The Return Of The Hound
Dear Reader,
Disclaimer: I do not own "The Hound of the Baskervilles". Sir Arthur Conan Doyle does. This counts for the whole story. Thanx!
Chapter One
A Day At The Office
Jessica Helmstar, 27, of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, was the descendant of the ever-famous private investigator, Sherlock Holmes. She herself was a P.I., and the few who knew her lineage said she was a chip off the old block. They were wrong. Jessica Helmstar was a whole new block, and she was about to prove it in her next case.
Jessica was 5'10", had straight jet black hair that brushed her shoulders, and had been hired no less than 47 times by the official police station to solve various crimes, which she did, including everything from arson to stalking, and many, many more.
Jessica, like Holmes, had her own faithful sidekick, Christina Walt, a 27-year-old blonde with a way too big sense of humor. Christi was a lot like Watson in many ways. She was ignorant of the very small, yet crucial, clues that Jessica managed to pick up. She was also just as loyal to Jessica as Watson was to Holmes, and just as willing to do as she was told.
Today, Jessica was hired, once again, by the state police to solve a serial killer case. She was wearing her usual trench coat, and driving to the police station in her black 4-wheel drive, with Christi in the front passenger's seat.
"What do you think it's all about this time, Jesse?" Jessica scowled. She hated being called "Jesse". It was so juvenile.
"Murder," she replied, resisting the urge to smack Christi in the back of the head for her calling her "Jesse" for the umpteenth time. They pulled into the station.
Inside, they saw a pot-bellied, red-faced officer, with several files in his hand, bragging to a few others, who looked bored but mildly impressed.
"Yup," the fat officer was saying loudly. "I get the case, and no stinking P.I. is gonna stop me!"
"Actually," Jessica butted in, "A bit more well groomed P.I. is going to stop you, Officer Kornmel. Now, if you don't mind, give me my files, and I'll be off."
The officers looked up in surprise, and Officer Kornmel's red face grew redder.
"What makes you think these are your files, Helmstar?" he snarled.
"Because those are files M173, and my memo specifically said that I'd be the one to work this case. not you." Jessica resisted the insane urge to call him "Officer Doughnut".
His face screwed up and his lip curled, making him look like a scrambled tomato. The other officers seemed rather amused. "Observant little bugger, aren't you?"
"Observant, yes, bugger, no. That's your position. And my, my, my. drinking on duty, Officer?" She picked up an empty beer bottle from the trashcan. "That's against the rules. I suppose Commander Shazé will suspend you. again. when she hears about this."
You could almost see the smoke coming out of Officer Kornmel's ears. Meanwhile, the officers he had previously been falsely bragging to were snickering behind their hands.
"Listen here, you little. you little girl!" The listening officers laughed out loud at his lame comeback. Several had to shove their fists in their mouths to stifle their laughter, and poor Christi seemed to be in pain!
Jessica raised an elegant eyebrow. "'Little girl?' Is that. oh my. it couldn't possibly be. professional envy that I just heard?" she looked shocked, and continued solemnly, "Oh my, Officer Kornmel, it doesn't look as though private is a low enough rank for you. Maybe Commander Shazé will know what to do about that." She snatched file M173 out of his chubby hand, gave him an annoyingly pleasant smile, and went off to one of the P.I. offices the department provided, the sound of laughter following them. She sat down in the swivel chair, looking smug.
"You know, Christi, there's no start to a day like insulting a fat official."
Christi sniggered. "You can say that again."
"Perhaps not. Let's get up to date on these files."
And so they did. The case turned out to be that some huge hound was tearing its victims to shreds, all except an old man, Hugo Trempson, an old man who instead got his limbs chopped off. The officials suspected human involvement because the victims' bodies were put in grotesque positions, with limbs hacked off to apparently make the shapes to the murderer's liking. Charming.
One thing in common was that all nine victims were distantly related to one another, they were all murdered in the park, and any victims with their face intact seemed frightened beyond belief. Footprints, but unfortunately, not fur samples, were found of a gigantic hound, but they could not be traced.
The authorities had two prime suspects: The daughter of Hugo, Barbara Trempson-Carstatch, a mother of three who ran an animal shelter. Her motive to murder her father could have been the inheritance. She had alibis for all the other murders, though, but could have possibly used the pattern to cover up the murder. She refused to give an alibi for the night of her father's murder.
The other was a man Roberto Conston, who worked as an assistant veterinarian. His motive was unknown, he had alibis for all the murders, but his alibis didn't seem to add up. One night he was at a club, supposedly in a DJ contest that the club seemed to never have had, and the next he was at an opera, and the seat that he had insisted he had sat in was, according to witnesses, empty. And when he was supposed to be asked to further clarify his statements, he didn't show up.
Whoever the criminal was, they were both giving the police a hell of a time. And Jessica was ready to return the favor.
*~*
A/N: Well?!?!?! You like it? You hate it? You wanna boil me in hot oil? Okay, let's not get EXTREME. Just R/R. THANX!
