times. Nothing.

  The usual suspects at the other colleges and universities in the general area—the fraternities and similar groups—had also been investigated. After the second murder, the police had expanded to include all the colleges in the Los Angeles basin, of which there were many. But nothing had popped, and as near as forensics could tell, none of the murdered girls had gone too far from New London when they’d been taken.

  LaBonte was still my number one suspect. The girls would trust him implicitly, meaning he could get them to leave campus alone to meet him somewhere. He was certainly strong enough to overpower them. And if drugs were involved in some way, they’d all be more likely to take them from their coach than anyone else.

  I also, per Holmes’ odd request, watched Campus Queen. The premise was t
hat the show’s staff spent time at a lucky college chosen at random. Their goal was to choose a set of ‘beauties of all kinds’ via an overly wrought Secret Invitation process which required total secrecy on the part of the recipient and bizarre stunts just this side of hazing in order to pass the show’s approval stage. All filmed for the entertainment of the viewing public.

  Once the girls had accepted the offer, and presumably signed all the consent forms, they were put into a competition with each other to see who would earn the title of Queen and a dream week in an exotic location with an attractive male celebrity chosen probably because he had a movie coming out.

  Because the most popular portion of the show was the selection process, the crew followed more than just the girls given invitations, which was why there were on campus so much, capturing ‘live’ footage. They’d been at a college in New York prior to ours, and that was what this season was featuring. Other than making me hate everything about reality TV, there was nothing much of interest.

  Corey and I had had drinks and dinner earlier, but he’d taken me back so he could get home in time to watch Campus Queen. He claimed to enjoy the show, which was the only thing about him I didn’t like. But it allowed me to watch my assigned homework. This week’s episode finally ended and, as I turned off the TV, my phone rang. The number had a New York prefix. “Hello, is this Sherlock?”

  “Yes. Watson, your hazardous materials pickup is tomorrow, correct?”

  “Ah, yes, I believe so. Why? And how did you get my number?”

  “You believe or you know? I got your number from Lee. And, where are you?”

  “I know. It’s always the first Friday of the month. I’ll complain about the police’s invasion of my privacy later. And I’m at home. Just finished watching that Godawful program you told me to, though I have no idea why. Either why I’m watching or why you told me to. Or why you care about my wastes pickup.”

  “You’re alone?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  She heaved an exasperated sigh. “Why do you think? The game’s afoot and our serial killer is going to strike again. Tonight. If you have a gun, get it ready, and ensure you’re in dark clothing. I’ll be with you in ten minutes or less.” She hung up before I could say anything and without answering any of my questions.

  Wondering why I was doing what this woman told me to, I got my gun, ensured it had a full clip, shoved a few other clips into my jacket pocket and clipped my holster onto my waistband. There was a soft sound behind me just as I did so.

  I spun around to see Holmes standing there, in a dark grey sweater and jeans, woman’s pea coat—dark grey, of course—hair again pulled back into a ponytail. Like me, she had a gun clipped to the waist of her jeans. Unlike me, she seemed intent, almost excited. I managed not to jump or shout, but just barely. “How did you get in here?”

  “Through the window. Which is how we’re also going out. Lock up, but leave your lights on, as if you’re home and having one of your many sleepless nights.” She handed me a pair of goggles. “Night vision. Oh, and please assume we’re in enemy territory and trying to avoid being captured.”

  “What? You literally don’t speak to me for over three weeks and then just assume I’m going to head out on some weird adventure with you?” She put a pair of goggles on and I followed suit.

  “So sensitive. I’ll remember that. And I’m sorry I wounded your feelings. I was working, as were you. Unlike some people, I don’t feel the need to see someone every waking moment to reassure myself of affinity.” We crawled out the way she’d come in.

  “How do you know I have insomnia? And yes, fine, I’ll be stealthy. And stop complaining.”

  “Good. I could explain my cleverness,” she said in a low voice, “but I know because I’ve been watching the school at night for the past three weeks. None of you has the first idea of what security actually means. There are twenty uniformed officers stationed all over, and yet the entire student body, all of the Campus Queen crew, and half of the staff are doing their level best to ensure that the police never see them coming or going. It’s as if everyone wants to be the next victim.”

  “Well, you’re having us avoid them, too; at least, I assume that’s why we left via my rear window.”

  We were walking up the hill, towards the dorms, though we were off the paths or main road, moving through the foliage. I’d been trained in how to move without making noise or being seen, as well as how to speak softly enough to be heard by those right next to me and no one else, and I was good at it. The night vision goggles helped tremendously, of course, but if I was good, Holmes was a master. Barring us setting off a motion detector or stepping on an animal, no one would know we were around.

