My first update of the New Year. Happy 2003 Everyone!

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Chapter Three
The Direct Approach

Okay, maybe great minds don't think alike. My idea for finding out just who lived at 720 Vauxhall Road involved going up and ringing the doorbell. Holmes dismissed that plan on the grounds that it was too dangerous.

"More dangerous than saving the Crown Jewels?" I asked. Holmes shook his head.

"I won't allow you to go alone." He insisted. I didn't object. After all, it was kinda sweet.

The clouds hung heavy over London. It threatened to rain again as we drove across the Thames and down Vauxhall Road. The ad for a governess appeared in today's paper. It read:

"Wanted: A governess with knowledge of French, Latin, and piano. Must be able to start immediately. Pay L 20 a month, including room and board. Interested parties apply to John Kiones, 720 Vauxhall Road."

I figured it would be safe enough to just go up and inquire about the ad. Hopefully I could get a look around the house and see whether or not this was a dead end lead.

I walked up the steps slowly, trying very hard not to look at Holmes, who was just across the street acting like he was waiting for someone. I rang the bell and waited. And waited. And waited.

I was about to give up when I heard someone fumbling with the lock. The door opened to reveal a tall, well-dressed, and rather grouchy-looking man.

"What?" He barked at me.

"Er, my name is Audrey Hepburn. I'm here to inquire about the governess position." Audrey Hepburn? Where did that come from? The man looked me up and down before answering.

"What position?" He growled. He seemed unable to speak in a normal tone of voice.

"The one in today's paper." I held up the Classified Ads as evidence. "It's says apply to Mr. Kiones, 720 Vauxhall Road…"

"Wrong address!" He barked again, right before slamming the door in my face. Well, that went well.

I joined Holmes in the shadows of the alley across the street and related all that had happened.

"He's lying about something." Holmes said thoughtfully.

"Well duh." Holmes ignored my comment.

"Our next stop should be the real estate agents, but today is Sunday, they'll be closed." Holmes was doing that thing where he was talking to himself again.

"Too bad you don't know a thief who could pick the lock for you or something." That got his attention.

"What makes you think I need a thief to pick a lock for me?"

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A quirk of 19th century London was that nearly every house was a rental. This meant that whoever was living at 720 Vauxhall Road probably had his name written down in a real estate companies files somewhere. The trick was finding it.

Somehow, Holmes knew that the area of Vauxhall Road was leased by the Mercer & Howe Realty Company. Mercer & Howe was located not too far from Vauxhall Road, but we had to make a detour first.

"Aurora, what is this place?" Holmes asked, as we climbed the dingy, rickety stairs.

"My flat."

"Wonderful."

"I didn't get it for the view." My flat was basically a room with a locked door. When I returned to the 19th century, I needed a place to stash all the stuff I brought back with me. Things that would cause a lot of problems if they were found. The building had probably been condemned decades ago, was in a high crime neighborhood, in one of the more "colorful" sections of the East End.

Holmes hovered on the threshold while I gather my supplies. There was no way I was breaking into anywhere in a dress. Okay, maybe that one time, but there were extenuating circumstances. It didn't take long; I didn't have much stuff there. Just a laptop, my lock picks, and a few other techno gadgets.

In the cab, a realization came to me. They tend to do that every once and a while. The sheer madness of the whole situation hit me. I, the ex-thief, and Holmes, the most famous detective ever, working together. We had this whole yin-yang thing going on.

We pulled up a block away from the offices of Mercer & Howe and walked the rest of the way. The sun was beginning to fade out again and a London fog was curling over the cobblestones. The street was as deserted as it was likely to get. I was wearing a huge black overcoat over my close fitting blouse and slacks. My hair was tucked under one of those hats that everyone one in this century seems to like. To the rest of the world Holmes and I looked like two ordinary guys standing in the doorway to get out of the wind.

I took about fifteen seconds to pick the lock. It was really child's play compared to some of the lock people put on their houses in the 21st century. The files for Vauxhall Road were in a filing cabinet on the second floor, clearly marked "Vauxhall Road."

