"That... is not Phineas Whitmer."
The shabby Peugeot sputtered to a screeching halt before the gates, and the similarly shabby driver waved at the guards. "Is this the Carlisle home?" he shouted. "They weren't kidding. That's a very big house!"
The guards looked at each other, and one went to the window. "This is a private area, sir."
"Oh, uh, I have an appointment with uh... What was her name? Carlisle? Alexa Carlisle." Columbo got out, fumbling with a cigar.
"You're the PI?" the guard asked, though the look on his face already had an answer to that question.
"No, not exactly. Did Phineas Whitmer not tell you?" Columbo rifled through his pockets, and he grinned at the guard. "Do you have a lighter?"
His brow twitched. "Unless you have an official appointment, I'll have to ask you to leave."
"He really didn't tell you, huh? Phineas Whitmer got pulled to another case! We just so happened to be in the same station at the time—you know, I was visiting some old friends in London. The last time I was there, these two brilliant actors tried—"
"Sir."
"Oh. Sorry. Anyway, Phineas told me about this gig. He said he'd let you guys know a Lieutenant Columbo was coming instead?"
The guard pursed his lips, recognizing the name. "Please wait." He tapped his earpiece. "A Lieutenant Columbo says he has an appointment with Madam Carlisle. Check up on that, if you would."
Columbo's mouth went agape. "Who are you talking to?"
The guard stifled a sigh. "The indoor security."
"No, I mean... How? All I saw was you holding your ear, and for a second I thought you had some kind of pain in there, like, uh, what's the word? My brother-in-law has it, and it's real nasty ringing. Tinnitus, yeah."
"It's not tinnitus. It's a radio earpiece. Standard issue." The guard heard an answer back and promptly opened the gate for him.
Columbo lit up like an excited pup. "An earpiece? Like from a spy flick?"
"Yes, Lieutenant."
"Wow... How does it work? Can it really go across whole continents?"
"Not normal ones. Places like CICADA deal in that kind of stuff."
"Wow... So it's just like a radio that supermarket people use? What if someone accidentally taps into your signal?"
The guard laughed. "That's not possible, sir! These are encrypted. Only our company has access to the codes."
"Encrypted..." Columbo looked back at the mansion, mouthing an 'Oh' as if just now remembering his purpose here. He smiled at the guard. "I'll be on my way now. Take care."
He smiled back, more so out of relief. "Just between you and me... was Mr. Whitmer strung out when he sent you?"
"What?"
He shook his head. "Nevermind. The Madam is waiting for you. You should go."
As Columbo finally left, even Agent 47 felt a tinge of annoyance. Nevermind the fact his plan to take Phineas' disguise was dashed—not even he could look like an old, bumbling Italian man—but this detective did not seem the brightest. "I'll run a background check on whoever this is," Diana said, and judging by her tone, she wasn't too concerned with what she could find. "Either way, you should get going, 47."
"Oh!" Columbo stepped through the gate again, and the guard flinched. "One more thing!"
Clenching his fists, he took a breath and said calmly, "What is it now?"
"I just wanted to say... security here looks pretty light. I mean, that brick wall? My nephew hops over things like at all the time. The Madam should probably do something about that." He smiled, waving one last time before heading off.
Agent 47 had scaled the wall, following a path hidden by shrubbery and natural cover. And as he made way, he couldn't help but watch Columbo, who... looked like a child in marvel. He stopped on the bridge to admire it and the river. He stopped by the gardener to chat about the hedges. Not to mention how the mansion took his breath away, the scale of it dawning on him as he drew near.
The hitman wondered if Phineas Whitmer was intentionally harming the Carlisles. Whatever ran through that PI's mind, he shifted his focus to more important things. His target was in that mansion, and she would not leave these grounds alive.
...
Alexa Carlisle stood amid the grand foyer, scrutinizing everything behind an emotionless mask. It was a mask perfected over a great many years. Decades, even. Few things ever came close to tearing that down. "A great tragedy has fallen upon us," she said, eyes following the detective across the room. Back and forth. Back and forth. "I need a quick resolution handled with absolute discretion."
This man was already one of those few things.
"This is quite a place, ma'am!" he cooed. "How old is this place? Way I hear it, generations upon generations of Carlisles have been through here. It's like I'm walking in a museum—I'm scared that anything I touch would just... fall apart. This must all cost a hefty fortune."
She huffed. "You're Phineas Whitmer's replacement?"
"I wouldn't say replacement, ma'am, it's a bit of a funny story." He ran his hand over the counters. "This was supposed to be a normal vacation, but my wife and I were stopped by Mr. Whitmer. I had never heard of the guy, but he knew me because of the case with, uh... their names slipped my mind, but I hear it was a pretty big deal here in Britain. So he comes up and he invites us out—"
"Lieutenant Columbo," she snapped, freezing the man before her. "You will find I do not care much for idle chatter. You are here for one thing only: to solve my brother's death. And if I could spare the effort, I would throw you out and drag Phineas Whitmer by his ear myself!"
"Gee, I didn't mean any offense. I only mean respect, ma'am."
"If it's respect you want to show, stop with the ma'am and address me as Madam."
"Madam? Yeah, I can remember that."
She sighed. "I suppose you will want to start at the crime scene."
"Yeah, you got that."
Finally, an agreement. "Fernsby will take over from here."
The older man promptly stepped up. "I am Mr. Fernsby, the butler..."
Alexa left for the adjacent library. At the same time, Agent 47, disguised as a male staffer, peered down at his target from the second floor railing.
Alexa was speaking with her grandson, Patrick. But as far as 47 was concerned, she and her guard were the only ones under the chandelier. It was rare in the career, but the targets could do 90% of the work for him.
Agent 47 took out a coin, taking careful aim, and threw it. It bounced on the ground beside the guard, drawing everyone's attention for a moment. The guard followed after the peculiar coin—just taking him out of the chandelier's landing zone.
He undid the winch. The chandelier jilted for an inch—
"Mrs. Carlisle? Just one more thing!"
—then stopped. He grabbed the handle as quickly as it started spinning. If it weren't for his inhuman instincts, an innocent man would be dead.
Columbo had shambled inside, joining Alexa under the chandelier.
She sighed. Loudly. Agent 47 did, too, quietly. "Madam," she corrected. "What is it, Lieutenant?"
