For your information, I would wish you to know that I have discovered the location of Jack Vincent, the missing restoration painter whose disappearance caused all the kerfuffle. In fact, Poirot and I have taken possession of him, and he is under our complete supervision. This was why I went to Denver, and from Denver to Austin and teamed up with Poirot in the after all.

So what, you might ask, is the problem?

Perhaps you might wish to know that in our investigation of the location of Don Juan we were being followed by some figure who was apparently amateurish in his method of disguise. When we had the opportunity we managed to isolate him and take him into our custody in order to interrogate him about who he was and what he wished from us. Only who was our follower?

None other – Jack Vincent!

And if you thought perhaps this was some misunderstanding, that perhaps this was a different Mr. Vincent or that he simply wished to speak with us, I’ll have you know that in the interrogation he confirmed himself to be the Jack Vincent we were looking for, and that despite this he had no intention of cooperating with us so that we could send him back home to his wife and family. He confirmed this with a good description of some detail that led us to identify him as the man in question. And furthermore, when we asked why he was following us, he said he was doing it for the protection of Mr. Don Juan!

I ponder how this must have happened; could it have been that Mr. Vincent was a confidante the entire time? That he had conspired in this for the entirety? Surely that could be the only logical answer!

Except it was very clear that Mr. Vincent had in the process of his disappearance had developed some psychoses. By his account, he was apprehended and kidnapped by Don Juan, as Poirot and I were to expect. However, in being held captive by Don Juan, and being shown considerable kindness and impressed by his ‘wit and charm’ (his words) that he became quickly sympathetic to the man. Then, when hearing that Don Juan was keen to marry his love interest in Melissa, Mr. Vincent was keen to help, initiating a relationship best described as ‘willing subordination’.

It’s hard to fathom the psychoanalysis of a man who is mad if capably so, but that is another matter. What is most pressing to me is the crossroads that I face ahead.

You see, I have managed to obtain the location of Don Juan, if I wished to proceed against him. But by one conception my motivation to do so is to find what is already found, Jack Vincent (again, under surveillance). On the other hand, I could proceed against Don Juan, if I decide that although Vincent’s detention from his wife was largely willing, I still must seek some justice against him. This could either be jail, or re-fictionalization, if I were provided the right materials to do so within a week.

There is, however, a third consideration; for I may meet with Don Juan and as it were, earn his cooperation. That is, a life lived tranquilly in this world, where he may live out his days with his new wife Melissa (assuming they may overcome their marital problems). Yet for this prize I will demand from him nothing less than his full cooperation. I see the demands as so:

1) Command that the servantile Jack Vincent to return to his family, with compensation to them for the troubles he has laid on them.

2) Return of the true “Portrait of the Magnificent Don Juan” to the Denver Art Museum, anonymously if need be.

3) Most importantly, give us the location of the Cabal members.

I stand at a crossroads because I must decide between closing the case before me with integrity, or perhaps even conspiring with the unsavory that I may achieve a greater prize. I will leave your world soon, but in doing so I will leave a legacy, and I must consider what that legacy shall be. For this, I ask for your swift input.

Sherlock Holmes

P.S. I hear that my old friend – the other Don – Don Quixote is healing from yet… another tragic incident on his life. But I hear it will be last, for which I am glad.

I wish him well, whatever his next adventure is.

I am aware that Poirot has told you that I was silent the day before; I wish you to know that there is no cause for concern; rather for my silence, we know have cause for satisfaction.

Ever since James emerged with his contribution for the murder of Les Okokogwu, I was in aware in the back of my mind that I hadn’t figured out the first true case I was hired to solve, which is cause for embarrassment. I was so busy with the case of the painting that I hadn’t the proper time to give it my full method, but yesterday I gave myself the time to think; and think I did.

I know how Pieter Verhaeren was killed.

