Sherlock Holmes

by Martin Rosenstock

  “I’ve reason to expect,” Holmes continued, “that we will soon be dining on the finest lamb in the balmiest of climates. This, at least, ought to ease your mind, even if the mysterious death of the Floridian messiah doesn’t awaken your sense of adventure.”

  “Floridian messiah?” Holmes had judged correctly that this utterance would be more than enough to end my campaign of resistance.

  He sat back and steepled his fingers. “Cyrus Reed Teed, known as Koresh. Born in 1839 in Delaware County, New York. Like you, my dear Watson, he studied the medical sciences, and in fact practised them, though he also pursued more arcane interests. In any case, for the past week he has been dead. As you know, precious little can entice me from my bees and my monographs these days, but I confess that some letters I received regarding this man and his demise have intrigued me a great deal.”

  “If he’s only been dead a week, and in Florida, how have you already contrived to know so much this quickly?”

  “Ah,” he said, lifting a finger with a dramatic flourish, “you see, Watson, I was originally engaged to investigate an attack; now, I am engaged to investigate a murder.”

  “Do tell.”

  Holmes smiled. “Three months ago, I received the first letter from an American woman who signs her letters Victoria Gratia. She wrote to me enquiring about my fees, particularly what it would amount to were I to investigate the brutal attack on one Cyrus Teed. There was nothing remarkable in that. I receive hundreds of letters a month begging me to investigate all sorts of crimes ranging from the mundane to the grotesque. What was remarkable was the way she described the man.

  “‘Dr. Teed,’ she wrote, ‘is the long-awaited messiah. He is the answer to all of our prayers. By his greatness this community flourishes, for he holds the key to all.’

  “More intrigued by this than the supposed crime,” Holmes continued, “I wrote back, asking for more information. What I received astounded me, Watson, a rare occurrence, particularly at this time of my life.

  “The Koreshan sect, so I was told, originated with a vision visited upon Dr. Teed, who pursued what one might call alchemical experiments. This vision occurred in 1869 and seems to have been the result of an accident with electricity. During this so-called angelic visitation, he was informed that he was the messiah. He was also made the recipient of various other concepts of a more or less scientific nature. Among these are the notions that the earth is hollow, that men and women are equal, that total celibacy is the most exalted path through life, and that the sun is operated by battery. Teed, as any sane individual would, immediately began preaching these revelations, and it appears he found quite a few believers, which in turn led to the formation of a new and unique religion.” Holmes smiled in delight at what must have been the incredulity displayed on my face.

  “Teed, of course, presided over this sect, and his followers now have a village located somewhere in the swamps of Florida.”

  “Am I to assume his organisation to be a front for some kind of criminal enterprise?” I asked quickly, thinking that I had had a moment of insight.

  “Not as far I have deduced,” Holmes said. “We seem rather to be faced with the quite common phenomenon of cult behaviour; every messiah attracts devotees willing to fly to his side the moment he reveals himself. This is one of the more disappointing features of human nature, I feel, yet interesting enough to make up for the disappointment.”

  “Then what of the case?”

  “I have had little to go on,” Holmes stated, “which is why I have agreed to this trip. Miss Gratia wrote to me of an altercation between citizens of Fort Myers, the town nearest to the Koreshan village, and Teed’s followers. The altercation, she claims, culminated in the attack on Teed and was not only entirely unprovoked, but included a lawman as a participant. Incidentally, I have contacted this gentleman, a certain Marshal Sanchez, and he is awaiting our arrival.”

  “What are you to do about a straightforward attack involving a lawman?”

  “I would have done nothing beyond continuing the correspondence, which I found provided insights into human nature, but now that Dr. Teed has apparently succumbed to his injuries, I feel the siren call of a possible murder case drawing me thither, perhaps because the attack was intentionally orchestrated by the man’s enemies. Had the man lived, I intended to discover the truth through correspondence with him and others. But murder is no less murder if it takes years, and whether it was murder I must now determine.”

