The Case of the Displaced Detective

by Stephanie Osborn

  “Yeah, as a matter of fact,” Sandy recalled. “Few weeks back—‘long about when Ben was sayin’ he’d bumped off that guy at Dome Rock—he had a coupla real nasty scratches on his left arm. Looked like claw marks or somethin’, from a mighty big dog.”

  Holmes exchanged eloquent glances with Chadwick. Smith raised an eyebrow.

  “Is there anything unusual about his walk?” Holmes continued, and Sandy laughed.

  “I’d say so. At first I thought something was wrong with his leg, the way he minces around like some pretty young thing. Then I thought maybe he went both ways. But no, he’s straight and healthy, he just sashays around. Something about bein’ raised with all women or such.”

  Holmes wasn’t sure whether to be interested or impatient at the level of detail the woman was providing, but at any rate, he had the answers he sought—and one other question.

  “How delicate is his touch?”

  “Say what?” Sandy queried, confused, apparently wondering if the detective wanted sexual details.

  “His touch,” Holmes reiterated, then clarified. “How sensitive is his touch? Does he have enough delicacy of manipulation to be able to, say, harm without killing?”

  Sandy paled at Holmes’ illustration.

  “Yeah, I’d think so. He’s got…well, let’s say he’s real strong, but he knows exactly how to handle it. And you can take that any way you like,” she said, glancing defiantly at Smith.

  Smith and Williams both snorted; Skye appeared uncomfortable, but Holmes looked satisfied.

  “Agent Smith, might we have a word in private?”

  “Certainly,” Smith replied. “Ms. Rhodes, would you excuse us?”

  “Sure thing,” Sandy answered readily. “You already promised me immunity, so I don’t care. You just lemme know what you want me to do, an’ I’ll do it. I sure don’t want a serial killer in my clientele.”

  * * *

  Smith led the way into an adjoining conference room, followed by Holmes, Chadwick, and Williams, who closed the connecting door. They all sat at the conference table.

  “I knew it, I knew it. We found Caveman,” Skye noted in satisfaction.

  “Yes, my dear, it appears so,” Holmes agreed. Smith nodded, and Williams looked pleased. “The question becomes how best to handle this. I should like to extract information from him on his colleagues without anyone being the wiser, if we can. In that manner, we have a hope of rounding up the entire ring before they are aware we know of them. Or at least, before they are aware we know specifics.”

  “How would you like to do that?” Smith said, his tone and expression neutral.

  Holmes’ gaze defocused as he applied his mind to the matter. Skye shot a troubled glance at him, then looked at Smith, who met her eyes calmly.

  “There’s only one real answer, isn’t there?” she offered softly. “I look like her.”

  Holmes started in surprise, his head snapping around to stare at Skye.

  “Are you volunteering, Agent?” Smith asked quietly.

  “…Yes.”

  “Oh, dear God, Skye…” Holmes breathed, dismayed. “You cannot mean it, my dear.”

  “Do you have a better idea, Sherlock?” Skye asked candidly. “Sandy’s no investigator, and we don’t have time to train her. If we use her, we’ll either tip off the ring, or get her killed.”

  Holmes stared at her, knowing she was right. God help me, he thought, wretched. How far are you willing to take this charade, my dear heart?

  * * *

  Skye read the look in his eyes and laid her hand on his arm, squeezing gently.

  “No farther than I can help, I promise,” she told him, then turned to Smith and Williams, her expression growing hard and firm. “And I expect backup to ensure it.”

  “You’ve got it,” Smith agreed immediately. Williams’ jaw set grimly, and he nodded in determination.

  Skye turned back to Holmes, who was struggling to hide his distress. The grey eyes were wide, the pupils dilated.

  “Sherlock…I’m going to need your help to do this. You’ll help me, won’t you? Please?”

  * * *

  Holmes’ mouth was dry, but he managed to nod.

  “You have it, my dear. Without doubt.”

  “Good,” Smith said briskly. “Now let’s go see when Andrews usually comes by, and we’ll get everything set up.”

