“If I recall,” I added, “It was only after the crash site had been sanitized did the story of the young couple emerge.”
“Also correct, Doctor.”
“Miss Ransom, may we assume you have some connection to one of the missing young people?”
“The girl, Jenny Winston. She is my niece, and she is alive.”
“Pardon me, Miss Ransom,” I said with as much delicacy as I could. “The reports Mr. Holmes and I read in the papers first speculated the young couple had eloped. When nothing came of that angle, it was believed they had perished at the crash site. The incinerated automobile belonging to the young man was offered up as proof.”
“Doctor, I work in an industry that creates illusions. In fact, I have had the good fortune to work with Alfred Hitchcock on three occasions. If I have learned anything, it is that our trust in the institutions we are taught to rely on is often misplaced. The car could have easily been torched by government authorities, after the fact, especially as no remains of any kind were found.”
“Could not that have been due to the intensity of the fire?” I asked.
“Yes, that is possible; however, that theory emerged only after Abraham Carl, the local miner who first reported the story, said he may have seen Jenny and Lee that night.”
“If memory serves,” Holmes interjected, “not long after Mr. Carl gave his official story to authorities, he amended his eyewitness account to include seeing two humanoid creatures the night in question.”
“Space aliens, wasn’t it?” I said.
“Yes,” Miss Ransom nodded. “And in that instant Abe Carl’s credibility was gone.”
“You must admit his story could not be taken seriously.”
“I believe I see where Miss Ransom is going with this. It was only after the absurd claim by Mr. Carl that an alternate theory regarding the disappearance of your niece and her boyfriend was offered up. Mr. Carl was confused. He hadn’t seen creatures at all that night. It was the couple he had seen.”
“That puts a new light on matters,” I said. “That could mean the young couple was alive after the crash.”
“Yes, Doctor, but officials are now saying Abe Carl was confused due to the medications he was taking, in addition to his being an alcoholic. Government officials claim Mr. Carl had seen Jenny and Lee before the crash, not after.”
“Intriguing to be sure,” Holmes said. “But there is no way to establish the facts of any of this. The incident is five years old and the crash site has long been sanitized.”
“I agree, Mr. Holmes. Whether by intent or circumstance, it is unlikely the authorities will reveal the truth. I have sought you out because of this.”
Miss Ransom pulled a newspaper clipping from her coat pocket and unfolded it. It was a photograph of an attractive young woman in a crowd.
“This is my niece Mr. Holmes. This is Jenny. This photograph was taken over a year ago at a Fourth of July parade in Dayton, Ohio.”
Holmes and I took a long look at the photograph of the young woman, surrounded by onlookers. The young woman held both hands above her eyes to shield her vision from the glare of the sun. I returned the clipping to Miss Ransom.
“It has been over five years. How can you be sure?”
“Dr. Watson, do you know what a continuity artist does?”
“Vaguely, I suppose.”
“My job is to focus on detail and minutia. How much liquor was left in the glass two days ago? Where was it put down? How far down has a cigarette been smoked? How much ash remains? On which finger was the ring? On which wrist was the watch? I am very good at my job. I would not waste your time or mine on something I was not sure of.”
“As Dr. Watson correctly points out, it has been five years. A young woman may change a great deal during that time.”
“I admit the girl in the photograph is leaner in appearance and her hair is darker than the last time I saw Jenny.”
“How can you be so certain?” I asked.
“If her appearance were the only factor, I would have to say in all honesty I could not be one hundred percent sure.”
“The ring,” Holmes said. “You recognize the ring on her left hand. It has a unique design.”
“Yes,” Miss Ransom said. “That ring was passed on by my sister to Jenny on her sixteenth birthday. It had been our mother’s ring.”
“You have no doubts about the ring?”
“None, Doctor. As Mr. Holmes pointed out, the design is unique. I would recognize it anywhere.”
“You mention a sister,” Holmes said.
“Yes.”
“I am not clear why this matter has fallen to you. What efforts has your sister undertaken to find her daughter?”
“As I said, the incident in Roswell occurred while I was out of the country. I was in a remote location of South America on a film shoot when I learned Jenny had gone missing. A crewmember arrived with a bundle of newspapers some weeks old. As you might imagine, being sequestered in a remote jungle location, we were all hungry for news. That is how I learned the news of Jenny. By then she had been missing almost two weeks. The only way to contact my sister was by way of cable. I tried several times without success. Finally, a cable found its way to me from the sheriff’s office in Roswell. It stated that my sister had passed away from injuries sustained in an automobile accident. My world simply collapsed.”
“Is there a husband?” I asked.
“No, Doctor, he died during the war. It was just Jenny and my sister Margaret.”
“Go on,” I said gently.
“The film’s director spared no effort in getting me out as soon as possible. I shall forever be indebted to him for his kindness. By the time I returned to the States, my sister had been buried. The sheriff shared with me all he knew about the accident, and then I read all I could about the Roswell incident and Jenny’s disappearance. I made innumerable inquires, all to no avail. Admittedly Jenny’s disappearance had left some doubt as to what really happened to her, but I had no choice but to accept what had been reported and to get on with my life.”