  “Takes years?”

  A shadow of annoyance crossed Holmes’s angular features. “Yes, I heard from Victoria Gratia for the first time three months ago, but the fight took place two years ago. Had she written to me at the time of the incident, things would undoubtedly have been much easier. There might have been no need for the journey with which I have importuned you.”

  A master manipulator, Holmes had done his work to perfection. I shook my head. “You know very well, Holmes, that when it comes to these matters, I would accompany you to the edge of the earth, though I wish you’d told me to bring my good coat. I like to look presentable.”

  Holmes laughed, low and dry. “A coat? You will hardly need such a thing in southern Florida, Watson. In fact, the warmth may be beneficial for your old bullet wound.”

  I had not given our far-flung exotic destination much thought until now. The realisation that we were going to a place with warm air, where tall, spare coconut trees would greet us, filled my mind with delight. A few images from my days as a young man in the tropics flashed across my mind and I began to anticipate the coming experience with something akin to eagerness.

  “I see you’re pleased,” said Holmes. “And I won’t deny that I also feel a certain satisfaction at the thought of spending some portion of the winter in a place untouched by bitter cold.” He raised his glass of whiskey. “Happy New Year, old chap!”

  During the remainder of our voyage, Holmes ventured frequently to the lower parts of the ship, gleaning information from passengers whose presence the starched stewards on the upper decks tried to ignore. I spent my time reading medical journals and refining a few of my accounts of Holmes’s and my adventures, though I did so entirely for my own amusement, since these were stories I would never publish, either because of their content or because they involved certain personages I could not possibly expose.

  No one bothered us over the coming days, and nothing more than poorly cooked beef disturbed our tranquillity until we reached the American shore. By this time, I was eager to absorb the tropical weather my friend had so tantalisingly described.

  * * *

  We docked in Miami and then made our way by train on a somewhat circuitous route across the peninsula that is the State of Florida. Twelve days had elapsed since we had left English shores when Holmes and I finally disembarked at a small gabled train station in the middle of flat green Floridian countryside. All this had been undeveloped land, Holmes informed me, before Dr. Teed and his band of followers had descended from Chicago and created their settlement.

  “If I’m not mistaken, that’s Marshal Sanchez over there.” Holmes pointed to a tall, straight-backed man standing motionless a few feet away.

  “How can you tell?” I asked, for I had not witnessed any display of Holmes’s deductive powers for some time and wished to see them enacted once again.

  “Callouses on the hands that suggest the frequent gripping of a gun, military bearing, and, most importantly, I’ve seen his picture.”

  I wondered if I imagined the flicker of a smile at the corner of my friend’s mouth. “Very well,” I groused. “You might have said that to begin with.”

  “I simply wished to give you as complete a report as possible,” he returned placidly, “especially if your readers are some day to be treated to an account of the case.”

  We were saved from further verbal fencing by the approach of Sanchez himself, smiling a tight-lipped smile. “Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson?” he asked in a flat American tone.

&nb
sp; “As you suppose,” said Holmes. “Thank you for meeting us.”

  “I appreciate your coming,” was the reply. “I am the only one who knows of your visit, at present. I thought it best not to alarm the commune, especially now. You won’t have heard yet, I believe, that the coroner forced them to bury Teed. Apparently, they expected him to rise immortal at any moment like Christ himself. Ridiculous business, holding vigils every night.”

  “Pity,” murmured Holmes. “I’d have liked to examine the body. But it can’t be helped.”

  “I hope you won’t find it necessary to dig him up,” answered the man hesitantly. “We’ve had enough trouble in the community with the Koreshans. I shudder even to think about what would happen if we publicly opened the matter again.”

  “I’ll be discreet, unless the case dictates otherwise,” said Holmes noncommittally. “I doubt, though, that they’d let me exhume him even if I wanted to, now that they’ve buried him. They won’t like a skeptic desecrating their leader’s mortal remains.”

