Chapter 2: Deductions in Russell Square

While the train passed through the landscape of England, towards the south, to London, Alice watched the landscape shoot by. Her little book filled with little drawings. The couple in the booth across the aisle was still sitting there with their arms entangled, they had been in that position for over half an hour. Alice just smiled and opened her book again, looked at the quotes she used for the couple again and then turned some pages back, where one name shone in the otherwise blank page. It was her fathers' name, but she didn't know anything about him except for his name, and some things she'd rather not write down, since they were not supposed to be known to her. That's why the pages were blank. But now she grabbed her pencil and started drawing some words close to his name.

A "high IQ", like her, she didn't care about school, everything she was taught there was useless to her. Who cared that the earth revolved around the sun, or what the subject of a sentence was? The only thing she cared for was observing. People. She couldn't be around them, talking wasn't her favorite thing. She never knew what to say or how to act. Should someone attempt to make direct eye contact with her, she would lose her entire ability to speak. Only people she really trusted she would look in the eye, and those people could be counted on one hand.

All she wanted to do was observe people from a distance and write down everything she could about them. Once people would talk to her, and she was forced to talk back, she would know everything about them, and she was always right. She could estimate their questions, predict what they were going to say and sometimes even their actions. That made her smile. Then she wrote down "crime", she didn't know yet what her father did with crime, but it was important. She always tried to look out for the local crimes, not simply to solve them, but again to observe people, to create a profile for the suspect and sometimes she could even help the local police force, a bunch of men who couldn't do anything by themselves, in catching the criminal with that profile.

She put her pencil down again, she knew nothing else about her father. But maybe the internet did. With a sly grin Alice grabbed her laptop from her bag and opened it, she opened internet and typed her fathers' name, immediately a site popped up. She clicked the link and was redirected to a site. She smiled and picked up her book and pencil again. "The Science of Deduction".

Alice had never given a name to her way of working, but she did the same thing when trying to predict the questions of people. She always observed and deduced what would be the only possible question a certain person would ask in a certain situation. They could be weird questions at times, but they were often the right ones.

The final thing she wrote down was "Consulting Detective", next to "Crime". With a smile on her face she closed the book after taking one last glance at it, she knew more about her father already, and all the other things would come later. She scrolled down on the website and noticed an address, 29 Montague Street, and a phone number. She smiled again, then closed and put away her laptop.

She knew enough, she grabbed her phone and put the phone number in there. She looked out the window again, in the reflection she saw the couple kissing. She focussed on the landscape, which was gradually becoming more urban. Of all emotions a person could feel, she could never quite understand love. No matter how much she observed it, she didn't understand why people enjoyed kissing and being together at all times, holding hands and cuddling. It would not be long now, not long before she would arrive in London at last, she followed the changes in the landscape.

After another hour, the train stopped at the station, Alice was already in front of the door and stepped out, with her backpack and her small suitcase. She didn't bring much, she didn't have much to bring, and everything she couldn't bring and needed in the future, she could buy again. Through a crowd of people she slowly moved towards the exit, St Pancras station, London. It won't be long until she would be in the centre of London, near the hotel where she would be staying for a couple of weeks, after that, she had to find her own place, or go back home. In the hotel she would think about where to go next, what to do in order to get into contact with her father. After 15 years, she would finally meet him, at least, that was what she hoped.

A little while later Alice was sitting in her hotel room, her suitcase open on the second bed of the room and the clothes disorganised. Alice had turned her back on the suitcase and looked out of the window, while she slowly moved her bow across the strings of her violin. With her eyes closed she listened to the music coming from the violin, nothing known, nothing she had heard before, she composed on the spot.

That was usually her way of working, she felt a certain way, and that was reflected in her playing, either on the violin, which she had taught herself, or the piano. Her mother had sent her out for lessons for that instrument, but she quit after she had learned the basics, now she only did what she wanted to play, either pre-composed or improvised. She opened her eyes and looked out the window, which didn't show much else than a road and other windows, so she closed her eyes again.