I despise myself for not realizing it before; the details were before but I was so unnerved coming to this new time that I failed to take note of the *trifles* I had so spoken to Watson of. Convinced by my employer so of the guilt of Poirot, that I was willing to neglect how unlikely it was that Poirot could have done so. For even if the testimony of the receptionist was true, if Poirot was false to me, if Verhaeren had gone up to his room, Poirot had murdered the man and used two and a half hours to remove the body, Poirot *still* would have had to drag the body all the way down to the furnace room, publicly. For him to have chosen to do so would have been an act of obscene boldness, and to have succeeded, nothing short of miraculous. He would have at least had to know that the receptionist would be unaware from sleep – but how could he have known such a thing? Did he conspire with someone in the hotel to drug her? Even so, with an assumption of conspiracy, he could not have possibly known that the hotel would not have some witness; and considering the care with which this murder was taken, such an act of boldness seems impossible. Furhter, what is true for Poirot is true for anyone; nobody could have murdered Verhaeren in such a way if Verhaeren had gone up to his room, per the promise of Poirot. There is only one solution to this problem, as strange as it may seem.

Verhaeren had gone down to the furnace room by his own volition!

What? you may ask; why would he have done so. Indeed, I could scaracely fathom it, in its improbability. But once I have eliminated the impossibile, the improbable that remains must be true by the principle of my method. And upon realizing this, what happened at the hotel began to unravel.

You’ll remember that Verhaeren had approached the sleeping receptionist and woke her to ask what time it was. A strange act, I thought, but little to think of – until I discovered he had gone to the boiler room by his own voilition. If his intention was truly to know the time, he should have had his own device to read it by. But even if he didn’t, to think that he would have gone out of his way to wake a sleeping receptionist, before taking a brief look around himself, would have been uncanny. Indeed, he didn’t want to observe the time himself; he wanted the receptionist to observe the time. But why would he have done so? Then, I posited that Pieter was unwittingly a co-conspirator in his own murder; his act to tell the receptionist to look at the time was merely a ploy for his murderer to use the time as a way of implicating Mr. Poirot.

As you’ll remember, the receptionist’s testimony, upon observing the clock, indicated that Poirot had two and some hours to commit the murder and dispose of the body, but by Poirot’s account he stayed at the hotel no more than three quarters of an hour. The focus on the clock was merely a way to make Poirot’s guilt seem plausible; and with the information before, with the revelation of Poirot’s innocence the clock seems to have been tampered in order that the murder had taken place. And, indeed, tampering with the clock was practical, given that it was being renovated.

But then again, only one person would have had the opportunity to change the clock. Observe that it was also the same man who had an opportunity to get close enough to the receptionist to drug her, that it was the same man who had the right placement to commit awaken the receptionist when he needed her to observe the clock again and witness Poirot enter and leave the hotel.

The clock’s restoration artist!

Consider this: a murderer had called Pieter Verhaeren and told him that he had an opportunity to enact revenge on Poirot (or Saint-Jerome, as he was then). What Pieter had to do was call Poirot and ask him over to the hotel that day at just the right time; then, not ten minutes before, Verhaeren would enter, ask the receptionist what time it was as a signal to the ‘conspirator’, and then, instead of going up to his room, going down to the furnace room instead, where he would rendezvous with the conspirator in the next step in a plot against Poirot. Meanwhile the murderer had refashioned himself as a restoration artist, and used the large early part of the day to flirt with the receptionist, get close to her, and drug her lunch. The receptionist fell asleep, and the restoration artist had the opportunity to change the clock back a little more than an hour and a half the actual time; then he prepared for the murder. Verhaeren enters, and awakens the receptionist to do as he was instructed; she gave him the wrong time, and noticed it herself. He thanked her and moved to the stairs – but not to his room; rather to the furnace. Ten minutes later, Poirot enters and asks the receptionist where Verhaeren’s room is, and she obligingly tells him. He then moves up to the room, which is empty.

Meanwhile, the restoration artist takes off his trade uniform and moves down to the boiler room. Verhaeren meets the conspirator face to face for the first time, and for his final act; for the artist murdered Verhaeren. But with little time, he washed his face and hands, and covered his bloodstained clothes with his uniform again. He goes back upstairs, changes the clock back to the normal time, and waits for Poirot to leave in frustration – which he does, forty minutes later. Then, when Poirot is about to leave, the restoration artist contrives an noise, an accident perhaps, to wake the receptionist up, just in time for her to see Poirot walk out the door, late in the afternoon around 4:30pm. Then, the restoration artist goes back down to the furnace remove, prepares the body in the appropriate sizes to fit, and places the parts in the furnace. How he did this without such a ghastly mess I do not know; however, I believe perhaps he laid down some plastic wrap per the renovation, used it to cover up the murder, and was able to move it in and out discretely in a large trade canvas bag. With a bloody shirt covered by his uniform, and the bloody plastic hidden in the bag, he left calmly that day, with a smirk on his face, waiting for the true horror to come to the knowledge of everyone else.