"Oh, Madam. Right." He searched through the pockets on his trench coat. Then his suit and pants. "Before I get to the crime scene or the suspects, I just wanted to clear the air about you being dead... but not really dead. Because you're still here."
"I believe I made it clear that no questions are to be asked about my circumstances."
"I know that, ma'am—"
"Madam."
"Sorry. Madam. But I think knowing the full story would help me crack this case. Either way, my lips are sealed.
"And what do you think this information would solve?"
He smiled, finding his notebook. "If there was in fact a killer, the timing is pretty convenient, since they acted only after your supposed death." His smile faltered. "Madam, this is real embarrassing, but do you have a pencil I can borrow?"
If the mask was an object, everyone would have heard it crack. "There's one on the desk over there."
Thankfully, Columbo was none the wiser. "Thank you." He went over to grab it. "Where was I... Oh. As I was saying, faking your death? The idea of that is just crazy to me. And not long after the news claims it, this happens..."
Alexa's bodyguard returned to her side. Agent 47 let out a breath. Of course, it was rarely ever that easy. If Columbo kept bothering her, that was already another complication. It would be much easier to get him out of the way, and 47 was certain he could talk Columbo off of her back.
He descended amid the Lieutenant's theories, coming up to tap his shoulder. "Lieutenant?" he started, meeting his confused look. "I overheard your theories, and I can't help but feel you'd be more informed after inspecting the crime scene."
Columbo nodded. "You know, sir, you're absolutely right. It's my bad, really. It's real easy to get caught up in the excitement." He paused. "Not that there's anything exciting about a death."
"I understand. I'll head back to work, then—"
"Wait, sir!" Columbo hurried after him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, but can I have your name?"
47 stared back blankly.
"It's just procedure. Gotta know all the pieces on the board."
"Tobias Rieper."
"Rieper..." He began writing. "R-E-A-P—"
"R-I-E-P."
"R-I-E-P-E-R... Ooh, my wife would get superstitious about that."
47 nodded. "Good thing she isn't here, then."
"Yeah, you're right. She's absolutely crazy about that stuff. You know, I broke a mirror in the bathroom, and she want ballistic, roping me into all kinds of 'counter-curses' or whatever they're called, and I—"
"Will that be all?"
"Oh. Yeah. That'll be all." He extended a hand. "Thank you for the advice, Mr. Rieper."
He shook. "Anytime."
Fortunately for 47, Alexa was still under the chandelier and talking with Patrick again. He recalled a radio in the connecting corridor that the bodyguard was closer to, and with Columbo leaving for the crime scene, that would leave him enough space to create a perfect accident—
"Mr. Rieper?"
He spun around in a second. "Yes, Lieutenant?"
"I don't know if I'm getting rusty, I mean, I didn't even think about the crime scene again until you brought it up. I need your help with something."
"I would love to help, but..." 47 glanced at Alexa, "working in this place leaves little time to relax."
Columbo made a silent 'Oh'. "I get that, I really do. I won't take too much of your time. It'll be just a second." He flipped through his notes. "No, that's my wife's bucket list... Here we go. Actually, I wanted to know first, how long have you worked here?"
"I'm a recent hire. One of the staff has called in sick, and I got here as quick as I could."
"Staff... called in sick..." he wrote.
"47, rest assured we'll have the alibi check out on file, but there's something you should know. You need to stay away from that Lieutenant. He's—"
"Sir?"
47 blinked. "Sorry?"
"Oh, it's nothing, it just looked like I lost you for a moment. I get it, my wife is the same. Sometimes I talk a lot, and she just blanks out and stares into space. Granted, I only lost you for, what, 10 seconds? I've gotten better at realizing these things. Then that lets me know if I'm taking too long."
"As a matter of fact, I told you we are incredibly busy."
47 looked at Alexa. He grit his teeth, watching her conversation wrap up with Patrick. "If that is all, Lieutenant, I'll be on my way," she called, leaving the room.
"No problem!" Columbo answered, swiftly focusing back on 47. "I'll be done in no time. If you got here late, I take it that means you can't confirm if the entire staff was out on the day of Zachary's death?"
"I'm afraid not. But anyone else can confirm as much."
Columbo nodded. "Thank you for your time."
Agent 47 walked away again. He couldn't place exactly what—maybe it was Diana's urgency—but every fiber in his body sensed danger. It was the same feeling that alerted him of anyone who could see through his disguise. But everything he observed about Columbo said otherwise.
"We've underestimated him, 47. A lieutenant in the LAPD, his full name is—"
"One more thing!"
"—Columbo."
Once again, he spun around. "Yes?"
"I just wanted to double check on something. The staff here make sure everything is clean and fixed up, right?"
"That's correct."
"And every day there's work done here. There shouldn't be anything wrong with anything?"
"Ideally not, but you can't account for everything."
"Yeah, that's true... I guess that makes sense. I was just thinking something funny." He scratched his head for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah... makes sense. Not everything can be looked after."
"Is there a problem?"
"Oh, it's really nothing. But, well..." He glanced up. "That chandelier above us dropped for a bit. Scared the life out of me, let me tell you. I thought there might've been something wrong with the winch or chain, but that didn't make sense, because the Madam and Mr. Fernsby made it sound like everything here was run to absolute perfection."
"There is no such thing as perfection, I'm afraid. I'll take a look at the chandelier."
"Appreciate it."
Agent 47 picked up the pace as he ascended the stairs. Never had any bystander dug at him like this before. He double-checked just to make sure Columbo wasn't behind him before speaking, "Diana, could Providence have tipped him off?"
"No, he's completely unaffiliated. I see nothing shady in his history, either. But what he does have is a history as impressive as yours, only for murder mysteries rather than assassinations." His handler sighed, unable to help but chuckle. "Coming across people like him are a rarity, but not impossible. I advise you stay out of his way from here on out."
She didn't need to tell him twice...
...
"Excuse me! Mr. Fernsby?" The butler stopped his feather dusting in time to see Columbo running awkwardly down the hall. He slowed to a stop, short of breath. "Pardon me. Is it true you know every employee in this mansion?"
"Indeed, sir."