Suddenly the playing stopped and she put her violin down. She grabbed her phone from a table and sat down next to her suitcase, she opened a new message to the phone number from the website and started typing:

Dear Sir
I have something to tell you
Please come to Russel Square
in one hour
I'll find you
ASR

She hit send and grabbed her bag, she pulled out her book, pencil, eraser and headphones. She plugged the headphones into her phone, selected a playlist and put her coat on, a black coat with an oversized hood, her perfect way to hide from people looking, and the perfect way to look at them without being noticed. She put everything in her pockets, grabbed the key to her room and walked towards the door. She closed it behind her and started the walk towards Russell Square, close to Montague Street, where her father was living according to the site. For her it was a 40-minute walk.

With her headphones on she moved through the crowd, listening to music everybody her age would listen to, with some older songs mixed in between. But she wasn't really listening, she just couldn't function without music, either on her headphones, or in her head, she needed music, always. She slowly got her book out of her pocket, followed by her pencil and while walking through the streets of London she created little profiles for all the people she passed. A fraction of a second was enough, clothing, body language and actions when passing said so much about a person. With her pencil sometimes blindly scribbling on the paper, she drew and wrote on the paper.

After 37 minutes she entered Russell Square, she was fast. She slowed down her pace and looked around, before standing still in the middle of a field, underneath a large oak tree. Her eyes followed various people. A man sitting on a bench holding a newspaper. He was a doctor, judging by the pager on his belt, the coffee next to him gave away he had been doing a night shift, morning shift and was about to go in again. He was a surgeon, a heart surgeon to be exact.

The music continued to plays as Alice wrote down everything she saw about the man when her attention was drawn to a man who was standing a few feet away. Observing. Like her. His coat long, but a suit visible underneath. No tie. Neat, not chic. The collar of his coat up. Mysterious. Hiding his face, His cheekbones, which were still very visible. Clearly avoiding the looks from others when he observes them. Like Alice. His hair dark and curly, styled into perfection, but seemingly chaotic, like her. He liked dogs, he looked at every dog, not showing his affection, but Alice could see it anyway. Sternly observing everybody who passed him, like she did. Not writing. Showing no emotion, but clearly appalled by all the emotion around him. Not social. Apparently not looking for affection or contact with others. Never making eye contact with anyone. Alice's focus changed to his hands, the parts of a body that gave away so much information about a person, but hardly anybody knew that. It showed her she was looking at a heavy smoker, addict for years now, 2 packs a day on a light day, but he was picky about his brands. There were two packs in the pockets of his coat, two different brands. One was crumpled and clearly empty, but the other one was still sealed shut. And even though the man's hands were twitching and clearly longing for another cigarette, he did not give in and kept the package of the wrong brand sealed shut in the coatpocket. Then she noticed the stains from cocaine use, not very recent, but still visible. Then Alice noticed something that made her smile. Violin player.

She closed her book, she already knew who she had been observing all this time, but she wanted to know more about her father before she would eventually approach him. She put the book away and walked towards the man. She stopped when she was standing next to him and turned around, so they looked in the same direction. For a while there was a tensed silence between them, then the man opened his mouth.

'What do you want?'

Alice kept looking ahead, not very sure what to say. In her head she had had this conversation many times over and over again, but such things never worked out in reality, ever.

'Talk.'

The man seemed surprised by her reaction, but his sternness quickly returned and they continued to stare ahead like two statues. Two observing statues. Constantly observing and making their own deductions, the same deductions, but they didn't know that.

'You wanted to tell me something.'

Alice nodded, then she thought of something and grabbed a picture of her mum she always kept in her book. The man glanced at the book and seemed to be surprised, but then he regained his focus as Alice gave him the picture.

'My mother.'

The man looks at it for a while, apparently not remembering her.