What is perhaps most frightening is that this crime could have been committed by one person and one person only; and that this crime was made with such effort to implicate Poirot, and further that it seems to have been committed by a man either unknown or trusted by Verhaeren, that only one motive seems truly fallible: to frame Poirot, and put me on the case to investigate him.

To see it so matched with Poirot, that I too seem to have been framed for a murder that Poirot was put on the case of, makes clear that this is the act of no ordinary person, but a man who had malice and fear of Poirot and I. And I believe we all know who that person is.

And if it is so, that this same person now is associated with and/or leads an organization whose members are dedicated to establishing their validity as peace-loving fictional characters living in the non-fictional world, I trust they will be most dissatisfied to hear the truth of their associate is a vile man, willing to lie, cheat and murder the innocent* for his own purpose. And to those who distrust him, you will be satisfied to know your distrust was not in vain.

Now onto find this Don Juan.

Sherlock Holmes

*It is true that Pieter Verhaeren, as a cruel conniving politician, is not the form of an innocent man. However, no act deserves a most unusual, violent death beyond jurisdiciton of the law. Justice must be served.

It’s me again!

First of all, Hugh (like old times), let me just say I’m glad to see you’re safe and that you’ve kept yourself busy. I wish I could speak to you personally so I could hear more of your exploits than you write on your blog, but alas! I will have to keep with only what you tell me.

Second of all, I want to reassure that I am doing well, and that I am safe. You should know that your involvement in the Leslie Okogwu murder was resolved by DNA evidence linking the murder to someone else, and my connection to you, once grounds for investigation, no longer makes it viable. However, since you have been away, I have done my best to do some sleuthing (surely not as good as you, though) so I could figure out, if it wasn’t you, who killed Leslie Okogwu and why. For a while I had no leads, until two days ago when – by an incredible stroke of luck – I stumbled upon someone who reminds me of a sort of knobhead version of you. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he stumbled onto me, or that his wardrobe stumbled onto my foot, but likewise it is perfectly accurate to say, he is a knobhead.

But onto the dire matter at hand: speaking of knobheads, this man was on route to deliver a rather dull wardrobe with unmatching doorknob – and one of them struck my immediate interest. You see, I remembered even after these weeks that Les was bludgeoned the use of a blunt ornate object that greatly resembled the particular make of your cane, a cane which, my research has revealed, replicates a Victorian orb cane or knob cane. I’m sure you can already tell where this was going, but I must go on: the door knob of the wardrobe matched, almost exactly, the style of your cane’s head, only older and tarnished over. And to make matters more interesting, the doorknob fell of the door because it was not secured with a screw but rather was adhered on with glue!

Taking the clue I immediately asked where he got this wardrobe, and he led me to the old lady he was delivering it to, which led me to, of all people, my old Aunt Claire! Of course, we had a quick recap about this Belgian person who was staying with her (and with whom you are apparently well acquainted) but I immediately moved to the subject of the wardrobe and exactly where she got it. She related to me that she got it from some nice gentleman who came to the old community centre where the nan went with other pensioners to play bingo and bridge – he only came twice, and by the second time he apparently had to leave for the States and needed to give his larger items away. She obligingly took the wardrobe from him, even though she regarded it as rather ugly.

Claire indicated that she didn’t remember much, but I pressed her on.Finally she relented that the only other thing that she remembered about the man was his insistence on getting her to play a game of chess. Claire agreed, since she fancied herself a good chess player though she hadn’t played for years. She played white, and he black; she did not remember the details except that the a game was incredibly short, and the beginning was superficially dull, and despite his (rather attractive) confidence they appeared tied. Then he said something about how “sometimes the best way to win a game of chess is to appear predictable, uninspired and formulaic, and thus lull your enemy into the same behavior. Then, when the enemy has let down their guard and everything is place, you then do something unexpected.” With this, after appearing on the defensive for most of the game, he suddenly used his black knight to attack the center white pawn. Care to guess what square the second white pawn was located, Holmes? And within no more than four moves all of the sudden, the man pinned and checkmated Claire.

