The Case of the Displaced Detective

by Stephanie Osborn

Skye scooted over into the far corner of the seat and hunkered down.

  Holmes mulled over her response, understanding his independence had just alienated his liaison, and finding himself surprised at her perception. To his knowledge, he had not provided any verbal or facial cues with which she could have deduced his thoughts. Finally he offered, by way of a tiny opening, “Homesick? Why should you think that?”

  “I’m not blind,” Skye retorted. “You may have the best Great Stone Face in twenty different continuums, but you’ve still got expressive eyes. I can tell when someone’s hurting, Holmes.”

  He pondered that before she added, “Besides, I saw the way you reacted back at the homestead. It was a shock to you, to see what you considered a contemporary dwelling on display as an historic museum.”

  There was a long silence, punctuated only by the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves and the occasional squeak of the buggy’s springs. Holmes considered his liaison’s words.

  “Yes,” he admitted finally, if succinctly.

  “Tell me what you need me to do, and I’ll do it.” Skye took a deep breath as her body language opened, relieved and ready to act.

  Holmes shook his head with resignation, watching the tails in front of him swish in gentle rhythm to the hoofbeats. When he answered, his voice was passive and gentle.

  “I do not believe there is anything to be done, Skye. That is why I said it was nothing over which to concern yourself. It is, quite simply, something I shall have to work out for myself.”

  It was Skye’s turn to wince, then fall silent. Holmes glanced at her sharply after several long minutes.

  “Now it is your turn,” he noted into the quiet. “You can either ‘fess up,’ or I can tell you what you are thinking. The choice is yours.”

  Skye shook her head, not looking at him. In truth, she couldn’t trust herself to speak, Holmes realized, seeing the taut jaw and the hard swallow she made.

  “Quit blaming yourself, Skye,” he murmured.

  Ahead, Pikes Peak’s pink crest was burnished with gold, as the sun set behind them. A small elk herd emerged from the trees to their left, crossed the road some distance ahead of them, and moved into the field to the south. The quality of nature’s silence was almost palpable. Holmes heard Skye draw a deep breath.

  * * *

  “Why shouldn’t I blame myself?” she asked in a low voice. “It’s bad enough when a person completely screws up her own life. It’s unconscionable when she does it to someone else’s life.” She paused to swallow the large lump in her throat, then resumed before Holmes could reply. “I’m so lost on this I don’t know which way is up. I never dreamed of such a no-win scenario before. There was—is—simply no good choice. In the few days since I dragged you here, I swear there have been moments when I wished to God I’d never been born.”

  * * *

  Holmes halted the buggy, shocked at the raw misery in her voice.

  “Why?” he wondered, turning to her. Skye gave him a rueful, despondent excuse for a smile.

  “Because then maybe the multiverse could have gone on its merry way without my interference,” she admitted, glancing down shamefacedly. “Every decision I’ve ever made has led to this point. I’ve begun to realize I inadvertently played God without the requisite omniscience. And now you’re paying for it.”

  Holmes transferred the reins to one hand, reaching out with the other to take Skye’s near hand in his.

  “Listen to me carefully, Skye,” he told her earnestly. “You cannot regret your entire life, for that would be to regret helping people like Dr. Hughes. We cannot always know the full consequences of our choices beforehand; we can only do our best to make the wisest and most just decisions possible with the information available to us at the time. And of the options you have had available to you in this ‘no-win scenario,’ the one you chose is the one I would have chosen, in your place. Despite its difficulty, and despite my somewhat uncertain future, in my opinion, Skye, you chose correctly.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, searching his face in the gathering twilight.

  “I am absolutely certain,” he said calmly. Holmes looked full into her eyes with his piercing gaze. He squeezed her hand.

  Then he took up the reins again and they headed home.

  Chapter 5—The Game’s Afoot, At Last

  ON MONDAY MORNING, THE DETECTIVE ATTIRED himself in an RAF uniform and became Commander Holmes once more. He rode down the pass with Skye and they made their way to General Morris’ office. Colonel Jones waited with Morris, and both of them had paperwork ready.

