The Case of the Displaced Detective

by Stephanie Osborn

  “Hurts, huh?” Williams remarked sympathetically.

  “Yeah, Will,” Skye admitted. “I don’t seem to have any undergarments that fit, that don’t hurt it, either.”

  “That’s why I’m here, luv,” Tina offered gently.

  “Are you the lady agent Will arranged for, to get me the lingerie for my…?” Skye wondered, trying to give the other woman a smile.

  “That’d be me. It’s a sure thing Will here wasn’t touchin’ it. I’m Tina Tyler.” Tina grinned and held up a shopping bag. “We anticipated problems last night, and something in here ought to do the trick. C’mon, let’s go into the bedroom and see about getting you set.”

  “Right,” Williams remarked. “I’ll bring breakfast around while you take care of that.”

  Skye followed Tina into the bedroom as Williams left the saferoom. Holmes shadowed the pair.

  “Do you require assistance?” he wondered, as Tina laid a selection of bras on the bed.

  “No, but you don’t have to run off, either,” Tina noted. “I expect Dr. Chadwick might be glad to have you handy. Now come on, luv, put your arms down and let’s get you into something supportive.”

  Tina helped Skye ease out of Holmes’ dressing gown to find the scientist already clad in panties, then tisked in sympathy as she saw the bruising.

  Holmes watched as Tina placed a telfa pad over Skye’s nipple to absorb any drainage, taping it into place. Then the two women went through the bras, Tina gently ensuring Skye was properly tucked into each one before having the scientist walk about the room. Eventually they settled on one comfortable enough for Skye to move about. It proved to be a sports bra, constructed of soft, nonstretch materials that cradled her chest and permitted virtually no movement.

  “Ohh, that feels so much better,” Skye groaned her relief. “Now I can get dressed.”

  “Have you showered yet?” Tina asked. “Or do you want help?”

  “I have. Sherlock had to help, though, I’ll admit. The hot water felt really good.”

  “I bet. Mr. Holmes, do you want to help her dress, or do you want me to help, too?”

  Holmes gave a slight smile, turning to the dresser and extracting a set of clothes for Skye. He brought the lot over, handing the shirt to Tina. He tossed the jeans onto the bed. Skye sat down with his help and reached for her jeans. Holmes helped her thread her toes through the legs. But when Skye stood and tried to tug the jeans to her waist, she winced at the motion, and Tina immediately said, “Hold up, luv.”

  “Yeah, I’m bruised enough it didn’t feel too good. Kinda pulled.”

  “Hold still,” Holmes said. He squatted and grabbed the waistband of Skye’s jeans, then stood, which motion immediately slid them up her legs. He eased them over her hips, settling them in place on her body. “Will that do?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” Skye fastened her jeans and turned to Tina, who held the shirt ready for Skye to don. Holmes had chosen a men’s button-up shirt, specifically a flowing white silk poet’s shirt Williams had brought as part of their potential costuming. Holmes thought it would be easy to get onto his beloved and comfortable on her body. It was not something Holmes considered himself ever likely to wear, even as part of a disguise; but Skye had adored it and promptly appropriated it, to Williams’ amusement. Now Skye gingerly thrust her arms through the openings; Tina pulled the shirt up her arms, and Holmes buttoned it up to her throat.

  “There, my dear Skye, you are more than presentable. And here is Williams, returned with our breakfast,” Holmes noted as he heard the saferoom door open. “Thank you, Miss Tyler.”

  “No problem,” Tina smiled, leading the way into the sitting room, where Williams was laying out the couple’s breakfast. “Dr. Chadwick, call me if you need me. Will can get me in a trice.”

  “Thanks,” Skye smiled back, and the female operative left.

  * * *

  “So, Billy, what have you—” Holmes caught himself, and the high cheekbones colored; he felt the heat. “Forgive me, Williams; for a moment you put me in mind of someone I…knew once.”

  “And I bet I know who. Holmes, I’ll only forgive you if you keep calling me that.” Williams’ face lit up in delight.

  Holmes shot the younger man a sharp glance. Williams held the detective’s gaze hopefully, but after a moment a thought seemed to occur to the operative, and his face fell. Williams averted his gaze.