Seems like we’re dealing with something of a chess player, aren’t we?

More importantly, if this cane head ends up being actual head used to kill Les, then the murderer is connected directly to the effort of framing you for this crime, as early as his effort to get you to meet Les; furthermore this vindicates Poirot, since Claire would have recognized this person as Poirot; and finally it implies that this person was trying to set up both you and Poirot! I haven’t figured everything out, but that isn’t bad for an amateur, is it? :)

James Raikes

Oh nevermind; Poirot has been found and safe, albeit in a precarious situation. Wandering late in the museum I heard a noise coming from a utility closet; I opened it up and I found Poirot – I profess it is true – bound, tied at the boot and hung upside. Slyly he tried to shrug off his dire circumstance, but ultimately he asked for my service, and I obliging liberated him. According to him he must have been knocked out and bound up in such a way, though he never saw who; which begs the question: who bound up Poirot, and more importantly, why?

Further as we spoke to each other we agreed that our cases had become common and that perhaps it would be best for us to work together. Poirot’s complaint was enough to get the painting professionally analyzed for its forgery; we will return to the scene tomorrow to find the results, and if they are as I believe, we will both consult further with the curator and put the pieces together. I only hope that soon it will bring us to Mr. Vincent.

Holmes

I confess that I am very worried about Hercule Poirot; his research of the audio tape has, though I pain to admit it, apparently revealed a pernicious plot. He came into the museum today and revealed his claim that the painting “Portrait of the Magnificent Don Juan” hanging in the exhibit is in fact a forgery. I asked him about it, and he wished to discuss it more with me personally, once he got some piece of information he was looking for. I was supposed to meet him in the cafe; alas, he did not show up. Where did that damn Belgian go?

Holmes

Good day;

So yesterday, you may wish to know, I ran into Monsieur Poirot, and discoursed at the Denver Art Museum together. The conversation was quite long; the beginning discussion was more engaged in out past exploits, but you will find the real interest was in the later dialogue. Here we were engaged in dialogue about our cases, and we came to the common agreement that a missing restoration painter and a strange piece of music blaring out music at the late hour of the night seemed hardly coincidental. However, we struggled greatly to overcome our ‘disagreements of style’, let us say; I was hired to investigate the disappearance of a painter who has worried his family, a case that I regard as worthy against one of a prank. Therefore, I wished to analyze that aspect with the greatest detail, since time on that end is short. Poirot, on the other, seemed intent on focusing on his single evidence since he decided he had the best lead for both parts of the case at hand; he wished to analyze that part in depth, which to me appeared a luxurious treatment of the little time I had. Out of our differences we decided to work on our own aspects to the best of our ability until our aspects join together – which is, perhaps, a polite way of stating that we were unable to come to an agreement over the handling of the case.

As such, I decided to wait until this day, when with permission the curator led me around the unfinished exhibition explaining to me the detail of the restoration artist’s work. Granted, he seemed to think of it as a test run of a tour and explanation, so much of the inspection was doused with tedium as to who they believed was the anonymous painter of the Dutch landscape, or where they got this Portrait of the Magnificent Don Juan, or why they would put on an exhibit on anonymous painters at all. He even led me through the gift shop – as if I was inclined to purchase one of his full-sized posters in tubes when I am in the middle of a missing person investigation! In fact, perhaps I would say that the most interesting thing I found was a device known as a staple gun out of place on the shelves behind the counter of the gift shop. I asked what it was doing in the gift shop. He had no idea; I did however find a clue as to its owner; it was emblazoned with a sticker on the handle for the G’Raj Mahal Cafe, with an address listed in Austin, Texas. Texas? Seems to be rather out of the way from Denver…

Further, written on top of it is a name Melissa Glaser. I asked the curator if he could find any record of a woman known as Melissa Glaser working for the museum. He later informed me that he could find none. Quite curious…

I will tell you if I find out anything else.

Holmes

Well, there we are; I have found the correct employer – that is the employer that hired Jack Vincent to work on a painting. I have gotten their testimony of his work, that he came in, worked for about a week, and left as of Monday of this week. They do not know where he went from there, but they heard from him personally that he was finished.