“And then you saw the photograph of the young woman you presume to be your niece,” Holmes offered.
“Yes.”
“How did you come across this photograph? Had it appeared in your local newspaper?”
“No, Doctor, it was sent to me anonymously. It appeared in a copy of the Wright-Patterson Air Force Base daily newspaper almost a year ago. As you can see she is a spectator in a crowd. The caption notes the occasion was a Fourth of July celebration.”
“And you have only recently received this photograph?”
“Within the last week.”
“You have no idea who would have sent this photograph to you or why?” Holmes asked.
Miss Ransom shook her head adamantly. “None!”
“Why wouldn’t your niece have attempted to contact you? You are close, are you not?” I asked.
“Yes, Doctor, we were very close. That is what I cannot understand.”
“Could it be your niece is under some form of protection?” Holmes asked.
“But why?” Miss Ransom replied. “Why would Jenny require protection? Why wouldn’t she attempt to get in touch with me? I am at a loss to understand. It is heartbreaking.”
“There, there,” I said, patting Miss Ransom’s hand.
Holmes steepled his fingers together and pressed them against his lips. “If your niece is in some sort of protection scheme, it may well mean she has been provided with a new identity.”
“But why?” Miss Ransom asked with obvious exasperation.
“Information.”
“What kind of information, Holmes?”
“Impossible to say, Watson. Whatever the young woman knows, we may assume it concerns the Roswell incident
which has necessitated providing her with a new identity or protective custody.”
“Do you believe your niece is being held against her will, Miss Ransom?”
“I have no idea, Doctor. I just wish to find her. It has been five years of agony and uncertainty.” Miss Ransom turned to Holmes. “Can you help me locate my niece, Mr. Holmes?”
“I am entirely empathetic, Miss Ransom, but this is a matter for the Americans. The Americans do not look kindly on foreigners interfering in their internal affairs.”
“The State Department has slammed every door in my face.”
“I am sorry, Miss Ransom, we simply have no authority.”
“Would it make a difference if I told you Jenny is a dual national?”
“Jenny was born in England?” I asked.
“Yes. Jenny’s father was an American stockbroker working in London when he and my sister met. Jenny was born a few months before the stock market crash. After the crash, my sister’s husband moved his family to the U.S. So, you see Mr. Holmes, Jenny is a British subject.”
“I wish I could help, Miss Ransom, but this really isn’t for us. I think you must work through an official agency. If I were you, I would begin with the British consulate.”
My heart went out to Miss Ransom, but Holmes was resolute. He had no interest in taking on Miss Ransom’s case.
“Mr. Holmes, I hope you will reconsider. I cannot stress to you how important this is to me.” Miss Ransom placed a generously stocked portfolio on the table. “I brought this along in the hopes you would agree to help me. It contains every newspaper article and document I have been able to find related to the case. I have no further use for it. Thank you for your time, gentlemen.”
After Miss Ransom exited the shop, I turned to Holmes. “I must say, Holmes, I am more than a little surprised. I felt sure you would take this on. As it is, we have nothing else on the boil.”
“If the young woman in the photograph is Jenny Winston, there may be nothing nefarious about this at all. Perhaps the young woman sought a new life for herself.”
“Of course, but doesn’t the whole thing strike you as a bit odd?”
“Watson, you imagine the Americans are involved in some sort of cover-up or conspiracy. Why?”
“Clearly there is much more to this Roswell business than we are aware. We were there that night. It has always seemed to me a bit fishy.”
“You know as well as I, there is always a perfectly logical explanation. Since we are not privy to whatever it is the Americans do not wish us to know, I have no intention of wasting time with idle speculation.”
“Is it possible, as ridiculous as it may sound, the Americans actually discovered an alien spacecraft? And that is why it is so important to keep that information under lock and key.”
“Watson, we have only the word of a discredited alcoholic. You and I saw nothing that evening that would suggest such a scenario. Whatever unanswered questions there may be, it is not up to us to answer them.”
As we exited the teashop, Holmes stopped abruptly. “The portfolio, Watson. It is still on the table.”
I retrieved Miss Ransom’s portfolio and waited with Holmes for a taxi. As our taxi pulled into traffic, I noticed the two men I had seen earlier outside of the studio now standing together at the bus stop adjacent the teashop. They still had their heads buried in copies of The Times. “It’s a wonder those chaps don’t bump into each other, what with their heads buried in their papers like that.”
“Yes,” Holmes replied. “The same thought occurred to me as we passed by.”
Anniversary
Moscow
Another anniversary had passed and still there was no promotion, no pay raise, nor official commendations. Tatiana Andreyev had been both loyal and a hard worker. After almost three years in her position as a photo analyst, none of what she had been promised materialized. She had distinguished herself far more than the other girls who shared her cubicle, yet the pats on the back from her immediate supervisor and promises of commendations had still produced nothing. Her position and status were exactly as they had been the first day she joined Soviet intelligence. The other girls seemed not to have noticed such oversights. Their lives were filled with the distractions of boyfriends, romance, and marriage. Not that those things were not important to Tatiana, but she saw them as complementary to her desire to succeed in her own right. For more than a year, Tatiana had been keeping a list of every report she had submitted to her supervisor, noting the date, time, and particulars. Every report elicited the same response: “Well done, Comrade. Your good work will be noted and rewarded.”