  “Unless you’d…rather not, of course. I’d not like to violate anyone’s…memory.”

  Holmes gave Skye a querying look. She cocked her head to the side in reply: It’s up to you. Holmes nodded, considering briefly.

  “Very well, Billy. What is for breakfast today?”

  Williams’ face lit up once more, and he lifted the lids on the tray.

  * * *

  “We managed to get some taps run on some phones,” Williams informed them over breakfast. “Jenkins, Scott, and some of the others. Agent Smith helped,” he added before Skye could protest. “Everything’s aboveboard. But we found out Major Scott and Colonel Jenkins are meeting for lunch again today.”

  “Capital!” Holmes remarked, rubbing his hands together. “I shall—”

  “No, you shall not,” Williams said quietly. “Given what we’ve found out so far about the man, I’m invoking your promise about running operations from here. In my judgement as a unit medic, neither you nor Dr. Chadwick is up to a potential confrontation yet. Jenkins is no doddering old cocker. We’re compiling a more complete dossier on him, and it turns out he was one of the wiliest strategists around. Tracking, planning, analyzing troop movements small and large, scouting. That—and martial arts—was what he taught at the Academy. He was kind of an American ninja in his day. And he’s not so old he couldn’t put up a good fight, either.”

  “I am quite capable, Williams,” Holmes informed the operative with some asperity.

  “I know you are,” Williams agreed, sadly noting the return to increased formality. “One or two more days, Mr. Holmes. That’s all I’m asking. My people are on it, I swear. You’d have let Wiggins and the Irregulars handle it. And they weren’t professionals.”

  “They were,” Holmes disputed, “for I trained them to be so, and paid them. But I see your point. Very well, Billy. I trust you will keep me informed.”

  “I’ll have my operatives miked, and the audio piped in here, if you’d prefer it.”

  Holmes considered the offer.

  “No. Simply have them record everything, as Skye and I did, and bring it back here immediately.”

  “That, I can do. As to other matters…” Williams gathered his thoughts. “We’re running a more complete background on Andrews too, and at Smith’s request, I’m using my channels to see what I can find from the Canadian side. Contact has already been made, and I expect something by tomorrow morning at the very latest.”

  “Good,” Skye murmured.

  “That reminds me,” Holmes noted, “has anyone pulled together dossiers on Dean Sheffield and Professor Haines? In all likelihood, one or the other notified Jenkins of the need to follow up on ‘Commander Sigerson,’ and I should like to see more information. Especially on Haines. There is something about that man…” He shook his head, racking his memory. “Something around the eyes, I think.”

  “Ooo, good point,” Williams admitted. “Yeah, that should’ve been done. I’ll get on it today, personally.”

  “Excellent. In that case, I suppose Skye and I are simply here recuperating today.”

  “Exactly,” Williams nodded in relief.

  “I can deal with that,” Skye agreed, subdued.

  * * *

  They did precisely that, relaxing together and allowing injured bodies and stressed minds to rally. Holmes rakishly decided proper circulation to Skye’s injury would speed healing. So he administered light massage and gentle manipulation until Skye was nearly distracted. But rather to her surprise, it did help, and by late afternoon she was feeling much better, physically and emotionally.
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br />   “My dear Skye, there was a reason why I maintained a masseur at my club in London. I have some little experience with injury obtained during… confrontation.”

  “I’ve noticed that,” Skye responded with a smirk. “But admit it—you enjoyed it.”

  “Of course I enjoyed helping you recover, my dear,” Holmes noted with a twinkle of mischief in his grey eyes. “Surely you do not think I would prefer seeing you in pain.”

  “Noooo. Of course not.” She snuggled into him on the sofa. “Your black eye is about gone now, did you know?”

  “I had noticed when shaving this morning. I must confess to some relief. Covering a bruise with makeup is much harder than creating one with the same tools.”

  * * *

  Shortly thereafter, Williams entered the saferoom, carrying an accordion folder. He moved to the armchair beside the sofa and sat.