  Sanchez was apparently satisfied with this and led the way to his conveyance, which was a common wagon. “Your name rang a bell, by the way, when you wrote you were coming,” the man continued in his dour way, as we climbed aboard.

  “People here have heard of Holmes?” I asked, a little surprised.

  “Of course, sir,” came the answer. “Your stories are well liked here, as I’m sure you know.”

  “I hear of these things second- or third-hand through my publishers,” I replied, feeling my face blush. “It’s another thing altogether to encounter the truth of it in person.”

  Holmes said nothing and seemed lost in thought, observing the Floridian streets as we passed shops and houses. These were brightly painted wooden structures, for the most part in better repair than those in the lower parts of London but smaller than those in the more affluent quarters.

  Half an hour into the journey, we were bouncing along a dirt- and rock-filled road into what appeared to be a wilderness of sorts, with tree growth on one side and some barely cleared grazing land on the other.

  “This is the road that connects Fort Myers and the Unity,” Sanchez said. “It’s a commonly travelled route, though public opinion of the Koreshans has fallen to a low state of late. The townspeople used to come down for their theatricals, and the Koreshans prospered in trade. However, their beliefs have always cast a damper on interactions, and since the altercation with Teed two years ago, relations have been tense to breaking point. Maybe I can relate the events of the day to you at one point. I’d welcome the chance to explain what happened to an impartial witness.”

  “Impartiality I can promise,” Holmes answered coolly, “a favourable outcome I cannot.” I wondered if he had been irritated by the familiarity of Sanchez’s tone, which suggested a certain unctuous assumption that Holmes would be his natural ally.

  The man smiled a haughty smile. “I know you’re not of the law, Mr. Holmes.”

  My friend did not react noticeably, but I saw a nearly imperceptible narrowing of his eyes. He was palpably angry, but nothing else betrayed his feelings.

  “As you say,” he answered. “I am but an amateur, and I can’t be expected to deliver results as expeditiously as the official police.”

  The heavy sarcasm of this statement sailed over the man’s head. He cleared his throat. “They’ve ruled the death accidental, a result of the brawl two years ago. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if one of those misguided sheep up there in the Unity saw fit to do in their lord and master.”

  “If I thought my presence completely useless, I would not have come,” Holmes said, “but you must know that I cannot recreate all the circumstances and evidence of two years ago.”

  “I do,” Sanchez answered. “I have been pushed into a corner by the rage at the man’s death, and the community has accused me of striking the fatal blows – blows that somehow took two years to do their work.” He gave a short, dismissive laugh. “The official forces may think the Koreshans have odd ideas, but we’d rather avoid having hundreds of the angry faithful against us. So I am glad you’re here to put the matter to rest. This all would be easier, of course, if Teed had actually come back to life.”

  The man had a sense of humour after all, though he had made this latter statement with a straight face. Even Holmes smiled.

  “If that were the case,” he said, “I suppose we would all be doing his bidding about now.”

  “I do caution you to be careful around the commune,” Sanchez stated. “They have very strange beliefs and practices. Their ruling council is dominated by women!”

  “Horror indeed,” Holmes murmured.

  “You may well be summarily turned away, but I feel that visiting the place would be most beneficial,” said the marshal, my friend’s irony once again lost on him.

  I had gradually realised in the course of the conversation that the marshal must be unaware of Victoria Gratia’s appeal to Holmes. I wondered what Holmes intended to do when we arrived at the settlement, whether he would still keep the information hidden.

  “If you would be so good as to let us off near the Koreshan property, but not yet at a location where we are likely to meet anyone,” Holmes said, giving me my answer. “Dr. Watson and I will make our own foray into the commune. I have often found that approaching those whom I must question without the accompaniment of the law is of benefit.”