"Okay, then, uh, this is going to be a silly question, but how many of them are bald?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Bald. Not even a speck of hair on their head. In America, we have this guy, Mr. Clean. I don't know if you call him the same thing here, but he's—"
"I know what you mean, Lieutenant, and no, none of them are as bald as you ask."
Columbo shakily wrote his answer. "Thanks, sir, and sorry for the trouble." He turned to leave, only to turn immediately after. "Oh! One more thing! Does the Madam hire servants with tattoos?"
"Heavens, no. The Madam requires our employees to display a level of class."
"None at all? What about a small tattoo, say, on the back of your head?"
"None at all."
"Not even a tiny one? One that looks like a smudge from afar?"
"None at all."
"None at all..." He scratched his head. "Thank you again, sir."
"Is that all you need?" the patient Fernsby asked.
"For now! I'll be checking on that crime scene now."
"You still haven't—?" Fernsby cleared his throat. "Of course. We eagerly await your findings."
...
Agent 47 knew that Alexa Carlisle was coming around that corner. He'd watched her route, waited for a few rotations to make sure Columbo would not intervene, before setting up his trap. It was a simple set-up he'd used many times before. The hitman left a leaking propane tank in the corner, finding a spot to hide at with his Silverballer trained on the explosive.
At any minute, his target would arrive. In fact, as he peeked down the hall, she was well on her way. Now to—
"Ooh... what a puzzle." Columbo must have materialized out of thin air! As if to spit in Agent 47's face, he stopped and leaned against the wall. Exactly a foot away from the leaking propane gas.
In his experience, people rarely realized the smell of rotten eggs meant imminent danger. But having seen Columbo's track record, surely he would notice. Surely he'd put away that cigar and the lighter...
"Lieutenant!" 47 shouted, stomping over to him. Columbo looked up with wide eyes. "Don't light that cigar."
He raised his hands. "I know, I know, these'll be the end of me, but believe me, I'm trying to stop!"
"Do you smell that?"
"What? Isn't that someone's breakfast?"
"That smell means there is a gas leak. Who knows what will happen if you light that up?"
Columbo sniffed a few times. Then it dawned on him. "If I lit that lighter..." He stared at the device, stuffing it in his pocket. "You saved my life, Mr. Rieper."
"Don't mention it. You should probably leave, so I—"
"But a gas leak? In a place like this? That's funny..."
"What's funny about it?"
"I talked with the gardener just outside. You and Fernsby said the same thing, too. Every day is like this. Tight maintenance, making sure everything is tidied up and in perfect condition. Even that bridge I walked on was so carefully kept, and I hear the workload is even worse now that Madam Carlisle is here!" He shrugged. "Well, everything except for the perimeter walls..."
He went to a nearby drawer, running his hand over it. "I noticed it downstairs, too, but there's not even a speck of dust. What bothers me is that... even with this daily upkeep, there's already two things going wrong."
47 clenched his fists. "It's a very old house. Things are bound to break. Things that can't be seen as well as dust."
"Right. Of course. You said something to that effect, I remember... It's a good thing they have someone like you. You're always there to fix things up."
"I know. You should leave and let me take care of it. For your own safety."
"Yeah, I understand. I wouldn't want to hang around..."
As Columbo went away, 47 checked on Carlisle. She was closing in; he had just enough time to hide and set everything up again. As long as—
"Just one more thing!"
As long as that didn't happen.
Agent 47 always kept his cool on the job. Ort-Meyer literally drained that out of him. But he was convinced that the emotion he would be feeling now was utter rage. "Did you lose your pencil again, Lieutenant?"
"The pencil? No, no... Did I?" 47 regretted asking him as he frantically searched his pockets. In the corner of his eye, he watched Alexa approach the propane tank, none the wiser. "No, I have the pencil. Right here." He flashed it to the hitman proudly. "I was actually thinking about you, and I wanted to talk to you some more."
"So what is it, then? And please make it quick."
"Well, before that, I just wanna say, you've got terrific hearing. You were one floor above us when I told the Madam that I lost my pencil. Even with all the stuff you were doing, the talking, you knew I lost a pencil."
"The library is wide open. There's no privacy in that room, no matter how quiet you are."
"Is that how it is?"
47 nodded.
"Ah... Anyway, back to the topic. Do you remember when I said my wife is superstitious? It's not just broken mirrors and whatnot, she loves all kinds of urban legends. Bigfoot, the Loch Ness Monster, the whole shebang. She tried getting me on that Loch Ness tour, and let me tell you, it took a lot of bickering to change her mind. But that's the fun thing about urban legends, don't you think?"
Agent 47 watched over Columbo's shoulder as Alexa left, which meant another cycle of waiting. "Lieutenant, it's a busy day today, and I don't have time for small talk."
"Oh, of course, I'm sorry. It's just that... I saw this one thing that struck me as funny about you. But I don't wanna waste your time, so I'll be on my way."
He'd have to wait for her to loop back. Again. "You might as well tell me."
"It's just that, there's this one urban legend that really sticks out to me. They call him Agent 47."
Both he and Diana went still.
"He's supposedly this clone from some rogue experiment, and he can assassinate anyone without so much as a trace. There are loads of theories behind the deaths of big names, all claiming he did it, even though the lot of them just look like unlucky accidents! But it's the ones where everything lines up perfectly that get you thinking."
47 cleared his throat. The Lieutenant has made no connection; he's making small talk. Discomforting small talk. Seeming unfazed, he answered, "You and your wife have an active imagination."
"Yeah, I guess we do. But, uh, do you remember when I was talking with Madam Carlisle at the pool table, and you came down the stairs, and you offered that kindly advice, and then you turned around and I called you back?"
47 nodded.
"I saw the barcode on your head. I actually took a good look at it. And the reason I found your tattoo so funny is that my gut thought something was peculiar about it. It was those last four digits. Do you know what they are? 0..."
He read the numbers...? "0147," he confirmed.
"The last numbers are 47. Just like the clone assassin."
Only an observation. There was no way Columbo could assume the most fantastical answer. 47 chuckled. "You have an excellent eye."
"Actually, it's a glass one. See?"
"An excellent one, nonetheless. About my barcode, there's a story behind it." He had an explanation ready for the few people that noticed it. "I lost a bet with friends. They're also urban legend enthusiasts, and I was the perfect target for their amusement."
"Ah, that explains it... It's always the bets that get you."