  “All right, I have a few things here. First of all, I know the meeting between Scott and Jenkins took place, but I don’t have the recordings yet, so I don’t know what was said. I expect them later tonight. My Irregulars are tailing the respective suspects, and there seems to be another meeting taking place between Jenkins and Parker later today. So that’s slowed things down.”

  “Interesting,” Holmes muttered, slouching into the corner of the sofa and steepling his fingers. “Pray continue.”

  “I’ve got a more complete dossier on Andrews, and he IS from Canada, working with NORAD,” Williams informed them, extracting a report from the accordion folder and handing it to Skye, who sat nearer him than Holmes. She flipped through it while Holmes looked over her shoulder. “Nothing new there. It only confirms what you found out yesterday.”

  “Right,” Skye nodded.

  “Now this,” he pulled out another file, “is the dossier on the dean of admissions at the Academy. He’s got an excellent record, very devoted to the Academy, very patriotic. Happily married, two kids, real family man.”

  “Yes, he certainly seemed to be so, when I met him,” Holmes observed, once more looking over Skye’s shoulder as she perused the new report. “Again, nothing new here.”

  “Professor Haines has a checkered past, though,” Williams commented, pulling out yet another folder. “He’s been in the Air Force for about twenty-five years. His baccalaureate in physics came from the Academy; his doctorate from Cornell, also in physics. Doctoral thesis on dark matter, with specific emphasis on quantum gravitational theory. It was considered quite brilliant by his doctoral committee.” He shot a meaningful look at Skye, who frowned grimly. “It seems he’s well aware of that brilliance, though. It would appear he has a decidedly high opinion of himself. His graduate advisor, and several of his service commanding officers, noted a distinct tendency to consider himself superior to most if not all of those around him, especially in the matter of intellect and strategy. One C.O. felt he bordered on narcissistic.” He paused, reading a bit further, then continued.

  “A few years ago he got into serious trouble. He’s single, and it seems he had a live-in girlfriend while stationed at Beale. They got in a major tiff over her cat. Evidently he shot the cat, and she got upset and tried to get him in Dutch over it. They couldn’t get him for that, because he claimed he was simply euthanizing a sick animal, and the JAG couldn’t prove he wasn’t. But they did get him for conduct unbecoming, wrongful cohabitation—and indecent language, when he was called on the cohabitation charge. Looks like he was lucky not to get court-martialed,” Williams decided, skimming over the report once more before handing it to Skye.

  “Wow,” Skye muttered. “If he’s the professor Jenkins and Scott were talking about the first day I watched ‘em, I see what they meant.”

  “How did he avoid court-martial?” Holmes wondered curiously, trying to flip the pages Skye held in her hands.

  “Mm…looks like he accepted a reprimand from his commanding officer instead,” she noted, shuffling the pages. “Permanent black mark in his record, but nothing more serious. It was obvious the girlfriend was out for retaliation over the cat, and living together isn’t really looked upon too harshly anymore…”

  “And his record’s been clean ever since,” Williams pointed out. “I’d say this Jenkins is trying to blackmail Haines, by bringing up his past record and maybe trying to manufacture something.”

  “Oh?” Holmes’ head shot up, and the grey eyes shone with interest. “You have something on Jenkins?”

  “Oh boy, do I. Have a look at this.”

  Williams handed the pair the last report in his accordion folder. Holmes leaned forward, taking the report and thumbing through it. Suddenly the detective let out a low whistle.

  “This is interesting. So General Morris is involved.”

  “Only indirectly,” Williams pointed out.

  “What?” Skye said, shocked, trying to look over Holmes’ shoulder. “What about General Morris?”

  “It seems, my dear, Colonel Jenkins’ marriage wasn’t quite the romantic idyll he would have everyone believe. His wife Sarah apparently had a tendency to…” The detective paused, searching for a delicate way to put the matter.

  “Stray,” Williams said bluntly. “She had an eye for other men. One of those men was General Morris.”

  “But the General…he wouldn’t…” Skye’s eyes widened.

  “And he did not,” Holmes agreed, reading the dossier. “He maintained himself a gentleman throughout. But evidently after Jenkins retired, he found out about his wife’s infatuation, or perhaps I should say, series of infatuations. There were…words. And a private accusation of Morris as well, I gather.” He flipped back through the dossier. “His wife died suddenly, shortly thereafter. His children—if they really were his, as apparently he was beginning to suspect their paternity—became estranged immediately following the funeral.”

