Took a few weeks off, am back-ish now but we'll see. I finally got a chance to watch the Elementary finale, which was excellent - but I don't think I'll be bringing Elementary's Irene into the story. I was pretty sure when I started writing that she was alive somewhere (Irene takes more killing than that) but I've set this story during the period when Sherlock still thinks she's dead.
The next morning I slept in, which was simply luxurious. Sherlock never lets me sleep late during a big case - unless he's finally collapsed from exhaustion, of course, but when that happens I feel the need to get up and check on him. Besides, it's fun to catch him before he has a chance to clean up the evidence of his sleep-deprivation-induced insanity. He's quite endearing when he's fast asleep, surrounded by dinosaurs or snowball fort plans or whatever else he was doing when he finally fell asleep.
But finally I got up and showered and dressed. The dining room was empty, but when I walked in a setting appeared on the table. Breakfast was crisp little pancakes with an oozing golden syrup inside. The syrup ran over my fingers with each bite, and there didn't seem to be any way to eat them tidily, but they were delicious.
While I ate I checked up on the progress of the case. Professor Moriarty was still visiting planets, but the other Sherlock had concluded that he had stopped visiting feudal societies and was focusing on planets with either urban societies with closely-packed public transportation, or very wealthy societies with a high degree of robotic usage. He was still looking for other commonalities. Mr. Russell was tracing the funding of Jim Moriarty's previous criminal activities, presumably with the intention of comparing it with his current bank accounts (apparently the Wisemagics maintained access to a number of financial institutions), and Mary was comparing the theoretical plans for the time device to some of the components of the force field doors Moriarty had purchased.
Finally there was nothing to do but collect my stack of novels and keep going. I was skimming now, making notes about their plots. Not that there was much plot. A fiery-haired beauty refuses the marriage her father arranged and falls in love with the mysterious blacksmith instead. A free-spirited damsel falls in love with the duke who bought her. A woman too intelligent to be happy as a serving-maid finds a life and a love for herself. And so on.
I wasn't terribly hungry by lunchtime, but I was bored enough to take the break. Mary hadn't come in when I entered the dining room, but I sat next to her husband.
"I saw you were examining Jim Moriarty's financials," I commented to him, after we'd made ourselves sandwiches from the array of breads, meats, and condiments that had appeared. I took a bite of the roasted carrots that were meant to accompany them. They weren't carrots after all - they had a silverish center, and the flavor was mild and slightly salty.
"He's an intelligent man, but he has his habits," Mr. Russell replied.
I waited quietly. I got the feeling Mr. Russell wasn't somebody who liked being asked lots of questions.
"Among them is a tendency to hire multiple assassins - far more than would be necessary, I believe - and have them surround the most delicate parts and the most central people of his operation. He has a flair for the dramatic, and he likes to be in control at all times. But it is a weakness," he said.
"You can identify the assassins and follow their movements," I said.
He nodded. "Exactly. And the assassins are not as convinced as the Moriarties are of the need to avoid cameras. Useful."
"Can you reliably tell who is an assassin and who is just running errands?" I asked.
He just looked at me. Obviously I was supposed to know the answer to that one. I thought about it.
"I imagine we can get their criminal records," I speculated, "and check what equipment they carry."
"And the amounts are different," he said sternly. I wasn't making much headway with him. "The equipment is actually less helpful than it might be; Jim Moriarty prefers men who are as skilled with a knife as with a rifle."
"Of course," I said.
Mr. Russell took another bite of his sandwich. For a minute I thought he was going to ignore me, but he continued, "One must also look at the pattern of the man. Humans are not the same. We take many forms and many types, and a skilled master knows how to use each type he finds. The Moriarties are skilled masters, and can be assumed to make the best use of each of their workers. Helen Donleavy will not hire a timid man to perpetuate a fraud, or a heavy-handed man, or an angry one. She finds the man who is confident and intelligent and perceptive for that work. Similarly, if Jim Moriarty hires a man who takes pleasure in killing, we know he will not be given the same role as a man who takes pleasure only in money, and kills to achieve it. Moriarty has hired both, and therefore has different uses in mind.
"The man who takes pleasure in killing will not be satisfied unless permitted to kill. He will be used to dominate, to threaten. The man who is motivated entirely by money cares not who or how he kills, as long as he is paid. He will be used as a failsafe: he follows people near the nexus of the operation, with orders to watch and keep his mouth shut and be ready to kill if necessary. We track the former to know who Jim Moriarty wishes to control, and the latter to know who is entrusted with the most sensitive information and goals."
"What about people he actually trusts?" I asked, when Mr. Russell didn't seem to have anything more to say.
He smiled slightly. "A man like Jim Moriarty does not trust anyone. The local police once imprisoned Sebastian Moran, his lover and chief lieutenant, and while they were not able to hold him they did discover tracking devices on his person and in his...cellphone? Is that correct?"
"It is," I said. "Do you need me to explain those?"
He hesitated, and then answered, "Please do. I have read a description of the technology, but that does not tell me how people use them, how they interact with them."
I spent the rest of the meal attempting to explain the intricacies of cellphone etiquette.
I don't think I'm doing a great job with Mr. Russell, but that was kinda fun to write so who cares? More coming soon, I hope.
