The Case of the Displaced Detective

by Stephanie Osborn

  “What did she look like? I noted one picture on your desk at work, but it was too small to make out much. Even with my lens,” he confessed, thankful the room was dark so she couldn’t see his face flushing at the admission.

  * * *

  “I’m told I look a lot like her,” Skye murmured, internalizing the smile as she realized Holmes had actually turned his magnifying glasses on her family portrait in an attempt to see more detail. “If you want me to, I can dig out the family photo albums tomorrow and show you.”

  “Yes,” Holmes accepted her offer. “I should like that.”

  “Okay. What else d’you want to know?”

  “Oh, anything you would like to tell me…”

  * * *

  They slept very late the next morning; Skye’s catharsis had lasted a good part of the night. She woke stuffy and congested, with raw, red eyes, but generally in decent shape, physically and emotionally. By contrast Holmes was a bit stiff and headachy, but he still managed to have his alarm clock ring for him.

  They dragged themselves out of bed, whence they discovered their luggage from the Cimarron Springs Hotel sat discreetly right inside the bedroom door. Then they climbed into the shower—although Holmes hadn’t expected it to be simultaneously. Unfortunately, he was flatly unable to reach his back, which was, once again, black and blue; so Skye slid in behind him and took care of the situation. He sighed in relief: Her soapy hands on his back felt like the gentlest massage, loosening his muscles. Meanwhile, the steamy shower relieved Skye’s congestion and soothed her bloodshot eyes. By the time they were dressed, they both felt much more normal.

  “Well, my dear,” Holmes queried, “given the time, shall it be brunch or lunch?”

  “Brunch,” Skye decided. “And a nice slow day.”

  “You shall hear no arguments from me.”

  * * *

  The laptop was waiting on the coffeetable in the den when they emerged from the bedroom. Skye deliberately ignored it, deciding reports could wait a few hours, and headed for the kitchen, wondering if there would be anything on the shelves or if they’d need to venture out for a meal. But the kitchen had been properly stocked early that morning at the same time the luggage and laptop arrived, and in short order the couple managed scrambled eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, and toast, with orange juice and English breakfast tea with fresh cream on the side. Holmes was hungry, having characteristically eaten almost nothing during his all-too-brief sojourn in his original continuum, and dug in eagerly; Skye was less so, but managed to eat anyway.

  Afterward, Skye drew Holmes into the den, where she seated him on the couch. Then she moved to a cedar chest in the corner of the room, opening it and searching through its contents for several minutes, extracting several large albums from its depths. She gathered them up and came to sit beside him with a sad smile.

  “Here,” she said, placing the stack on the coffeetable beside the laptop and laying the top binder in his lap. “You said last night you’d like to see my photo albums…”

  “Indeed,” he gave her a slight smile. “I wish to know more about the family of The Woman I Love.”

  Skye’s tired face lit up at his statement, and she snuggled into his side as he opened the album, looking at it with him, and pointing to the different pictures as she introduced him to her family and her memories.

  They were on the second album by the time Dr. Wellingford arrived to check on them.

  * * *

  The laptop wasn’t even touched until Sunday after lunch. After some discussion, they decided to write a joint report. Skye functioned as secretary, sitting on the couch with her feet propped on the coffeetable and the computer in her lap, entering the phrasing as they worked it out. Holmes stood and paced the room unhurriedly, pipe in hand, occasionally using it to gesture whenever he wanted to emphasize a particular point in the report. They went back and forth, recalling events, suggesting wording, and editing each other as necessary.

  By late afternoon the document was complete. Holmes walked a datastick containing the report out to the barn, where Ryker assured him it would make its way to Colonel Jones immediately, if not sooner.

  * * *

  They took their time getting down the mountain on Monday. Ryker’s extended unit provided a subtle escort to their vehicle, and Holmes and Chadwick arrived at Schriever mid-morning. Having received a heads-up from Ryker, a small congratulatory committee awaited them in their office: Morris, Jones, Smith, and Hughes. Caitlin already had a fresh pot of coffee prepared, and everyone brought refreshments, ranging from cookies to veggies and dip. Everyone brought their own coffee mugs as well, and when people had full cups, Jones went to the office door and locked it.