  “You know, I need to see if there’s a medical examiner’s report on his wife,” Williams pondered. “That might make interesting reading.”

  “Indeed. Perhaps you might see to that, Billy. It would be capital to have the coroner’s report to examine over supper.”

  Skye snickered. When Williams and Holmes glanced at her, she explained.

  “Only this bunch would think a coroner’s report makes good dinnertime reading.”

  Holmes ignored the remark, but Williams grinned.

  “I’ll go make some calls right away. Smith can probably scare it up in nothing flat,” Williams said, hopping up and hurrying out. Skye sobered, and became lost in thought.

  * * *

  Holmes watched as Skye sat in the corner of the couch, mulling over what they had learned.

  “I wonder if maybe this Haines was one of Sarah Jenkins’ conquests,” she mused aloud. “It could explain how Jenkins got a hold on him.”

  “Possibly. It also explains why he might identify Project: Tesseract as a target. It would be revenge against General Morris, if he believes Morris had an affair with his wife.”

  “Whether Morris really did or not. So…what? He’s using his contacts from his Academy days to pull people in? Is he blackmailing them, or just playing on his relationships?”

  “Probably a bit of both,” Holmes decided judiciously. “If I were Jenkins, I would play the innocent, trading on past friendships and loyalties as much as possible. Blackmail can be a risky business, because it only works if the intended victim is afraid. If one’s target has nothing to lose, or is naturally prone to defiance or courage, it can miscarry.”

  “And that’s probably how he’s got Haines as his science advisor, to ensure he can throw a monkey wrench into things.” Skye shook her head. “Another black mark, and Haines’ career would be over. Ergo, Jenkins has an instant scientific expert.”

  * * *

  “So Haines’ background is sufficient to understand your apparatus?”

  “Afraid so. This Haines looks like a really smart guy. If he hadn’t hosed up his military career so badly with that girl, he might’ve made a real name for himself in the mathem
atical and physical sciences.”

  Holmes drew a deep breath, his eyes suddenly widening as if in recognition.

  “Call Williams and tell him to dig further into Haines’ background. This definitely bears watching.”

  “It sure does,” Skye agreed, reaching for the phone. “Sherlock?”

  “Yes, my dear?”

  “Do you have a feeling all hell’s about to break loose, real soon?”

  “I do,” Holmes nodded grimly. “A…gut feeling, shall we say.”

  * * *

  Williams came back that night with the coroner’s report while they were eating dinner.

  “This is interesting,” he waved the report while Skye and Holmes dug into large helpings of lasagna. “Turns out Sarah Jenkins died in an accident.”

  “What kind of accident?” Skye wondered, seeing Holmes had a mouthful of lasagna, and reading the desired question in the grey eyes.

  “She took a bad tumble downstairs,” Williams said soberly. “Broke her neck. The coroner’s inquest ruled it accidental death, because Sarah Jenkins had a medical history of a bad hip, obtained during a difficult childbirth.”

  “Is there any indication where Peter Jenkins was at the time of death?” Holmes got out around a bite of pasta and cheese.

  “He was there, in the house. But he claimed to have been asleep, and blood tests showed he had sedatives in his system. According to his personal physician, he was so distraught over the revelation of his wife’s affairs, he couldn’t sleep, so the doctor prescribed sleeping pills.”

  “That is an easy enough alibi to reproduce,” Holmes observed. “I could cause myself to appear to have been sedated in such a circumstance, without even needing to know much about your modern soporifics.”

  “So he probably bumped off his wife and got away with it, is what you’re saying, Sherlock,” Skye verified.

  “Precisely, my dear Skye. The picture being painted of our sainted Colonel Jenkins is looking darker all the time.”

  * * *

  Williams discussed the case with the pair until they finished dinner. Then he gathered the trays and departed. Holmes got his pipe and curled in the corner of the couch, meditating silently as a cloud of fragrant smoke slowly enveloped him. Skye slumped on the couch near him, arms folded, lost in thought.