"Indeed. You should go now."
"Yeah, I should. To tell the truth, I haven't made a lot of progress on the case. I haven't even met the suspects yet!" Columbo finally backed off, waving jovially as he disappeared around a turn.
Agent 47 waited a full minute in case he returned. He still had faith in the propane trap. Unless...
He traveled the same path Columbo took. Around the turn, he found him flipping through notes. It took him a second to realize 47 was there. "Oh. Did you fix the gas leak?"
"I was about to start." Agent 47 ducked back. He'd have to give up on it, or else the Lieutenant would definitely find the tank. But he knew plenty more opportunities to get to Alexa...
...
Agent 47 stood on the third-floor balcony, looking towards the entrance pathway. He shut the nearby windows, now certain nobody could hear him. Columbo wasn't allowed on the third floor, too, so he was safe. "Diana, I need Columbo off my back."
"Already on it. I have some intel that could be—"
"Mr. Rieper?" Where the hell—
47 looked down. The balcony below. Columbo waved jovially, the cigar between his teeth.
"Fancy seeing you from down here! You sure move fast!"
He managed a smile back. "All part of the job, Lieutenant! The Madam can be very demanding! I believe I implied as much in the library."
"47, it may be best to render the Lieutenant 'unavailable' so to speak. Then we focus on—"
"Before I forget, and believe me, I know I've been coming to you a lot, but you're real easy to talk with! You've been a fantastic help, too!"
"So we can focus on eliminating Madam—"
"I'm glad to hear it. Did you only want to thank me?"
"No, actually! I had a funny thought, and I was hoping you could clear things up! You're a very diligent worker, Mr. Rieper. Every time I see you work, it's like clockwork, and you always know what to do next. But every now and then, you just stop like you did a few moments ago!"
"Is there a problem with stopping to think?"
"No, not at all. It's just that... I don't think you're thinking. In fact, earlier I almost hesitated calling out to you, because I heard you talking. I didn't want to interrupt anything, but when I waited and waited... I realized it was just you up there."
"You will find that people talking to themselves is much more common than you think."
"You were talking to yourself?"
"Yes."
"I see... You're right, Mr. Rieper, I get it. I sometimes talk to myself, too. Before I realize it, I'm also mumbling about my wife, and my dog, all that jazz. I bet that's exactly what you were doing."
"Yes. But what did you mean 'also'?"
"Maybe it's a personal question—you really don't have to answer. Do you mind if I ask?"
"Go ahead."
"Is Diana your wife?"
He and his handler blinked. "Yes. She is," he answered as cover. Diana cleared her throat. "If you would excuse me, I would like to enjoy the rest of my limited alone time."
"Oh, of course, I'm sorry! I'll be out of your hair in no time." Columbo slapped himself. "Oh... Sorry, sir! Didn't mean nothing!"
...
"I'm ready to show Madam Carlisle the funeral arrangements." Agent 47, disguised as the undertaker, sent the maid off. It was a simple plan but artful; his favorite way of offing the targets. Let Alexa inspect the funeral, kick her into the empty grave, and bury her for good.
He was especially delighted seeing Alexa approach with only her bodyguard. Columbo must have been working on the actual case, thankfully.
Once she was close enough, she said, "Mr. Parsons, I don't like to be kept waiting. I trust we can be efficient now I'm here?"
"I can be very efficient—" 47 spotted someone running over with a brown paper bag. Oh, dear god.
"Madam Carlisle!" Columbo yelled. "I have some questions only you can answer!"
Alexa looked as though she'd burst a blood vessel. "Oh, dear god." She reluctantly turned around, and there he was, out of breath with his notes a mess in the wind.
"Madam... I'm real sorry, I know you're busy—"
"Like hell you do! You have done nothing but ask irrelevant questions! How far have you gotten in solving the murder?"
Columbo frowned. "If I upset you, I apologize, it will only take a minute. As for the case? I, uh, I believe these questions will help me a lot if you help with them."
She clicked her tongue. "Fine. Get it over with."
"Madam, do you remember the '1% killings'? It was all over the news. And that poor guy, De Waal, revealed this secret organization, Providence?"
Alexa stiffened. "Why are you telling me about terrorist delusions?"
"Delusions, Madam?"
"Yes, delusions! Anyone will read a script if it means the bullet shall never leave the barrel!"
"That's a fair point, I concede on that. But... have I told you my wife is superstitious? She—"
"The point, Lieutenant, or I'll have your superiors on a line with some horrid news!"
"Right... I didn't realize this until later. Not after talking with your family. But you haven't told me the full story. You see, the amount of money you have is... it makes my head spin just thinking about it. You could really and truly get anything. A whole pot of chili? Those slippers that always feel heavenly? A visit to the vet? Not even a dent in your wallet. Meanwhile, my wife goes crazy when—"
Columbo met her eyes, and he was suddenly aware of the cold air.
"Sorry. What I'm trying to say is, I talked with your family. I talked to that guy you hired from Morgan, Yates, & Kohn. I even got a hold of this." He reached into the bag, crumpling it as he searched desperately. But what he pulled made her a sickly pale: a pair of two bank tokens. "Your daughter, Rebecca—she's terrific, absolutely brilliant, and she helped me a lot—she told me something very odd."
"What... What did she tell you?"
"Everything I mentioned," he waved his arm to the side, "is gone. There is nothing to the Carlisle name anymore. Wiped clean. In fact, you don't even own this house anymore. The lawyer you hired, Aron? I talked to him. He confirmed everything. So my first question is this: How does someone—with half the world in their hands—suddenly have nothing?"
For once, the cold matriarch was silent.
"That's when I learned about the tokens. Rebecca helped me convince Mr. Fernsby to provide his half. I had to think that everything related to the loss was related to that token. I couldn't help myself. So Rebecca and I contacted the bank, and all we had them do was tell us what was inside. Then I learned a name: Arthur Edwards."
She held her breath. "What then?"
"Then..." Columbo shrugged. "Nothing. Didn't look related to our investigation. Nobody seemed to know the guy, anyway. Unless you know something?"
"Only that you are correct, and that he is entirely unrelated." Alexa furrowed her brows, shoulders sinking slightly. "Lieutenant, your job was to find the murderer of Zachary. As a matter of fact, it still is. So stop wasting your time on frivolous research, or you will regret ever setting foot on Thornbridge Manor."