  “All right. Just like in all of Dr. Watson’s stories, it’s time for the wind-up explanation. Mr. Holmes, you and Dr. Chadwick have the floor.” Jones waved his mug at the two.

  “It is really quite simple,” Holmes noted. “Most of it is in the report Skye and I filed yesterday, save for a few details in the which we may make some well-considered inferences. This Bartholomew Haines was a member of the Moriarty ilk through his mother. His particular branch of the family is from Great Britain via Canada. As the events of my continuum did not act themselves out here during the 19th century, apparently the parallelism chose to work itself out in this fashion. And so a Professor Moriarty of sorts arose at the Air Force Academy in the current day. He was, of course, ‘Sauron,’ and we may reasonably take this ‘dark tower’ to refer to a besmirched ivory tower of academia, as Skye once suggested. I have no doubt, if you have read Watson’s stories, you already know of my theories regarding families with certain eccentricities, emerging in an individual via a distinctly criminal bent.”

  The others nodded.

  “How did he find out about the tesseract program to begin with?” Jones wondered.

  “I’m betting from Jenkins,” Skye interjected.

  “Indeed, that is the most likely source,” Holmes agreed. “A careful perusal of Colonel Jenkins’ dossier reveals he was working as an advisor on a weapons project here at Schriever, concurrent with his duties as an instructor at the Academy, immediately prior to retirement. This means he had a clearance, and undoubtedly found occasion to obtain information about other classified programs on the base. After his retirement, when he discovered the unpleasant truth about his wife—”

  “What unpleasant truth?” Caitlin asked curiously.

  “I can’t say for anyone else, but she played Potiphar’s wife to my Joseph, I’m afraid.” General Morris cleared his throat nervously, flushing a dull red beneath his moustache.

  “Oh, she did more than play at being Potiphar’s wife with others, General, I assure you. It was quite a sordid little business.” The detective was silent for a moment, contemplating, before continuing. “In any event, he became very bitter toward his wife’s former lovers, or anyone he deemed a former lover. This included our good general, here, despite his innocence.”

  “So,” Skye picked up, “when Haines came along, and he and Jenkins fell in together, it didn’t take much to come up with the idea of tampering with the program. For Jenkins, it was a way of striking back at General Morris, at least initially.”

  “But Professor Haines, with his intelligence and educational background, saw the potential illicit uses of Skye’s apparatus from the beginning,” Holmes continued. “Soon Jenkins grasped it, as well. The two of them used their contacts to gather a group around them to do their dirty work.”

  “Some of it was completely innocent,” Skye pointed out, “former students willing to help out old instructors by providing networking contacts, friends of former students, and the like. But some of it wasn’t. Harris, Thompson, Andrews, and Parker, in particular, were nasty sorts. Not to mention that nephew.”

  “The nephew’s in custody, and expelled from the Academy, but he looks to be a delinquent roped in by his uncle. No evidence he had any real idea what was going on. My people are already on the way to pick up A
ndrews and Parker,” Smith noted sanguinely. “The State Department will have to sort out some of it, I suppose, but we’ll get ‘em in the end.”

  “So who turned out to be the members of the spy ring?” Jones wondered. “Gemini indicated there were originally twelve…”

  Holmes and Skye exchanged glances.

  “Haines, Jenkins, Andrews, Parker,” Skye counted off on her fingers. “The local bad guys.”

  “Yes. Then there were Harris and Thompson, two more blackguards; and Scott, who was merely naïve,” Holmes added.

  “And Perkins, who we now suspect may have been blackmailed, because Williams’ people discovered he’d had a recent affair; and our boys Michaels and Davis,” Skye noted. “That’s ten.”

  “The last two are in Canada, and appear to be innocent,” Holmes observed. “There is the business magnate, one Rutherford Moriarty; he provided the finances for the operation. And lastly is the cousin who furnished the contact between Rutherford Moriarty and Benjamin Andrews, Patricia Moriarty-Moreau.”