  The man gave Holmes a sharp look, then nodded. “If you wish it. I doubt you’ll get any of them to talk without being compelled, however. If you find yourself in need of an escape, they employ farmers who are not among the believers and would undoubtedly accommodate you for a price.”

  “I usually find people far more eager to talk than one might expect,” Holmes answered simply, “but thank you for your advice. We will consider it if we find ourselves in unfortunate straits.”

  Sanchez drove us into a clearing and pointed west, towards an expanse of farmland. “You’ll have to walk a bit,” he said tersely, “but this will give you entry from the back of the property.”

  “Very good,” Holmes replied. “Come along, Watson.”

  I wasn’t sorry to be out of the man’s company. “Irritating, self-important fellow,” I said when we were out of earshot.

  “Oh, I think he’s marvellous,” Holmes answered.

  “What on earth do you mean?”

  “He reads like an open book,” Holmes continued. “He smelled like the perfume of the woman he’s seeing – not his wife, mind you. He’s intrigued by the Koreshans and studying their ways, which likely makes him angry at himself. Did you observe the pamphlet sticking out of his pocket? It had the title Tenets of Koreshanism, an odd thing for a man who purports to dismiss the movement and its beliefs. And he’s both glad I’m here and eaten up with jealousy at my coming; that much was obvious from his facial expression and tone of voice. I do like this obvious sort, Watson. They make the job far simpler. While I certainly don’t shrink from a challenge, I’ll happily take the easier road when one is provided.”

  I blinked. “The perfume I’ll grant you, though I didn’t catch it. But how do you know it’s not his wife’s?”

  “There was another scent atop it, which is undoubtedly why you didn’t smell the perfume. He tried to eradicate its smell with a particularly strong astringent soap, so much so, in fact, that the soap irritated his skin; his hands were decidedly reddened.”

  “Surely his wife will know; women have very keen senses.”

  “I hope so,” Holmes answered with a wry smile. “And I hope she uses his secret to her advantage.”

  “But why was it he who met us?” I asked. “Hasn’t your correspondence been with this woman from the Unity?”

  “I wrote to him two months back, without indicating that I had a specific correspondent in the Unity, and acted as if I were merely professionally curious about the matter. He greatly enjoys expounding his opinions. I decided that meeting him would be a less conspicuous entry into the case than
giving the inhabitants of the Koreshan Unity warning and having the entire settlement waiting for me, as I suspect would have happened had I sent word of my visit more directly.”

  * * *

  We walked across endless fields of soft, moist earth, dotted here and there with the tall araucaria trees that would stand witness to our investigation. Every once in a while, white birds possessed of long necks and orange beaks flapped past overhead. I began to wonder whether Sanchez had not wanted us to find the Koreshan settlement. However, Holmes kept going determinately, and I trudged alongside in the humid lukewarmth, thoughts of a bracing English chill on my mind.

  “Teed’s group is, I understand, quite wealthy,” Holmes said after a long silence. “The man managed to attract a number of rich widows to his cause. I don’t wonder at it, in fact. Were I a woman, I would seek out a place with such liberal views on the sexes, even if the attending beliefs were slightly absurd.”

  I looked at Holmes and shook my head, unable to understand such a viewpoint, but Holmes’s ideas had become as familiarly unfamiliar to me as the back of my own head, and I did not comment.

  Finally, after a walk of fifteen minutes, we came upon a barn at the edge of a cluster of buildings that, I supposed, was the American equivalent of a village. There was a wide road from which smaller streets branched off at right angles. Modest houses and a few larger structures stood baking in the sunshine. The overall impression was one of quiet ordinariness, and it took some effort to remind myself that we were entering the settlement of a madman’s followers. For such had been Dr. Teed. Either that or a confidence man, I reasoned. Both prospects made me curious to meet the Koreshan inhabitants. Next to me, Holmes moved quickly, his eyes keenly studying the place.

  “Is this Victoria Gratia at least aware of your intention to come here in person?” I asked.