  Holmes and Skye sat down at Morris’ small conference table with the two officers, and Morris handed Holmes a formal business visa and a permanent base identification badge.

  “There,” the general noted. “First things first. This will take care of the little matter of your presence here, and getting on and off the base. You’re legal in the States until such time as you’re legal in Great Britain, which should take only another week or two. After that, if you want to, you can move to London. If you decide to stay here in the States, let me know and I’ll have that converted to a work visa, which is essentially permanent. Take care of that thing. I pulled more strings in the Pentagon to get it than Dr. Chadwick’s found so far in the whole damned multiverse.”

  Holmes nodded acknowledgement and thanks, accepting the document and tucking it away in an inside pocket. The picture badge was clipped to his lapel, replacing the unescorted-visitor T-badge he’d been utilizing. Jones took possession of the T-badge.

  “General Morris,” Jones suggested, “I know you went to a lot of trouble on that, but given the contract I’m about to sign with him, I wonder if a diplomatic visa might be more in order.”

  “Good point,” Morris decided. “I’ll look into it.”

  “Speaking of London,” Holmes said, still busy adjusting his uniform, “I know I have no colleagues there now. But how has it changed…or rather, how different is it, from the London I knew?”

  “I dunno, Holmes. I’ve never been there.” Skye looked blank.

  “I have,” Morris said. “Parts of it you wouldn’t recognize at all, Holmes. Got bombed out during World War II and had to be rebuilt. Plus there’s ongoing ‘modernization.’ Sections of it still look Victorian, but I don’t know if it’s the SAME Victorian, if you get me. The streets and whatnot may be entirely different from the ones you knew, even if they have the same name.” He shrugged. “You’ll have to go over there and look for yourself, I guess. Without having been to ‘your’ London, I don’t think any of us can answer that for you.”

  “I understand,” Holmes nodded. “What about descendants of my former colleagues?”

  * * *

  “They didn’t exist here, Holmes, remember?” Skye said softly. “Just like you didn’t. Except for Conan Doyle, and I don’t know about his family. I’ll have to do some research.” She shook her head.

  Holmes sighed.

  “Okay, Hank, it’s your turn,” Morris said.

  “Right,” Jones said, pushing over a small stack of papers. “Here’s the contract I promised you, Holmes. Top going rate, assuming forty hours a week standard minimum, with overtime automatically authorized, plus any large incurred expenses. Paycheck every two weeks, with an advance up front for setup. The contract is to commence immediately, and may be terminated upon joint agreement by all contracting parties. We added a nominal fee for Dr. Chadwick’s assistance, as well, essentially denoting her as your employee. I hope that doesn’t cause offense, Doctor, but it seemed the best way to handle it legally.”

  “No, I’m not offended,” Skye waved a hand as Holmes read through the contract. “Y’all didn’t even have to do that.”

  “Now, Skye,” Morris pointed out, “when the project goes on hiatus, you’ll be glad of it. I’d been trying to work out how to ensure you met your bills, but I knew you wouldn’t accept being paid to be Mr. Holmes’ liaison.” Skye answered him with a firm nod, steeling her jaw, and
Morris added, “Jones and I figured out the fee between us. Turns out the basic fee for a private investigator in this part of the country is less than what you make normally, but close enough to what we estimated your expenses to be, to work, at least for a little while. You should break even.”

  Holmes blinked, then shot Skye a keen glance.

  “We will discuss this matter later, Skye.”

  “Don’t worry, any of you,” Skye murmured, keeping her expression neutral. “My finances are in good shape. I…um, the sale went through recently.”

  “Ah,” Morris replied, and he and Jones nodded their understanding.

  Holmes, however, looked puzzled, and Skye added succinctly, “I sold some property in Texas.”

  * * *

  “Oh,” the detective nodded. Likely cutting the last ties after moving here, he decided, unconcerned. “Very good. But we shall still discuss finances, Skye. After all, I am your boarder now, and it appears I will have some income.” He returned his attention to Jones before Skye could answer, and said, “Now, Colonel, what do you need me to do?”