"I was getting to that. Everything I mentioned before is related, I promise." He got to writing. "In the event of your death, who would have inherited the Carlisle fortune?"
"Rebecca. But she's no murderer, I guarantee that."
"I know. The bankruptcy was news to Rebecca, and if she wanted everything, she didn't look too deeply disappointed. Now, do any of your children expect to inherit? I know it's usually the eldest that gets the dough, and I don't know if that's changed or if that's just a thing they do in the dramas my wife watches, but—"
"It used to be. But merit is to be rewarded, don't you think, Lieutenant?"
"Yeah... Not everyone thinks that, though." He closed his notes, satisfied. "So, what're you doing out here? Is this where your funeral is supposed to take place?"
"It is. The undertaker here was about to..." As she turned, she only now realized he had vanished.
The 'undertaker' in question ducked behind a dilapidated brick wall, knowing full well that Columbo would recognize him. "Diana, can you call him and pull him away?" he said through gritted teeth.
"47, I... He... He doesn't have a mobile phone."
Unbelievable. But if 47 wanted the tokens and immense satisfaction, he knew who to go after next.
"To think Mr. Parsons would dare waste my time!" Alexa growled. "Nothing is going right..." She left the graveyard after that, with Columbo in tow, alongside his chance.
"It's a shame we had no idea of him... The Lieutenant could have been a valuable ally against Providence..."
...
Much to the photographer's delight, his camera suddenly powered on. He walked to inform the family, leaving only the model maid on the seat and a gardener in the back, both with their backs turned to the fountain. Armed with a screwdriver, his destination was the power outlet conveniently in front of the fountain—and the water pipe.
He hesitated. Something wasn't right. 47 looked around, and coming out the double glass doors was Columbo. He ducked behind the hedge wall, cursing the impeccable timing of it all. Peeking out, it wasn't the end of the plan, though. The Lieutenant was distracted by footprints on the ground, his attention focused on the mansion itself.
Agent 47 kept watching for a little longer, just in case Columbo turned his head for whatever reason. He did not, and if he waited any longer, the Carlisles were to come out at any moment.
He hurried to the outlet. Columbo still was looking into the mansion. Agent 47 knelt down and—
"Mr. Rieper! There you are!"
Of course. He turns around now.
Jogging over, he shouted, "For some reason, I thought I'd find you out here! I hear from the photographer that his camera's up and working suddenly, and the first person I thought of was you!"
"If you are aware of my responsibilities, I would appreciate it if you stopped bothering me," 47 snapped, and as Columbo made it to the fountain, he added, "Besides, anyone else could have fixed that fuse box. Why do you think it's me?"
"Don't sell yourself short. You're a very underappreciated worker. Every time something is about to go wrong, there you are, without fail. And nobody even thanks you!"
"I prefer not to cause a fuss."
"Yeah, I get that. But I've seen you running back and forth throughout the whole mansion. Usually the staff here stick to their sections, but you? You put in 100% of your effort. It's just... funny. That's all."
"What's funny?"
"For all the trouble I've seen propping up, it's always been you fixing it. Nobody else. When I ask around, nobody even knows the stuff you've fixed. It's like nothing ever happened."
He doesn't know. He can't know. "And does that mean anything to you?"
"Not really, no. I get it. We get new recruits like that all the time, always eager to prove themselves, working themselves to the bone. You said it yourself, you're a very new hire!"
"You're correct about a few things. Except my motive."
"Your motive?" Columbo repeated, brows furrowing.
"Yes. If I wanted the recognition, I would be open about it."
"Oh... You're right! I didn't think about that!"
"I'd like to finish early and go home. As we all do. So if you'd please?"
"Yeah. I'm just about done." Columbo finally turned to leave. 47 almost started on the outlet, but doubled back to see if—
"One more thing."
"I knew you'd do that..." he muttered.
"What was that?"
"Nothing. I assume you have more questions for me?"
Columbo chuckled. "That saves me a lot of time, sir. You've been a great help so far, and I want you to know that. Everything about this place has been a real stumper. Even finding my way around this place has been confusing. Do you ever get the feeling that there should be rooms in places where there aren't?"
47 nodded. "I believe I have. But, is that part of your questions?"
"What? Oh. Sorry." He took his notes out, mumbling for each page he scanned.
Agent 47 peered through the living room windows, grimacing as the family gathered. "Lieutenant, could we answer the questions later?"
"Later? Oh, that's no problem, but I just wanna run through a few before I forget. I promise it won't take long..." In other words, he could say goodbye to this plan, 47 thought. "Ah, here it is. The library winch. It's strange, that thing."
"How so?"
"You said it was probably old and worn, is that right?"
"Speculation on my part. I'm guessing you noticed the same thing I did?"
"Right... that's been bothering me. Because after you left, I brought one of the staff up. I had her check it out, and mind you, that girl's been working here for over a decade. She told me the winch, the chain—all of it is in perfect condition. I even asked Mr. Fernsby to take a look, and he told me the same thing! So now I'm wondering..."
"How did the chandelier move?"
He grinned. "Exactly."
"I'm afraid I couldn't tell you. Many things seem to happen for no reason. We can't always be there to see it all."
"So it was some anomaly?"
"I'm saying I don't know why it moved."
Columbo nodded, flipping through more pages until he found his next point. "Propane tanks. Right. Propane. You know, my brother-in-law packs a ton of those canisters, so I called him up, and he told me that the safest way to store these things is to keep them outside. There's other things, like keeping them upright and away from heat, but I wanted to confirm, is that how you keep those things around here?"
"I think I understand what you're getting at. Are you referring to the gas leak?"
"You're very sharp, sir."
"It is strange. I only realized after you left what the cause of the leak was, and no, I don't know who left it there."
"Wow..."
"Is there a problem with that?"
"No, no, I didn't mean it at you, I'm sorry. It's funny, the first thing I thought when I walked inside, was that my wife would be screaming that this place is haunted. Now that these unexplained incidents keep cropping up? A lot of people would jump to that conclusion."
"You're on a tangent again, Lieutenant."
"Oh, thank you. Where was I?" He scanned his notes a third time. "The undertaker. Right. Sir, did you know he's missing?"
"Now I do."