Tatiana summoned her courage and went to her supervisor. She presented the handwritten note her supervisor had attached to the receipt of her latest report.
“When, Comrade Supervisor?”
“What?” The elder woman scowled.
Tatiana placed the handwritten note on her supervisor’s desk. “I mean no disrespect, Comrade Supervisor, but you have encouraged me with your supportive words for almost three years and nothing has changed.”
The woman pulled off her glasses secured by a chain and let them fall about her neck. “Are you accusing me of impropriety?” The woman’s cold grey eyes narrowed.
“I am not. Yet nothing has come of my many reports. I have kept a record of day and time.”
“You keep records?”
Tatiana nodded.
“Comrade, you will excuse me for a moment.”
Tatiana watched her supervisor go to her desk and pick up the telephone. After a brief conversation, she returned to the photo analyst, whose knees were knocking.
“We have an appointment with First Chief Directorate Shubin. Collect your documents and meet me outside of his office in fifteen minutes.”
Tatiana felt positively sick to her stomach. Shakily she made her way to the ladies’ room and patted her face with cold water. What had she done? What had she been thinking? Could she run away? No, she had made her bed. She had no choice but to follow through. Perhaps Director Shubin would understand, after all he had a reputation for fairness.
Fifteen minutes later Tatiana Andreyev found herself standing in front of Director Shubin’s desk.
Tatiana’s supervisor wasted no time getting to the point.
“Comrade Director, this young woman is Tatiana Andreyev. She is assigned to photo analysis. She believes I have treated her unfairly, that my commendations of her work have been insincere.”
Tatiana felt as if she would faint.
Shubin sighed. He had little patience for these intra-agency personnel squabbles. He would have dismissed the old crone immediately were it not for the fact that she was the wife of a senior official. Even though he himself was more senior, it wasn’t wise to make enemies, as this attractive young woman had already done for herself.
“What have you to say for yourself, Comrade?”
Without placing blame, Tatiana made her case to Director Shubin. It was a matter of fairness.
“Comrade Supervisor, let us step outside for a moment.”
Shubin already knew what his answer would have to be. He needed some fresh air and to send this most disagreeable old woman on her way. She offended him as much as the filthy Turkish cigars he was forced to smoke.
When the office door closed behind her, Tatiana’s legs buckled. She grabbed the edge of the director’s desk for support, accidentally knocking over a small photo frame. Nervously she picked up the photograph. She stared at the image of the smiling young woman. Years of training immediately set the wheels of her vast photographic memory in motion. It was a face she had seen before. She returned the photograph to its place on the director’s desk and froze the image of the young woman in her mind, filing it away in a temporary folder.
Shubin reentered his office. Tatiana turned
to face her superior.
“Comrade, an organization such as ours depends on unquestioned loyalty. That you have called into question the actions of your immediate supervisor raise concerns about the quality and depth of your loyalty to the state. Reward is in the work we do here; we do not work for reward. You are compensated appropriately, and you are commended for your good work. You are due no obligation beyond that. I will not recommend disciplinary action. You may be sure, however, that you have made an enemy of your supervisor, and that will be discipline enough. You are dismissed.”
Tatiana thanked the director and returned to her floor. She wanted to cry, but that would have to wait until she got home. She would not give her supervisor the satisfaction of seeing her tears. As for Shubin, without question he could have treated her more harshly. His talk of loyalty and intrinsic reward meant nothing.
Loyalty was reciprocal. Reward fostered loyalty. You could not demand of others what you were not willing to give. Angry as she was with herself for being naive, Tatiana was angrier with Shubin and the state.
Over the next several days Tatiana replayed the image of the smiling girl in the photograph over and over in her mind. At last she found what she was looking for. It was a photo and article from The Times six years earlier. Ellen Sharpe, a female employee of the de Havilland Aircraft Company, had been arrested on charges of industrial espionage. Her arrest came after a lengthy investigation into the passing of highly classified aircraft designs to the Soviets. An unnamed and unidentified Soviet agent contacted Miss Sharpe during two known holiday visits to Paris shortly after the war. As of Miss Sharpe’s sentencing, the identity of the Soviet agent remained a mystery.
Tatiana studied the photograph of the young woman for some time. She went so far as to make a copy of the photo and take it home with her. She felt a kinship with the young woman serving time in a British prison. In some way, wasn’t she herself a prisoner in the windowless basement of the Lubyanka Building? She had no future. Hadn’t they both had a right to expect more from Arkady Shubin?
She imagined those carefree days in Paris. How alive Ellen Sharpe must have felt. She thought about the thousands of photographs she had analyzed over the years. There were images of exotic locations, intriguing people, and wonderful fashions. Tatiana Andreyev arrived at a decision.
Sherlock Holmes and The Roswell Incident Page 7