  “The cousin may not be so innocent, from what I’m hearing through international channels,” Smith pointed out.

  “That would not surprise me,” Holmes nodded. “Did not Billy indicate that the family was already under investigation by Canadian authorities?”

  “He did,” Jones agreed.

  “You said finances,” Morris commented. “But the way I understood it, half these guys were waiting for the successful conclusion of the operation to get paid off.”

  “Exactly right, General,” Holmes smiled. “And quite elementary, actually. Skye, would you care to explain?”

  “Well, to put it bluntly, Haines was playing both ends against the middle. He was siphoning money from Rutherford Moriarty, with word he had to pay off expenses and henchmen, but he put off those henchmen with promises to pay later. The truth of the matter was he had no intention of paying anyone. MI-5 dug up evidence he was taking all those funds and converting it to small gold bars and coin, specifically coin appropriate to Victorian England and Europe. There’s been no sign of it anywhere in his things, so Sherlock and I think he took it all with him when he crossed to the other continuum, to bankroll himself over there as the new Napoleon of crime.”

  “Obviously, I had no opportunity to ascertain if this was true,” Holmes murmured. “I did, however, provide my brother Mycroft with my suspicion he might find a cache of gold coin in the safe within Moriarty’s lodgings, and suggested he place it in the Queen’s treasury, with my—rather top-secret—compliments. Knowing my brother, I suspect he will also have put some of it to more personal use. I have hopes that will include the keeping of my former landlady; Mrs. Hudson was getting up in years.”

  “So that’s what was in the lockbox you guys found, Skye,” Caitlin realized.

  “Yep. And there’s plenty of evidence to convict all the perpetrators, too,” Skye added.

  “There is indeed evidence and to spare,” Holmes agreed. “According to Captain Ryker’s morning report, the ringleaders—Professor Haines and Colonel Jenkins—made no effort to do away with their blackmail evidence, as there was no plan to return to this continuum.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Smith confirmed. “Both men’s private papers, contained in personal safes in their homes in this continuum, had ample evidence for both U.S. and Canadian authorities to obtain all the warrants we needed.”

  “One last question,” Caitlin wondered. “Jenkins turned up dead, right?”

  “Right,” Skye confirmed.

  “Why was he killed? I mean, I can see how the others were offed once they’d outlived their usefulness, to keep their mouths shut. But Jenkins was still useful.”

  “Ah, there is where we must infer, based on what we know,” Holmes noted. “I suspect, as Professor Haines fancied himself the new Professor Moriarty, Colonel Jenkins styled himself the new Colonel Moran. Moran and Jenkins even had the same military rank and similar distinguished service histories. In all likelihood, Jenkins planned to escape across spacetime with Haines. That, however, would have meant sharing the gold, and the power. Haines was sufficiently convinced of his own superiority that he had no desire to share his position with anyone. But Jenkins knew too much to be allowed to remain alive.”

  The others nodded.

  “It makes sense,” Jones agreed, holding out his hand. “Thank you for all your help, Mr. Holmes; it was invaluable. By the way, the full amounts of your fees have been deposited to your bank accounts as of this morning. I’d like to keep the contract in effect, if neither of you object; it’s been too beneficial an association for me to want to dissolve it anytime soon.”

  “Very good, my dear Colonel Jones,” Holmes murmured, taking the proffered hand and shaking firmly. His lips curled in a slight smile. “I look forward to working with you in future.”

  * * *

  That brought a notion to the front of Skye’s consciousness. She pulled her wallet from the pocket of her jeans and walked over to Agent Smith.

  “Here,” she said, extracting her FBI credentials and handing them to him. “You’ll want this stuff.”

  Smith smiled knowingly and waved her off.

  “Keep it, for the time being. I’ll let you know when my superiors ask for it back.”

  Skye raised her eyebrows in surprise; behind her, Holmes’ grey eyes glowed with pride.

  * * *

  They all refilled their coffee mugs. Jones reached inside his jacket.

  “Nobody here saw this,” he murmured, pulling out a flask.