"It's one strange thing after another. He just up and vanished. Not in the bathroom, his hearse and its keys are still here, nobody saw him leave the graveyard. I wanted to pick your brain on this. What do you think happened to him?"
"Well, from how you described it, maybe he simply walked away. The surrounding land stretches for miles."
"He walked away? Through the water?"
"It's very shallow."
"No, sir, I'm afraid that's not possible." Columbo shook his head. "I wanted to get to the graveyard, and I admit, I was a bit lazy and so I took a shortcut. It's a long walk to reach the only land bridge to it, you see. So I waded through the water." He motioned to his muddy, stained pants. "Big mistake. Ruined my pants, my shoes, and I left tracks all around the graveyard."
47 pursed his lips. "So he couldn't have walked away... because you found no tracks."
"No tracks whatsoever."
"Can you two in the back please move out of the frame?" the photographer asked, and much to 47's dismay, the Carlisles were all in position for their picture.
"Sorry!" Columbo answered, leading 47 out of the shot. "I got so caught up in speculating that I didn't notice them!" He laughed, earning a forced smile from the hitman as the camera snapped. Agent 47 fantasized about a very pleasant scenario. One where he whipped out his Silverballer and shot up Columbo, then and there. Then whoever else was in his sights.
"Lieutenant, I don't mean to sound frustrated, but was there a point to you telling me all this?"
"Yes, actually. You've proven to be a very observant and capable man, and I think you can figure out something about it all."
47 pretended to think on it for a while. "You think... someone is behind all of these incidents?"
"Yes, sir. And I believe whoever it is wants to kill Madam Carlisle."
"The same person who killed Zachary?"
"That's certainly a possibility... But how on earth would someone have snuck in here? This place is terrifically guarded. I don't see how they could've let in someone who wants the Madam dead."
"Your guess is as good as mine. Are we finished?"
"I think so. Once again, I'm sorry to take up so much of your time." He and 47 shook hands again while the Carlisles finished their photoshoot. Columbo chased after his next victim to bother. "Emma Carlisle? Can I speak to you and your husband for a moment...?"
...
Emma paced the living room, eyes twitching. "You would pay attention to such meaningless gossip? My husband and I could tell you that's not the incriminating evidence you may think it is!"
Columbo sat on the couch's arm, jotting down her answer. "I didn't think that, ma'am, I'm just trying to get the facts."
"Don't mind her, detective!" Gregory said in a laugh, going through a newspaper. "Emma has always been an arse under any sort of pressure. I'm sure you'd know, as a married man yourself."
"Gregory," she snapped, and Columbo thought it best not to comment on that. Emma cleared her throat. "Yes, I was preparing the house for our moving in. But those maids make it sound as if I'm some apathetic leech."
"Even though Zachary Carlisle isn't even buried yet?"
"I'm aware of that. I felt that, for my husband and son's sake, changing up the scenery upon moving in would prevent any unnecessary shock. Too many memories."
"I understand perfectly. My wife, she's the same—"
Gregory cackled with an 'I told you so' grin. The other two elected to ignore him at this point.
"Same in that she likes to busy herself with work. Helps clear the mind, I hear. She gets like this whenever she sees the check for taking Dog to the vet, especially after a whole disaster with a pet sitter, now that was a scary time."
"Pleasant. Is that all you mean to ask?"
"Yeah... I think so. Oh." He paused, going back to the notes again. "No, sorry, there's more. I'd like you two to come with me to your bedroom. There's some loose ends I wanna clear up, it's just little things that stick in my mind."
Despite Emma's exasperated look, Gregory shrugged and said, "Go ahead. It's not like we're going anywhere."
"Fine," she relented.
Columbo led the way through the grand foyer, going up the stairs first. He stopped near a painting, marveling at it. "Are you collectors by any chance? Seeing all these trinkets and paintings around the house makes a man excited. My wife? She loves stamps. Every time I come home, frames of stamps are staring back at me like no tomorrow."
"If you're referring to the art, these have been here for generations," Emma said. "Personally, I think they are rather drab.
Gregory shook his head. "We have no interest in collections. Imagining the state of your home is enough to give me reason not to.
Columbo grinned. "Yeah? So you don't like to keep things you find neat? What about nice wood carvings? Finely polished things like that?"
"Too much clutter, Lieutenant, as I just said. Besides, we've been surrounded by such things for years!"
They continued up the stairs without issue. Emma leaned in to her husband, whispering, "Are we sure this buffoon isn't wasting our time? This man is the least capable officer I've met!"
Gregory rolled his eyes. "What else do you expect from public service?"
"Oh!" Columbo stopped suddenly, forcing the couple to a stop as well. "By the way, have either of you had any leg pains? Anything that makes it harder to walk? Anything old injuries?"
The couple looked at each other. "Of course not. You see us right now!" Emma said. "We're as healthy as can be! What does this have to do with Zachary's suicide?"
Columbo scratched his head. "Nothing at all?"
"Fit as a fiddle, Lieutenant," Gregory added.
"That's funny..." Columbo ran through his pockets. He was sure he put the master key somewhere. He smirked at Emma, who looked ready to kick down the door.
"Let me unlock that for you—"
"No, no, here it is." He flashed the master key proudly. "It's like I put in my pocket, and they swap places. I really am sorry about that."
Coming inside, Columbo ran through his memory. "The cane." Emma tensed up. "That's what was so funny to me. Why a cane?" He went to the bed where he had placed the object. "It's definitely not for walking. Neither of you collect these sort of things, either. I just don't see why you'd have one."
"It's my father's," Emma said a moment later, fiddling with her hands.
"You brought your father's cane with you on vacation?"
Gregory nodded half-heartedly. "Darling is attached to the strangest things. She doesn't even know her father's name, and she's all sentimental about him!"
"Gregory!" she snapped, glancing at the Lieutenant. "I-I'm afraid that's true. He passed away when I was a baby. An accident. My mother kept to herself after that, and we never spoke of him throughout..." On cue, tears rolled down her face. "I'm sorry..."
Her husband rolled his eyes, taking a seat nearby and unrolling the newspaper he took from the living room.
Columbo came up, putting a hand on her shoulder. "My condolences. I understand, wanting to keep a bit of him around. Your mother—what's her name?"
Through a choked cry, she uttered, "Jane."
