Chapter 67

CHAPTER 67

“ OF COURSE YOU’RE on YouTube,” said Virginia. “What did you expect?”

Back in the Bushwick neighborhood of Brooklyn, Holmes was bent over the screen at Virginia’s desk with Poe crowded next to him. On a large TV in the background, the local news was showing a slow-motion loop of the police activity at Silvercup Studios earlier.

But the scene on Virginia’s desktop was something else altogether. It was cell phone footage from the writers’ convention four days ago. As Holmes moved closer, his feet collided with Baskerville, napping in his usual spot under Virginia’s desk.

“Baskerville!” Holmes impatiently said to the dog. “Go chase a squirrel!”

Virginia snapped her fingers twice. With a loud groan, the huge mastiff rose to his feet and ambled out from under the desk.

The video’s point of view was from the audience—the section to the right of the stage. After a blurry pan of the ceiling, the camera tipped down to show the dais where Holmes, Marple, and Poe were sitting. The moderator was in her chair at the far end. The discussion was already in progress, but the sound was garbled and barely audible.

“Who shot this mess?” asked Poe.

“Probably one of your devoted fans,” said Virginia. “One who doesn’t know how to work a volume control.” She froze the image. “Look! Right there.” She zoomed in. “That’s your guy, right? Oliver Paul.”

Holmes squinted, then picked out Paul’s round face in the center of the audience, about ten rows back from the podium.

“Yes,” said Holmes. “That’s him.”

Virginia tapped another key. Her screen shifted to a split image. The view on the right now showed surveillance footage from St. Michael’s Hospital. The time stamp was from four days before the conference. “So what was he doing here —so soon before the kidnapping?”

Holmes pressed his finger against the screen. “I’ll be damned.”

Sure enough, there was the watchmaker amid the stream of medical personnel and patients passing under the maternity floor camera. He was only in the shot for 4.2 seconds but seemed clear and purposeful, not at all furtive, and appeared to be there alone.

“What reason would Oliver Paul have for being on the maternity floor at St. Michael’s a week ago?” asked Poe.

“Maybe he was visiting a friend? Let me give him a call,” said Holmes. He pulled out his phone and tapped Paul’s number. The call went to voicemail. Holmes didn’t bother to leave a message. “I’ll go see him,” he decided. “I’ve got some other questions anyway.”

“Like how he found your supposedly dead mom alive and in Delaware after all these years?” asked Virginia.

“Exactly.”

Holmes had filled Poe and Virginia in on his meeting with Nina. He trusted them both. But he was prickly about outsiders probing his past.

“I’ll come with you,” said Poe. “I love Harlem in the evening.”

Virginia pushed back from her desk. “Take me too!” she blurted. It seemed to come out of nowhere, and it sounded more like a command than a request. Holmes blinked. He looked at Poe, then back at Virginia. She was already putting on her denim jacket and brushing a few strands of her tinted hair back behind her ears.

“Virginia,” said Holmes. “It’s late. Take Baskerville and go home.”

Virginia immediately switched her attention to Poe. “Mr. Poe, when you hired me, you said that I’d be involved in exciting, important work. Remember?”

“And you are, ” said Poe, pointing to her computer. “Look what you just dug up!”

“Right,” said Virginia. “From here at my desk—while Miss Marple is flying off to London and you two are running around movie studios rescuing babies.” She leaned closer. “Do you know what I did today? Most of the day? I itemized your expenses, cleaned the espresso machine, ordered ink for the printer, and baked a dozen apple turnovers.”

“Which were excellent,” said Holmes. The sweet aroma of the pastry still hung in the air.

“Gentlemen,” said Virginia firmly, “I’m underutilized.”

Holmes glanced at Poe as Baskerville walked closer to them, panting loudly. Virginia snapped her fingers again. The dog promptly flopped down onto his belly. “Besides,” she said, “with Detective Grey and Miss Marple gone, you two need a female perspective.” She pushed her desk chair out of the way. “Shall we go?”

Holmes stood up as Virginia walked past him on her way to the front door. “You’re just coming to observe!” he called out. “Nothing more.”

“Of course,” Virginia called back. “‘It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data.’”

Poe nudged Holmes in the arm. “See that? Now she’s quoting Arthur Conan Doyle to you.”

“She’s found my weak spot,” said Holmes.

“Right,” said Poe. “One of many.”