Sherlock and the Little People
By Doctor Napalm
Chapter 8
John stood up and joined Sherlock at the door of the strange office.
"Oh," said Sherlock, "Mr. O'Reilly. There is some confusion over Mister Kavanagh's current home address, would you have that in your personnel files?"
"Yeah, sure, no problem." he replied, "Check with Milton, my bookkeeper on your way out. Ask Joey to point him out to you."
"Thank you," Sherlock said and the pair turned to leave.
Their escort in the green derby was standing the outside the office leaning against the wall, half asleep. His head popped up as they stepped through the doorway. "Mr. O'Reilly said we could talk to Milton the bookkeeper before we leave," Sherlock said.
He stared at them blankly for a moment while he processed the information and then blinked. "Okay, this way," he said, and pointed back towards the main room.
Leading them to the bar he whispered something to the bartender who climbed down off of the stool he was standing on and shuffled to the other end of the bar. Lifting a trap door in the floor, he shouted, "Miltie! Couple of guys here to see you!" and then let the trap door slam shut. Returning and climbing back on his stool, he smiled at Sherlock and John. "He'll be up in a minute. Like a drink on the house while you're waiting?"
John turned to look at Sherlock and raised his eyebrows with a whimsical smile.
"No, thank you," Sherlock replied.
John frowned but said nothing.
A few moments later the trap door opened and another short statured man climbed out. Dressed in a t-shirt and denim trousers, he wore not a stitch of green. He let the trap door slam shut and walked over beside the bartender. "What can I do for you gentlemen?" he asked.
Sherlock leaned towards the bar and peered over at the tiny man. "I need the home address of Patrick Kavanagh. Mr. O'Reilly said it was okay."
Milton rolled his eyes and heaved a big sigh. "Okay, wait a minute." Mumbling under his breath, he walked back to the trap door and disappeared into his hole, leaving the door open.
While they waited for the bookkeeper to return, John whispered to Sherlock. "You didn't tell O'Reilly that Kavanagh is dead."
"I didn't see the need," Sherlock replied. "I'm sure he will find out eventually."
Milton popped back out of his hideaway with a business card in his hand. He handed it to the bartender who, in turn, handed the card to Sherlock.
"There you are. His address is written on the back of the card."
Sherlock tucked the card in the pocket of his coat without looking at it. "Let's go, John," he said, and headed for the exit.
"Thanks," John said to the bookkeeper, and hurried to catch up with the sleuth.
Standing outside the bar, Sherlock reached into his pocket and withdrew the business card. Examining the address on the back for a moment, he snorted, "Worthless."
"What?" asked John.
"This address is worthless. Unless he lived on a boat in the middle of the Thames, this address does not exist."
"That figures," said John. "What next?"
"We take a look at the murder scene."
Sherlock and John walked to where Patrick Kavanagh's body had been found since it was only a short distance away from Rainbros. It was a seedy neighborhood where trash and loose paper collected in every secluded corner.
"What was up with that office?" John asked Sherlock as they walked, "Every angle was off. It made me feel rather uncomfortable."
"It was an Ames room," Sherlock replied.
"An Ames room?"
"An optical illusion. When viewed from a specific vantage point, anyone in the spot where you were appears tiny; while anyone where Mr. O'Reilly was appears gigantic. I noticed a concealed camera located at the viewing spot. I would imagine your image is probably part of Mr. O'Reilly's collection now."
"Why would he have an office like that?" said John, kicking a bit of stray trash out of his path.
"The manager of Rainbros appears to have a rather severe Napoleon Complex, also referred to as 'Short Man Syndrome.' Looking at photos of himself appearing as a giant in comparison to normal people may help him adjust to the fact that he is a shorty. It's possible that the photos could even be an aphrodisiac for him. Short Man Syndrome is not an officially recognized psychiatric disorder, but nonetheless…"
"He appears to have it," John said, finishing Sherlock's thought.
"Yes. You may have noticed that he appeared to be slightly over five feet tall. Five foot five inches at best. Yet, none of his employees were taller than he is."
"Mostly midgets and dwarves," said John.
"Exactly; he surrounds himself with people shorter than himself to boost his ego. He is also likely to be very aggressive and pushes himself to excel in everything; quick to anger when confronted or opposed. A common trait that might prove significant in regards to Mr. Kavanagh's death."
"We're there," said John as they arrived at the murder scene.