"Jane. You said Jane doesn't show it much, but I'll bet she's just as torn up deep down."
"Thank you..."
"You oughta get a drink, and I will be out of your hair." He kept quiet, not wanting to disturb the distraught lady. The door shut softly behind him.
Emma immediately dabbed her eyes, taking a few slow breaths. Already, she appeared well into recovery.
"Before I forget," the door clicked open again, and Emma gasped sharply. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, but I almost forgot. You see, I was flipping through my notes because I could have sworn there was something else I wanted to ask. I didn't wanna trouble you after that, I don't like to see a lady crying, but it honestly couldn't wait."
"W-What is it, Lieutenant?"
"Do you like plants?"
"Plants?"
"Yeah, plants! Flowers? Tomatoes?"
"I... no more than the next person. Oh, b-but I assume you saw the greenhouse key chain? If you must know, I only appreciated Zachary's passion for them. It... spoke to me in a way."
Columbo nodded, coming in again, hand on her shoulder as comfort. "I know how you feel. My sister, she has a fantastic green thumb. I even went ahead and looked at the plants in that greenhouse. It's quite a shame..."
"Yes... I can't imagine what will happen to those plants without its owner."
"Well, yes, but there was another thing. My sister, I told her about all the plants I could find in there. Even had the gardeners give me a list. And my sister, I confess, I told her it was for a poisoning case, but nothing else. She told me that the plants in her could have been easily mixed to create a lethal poison. As a matter of fact, it's the same one Zachary used."
Emma blinked. "So... he used his own plants."
"Seems to be that way..."
"You... don't think so. Because I have the key chain."
"Please understand, it's only procedure. Gotta make sure the details all line up—maybe it's a habit from LA, but I don't know."
"It's fine. If it means clearing up my name, I do not mind. I did not dare touch those plants—I don't even know their names. I didn't want to poison myself after all, and after what you found, I was right to not touch any of them."
Columbo jotted her answer down. "Thank you."
...
Agent 47, from the cover of shrubbery, watched Columbo leave the premises alone. While he preferred to tackle missions without unnecessary actions (he felt it more artful to elude rather than knockout), Columbo was a definite exception. Armed with a brick, he followed from the sidelines until Columbo isolated himself on the bridge.
He swiftly emerged from the bushes, keeping his steps quiet as he homed in on Columbo's back.
A loud bark erupted.
"Hey, hey, easy..." Columbo turned to whatever Dog barked at, then smiled. "Oh! Mr. Rieper! I was just thinking about you!"
Hiding the weapon behind his back, 47 said calmly, "Should you have your dog at a crime scene?"
"Oh!" Columbo leaned over, picking up the Basset Hound with tremendous effort. "He's not coming inside, don't worry! I checked with Mr. Fernsby earlier. It's fine as long as I keep him away from the important places. He should be at home in LA, but you see, my wife wanted to tag along, and the last time we hired a sitter, Dog scared her into thinking he got Lyme disease, and that became a whole fiasco..."
As Columbo looked away, 47 dropped the brick into the nearby grass. He'd have to wait for Columbo to re-enter the mansion without his trusty Dog. "I just wanted to know if you were allowed to have him on the premises. I'll be returning to work, now."
"Hey, why don't you join me for a bit?" Columbo asked, and such words made 47's head spin. "I was thinking you could help me clear some misconceptions."
"Have you forgotten the fake funeral arrangement, and the time it demands—?"
"Oh, don't worry about that. I let Mr. Fernsby know ahead of time that I'll be interrupting your work. This'll help me a lot, I promise."
Knowing that declining would make him suspicious in Columbo's eyes, he answered, "Of course."
"Fantastic!" He let Dog down, walking him and 47 back to the gate. "Actually, Mr. Rieper, I think you can break this case! You know everything about the mansion despite such a short time here, and your observation skills are far beyond mine. I have a nephew, and I swear, he's got a knack for these things. He loves murder mysteries, and so far, he's been correct 100% of the time!"
"What did you need help with?"
"My apologies, sir. I could use your eye on this case. Seeing as the Madam restricted my resources, I really could use all the help I can get."
"How long will it take?"
"It's not a quickie, I'm afraid. But like I said, Fernsby allowed me to take the time of his employees."
"Then may I know where we're going?"
They passed the creaking gate, and 47 felt as though he'd returned to square one.
"Thanks again for earlier!" Columbo said to the gate guard, who smiled politely in response. "I'll make sure to return it!"
He led them to his Peugeot, and Columbo let Dog in the backseat before going into the driver's side. 47 remained outside. "Where are we going?"
"We're driving to town!"
"To town?" Hesitantly, he got in the passenger's seat.
"Emma Carlisle told me about her mother, Jane. Dad's passed away and apparently don't matter as much. Couldn't give me a name. Gregory doesn't know, either."
"Do you suspect her?"
"I'm considering all aspects. I did find a letter under her pillow, though. And her alibi and everything she's told me... to be frank, it doesn't add up..." He checked his pocket. Then another one, and another. He became frantic. "I don't believe it!"
47 stared, wondering what could've been the problem. "What is it?"
"I lost the pencil I got from the mansion! I'm really sorry, but do you have a pen I can borrow?"
He could think about an explosive one, which would scratch a terrible itch right about now. "Fortunately, I do."
...
For every mile they drove away from Thornbridge Manor, surrounded by an old Italian man smelling of smoke and a barking Basset Hound, Agent 47 felt less and less professional as his career entitled him. He had a feeling Diana would enjoy this if not for the severity of the mission.
"Lieutenant, I know you're concerned for my time, but you can afford to slow down some—"
Columbo swerved hard into a parking spot, and stationary vehicles never felt more dangerous in Agent 47's life. Somehow, despite taking up two lots, everything made it in one piece. "What was that?"
"Nothing." 47 rushed out the vehicle, desiring steady land. They'd wound up in a modest and rustic village; paved streets mixed with a freedom only found in rural areas. In other words, frustratingly far from the mission area. "Lieutenant, you know I really wish I could help you out, but I don't see why you brought me here."
Columbo stopped beside him, at a loss for words. He thought for a few seconds, taking a breath. "Mr. Rieper?"
"Yes?"