  * * *

  Three days later, everyone but Williams sat in Sandy’s efficiency flat—the one she used for “business”—late in the afternoon. The apartment was minimalist, but feminine; shades of cream and white with pink accents. The central feature was of course the huge bed, but there was a dressing table to one side, and a little sitting area with armchairs and a small accent table near the door. They’d been there since morning, and were in the process of readying things for the only assignation Sandy had scheduled for the day, on Smith’s instructions.

  Holmes completed the finishing touches on Skye’s makeup as she sat on a stool before him in his dressing gown.

  “All right,” he grumbled, stepping back and surveying his handiwork. “Skye, meet Sandy.” He gestured brusquely at the mirror as he switched off the overhead light to soften the room lighting and render the makeup less noticeable; Skye glanced into the mirror and did a double-take.

  “Not bad,” the real Sandy grinned, watching over Holmes’ shoulder. “We could be twins now. Let’s see the whole package, sweetie. Take off that robe. Ben’ll wanta see some skin.”

  Holmes clenched his jaw and watched as Skye shyly doffed his dressing gown. Underneath she wore a royal blue satin merry widow and matching panties, with gartered stockings and spike-heeled pumps. Unintentionally Smith let out a low whistle, his eyes dilating, then flushed, embarrassed, and murmured an apology. Holmes swallowed once, but said nothing.

  “That’ll do, honey,” Sandy decided. “Just remember everything I told you, and you’ll do fine. If he wants a piece of action, tell him you’re on your period and cramping pretty bad. That usually does it for him.”

  Skye blushed fiercely.

  “’Usually’?” Holmes muttered hoarsely.

  * * *

  Sandy glanced sharply at Holmes, puzzled, having caught something revealing in his tone. The detective returned her frank gaze calmly; but the prostitute saw one single flash of pain in the grey eyes and suddenly understood.

  “Aw, shit, why didn’tcha tell me you two were a thing?” she demanded.

  “Because it doesn’t matter,” Skye answered for Holmes, as Smith watched. “We have to get this done.”

  “And it must be done by someone who already knows the right questions to ask,” Holmes agreed, subdued. “We cannot afford mistakes.”

  “It’s that important, you’d risk your lady gettin’ raped?”

  Holmes half-turned, closing his eyes.

  “It isn’t his call,” Skye replied, firm but gentle. “It’s mine. And yes, it’s that important.” She laid a hand on Holmes’ arm, squeezing tight. “It’s all right, hon,” she promised him. “I’ll be fine. I can handle myself. You know that.”

  “Yes, I know. I also know he is larger and more powerful than you are, and should he decide to…”

  “Then y’all are gonna be listening, and come running.”

  “We don’t want it to come to that,” Smith noted. “We want him to walk out of here completely unaware of what happened.”

  “Everything will be fine. I have a few tricks up my…” Skye glanced down at her attire, and changed what she’d been going to say to, “garter belt.”

  * * *

  Holmes remained silent. He wasn’t remotely happy, but he understood the situation. With the espionage ring after the tesseract, potentially all of spacetime could be threatened. As deep as were his feelings for Skye, the potential consequences, should they fail to protect the device, didn’t bear considering. The destruction of Everything, versus the virtue of The Woman. The choice I am given is untenable.

  “Okay, th
e surveillance camera’s in place. Let’s get you wired up,” Smith said. “Holmes, you have that receiver pack snug in her hair?”

  “Yes,” Holmes said curtly, gesturing at the golden chignon clinging to Skye’s head. “I anchored it quite securely. It was not large, so the matter presented little difficulty.”

  “Good. Skye, here’s the earpiece,” Smith said, holding up a minute electronic apparatus. “Sit down and let me tuck it into your ear. It’ll feel a little funny at first.”

  Skye sat at Sandy’s dressing table and held very still while Smith slipped the tiny device into her ear canal, where it vanished from sight.

  “Okay, good. Now Skye, I’m going to call Williams in the surveillance van in the alley, and he’s going to do a communications check. He’ll start out with the volume as low as it’ll go, and I want you to tell me when you can clearly hear him.” Skye nodded, and Smith took his radio from his belt. “Williams, Smith. Begin broadcast comm check.”

  After several seconds, during which the others could hear nothing, Skye murmured, “Bingo.”

  “Hold it there,” Smith radioed. “Excellent. Now let’s get you wired for broadcast.”

