by Dave Warner
‘Did I miss something?’
She realized Holmes was looking at her over his wonton soup. ‘What?’
‘I asked, did you find anything of interest in Dutton’s bathroom?’
It was disappointing she had been so transparent. ‘How did you know?’
‘I could say that it was because neither during our cab ride nor at any time previous were you anxiously casting about for a bathroom, yet while that might be true, it would not be wholly so. This morning while you were dressing, I spent a short time watching a television drama in which the detective used the same ploy.’
Georgette was surprised. She said she thought it may have been one of his own tricks of the trade.
‘Watson, in my day the bathroom was likely no more than an outhouse or a tub in front of the fireplace.’
She told him there was nothing to indicate any other person lived in the apartment.
‘Hmm, I think we can safely assume that Miss Dutton is, as she appears, a spinster.’
Like me, Georgette thought.
Holmes continued, ‘I am inclined to believe what she told us: the books were boxed for years, and consequently it is most unlikely the Ometti book was read by anyone for a number of years prior to its sale to Edwards.’
‘So you think Noah is somebody who has only recently discovered the book?’
‘I do. Edwards purchased the book in late May and sold it on the eighteenth of June. So far as we know, only Edwards read the book before he onsold it. So now we must focus squarely on the purchaser, Professor Avery Scheer.’
‘He does not appear to be on Facebook, however, he is on LinkedIn.’
That brought Holmes up.
‘I checked it up while you were outside smoking your pipe.’ She felt pleased with herself for getting in that detail. ‘Scheer is forty-three years old, American, and has a doctorate in psychology. He appears to have lectured at several large universities and his curriculum vitae indicates he had also been involved in private practice and worked as a consultant for various psychiatric facilities. His current employment is with Endymion University not far from here. I don’t know a lot about it.’ Her cursory reading indicated it was a small, private university with high fees offering several courses which Georgette considered ‘soft.’ No engineering or microbiology but courses like psychology, film studies, anthropology and creative writing. There was one mathematics course. ‘Essentially, it seems to be a college for rich parents to send their indulged children to so they wind up with some kind of degree before crashing their Porsche … an expensive car. I can ask around, try and find out if any colleagues can tell me about Scheer.’
Holmes wagged a finger. ‘No, Watson, that you shan’t do. It was most foolish of me to involve you in this enterprise. Noah is a killer. He targets women of your age … perhaps a touch younger.’
That stung. Holmes continued, ignorant of his slight.
‘Who knows what triggers him? You could become his next target. It was wrong of me to take you to Edwards. I shan’t repeat the mistake.’
‘I am thirty-three years old and I think and act for myself. This is not eighteen ninety-one. Women, in case you haven’t noticed, have made a few advances.’
‘And some men have not changed one jot. They are still murderous animals who will use the city as their hunting fields. I stood this close and looked at the gutted victims of Jack the Ripper. Please, Watson, do not make the mistake of being the lion tamer who sticks her head in the wrong mouth.’
She felt her hackles rise. ‘Would you have banned my great-great-grandfather?’
Holmes straightened his very straight back and inhaled. ‘Likely not.’
‘So why him and not me?’
‘Your great-great-grandfather had been in a war. And he knew his way around a weapon. Can you shoot a pistol?’
‘Not really.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I’ve never tried.’
‘So we’ll take that as a no. Have you ever been instructed in martial arts?’
‘I’ve seen a few Jackie Chan movies.’
‘This is no matter for levity.’
‘I agree. Like John Watson, I have seen terrible things. In case you forget, I saw Gina Scaroldi close up. And she’s not the first person I have seen who has been slaughtered and discarded like unwanted trash.’
‘I apologize if I seem …’
‘Chauvinistic?’
‘Over-protective.’
They sat for a moment in silence.
She felt impelled to add, ‘You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for my great-great. And me.’
‘True but hardly relevant.’
‘It is very relevant. He never abandoned you. It grieved him, to think he had failed.’
‘John Watson was the most loyal … stubborn man I have had the pleasure of knowing. You appear to exhibit at least one of those traits.’
‘He loved you.’
Holmes nodded slowly. ‘Dearer than a brother.’
‘And would you have done the same for him?’
Seemingly asking himself that, Holmes looked out the window. ‘Almost certainly not. Had he been robbed, murdered, wronged, I should have left no stone unturned to find the perpetrator but in all honesty … no, I would have left him in that cold limbo, got on with life. I am a pragmatist. John was a dreamer. My brain may have been sharper but his will was stronger. I am not a good person, Watson. I don’t claim to be. John summed me up in an instant, my good qualities, and my poor.’
Her phone rang, a number she did not recognize.
‘Georgette Watson,’ she said.
‘Doctor Watson, my name is Avery Scheer. I believe a friend of yours is interested in a book of mine.’
14
Avery Scheer was almost exactly the same build as Holmes, tall and lean, but his mop of light brown hair and his clothes – slacks, dark casual shirt, no tie, loafers – made him seem younger. Of course, she told herself, he was, by some one hundred and twenty-odd years.
Scheer stood in the frame of his impressive doorway and extended his hand.
‘Avery Scheer.’