Yet even before I spoke to his wife I was thoroughly bothered by it. First of all, the curator’s description of him was as reserved, intense man, focused on his work and concise if eloquent with his language. It does not comply with the affable, goofy and personable man that his wife Lauren described. The curator described Mr. Vincent as having some strong stricture about when and where he worked; the vincent described to me was a much more easygoing man. It does not settle easy with me.

I will give an update to the wife but I cannot speak to her in full confidence that her husband is safe or in sound mind…

Holmes

Hello from Denver, Colorado!

I was able to arrive in Denver late two days ago; I was further delayed in even engaging with the mystery by a vast kerfuffle in the city. I came to find that apparently a major political ‘election’ was talking place. Of this I had little concern beyond its interference with my investigation.

But onto the investigation. I am investigating the disappearance of a Mr. Jack Vincent; he lives in Boulder, Colorado and is by profession a painter who specializes in restoration of canvas works. He let his family know that he was hired for a job in Denver but he didn’t describe where. He said he would call him once he was settled but he didn’t call and he has gone missing since Thursday of last week. I am hired to find him.

This is further exacerbated by my lack of knowledge of the location where Jack Vincent was supposed to work. From my lodgings I was able to visit the Art Institute of Colorado and the University of Denver – all to no indication that either had hired a Jack Vincent to take on a project for them. One did provide me flyer for an upcoming exhibition at the Denver Art Museum, “Anonymous: Paintings of the Unknown” that offered some promise – as I take it paintings on an exhibition of the unknown might need restoration. I will have to go there tomorrow.

I have come upon much news from Washington State; indeed my friend and former colleague Don Quixote met – and ultimately prevailed over – our foe Kenneth Tripky, a.k.a. ‘Kenny Mann’, but not without being scathed. Indeed, Don Quixote was shot and has remained in hospital for the past couple days. Nevertheless he is by all accounts healing well, which is fabulous news. So I send my personal regards to Mr. Quixote, and I would that he have none but the speediest of recoveries.

However, his recovery comes with a much grimmer announcement. Mr. Hope, co-conspirator in the murder of our Tara, was found dead in his penitentiary cell, having apparently strangled himself with his own clothes. It suffices to curdle the stomach already, but there is more; for he scratched on the wall of his cell with crude stone the following death note:

DEANNA WILL KILL ME IF I DON’T DO IT FIRST

SHE’S COMING

This gives me evidence to suspect what I had feared; that Deanna is malevolent. As her connections are quite close to my new acquired friend Don Quixote I must fear terribly for him; what sort of devil is he dealing with?

As I am in Denver I can do naught but wish him the best of luck.

Holmes

Well, sod it. I have analyzed the fingerprints from the weapon and a suspicion that Mr. Quixote had about Mr. Mann – or, as I should call him now, Kenneth Tripky – was correct. It was Tripky who took the shot, and it was the military man Jeffrey Hope who helped cover up the murder by closing the window. I would have been less surprised by this discover thinking of Hope only as a soldier or soldier prospect and had not seen the considerable nervous behavior that he displayed when the police were moving in to arrest him.

And to whom it concerns (perhaps you, Sicon112?) I had the rifle identified by the ballistics expert as a M1903 Bolt-Action Springfield Rifle with a .30-06 caliber cartridge, fitted with a scope and suppressor. Apparently this weapon was registered for drilling and training use by military recruits, but it was stolen by Jeffrey Hope in the interest of committing this murder. I had a great argument with the ballistics expert on the scene as to whether or not I was correct to call this weapon a “sniper rifle”, though perhaps I would have done well not to question the expert. In agitation we both agreed to look up the weapon, and we found that indeed the weapon was used as a sniping as late as the Second World War. The Ballistics Expert conceded that this made it a ‘sniper rifle’ “if you’re from 1945 or something.” Though I wasn’t keen to announce it, I believe that, for a man from the 1890′s, this ought to mean I was correct in my way, while the expert may have been also.

As to the motive, it seems to be little more than considerable love scorn by two men. Kenneth Tripky, an unsavory criminal and exploiter of women who had a record in the cities of Salem and Portland in the state of Oregon (just south of Washington), appears to have been borne with diabolical, perhaps hereditary tendencies, and for him killing Tara seemed as much about defending his personal ego as to get his base revenge. A considerable manipulator, he managed to convince the normally peaceful but emotionally unstable weak-willed soldier Jeffrey Hope. Given his words to me in the parking lot, I believe that Hope may have tried to be the shooter because of his relative expertise but was too timid and guilt-ridden a personality; therefore Mann intervened to take the shot, despite interference from his left-handedness. He used a cellular phone he purchased in Oregon and used as his “business” contact locally to alert Tara enough to get her to open the window in order to take a shot.