I kept watch while Holmes scanned the files with my pen flashlight. He hadn't been too impressed with that little piece of technology, said something about "natural progression of science."

Anyway, 720 Vauxhall Road was sold, rather than rented, to a Mr. Zachary Grant, widowed with no children. But the title to the house was in the name of Mrs. Anne Grant. Something about that seemed important. I couldn't think about it right now so I shoved it to the back of my brain for the moment.

Holmes replaced the files and we left silently, careful to leave everything as it was. I even locked the door behind us. No one would ever notice anything amiss, no harm, no foul. There was a scary moment when a uniformed police officer walked by, whistling loudly, right as we were about to open the door again. Fortunately, he didn't notice a thing.

I wasn't till we reached Baker Street again that the problem rolling around in the back of my brain resolved itself. It was rather like opening your eyes just before your annoying sister turns on the light and dazzles your eyes.

"I think I know what the connection is." I declared to Holmes, who was brooding into the fire.

"Back in college I took Criminal Justice classes."

"Know thy enemy?" Holmes resisted a smile.

"Something like that. Anyway, during the unit on serial killers our professor said, 'A person just doesn't wake up and decide to kill a bunch of people. There has to be a trigger, a decision, conscious or unconscious, that leads that person to that act.'"

Let me pause for a moment and point out something. People in Holmes' day really didn't believe in serial killers, kinda like the bogeyman. A story made up to frighten people. The concept that a person would kill for no discernable reason was fairly new.

Holmes nodded. "So he murdered Helena Beckham and kidnapped Jane Goldmeyer because some triggered him. Something caused him to snap."

"And I bet anything that it was the death of his wife. I bet she looked just like Helena Beckham too." I added.

"So, now how do we prove it." Holmes muttered. Good point. We had means, motive, opportunity and absolutely no evidence. Holmes rolled a cigarette but didn't light it. I poured a cup of coffee from the pot which had been sitting on the sideboard all day.

~Now that we both have our addictive substances…~ I chuckled to myself.

It was about ten minutes before Holmes spoke again. "If Helena Beckham was killed three days before her body was dumped, but a month after she was kidnapped, where was she all that time?"

"Anywhere, did you see the size of that house? If this Grant guy lives alone he might not have any servants, or they might be forbidden from certain rooms."

"Conjecture without a shred of evidence! Anything with Beckham's body was washed away by the rain and we can't get to our suspected crime scene."

"Sure we can." I corrected. I committed one felony already today, what's the harm in two? But, while we had been talking and bouncing ideas off one another, Dr. Watson had decided to make a house call.

Dr. Watson had been off doing house calls all day. But he was in the loop about the investigation, and had come to hear an update. I should also say that Dr. Watson would like nothing better to marry me off to Holmes. Remember back at the beginning where I got introduced as Aurora Watson? Total lie, we're not even close to being related. But Watson takes his duties as fake uncle very seriously.

Well, guess what the first thought in his head was when he saw the two of us in a room together. That's right; ~"They're in 1ooove!"~ Not just "love" but "looove." The really annoying part was I wasn't sure that he was wrong. And now, we return to our story.

"Watson! You've arrived just in time." Holmes said quickly before Watson could jump to any conclusions. And he continued, explaining the investigation so far. Watson was shocked and amused at the part about the break-in at the realty firm.

"What were we supposed to do? Wait patiently for regular business hours?" I asked.

"Very well. I concede the point." Watson agreed good-naturedly. "What do you intend to do next?"

I looked at Holmes. That was exactly what we had been talking about when Watson came in. I had a vague feeling Holmes wouldn't mind breaking into our suspect's house, seeing as how we were already in law-breaker mode.

"We must gather some solid evidence. We need more information. Why the title to the house is in his wife's name, for example." Holmes said. "Or the cause of death."

"Great way to spend the day," I said sourly, "digging through musty records at the county courthouse." And I was so looking forward into breaking into that house.


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.·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn·»¦«·´¨`·.