If he is Noah, she thought, he may well suspect why we are here. The long, soft hand of an academic hung there like bunting. It could be the same hand that wielded the knife to slash the throats of three women. Burying that fear she took Scheer’s hand and did the introductions.
‘Georgette Watson, Percy Turner.’
‘Come in.’ Scheer stepped back to allow them in to a large, den-like room before closing the thick oak door behind them as if sealing them in to a vault, an impression accentuated by deep carpet and light adjusted low. Endymion University was housed in a refurbished factory on Lafayette only a short distance from where they had lunched. The entrance area had been given the usual makeover that emphasized space, light and functional furnishing but Scheer’s office was in stark contrast. Holmes, she figured, should fit right in with the Victorian furniture, the heavily carved fireplace and the large dark painting above it that made you feel you were in the British Museum. It was impossible to tell what view Scheer had from his window, for heavy velvet drapes were drawn. It was almost too warm for an overcoat. Scheer addressed Holmes.
‘Doctor Watson told you that it is highly unlikely I would sell Crimini d’Italia?’
‘As you agreed to see me, I must presume to hope.’
‘I must confess a small deception.’ Scheer flashed a charming smile at Georgette. ‘I wanted to attend your lecture but regrettably had a prior engagement. I find the idea of triumph over death fascinating. Most of my work, I’m afraid, is at the other end of the spectrum: dealing with the dark spaces of the human mind. I’m a psychologist, specialising in criminal behavior.’
He gestured they sit in two large leather armchairs positioned in front of a very long and comprehensive bookshelf. Scheer grabbed his more modern office chair from behind his desk, on which sat a marble bust, she was pretty sure, of Freud. Scheer rolled across t
o a point equidistant between his visitors.
‘When I realized fate seemed to have brought you to me, so to speak, I simply could not resist the opportunity to meet you in person. Forgive me, Mr Turner, but I am only human. I would not however wish to raise false hopes about my parting with the book.’
‘Please, call me Percy. The opera has an aria or two to run yet,’ said Holmes, ‘and sometimes its outcome is not what we may have predicted.’
‘Well said. You never know, you may compel me yet. Doctor Watson mentioned you’re a criminologist?’
‘For many years I have made a study of criminal cases. My particular interest is of the nature of evidence: soil samples, bloodstains …’
‘Ah, you’re a chemist?’
‘Of sorts.’
‘Forensics, I suppose I should have said. The other end of the spectrum to where I place myself: the mind. And how did you two come to meet? Were you at college together?’
The question, addressed to her, dragged Georgette back. She had been studying the painting, the sort she’d seen loads of during summer vacation of her freshman year when she bummed around Europe and used the clean bathrooms of the Louvre, Prado and Uffizi. The gloomy oil on canvas depicted two bearded men in robes in a life and death struggle over an ax.
‘We met in Switzerland actually,’ she said. Then, ‘That painting would seem to set a certain tone for the room.’
Scheer, who had his back to it, held one knee and swivelled to look.
‘Yes, I found it in a flea market in Boston. Cain and Abel, a poor man’s attempt at a Titian. But, I liked it, and well, it was allegedly the first murder. A subject close your heart?’
He turned back to Holmes with a mock-playfulness. It might have been simply the tone he used with his students, or it might indicate that he was well and truly alert to their intentions, a cat playing with mice. Whichever, Georgette was certain he was studying them as closely as they were him.
‘Yes, it is. I have been searching for years without success for a copy of Crimini d’Italia.’
‘I confess I had never seen anything about the book until I viewed that catalog. How did you know of it?’ He leaned forward now, the playfulness gone.
‘Somebody mentioned a story of the detectives involved in the Jack the Ripper case being made aware of a serial killer in Italy operating at the same time. And then somewhere or other, I saw mention of the book and it seemed that very case may be discussed in it. I confess I had drawn a blank finding any other information on it.’
‘You’ve made me even more reluctant to part with it.’ Scheer got to his feet and walked to his desk. He selected a key and unlocked a drawer. ‘You read Italian?’
‘I do. You?’
He made the universal wobbly hand gesture.
‘But with the translation apps you can get these days, it’s simple. You literally scan it and it spits it out in English. Very handy when you are setting tasks for students.’
‘You’ve had your students read this book?’ Georgette said.
‘A small discussion group which I run monthly. It was my August selection.’
‘Is that popular?’ Holmes threw it away as neither here nor there.
‘Only my two masters students, and two others.’
Georgette wondered if Holmes, like her, had just breathed a sigh of relief. A pool of only four additional suspects was a bonus.
Scheer was continuing. ‘A contemporary case might draw up to thirty but it’s always lower for historical gems. And by the way, we did not discuss the whole book, just the case you refer to, Percy, and one other that involved,’ he pointed up at the painting, ‘a younger brother killing the older brother.’
He was now displaying the book as a model might, resting it upright on a lower palm, his other hand across the top. The book was not more than seven inches high and not thick. Its cover was a faded green.
‘May I?’ Holmes reached for the book.
‘I might normally ask you to sign something regarding damages but I’m sure Doctor Watson would not be friends with a vandal.’
He passed the book across and Holmes eagerly began skimming.