  “No,” Skye shook her head. “Don’t put the microphone on me. Hide it in the room.”

  Holmes and Smith tensed.

  “That’s not optimal,” Smith pointed out.

  “I know, but neither is him finding it on me, if he decides to get…‘friendly.’”

  “Skye, wear the microphone,” Holmes pressed. “We must hear the conversation, and you must be safe.”

  “I know you’re worried, hon. But had you rather have me back…damaged, but alive? Or not have me back at all?” Skye pointed out. “These guys are playing for keeps. He’s already killed once that we know of, maybe three times. He won’t hesitate to take me out if he finds out. His gun will be ON him, at least until I get him…er, well, you know. Mine is hidden behind the bed.”

  The Woman’s logic is impeccable as usual, damn it. Holmes closed his eyes, then nodded.

  “Alive,” he acknowledged.

  Smith nodded reluctant agreement, then surveyed the room with a practiced eye. Soon the transmitter pack was hidden behind the nightstand, and the microphone secreted under the lip of its tabletop.

  “Just remember not to set anything down here, or you’ll deafen us all,” Smith noted. He radioed Williams. “Microphone in place. Comm check.” He released the radio key, then said quietly into the air, “Test 1…2…3…4…5…”

  “He reads you loud and clear,” Skye informed him.

  “Good.” Smith drew a deep breath. “Skye, are you ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be. Sandy, how long?”

  “’Bout half an hour. An’ he’s pretty punctual.” Sandy glanced at the bedside clock.

  “Then you better go ahead and get clear. It wouldn’t do for Ben to see two Sandys running around here.” Skye nodded.

  “Good point,” Smith chuckled. “C’mon, guys, let’s go.”

  “Smith, can you give us a few minutes’ privacy?” Skye caught Holmes’ hand.

  “Sure. Williams, you get that?” Smith looked back and forth between the couple for a moment.

  “He did. He’s shutting down the volume and video until Sher— uh, Holmes comes out.” Skye nodded.

  “Okay. Holmes, we’ll see you in the van in five,” Smith said, and he and Sandy left, closing the door firmly behind them.

  * * *

  Skye took a deep breath, trying to settle herself as Holmes watched.

  “I gotta get into character soon. But I wanted to tell you something first.”

  “And what would that be?” he whispered, coming to stand in front of her and taking her hands.

  “No matter what happens tonight, what’s in here,” Skye lifted his right hand and placed it between her breasts, against her sternum, “will always belong to you. For as long as you want it—and beyond.”

  Holmes’ breath hitched, and he pulled her close.

  “Be careful, Skye,” he breathed into her ear. “I could not bear it if anything…”

  * * *

  “I know,” she whispered, choking back fear. “That’s why I said, for as long as you want it. If…if something happens tonight…and you don’t want it…want me…anymore, I’ll understand.”

  Holmes pulled back and stared at her in shock.

  “I cannot imagine turning my back on you like that. I have defended wronged women before, Skye, women who were nothing to me. How much the more you?” He paused, and the grey eyes hardened, arms tightening around her. “If he defiles you, I WILL track him down. And it will go…most unpleasantly for him.” The last four words were ice-cold.

  * * *

  “I love you so much,” she whispered, eyes sparkling through unshed tears.

  By way of answer, Holmes pulled her head to his shoulder. He bent his head, covering her lips with his own. She sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. They remained so for long minutes, taking solace in each other for as long as they could before the covert battle would be joined. Abruptly Holmes chuckled.

  “What?”

  “You are quite alluring tonight in that little costume,” he observed, eyes twinkling mischievously. “Had we more time, I think I should consider setting my alarm clock.”

  “You could always be my previous client.” Skye giggled.

  “Ah, but should we not ring at a suitable time, matters could become unpleasant.”

  “And I know how you like to take your time,” Skye grinned briefly, then sobered. “Okay, I need to get into character.”

  “Indeed you do,” Holmes agreed, gazing down into her eyes. He allowed the instructor to resurface. “Seduce me.”

  Skye’s eyelids fluttered, and she put her fingers to the bridge of her nose in consternation.

  “At least give me a chance to shift gears, Sherlock.”