'Missing, dead...'

Alice smiled, a short shake of the head follows.

'She's alive and I know perfectly well where she is.'

The picture was returned to Alice.

'Then what do you need me for.'

Alice looked up for the first time. The man was tall, 6 feet, precisely. With her 5 feet 4 she was short compared to him.

'I don't do deals with children, so this better be good, girl.'

Alice nodded.

'My mother raised me alone, I am here to find my father.'

The man turned up his nose.

'Find a father. Fine, what do you have on him?'

Alice turned towards him, facing him 'en profile'.

'Look at me.'

The man's eyes grew larger, but then they moved towards her, without moving any other muscle in his entire body.

'Yes.'

Alice looked harder at him.

'What is my father like? Try it. Deduce it.'

The man released an irritated sigh, then he turned around to face her.

'Look, little girl, I need to use my brain for the more interesting parts of life, not just on any little girl in the park who...'

'Deduce it.'

He stopped in his tracks and took a deep breath, closing his eyes, then he opened them again and stared her right in the eye.

'You're father walked out on your mother way before you were born, considering her age it seems to me she was your age when she had you, making your father a teenager as well. The fact that he walked out on your mother probably had nothing to do with you. Considering you're here you have got the information he lives in London, and considering your clearly genetic bluntness and boldness to just order me around...'

He stopped for a while, trying to indicate his annoyance, but Alice didn't care, she just smiled.

'You're father should make a proper policeman or detective, or maybe even a politician. His looks should resemble yours in your hair and face, but not that much in anything else, since you look a lot like your mother.'

Alice smiled, he had just been describing himself, not completely accurate, but in a way. Now, she thought, let's make it a little harder on him.

'What about addictions? Smoking, drinking, all that? Relations?'

The man sighed again, but then he continued.

'I can't tell anything about the addictions of your father, but probably, since this is London, he smokes. As for relations, he probably has a new woman, because, clearly he is a man who likes women.'

Alice had to stop herself from bursting into laughter, but the man saw it already.

'Think you can do better?'

Alice looked him straight in the eye, and then nodded. The man stared at her, perplexed, but his seriousness quickly returned.

'Well, go ahead.'

Alice took a deep breath, closing her eyes, mimicking the man in front of her. Then opening her eyes again and looking straight at him.

'My father did walk out on my 17-year-old mother before she even knew she was pregnant. He was also 17 years old at that time. Since he didn't know, it had nothing to do with me, but he wanted to follow his older brother to London, where he lives now. Brother, yeah brother, because that's what my mother told me. But why older, well, he must have been, otherwise his parents would never have agreed on him moving to London at such a young age.

My father is taller than me, and has curly hair, like me, but doesn't look that much like me I guess, otherwise he would have immediately recognized me upon seeing me. My boldness is genetic, yes, but so is my affection for the violin apparently, because my father also plays. His profession is kind of strange to me, but maybe he can clarify that eventually. As for addictions, yes, he smokes, has smoked for years, at least 2 packs a day, but he is very picky about his brands. He also has a cocaine addiction, which about half a year ago almost cost him his life, if it wasn't for his brother to save him. Still he continues to use, not as often and not as much, just to feel good. But otherwise he fills his time with experiments and crime solving, as a substitution, which doesn't always work apparently.

My father doesn't have a new woman, because he is repelled by any sign of emotion, especially love. My father's IQ is insanely high, and he uses is to deduce many things about people, but he wasn't able to deduce that I had already found my father, even before we started this conversation.'

The man stared her straight in the eye, eyes that screamed confusion, but he didn't want to show it, so he hid it behind his sternness.

'Mr Sherlock Holmes, you are a very competent Consulting Detective, whatever that may be, but you couldn't deduce that the girl who asked you for advise about finding her father, just deduced right in front of your eyes, that you are in fact my father.'

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11/4/2018: minor changes made to comply to further research