Chapter 5

Gabrielle's driveway was filled with media trucks when I pulled up to the curb. It looked like they were packing up, but as soon as they saw Holmes and I, several cameramen ran over to us, hoping to get a comment or interview. They got neither, as I pushed them aside and ran into my sister's home.

Gabrielle and her husband were sitting on the couch in her living room, and I rushed beside her, throwing my arms around my twin. She looked up at me, her emerald eyes filled with fear and loss. "I....I tried to call you," she stammered. "Your phone was off."

"I know, Gabby. I'm sorry," I cried. "I heard about it on the news." Beside me, Holmes cleared his throat as a reminder of his presence and purpose in the home. "But believe me, things are going to be ok," I reassured my distraught sister. "This is going to be hard to take, but this man is Sherlock Holmes. The Sherlock Holmes," I added for emphasis.

Gabby stared at me for a few moments in disbelief, then finally whispered, "You're not lying. How...?"

"I'll fill you in on the details later," I said, shaking my head. "He wants to investigate the scene-" I broke off. The scene of the crime. I couldn't bring myself to say it. "Jesse's room," I finished. "He'll find her. Don't worry."

Gabby nervously rose off the couch and extended a hand to Holmes. "Gabrielle Meyers," she said, "and my husband, Scott."

Holmes accepted her hand, gently. "Mrs. Meyers," he acknowledged. Scott rose off the couch as well, a little more warily than his wife, and offered a firmer handshake. Gabrielle wiped a tear out of her eye, brushing aside a stray piece of her black curls.

"Jesse's room is this way," she said, leading the four of us up the stairs, into a sky blue room, obviously designed for a child. Clouds floated past on the walls, just as bright as the day I'd painted them there. A toy chest with a celestial pattern sat against the far right corner of the room, opposite the bed that was pushed up against the far wall. A heap of stuffed animals were piled on the unmade bed, several of them having fallen to the plush carpet. I remembered how Jesse always had to sleep with all of her stuffed animals, so that none of them felt left out. The memory nearly brought me to tears.

Sherlock, on the other hand, moved about the room like a machine, peering closer at this and sniffing that, and poking at a lump of plaster on the floor. On seeing him do this last action, Gabrielle ran over to inspect the white chalky substance more carefully. "Scott," she scolded, "did you wear your work shoes up here?"

"No, of course not. They're downstairs by the door where I took them off." answered her husband.

Holmes glanced at Scott's feet. "He is telling the truth," he said to Gabrielle. "This footprint is far too small to have been made by your husband."

Gabrielle wore a shocked expression. "Then who could have tracked this dry-wall in here?" she wondered.

"Was your daughter a redhead?" asked Holmes, completely ignoring Gabrielle's question.

"No. She had dark hair like her mother."

Holmes rose and clasped his hands behind his back, peering out the window. "The man you are looking for stands approximately 5 foot, 4 inches in height, speaks in a raspy voice, and has a fiery red crop of hair. By the traces of...dry-wall...left on the floor, I deduce that he is in the same profession as your husband, most likely in close to connection to him, though you may not realize it."

At this, Scott burst out with laughter. "I know who you're describing. I know him very well, in fact." He stopped laughing, and continued in an angry tone, "He's the minister at our church, and he helps me with some of my jobs. He is the kindest man you will know, and wouldn't hurt a fly."

My eyes fell to the ground. I had been in error about the whole thing. This had to be some set-up. I don't know how he did it, but somehow, Tim fooled me damn good this time. I focused my eyes on a corner of the room, wishing I could sink into it. Suddenly my eyes caught something. A trace of sky blue on the darker carpet. I ran over to investigate. It was a tiny sliver of the wall!

Sherlock knelt beside me to examine the shaving. Remembering a movie I'd seen, I knew immediately where the wall was carved. I moved the toy chest away from the wall to reveal three tiny crosses. "There is nothing new under the sun," I said, remembering the quote from somewhere. Beside me, Holmes was beaming. "A copycat. From the movie, Seven. Which, you will recall, was about a religious fanatic."

"Good work, my dear Chele," said Holmes, rising to face my twin and her husband. "As I've learned many times, you can never entirely know anyone."

Scott was still suspicious. "So now what? You call the cops and tell them a 45 year-old minister abducted my daughter, and the ruffian they're looking for is innocent?"

"Precisely," said Holmes, flippantly. "You attend the Reformed Church on Jefferson, correct?"

"Yes," answered Scott. "Wait a minute...how did you-?"

Holmes clapped his hands together and moved to exit the room. "Wonderful. Now, it is imperative that you do attend the next morning's service, so as to not arouse suspicion. Chele and I will be there as well." He turned to me. "Now, since we've finished here, we have work to do. Come, Chele." He motioned for me to follow him down the stairs, and I complied, hesitating only a little to say goodbye to my sister.

"I'll call you as soon as we get back," I assured her.

"You promised me details!" she yelled down the steps.

"You'll get them!" I replied, and we were again outside the house, the reporters having given up and left the property.

"Where to?" I asked Holmes.

He looked down at the clothes he'd been wearing since the night before. "You don't expect me to enter the house of God in this attire, do you?" he said, with some sarcasm. I laughed and pulled out of the driveway.