  “Very well.”

  But when Skye next raised her eyes to his, his breath caught in a blend of desire and dismay, and the instructor of detection retreated abruptly, disappearing back into Holmes’ psyche. For the blue eyes gazing at him were sly, blatantly knowing. The dusky pink lips, so soft on his only moments before, curled into a little smile, worldly, earthy. The body embracing his now teased, seeming to simultaneously press close, yet slither away. A hand feathered down his spine, seductive and stimulating.

  “Hi there,” she murmured from beneath heavy-lidded eyes, and the voice was throaty and rich. “What’ll it be tonight, sweetie?”

  Oh, dear God. Holmes swallowed, deeply disturbed; this was his Skye, but he had not known she could be so blatantly, cheaply erotic. Acting a lady is a choice, it seems, he realized. As is acting a gentleman. And as I can discard the veneer of gentility when the need arises, so, it appears, can she. But true gentility lies in the heart, and my Skye is still within. With that reassuring thought, Holmes answered the “Sandy” standing before him.

  “’Ow’s abou’ a kiss, f’r now,” he grinned, dropping readily into an East End dialect, “me loverly lit’le tart? Oi’ll be seein’ you la’er f’r th’ rest, luv.” Holmes accepted Skye’s kiss, followed closely by several others, the last the most passionate of the lot, as she clung to him. Glancing at the clock, he gently put her from him. “’Ere, luv,” he murmured, maintaining the accent, “stay safe, me darlin’, an’ if yer needs anyfink, jus’ you yell, an’ Oi’ll come a’runnin’, Oi will.”

  Holmes gathered up the dressing gown, turned, and left, refusing to look back.

  “Sandy” took a deep breath and went to the bed, stretching out on it and trying to relax.

  * * *

  Holmes paused in the corridor outside to glance about and ensure he was alone. He pulled the radio from his belt and keyed it.

  “En route.”

  There was a soft acknowledgement before he headed to the back of the building, unseen. There he moved to the nondescript panel van sitting in the alley and clambered inside
, closing the door firmly behind.

  * * *

  Within, it was a tight fit. Williams, Smith, and Sandy were already inside, and Holmes wedged his way between them to the open seat, parking himself there and taking the earphones Williams handed him, shoving them unceremoniously on his head. He could barely hear the sound of Skye humming in them, and Sandy chose that moment to giggle.

  “Your girlfriend’s good. That’s my favorite song she’s humming right now. I didn’t have any idea she’d picked up on that.”

  “Yes, Skye is very good.” Holmes smiled, his grey eyes shining with pride. Then he sobered. “Let us hope she is good enough. Let us hope we all are.”

  “Don’t worry,” Williams interjected. “I hear Sandy has a new pimp. I’m sure he’ll come along right quickly if she gets in trouble.”

  Holmes blinked. The night before, Skye had brought him up to speed on modern vice terms for this operation, or he would not have understood the statement.

  “Who is it?”

  “Me,” Williams smirked, squaring his broad shoulders.

  “Ah,” was all Holmes said. But some of the tension left his body.

  * * *

  Benjamin Andrews showed up shortly thereafter. He stood only an inch or so taller than Skye; stocky and swarthy, his bulging musculature evinced his weight training hobby. “Sandy” let him in.

  “Well, hi, sweetie,” she gushed. “What’ll it be tonight?”

  “The usual, for now, Sandy,” Andrews decided.

  “Okay, c’mere, sugar,” she invited, sitting on the bed and patting the mattress.

  Andrews moved to the bed and sat down, immediately pulling Skye into his lap and kissing her. Skye kissed back as she unbuttoned his shirt.

  * * *

  Holmes stiffened, watching the video monitor. It was partly tension—worry that Skye would be found out instantly; few things were as potentially revealing as a deep kiss. But it was also agony at watching The Woman in a passionate embrace with another man. Andrews seemed oblivious to any differences, however.

  Sandy put a hand on Holmes’ arm. When the detective glanced at her, she leaned over and pulled his earphone away from his head.

  “It’s okay,” she murmured directly into his ear, so the other men wouldn’t hear. “I saw the way she looked at you. Do you know how she’s managing to do this?”