Tripky is still at large, but his door is closing quickly. Mr. Quixote has had a tip about the location of Tripky; I offered to give this information to the police, but he related to me that this was his fight to finish, and I was in no position to stop him. Even if I could involve myself in his fight I am already packing to a new case in Denver, Colorado; my flight leaves tomorrow afternoon.

Poor old doter. Though I have found multiple aspects of his… style to be quite irritating and straining to my method, he did add a little panache to the investigation. And after all, it was a welcome change to do my method with a companion after so many cases done without cohort. Perhaps I will do so again in the future.

I will see you again in Denver.

Holmes

P.S. The remaining loose end of this mystery for me is the identity and intention of this ‘Deanna’. Yet as far as I am concerned I will have to leave it as remains – a non-issue for now. Any future concerns I take to be dealt with by Don Quixote in the future.

Yes; the mystery is coming together. A solution is now in sight!

Don Quixote and I met outside Starsight apartments today. With information provided to us we moved up to the apartment under Mr. Mann’s name, and forcibly entered (perhaps too forcefully, Don?). Immediately I discovered there was much to see; multiple substantial clumps of hair which, upon observation, did not indicate balding or a violent struggle. The follicles were carefully and consistently aggravated over a period of time, indicating a nervous twitch.

Don Quixote announced to me an anonymous tip about a curtain rod, which led me to notice – not a curtain rod, but the conspicous lack of one in the wall. Holes in the wall above the window clearly indicated that a curtain rod was forcefully removed not a week ago, and had somehow disappeared. I immediately pondered why; I stood silent in the room, believing there was something missing. That was when I looked out across the road to the Loverose Apartments and saw the window that marked Tara’s apartment; and I saw something that I wish I had seen before, but which I could not because I was investigating inside the room:  a large, profound dark green smudge going down the outside of the window, indicating forceful pressure downward.

And what should the color match but the inside interior of the wall of the Starsight Apartment??

That was when I sent Don on his mission to go to the Loverose Apartments, at the back, and look inside the dumpster. I asked him to find some receptacle device – something that could contain a large segmented pole. While he was away, I looked elsewhere in the apartment, and I saw, in the wall near the door, a large coat of paint substantially fresher than the rest of the wall around it. This led me to enough suspicion to investigate; I tore open that section of the wall and found, with great wonder if little astonishment, a large rifle. It’s serial number, precise build and scope indicated a military issue designed for long range and sharpshooting – I believe the term is ‘sniper’. Don Quixote returned with a duffel bag designed, covered with a pale khaki and evergreen pattern – a decoration he considered hideous, but which I carefully recognized as modern camouflage. And emblazoned on the front was a name Don Quixote recognized: J. Hope. And when I open it up, what should I find? The segmented elements of a dark green curtain rod!

Now the solution to our mystery becomes clear: We now have the names of two men, both critically involved in the plot. Mann, who had the apartment and gave the call, and Hope, a military man who provided the duffel bag and the stolen military rifle. Giving the call to Tara alerted her, and whoever was calling her would have led her to open the window. She did not anticipate that a shooter was waiting for her across, waiting for her ever so patiently to give the opportunity and take the shot. Above her, on the roof, the other man was waiting; having climbed patiently to the top of the roof using the fire escape, he carried with him the duffel bag that contained the curtain rods and then reassembled them on the roof. As soon as the shot rang out he was ready; he took this rod that he assembled and, with some expected struggle, used it to close the window to Tara’s apartment, believing not unreasonably that this would eliminate suspicion that Tara was shot from across the road, and giving them enough time to figure it out for themselves.

All that remains is for us to figure out who was the murder and who was the accomplice. We are collecting prints but in my mind it is the likelier that Hope, the professional soldier of the military, was the one who took the shot, and Mann, the keen manipulator, was the one who closed the window. For now, we may have collected enough clues to bring in the professional bobby; surely they would be competent enough to solve it from there.

Finally, the truth becomes clear. Tara may be avenged.

Holmes