  “Well, you need to sign this here…and here…” Jones flipped through the contract, “and initial it here.”

  Holmes pulled out the cartridge fountain pen he had obtained while shopping with Skye the day before, and placed his full signature—William Sherlock Scott Holmes—where indicated with a businesslike flourish.

  “Smart move, by the way, using your full name for legal work,” Jones averred. “Since your ‘literary persona’ only goes by the name Sherlock, it helps maintain your cover story.”

  “Excellent,” Morris beamed. “Glad to have you aboard, Holmes.”

  “Thank you, General, Colonel,” Holmes answered. The three men shook hands.

  “Now we need to work out one other thing. Since you’re going to be getting a regular paycheck now, you need to have a bank account to put it in.” Morris pushed several forms across the table. “This will set up an account for you at the Pikes Peak Credit Union. Colonel Jones and I took the liberty of filling out most of the background for you, but take a quick look over it and make sure there’s nothing you’re unhappy with. Then sign it where the X is. The second sheet authorizes direct deposit, so your fees will go directly from our bank account into yours.” Holmes recognized that Morris was likely simplifying, but it got the concept across. “In a few days, you’ll get your personal checks in the mail, and also an ATM card. Skye can explain that to you.”

  “Yeah, General, no problem,” Skye agreed.

  “It looks as if you have closely followed the cover story Skye and I developed.” Holmes nodded as he studied the entries on the form.

  “Pretty much,” Jones agreed. “We used Dr. Chadwick’s report extensively, elaborating on it a smidge when necessary.”

  “How long will this take to be in effect?” Holmes asked as he signed the form, the signature card, and the direct deposit authorization.

  “End of the day,” Jones said. “We pushed the issue, with a little, uh, ‘help,’ and the credit union here is used to that from us. I’ve arranged to have the initial advance deposited to your account immediately, so you’ll have funds to draw from for your investigation. Oh, and your safe was moved into Dr. Chadwick’s office early this morning. I’ll come by in an hour with the combination and copies of the investigation reports.”

  “Excellent,” Holmes noted. “Is there anything else which you require?”

  “One more John Hancock,” Jones observed, pulling out another form.

  “Pardon me?” Holmes frowned.

  Skye leaned forward and muttered, “Signature. It’s an American term. John Hancock was the very first signer of the Declaration of Independence, and he signed it with a deliberately large flourish.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  “I told you Skye was the perfect liaison, Mr. Holmes.” Morris beamed.

  “You did. Now what else requires my signature?”

  “This is the security agreement,” Jones passed the document to him. “Read it, sign it, and I’ll authorize you to have a look at the other projects on the base, so you can ascertain what this little clandestine group might be after.”

  Holmes spent several minutes perusing the document, ensuring he fully comprehended its import; then he added his signature to it as well and passed it back to Jones.

  “All done,” Morris said, briskly rubbing his hands. “Go ye forth and kick some ass, Mr. Holmes.”

  “I give you my word, I shall endeavour to do so, General. Skye, are you ready, my dear?” Holmes’ lips twitched in amusement at the general’s order, and he stood.

  “Yup.” Skye stood.

  They took their leave of the two officers and headed for the office they now shared.

  * * *

  After the pair left, Morris nodded at the door.

  “That is gonna be one helluva team.”

  “I think you’re right, General. We put that investigation into very good hands.”

  “Does it occur to you they make a nice couple?” Morris mused.

  “I wouldn’t go there if I were you, General,” Jones warned. “I know you’re fond of Chadwick, but the notion wouldn’t cut it. Have you read very much about Mr. Holmes? Any of the stories?”

  “A few. But just the ones Chadwick brought me last week.”

  “Sherlock Holmes isn’t a James Bond type. He’s more of a Mr. Spock type.”

  “What, no emotions?” Morris scoffed.