  “Saw what?” Morris wondered, as he offered his coffee mug for a celebratory shot from the flask. “I didn’t see anything, did you guys?”

  “Nope,” Smith shook his head, holding out his cup next.

  “Not a thing,” Caitlin agreed, receiving her due libation.

  “No idea what you’re talking about,” Skye shrugged, grinning. Jones tipped a strong shot into her mug and offered the flask to Holmes, who accepted it wordlessly.

  “I have observed nothing unusual in this room today,” Holmes decided, lips twitching mirthfully. He added a full measure of the whisky to his coffee, then served Jones’ own mug before returning the flask.

  “Good. So who wants to offer the first toast?” Jones wondered.

  General Morris raised his mug.

  “My grandmother, God rest her soul, used to have a saying. ‘There’s a design in everything,’ she used to say, ‘and just because we only look at the back side of the tapestry, doesn’t mean the front side ain’t pretty.’ Skye, you’ve been so busy eating yourself up over dragging Mr. Holmes here, you haven’t stopped to wonder if maybe it was supposed to happen.”

  “Huh?” Skye muttered in confusion, staring at him.

  “Yes, General, that makes a certain sense,” Caitlin agreed. “Skye, honey, we’ve been kind of continuum-centric in our thinking. We’re not the baseline. Like Einstein said, there isn’t one. So what if our continuum’s uniqueness is your developing the tesseract, and the emergence of a Moriarty—much later in the timeline—to try to take control of it?”

  Skye glanced at Holmes before her eyes defocused and her gaze dropped; Holmes realized she was shifting her thought processes to wrap around the theory proposed, and determine its connotations.

  “That would mean,” the physicist extrapolated, “the entire bulk—the very multiverse—was intentionally threatened by this one continuum.” Skye took a deep, pained breath. “By the thing I created. By my own existen—”

  “NO,” Holmes interrupted firmly, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll not hear that again, Skye.”

  * * *

  The others stared in shock, finally coming to a full realization of how severely recent events had affected the scientist.

  “Damn,” Caitlin muttered in sudden understanding. “No wonder it’s been eating you alive, Skye.”

  Jones tipped his flask over Skye’s mug a second time.

  “Drink that,” he murmured firmly; it was not
a request. Holmes’ hand squeezed her shoulder in confirmation, so Skye obeyed.

  “Well, now, that’s not the direction I was going with it,” Morris pointed out, letting his voice drop into a more soothing tone. “Caitlin was doing a fine job flying off my starboard wing, but Skye, you peeled off in another direction. C’mon back and get with your wing-leader and let me explain.”

  “Okay,” she murmured, as Holmes moved close, offering silent comfort. “I’m listening.”

  “My point was, like Caitlin said, what if this was the thing that was supposed to happen in our continuum? Now, you know what Einstein said: God doesn’t play dice with the universe. I figure it holds true for the rest of ‘em, too, not just ours. So what if, to prevent ‘our Moriarty’—excuse the term, Mr. Holmes; I’d rather not possess him if I could help it, but you know what I mean—from destroying, essentially, Everything That Is, Holmes had to come here from that other continuum?”

  “Because he’s the only one who had the knowledge and ability to defeat him?” Caitlin suggested.

  “Exactly,” Morris said with satisfaction. “He’d already done it once, you see. And his worldline, strictly speaking, didn’t need him any more, no offense. So he could come here and rescue ours—and all the others, while he was about it.”

  “But he couldn’t do it alone, this time,” Smith observed. “It took Dr. Chadwick’s knowledge of the science, and some decent backup from the rest of us, to accomplish it.”

  “Now you’re getting it,” Morris beamed. “Which also explains why Skye here remained thoroughly unattached until Mr. Holmes arrived. She was waiting for him, and he for her.”

  “You’re a closet romantic, aren’t you, General?” Skye proposed with a wry grin.

  Morris harrumphed, turning pink, then declared gruffly, “Nothing wrong with that.”

  * * *

  “You’re still missing one very important detail, guys.” Skye shook her head.

  “What’s that, Doctor?” Smith wondered. “I sorta like the direction the General was going.”