‘Do you mind if I read?’ Holmes asked, his gaze not even on the psychologist.
‘Not at all. I have about fifteen minutes free.’
Georgette tried to smile the way she had smiled to Vance when they had first been introduced at a Canal Street gallery, the smile that says ‘I find everything about you fascinating’. She was long out of practice.
‘Your CV says you are a criminal psychologist. I looked you up.’ He seemed to like that. ‘Are you a profiler?’
‘That is a small part of it. I am not a profiler as such but I am fascinated by the background of killers: what drives them, what brings them into contact with their victims. It’s very sexy to focus on the serial killers, like for example the Picture Book killer in the case there, but most murders are domestic, and boring: somebody is tired of their husband or wife, or wants money. That’s why I gave the group the two cases to look at.’
‘So, you gave them the stories and asked them … what?’
‘I gave them the stories and asked them what they thought drove the killer in each case. I withheld the last few pages as if there were a solution provided. As you will see, no suspect was ever identified in the Picture Book murders but in the second it seemed obvious that the younger brother murdered the older brother because it was the only way he would inherit the farm. But it actually wasn’t that at all. The younger brother was what we would now recognize as schizophrenic. He heard God commanding him to do it.’
‘All very biblical,’ said Georgette and saw Holmes’ eyes slide her way to show he was listening.
‘These days the voice the killer heard would most likely be Kanye West,’ quipped Scheer, and rocked back in his chair. Georgette wondered if this worked with his students; she made a show of laughing at his wit.
‘And you, Doctor –’
‘Georgette, please.’
‘I can’t help but be fascinated by your personal backstory. You were dead for what, ten minutes or so? And you have been able to bring hamsters back from as long as a month. Is that right?’
She confirmed it, becoming aware as she blabbed on about her experiments that she had covered her earlier fear with barely a leaf. The man sitting across from her might be a serial killer looking for his next victim.
Thankfully Holmes returned to the fray.
‘Has anybody but yourself had access to this book since you purchased it? Your students for example?’
‘No. Why do you ask?’
‘There is a mark here,’ he flashed the book. Georgette thought she detected a smudge but wasn’t sure. ‘If my finances allow it, I would be prepared to double the price you paid for it but would be reassured to know it is in the same condition now as when purchased.’
‘As I told you up front, even for twice what I paid – I’m not convinced I want to sell it but I can assure you that it hasn’t been out of this room. I even scanned the pages here. I treat books as sacred objects.’
Sacred. Georgette was reminded of the curved blade and old testament sacrifice, and suppressed a shudder. Scheer smiled at Holmes. ‘So, are you hooked?’
‘I am, but I need consider my finances. I don’t wish to waste either of our time. Are you prepared to tell me how much you paid?’
‘Seven hundred dollars.’
Georgette wondered if that were true.
‘So, fourteen hundred dollars. That is at the top of my range. I need to think on it.’
‘Me too,’ said Scheer. ‘Where do you work exactly, Percy, if I may ask?’
‘Private consultancy mostly, sometimes with the police but generally on matters such as authenticating wills. Or blackmail.’
‘Yes, that’s become so much more prevalent. There’s always a camera snapping somebody doing something they’d rather not be seen doing and of course it is so much easier to hide money with bitcoin and Pay Pa
l and international transfers.’
Holmes stood to indicate he was ready to go. ‘If I may take a day or two to think on it?’
‘Of course. I need time to reflect too. I’m quite fond of that little book now. And Georgette, if you ever have time for a lunch I would love to hear more about your work. Percy, of course you would be more than welcome too. There is a very decent cafeteria here and a very nice Romanian restaurant a block away.’
If it weren’t that he was possibly a serial killer, Georgette might have felt a tingle of triumph.
‘Of course. You have my number now.’
As they moved to the door Holmes said, ‘What were your own conclusions about the Picture Book Killer?’
Without so much as a glance at Holmes, she knew that his focus on Scheer was intense, as when you take a magnifying glass and concentrate the sun’s rays onto a dry leaf to make it smoulder. Perhaps Scheer was a consummate actor. He betrayed no guilt, his demeanor millpond.
‘I would say there is some plan to it that makes sense only in the killer’s mind. Perhaps he sees the world as a human zoo with himself as the keeper.’
‘You use the present tense,’ observed Holmes.
‘Well, yes, I think of the killers as if they were alive today. To me, the more interesting question is why did the killer cease? Or did he? Did the Italian police simply stop reporting the murders? As with Jack the Ripper, why such a spree and then nothing? Was he imprisoned, did he die, flee overseas or was he sated?’
There was a knock on the door.
‘That will be Melissa, one of my masters students.’
Scheer opened the door.
The woman was an inch shy of Holmes and broader across the shoulders with a strong chin. Georgette was certain she was transgender.
‘Melissa Harper, this is Mr Percy Turner and Doctor Georgette Watson.’
Harper looked like she was hemmed in by life, her shoulders slightly rounded, her smile stunted and her greeting no more than a mutter. Holmes expressed his delight at meeting her but Georgette sensed him weighing Harper like a butcher might assess a steer at the abattoir. Holmes swung back to Scheer.