  “Well, logic and reasoning over emotion, at least. He probably finds Dr. Chadwick’s intellect of more interest than her body. And you know Dr. Chadwick hasn’t been…the same…since her loss. Heaven help you if you tried to match make those two. You’d have more luck trying to set up two supercomputers on a blind date.”

  “Damn,” Morris said, disappointed.

  * * *

  When they arrived at their office, they found Holmes’ new document safe—really a heavy-duty filing cabinet outfitted with a combination lock—sat stolidly beside Skye’s. An additional desk chair had appeared as well. Holmes went to the coffeemaker and made the morning’s pot of fresh coffee. Skye sat down at her desk and checked her phone messages, hooked up her laptop and checked email. She replied to several emails, then picked up the phone.

  “Cait? Skye. Yeah, great. Yeah, I know. No, I have to stay in the office for a little. Colonel Jones is coming in an hour to read me and Holmes in on Holmes’ new safe, then I can come down. Yeah, if you want to start the warm-ups, go for it. I’ll get down there as soon as I can. Okay, see you in awhile.”

  By the time she hung up the phone, Holmes was standing beside her, two cups of coffee in hand. He offered her one, and she took it, sipping it.

  “You make a damn good cup of coffee, sir.”

  “Thank you most kindly, my dear. I have observed a master of the activity sufficiently in recent days to have learned, I suppose.” Holmes chuckled.

  “I don’t know about that, but you sure already know how I like my coffee.” Skye laughed.

  “And you, my tea. It is all a matter of observation.”

  “Oh, by the way, speaking of such things, congratulations. You’re well on your way to becoming the top detective on the planet, and probably a very rich man into the bargain.”

  * * *

  “I beg your pardon?” Holmes said, startled. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you’re way the hell better than other detectives. Once we get you up to speed on modern forensics, you’ll run circles around other private investigators. You can command top dollar, and if you keep at least one case always on hand, you’ll pull in almost two hundred thousand dollars a year. If you have several cases working simultaneously, you could probably easily bump that to over a quarter-million, maybe more.”

  Holmes stared at Skye for a long moment, mind whirling, then grabbed his chair and sat down.

  “Great Scot,” he murmured blankly. “And I thought the King of Bohemia was generous.”

  �
�Well, I dunno. It’s all a matter of inflation, and I don’t know about the exchange between dollar and pound, either in your time or the current rate. It might not be much different, relative to the cost of living.” Skye bit her lip.

  “Still,” Holmes murmured, stunned, “it is a princely sum.”

  “It’s a nice setup, yeah.”

  After a few moments to absorb it, Holmes looked at his companion, who was gazing thoughtfully into space.

  “Skye, would I offend by asking how much you earn?”

  Skye came back to the present, then gave an embarrassed laugh.

  “Not THAT much. I make a comfortable living, but scientists don’t get paid the really big bucks, contrary to popular belief. I make probably two to three times what I’d make in a university setting. A little more than half what you’ve been offered.”

  “And soon you will be on an unpaid leave of indeterminate extent,” he muttered, disturbed. How quickly the tables can turn…

  “Holmes, don’t worry about it. I already told you, my finances are okay.”

  “But Skye, I can afford to pay board now.”

  Skye met his eyes, and he saw a glimmer of something akin to pride in the blue eyes, something that might turn into a spark of anger if pushed too far.

  “We already had a deal, Holmes. I don’t change my terms just because the other person has a run of good luck. Let it go.” Before Holmes could respond, a knock landed on the door. “Come in,” Skye said.

  The door opened, and Colonel Jones entered, a grossly overstuffed accordion folder under one arm. “Well, folks, here we go. I’ve got the combination right here, and enough forensics and crime scene reports to get you well under way.”

  Soon he’d taught them the new safe’s combination, and both he and Skye had explained to Holmes the formalities of a document safe, including signing documents in and out, and never leaving it unattended when open. Jones placed the accordion file into the top drawer, extracting the first report and handing it to Holmes.

  “Here. They’re in the order you need to read them already,” Jones noted. “Have at it. As of this moment, you’re officially on the case.”