  “I’m working for the police, and I’m trying to catch a killer. It’s a tad different.”

  “Why are you having me back you up? I mean, I assume that’s why I’m here.”

  “Why do you think?”

  “The only thing I can come up with is that you trust me. While I appreciate that, I have no idea why you do.”

  She sighed. “You see, but you don’t observe. That’s the problem with most people, honestly. However, despite what you may think, we have a lot in common, you and I. We’re both avoiding family we love but don’t like, we’re both loners who don’t actually like being alone, and we’re both protectors. Plus, you speak English properly and you have no idea how refreshing that is.”

  We reached the point where we should have turned to get to the dorms, but Holmes kept on going, towards the back of the school.

  “Ah. Well, alright then. Speaking of which, shouldn’t we be trying to protect whomever you think is the next intended victim? As in going into the dorms?”

  “No. The idiot will come directly to him. By personal invitation.”

  “Then why are we skulking about?”

  “Because I need our killer to firmly believe I’m nowhere around and that you’re sitting home alone, making yourself the perfect patsy. You need a roommate.”

  “David’s already suggested it. I don’t have a car, however. And you think the killer is trying to frame me? Why?”

  “I don’t think, I know. And as for why? Because the killer is doing all of this to hurt you.”

  “That’s insane.”

  “Most serial killers are.”

  “Why would you even think that?”

  “Because after we remove the obvious connections of school and athletics, the only thing that the murdered girls have in common is that they all visited you and died a month later.”

  “If you know who it is, why isn’t he under arrest?”

  “Knowing and proving, Watson, are not the same thing. I’ve already searched and found nothing definitive. If I couldn’t find it, the police won’t, either, and a search warrant would just mean he goes to ground. Right now the only advantage we have is that he doesn’t know that I suspect him.”

  “But you said you searched his home or wherever.”

  “I did. When I search, you don’t know I’ve done so unless I want you to know.”

  “Ah. You’ve searched my rooms, haven’t you?”

  “Invading your privacy, one day at a time.”

  We reached the main trail that connected the school to the mountains behind. It was there for the fire department, and truly more of a dirt road. There was a main dump about a mile away, and those trucks occasionally used this part of the trail road as well. Sometimes hunters also accessed it. But mostly it was used by our track team for training.

  “Are you going to tell me who you suspect?” I whispered, as Holmes once again kept us off the main track and in the foliage.

  “I was rather hoping you’d figured it out,” she replied in kind. “You have all the information I do. More, really.”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

  “Well, maybe that’s not a surprise. He’s a clever one, Watson, make no mistake. As clever as he is punctual. But we’re going to be more clever.”

&n
bsp; Before I could respond to this, Holmes put her finger to her lips and pulled me down. I heard the sound of someone running. A girl jogged right past us on the path. She had something white in her hand.

  I put my mouth to Holmes’ ear. “That’s Alisa.”

  She nodded, then nudged me. We followed Alisa, still staying off the main road. The trail forked and she went to the left, meaning she was heading for the dump. The goggles were a blessing—we were having to move quickly to keep her in view, and we wanted to remain unseen.

  Alisa wasn’t trying to go too fast, and we reached the dump in about six minutes. As she neared the entrance, car headlights flashed three times. Alisa headed for them.

  “Hurry, Watson,” Holmes said, as she took off running.

  I’d been fine with all the exertion and the slow jog we’d been at. But my injury didn’t allow me to sprint with ease. And Holmes was absolutely sprinting. If LaBonte wasn’t the killer, he’d want to see if she’d be willing to take a course as a returning student just to get her onto the team.

  I lost sight of Holmes, but could still see Alisa and the car she was heading for. The car door opened and someone got out, but he stayed behind the door and I couldn’t tell who it was, only that, judging by his build, this wasn’t LaBonte.

  Alisa ran over to him and handed him the white thing she was holding. He stepped around the back of the car, went to the other side, and opened the passenger door. This side was near a pile of garbage that had what looked like a tarp against it.

  As Alisa was between the door and the garbage, he grabbed her. I still couldn’t tell who he was. Alisa’s mouth opened to scream, but he stuffed something in it, backhanded her face, and shoved her down, hard, onto the tarp. He was on her in a moment.

  And then Holmes was on him.

  She body-slammed him off Alisa and they rolled, which put them into the glow of the car’s headlights. They struggled for what seemed like forever, while I ran in what truly seemed like slow motion. He landed some good hits, but Holmes landed more, and she was clearly the more experienced grappler. He tried to hold onto her, but Holmes was able to shove him off and away. She scrambled to her feet and managed a good roundhouse to his head as he tried to stand up. He went down, but got back up again. And he had a gun in his hand. I looked—it was Holmes’.