Dear Reader,
Disclaimer: I do not own "The Hound of the Baskervilles". Sir Arthur Conan Doyle does. This counts for the whole story. Thanx!
Chapter One
A Day At The Office
Jessica Helmstar, 27, of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, was the descendant of the ever-famous private investigator, Sherlock Holmes. She herself was a P.I., and the few who knew her lineage said she was a chip off the old block. They were wrong. Jessica Helmstar was a whole new block, and she was about to prove it in her next case.
Jessica was 5'10", had straight jet black hair that brushed her shoulders, and had been hired no less than 47 times by the official police station to solve various crimes, which she did, including everything from arson to stalking, and many, many more.
Jessica, like Holmes, had her own faithful sidekick, Christina Walt, a 27-year-old blonde with a way too big sense of humor. Christi was a lot like Watson in many ways. She was ignorant of the very small, yet crucial, clues that Jessica managed to pick up. She was also just as loyal to Jessica as Watson was to Holmes, and just as willing to do as she was told.
Today, Jessica was hired, once again, by the state police to solve a serial killer case. She was wearing her usual trench coat, and driving to the police station in her black 4-wheel drive, with Christi in the front passenger's seat.
"What do you think it's all about this time, Jesse?" Jessica scowled. She hated being called "Jesse". It was so juvenile.
"Murder," she replied, resisting the urge to smack Christi in the back of the head for her calling her "Jesse" for the umpteenth time. They pulled into the station.
Inside, they saw a pot-bellied, red-faced officer, with several files in his hand, bragging to a few others, who looked bored but mildly impressed.
"Yup," the fat officer was saying loudly. "I get the case, and no stinking P.I. is gonna stop me!"
"Actually," Jessica butted in, "A bit more well groomed P.I. is going to stop you, Officer Kornmel. Now, if you don't mind, give me my files, and I'll be off."
The officers looked up in surprise, and Officer Kornmel's red face grew redder.
"What makes you think these are your files, Helmstar?" he snarled.
"Because those are files M173, and my memo specifically said that I'd be the one to work this case. not you." Jessica resisted the insane urge to call him "Officer Doughnut".
His face screwed up and his lip curled, making him look like a scrambled tomato. The other officers seemed rather amused. "Observant little bugger, aren't you?"
"Observant, yes, bugger, no. That's your position. And my, my, my. drinking on duty, Officer?" She picked up an empty beer bottle from the trashcan. "That's against the rules. I suppose Commander Shazé will suspend you. again. when she hears about this."
You could almost see the smoke coming out of Officer Kornmel's ears. Meanwhile, the officers he had previously been falsely bragging to were snickering behind their hands.
"Listen here, you little. you little girl!" The listening officers laughed out loud at his lame comeback. Several had to shove their fists in their mouths to stifle their laughter, and poor Christi seemed to be in pain!
Jessica raised an elegant eyebrow. "'Little girl?' Is that. oh my. it couldn't possibly be. professional envy that I just heard?" she looked shocked, and continued solemnly, "Oh my, Officer Kornmel, it doesn't look as though private is a low enough rank for you. Maybe Commander Shazé will know what to do about that." She snatched file M173 out of his chubby hand, gave him an annoyingly pleasant smile, and went off to one of the P.I. offices the department provided, the sound of laughter following them. She sat down in the swivel chair, looking smug.
"You know, Christi, there's no start to a day like insulting a fat official."
Christi sniggered. "You can say that again."
"Perhaps not. Let's get up to date on these files."
And so they did. The case turned out to be that some huge hound was tearing its victims to shreds, all except an old man, Hugo Trempson, an old man who instead got his limbs chopped off. The officials suspected human involvement because the victims' bodies were put in grotesque positions, with limbs hacked off to apparently make the shapes to the murderer's liking. Charming.
One thing in common was that all nine victims were distantly related to one another, they were all murdered in the park, and any victims with their face intact seemed frightened beyond belief. Footprints, but unfortunately, not fur samples, were found of a gigantic hound, but they could not be traced.
The authorities had two prime suspects: The daughter of Hugo, Barbara Trempson-Carstatch, a mother of three who ran an animal shelter. Her motive to murder her father could have been the inheritance. She had alibis for all the other murders, though, but could have possibly used the pattern to cover up the murder. She refused to give an alibi for the night of her father's murder.
The other was a man Roberto Conston, who worked as an assistant veterinarian. His motive was unknown, he had alibis for all the murders, but his alibis didn't seem to add up. One night he was at a club, supposedly in a DJ contest that the club seemed to never have had, and the next he was at an opera, and the seat that he had insisted he had sat in was, according to witnesses, empty. And when he was supposed to be asked to further clarify his statements, he didn't show up.
Whoever the criminal was, they were both giving the police a hell of a time. And Jessica was ready to return the favor.
*~*
A/N: Well?!?!?! You like it? You hate it? You wanna boil me in hot oil? Okay, let's not get EXTREME. Just R/R. THANX!