"Mind holding his leash for me?" 47 gazed down at the lazing Dog, then at his owner. "He doesn't bite, I promise. I'm gonna talk to someone here, and I don't really think it's appropriate to have him with me. I don't wanna leave him in the car either, he gets lonely."
Agent 47 took the leash slowly. What was his game? Every time 47 thought he had a part of Columbo pegged, any notion of that went out the window. "You haven't answered my question."
"Well, I thought you'd appreciate the help. You've been thinking about this case as much as I have, and I figure if I get at least one reliable staff person from Thornbridge to learn what I learn, it'll narrow down the suspect list. Speaking of, do you have any top suspects?"
He recognized that as a trap. Emma was most certainly the killer, but if he answered as such, Columbo would ask what evidence he had, among a myriad of other factors. So the best way out was the simplest way out. "I don't know."
"Yeah... I guess it would stump even someone like you. Let's hope this clears things up for both of us, then."
The two set off toward a residential area. What few residents were present spared them odd looks, which Columbo returned with delight. An Italian dressed like a vagrant, followed by a Carlisle servant walking his dog; 47 withheld a grimace for every second of this.
Columbo stopped at a house, and after checking the address at least four times, knocked on the door. Opening it was a frowning old woman. Looking over the three, she almost closed it on them.
"Jane Shepherd? Wait! I'm here to ask about your daughter, Emma!" Columbo said, and the door stopped. "Lieutenant Columbo, LAPD. I know I have no jurisdiction here, but I've worked with Scotland Yard before, and—"
She swung the door wide. "Why are you asking about my daughter? Did something happen?"
"Yes. Not to your daughter, no, she and her husband are fine. It's just... can we come in?"
Jane glared at 47, specifically his outfit. "And who is that?" Then she sniffed the air. "And no dogs."
"Oh..."
"It's fine," 47 said. "Dog and I can wait out here until you're done. We're not going anywhere."
"You're a swell guy, Mr. Rieper, even after I wanted you with me..."
"Don't worry about it. I have my own clues to think about."
"Got it. We won't take long! Feel free to wait in the car."
Finally, he was alone. Agent 47 considered rigging his vehicle for a swift return, but he knew Columbo wouldn't give up so easily. Instead, he turned to the one person who always knew the way forward.
47 went to a phone booth down the street, tying Dog's leash on a nearby pole as he pretended to call. "Diana, I'm trapped in Columbo's game. Does he have anything solid to compromise me?"
"I've been keeping tabs on that; everything I've picked from his innuendos is pure circumstance. The discrepancies with your employee profile can be ironed out. Despite what he says and how much time he has wasted, he has nothing to hold you."
47 nodded, an unusual weight off his shoulders. "What do you think is the best way forward?"
"Right now? Ride it out. Tortoise and the Hare. Better play it slow and steady. Don't let Columbo control the flow."
She was right. Always was. Columbo couldn't beat them. Agent 47 left it there, taking Dog and returning to Jane's house. He arrived in time as Columbo exited, the Lieutenant waving him down.
They drove back to Thornbridge without incident.
...
The vase shattered into a million shards, courtesy of a red-faced Alexa. "Lieutenant! What is the meaning of this?!"
"I assure you ma'am—Madam, sorry, I keep forgetting. I assure you Madam, this little trip helped me a lot. I didn't mean to—"
"I have had enough of your ineptitude! I placed you under great trust thanks to Mr. Whitmer's word, and you have grossly disappointed me. You have been doing nothing but ask meaningless questions, and now you drive away without a word, knowing what you know?"
"Ma'am, if you'd just let me explain—"
"No, Lieutenant! You are off the case! I want you out of my home now!"
The chaos had erupted the moment he returned to the manor, entering the living room where the entire family gathered. The sight of him brought Alexa's blood to a boil. As for Agent 47, blending in with house work off to the side, hearing his removal was music to his ears.
"47," Diana said, voice grave. "I'm seeing multiple police vehicles en route to Thornbridge Manor."
Shortly after, their sirens faintly pierced the walls. The family went still. Emma and Rebecca went to the grand foyer, where they'd spot the unmistakable police cars.
"Columbo," Alexa spat, "I will make good with every one of my threats. You, your wife, your family will suffer the consequences of the sheer negligence you have shown!"
"Madam, I apologize for breaking my vow of silence. But, uh, NDAs are null and void when the contractor breaks the law." He locked eyes with Alexa. "Especially murder."
She scowled back with equal challenge. "You mean you know who killed Zachary?"
"That? Oh. Yeah. We'll get to that, don't worry." Before long, the living room filled up with police. He exchanged pleasantries with their superior, who he introduced. "This is Detective Chief Superintendent Durk. He'll be helping with the arrests."
"This is ridiculous," Emma spat. "Alexa, get these men out! This is pointless!"
"Emma," Columbo started, "do you remember when I brought you two to your room? I asked about the cane, and you said it belonged to your father? And when I asked his name, you said you didn't know?"
"Yes, w-what does this have to do with the suicide?"
"You're sure? You never knew his name?"
"Yes, Columbo, never have."
"That's a lie."
"You're a terrible detective. Alexa, you said it yourself! He's a buffoon! Gregory!" But the two only stared back blankly. Alexa's breath slowed, a grimace twitching on her iron mask.
"I realize this will make things awkward, and I just want to apologize in advance—"
Emma threw herself onto the couch. "Just say it!"
"Your father's name was Montgomery Carlisle. The cane wasn't the only thing I found." Columbo reached into his paper bag, retrieving a familiar letter. "It's from your mother, Jane. There's a lot of information in here. She says you're the illegitimate child of her and Montgomery, and that Alexa and Zachary killed him 40 years ago."
"That's nonsense!" Emma cried. "That letter means nothing! None if it is serious!"
Alexa remained perfectly still as she said, "You're right that it means nothing. I never knew your mother to be a delusional wench."
"You take that back!"
In the back, Patrick felt sick of the very real possibility he was inbred. Gregory, too, that he married a relative.
Then Columbo turned and called, "Ms. Shepherd?"
To Emma's shock, she stepped inside, as spiteful as ever. "Mother?"
"Tell the truth to him, Emma. The Carlisles murdered my love in cold blood. Let them know that Alexa and Zachary ruined what would have been the happiest life I could have had. That we could have had."
"All lies!" Alexa yelled.
"Mother, I..."
Jane walked over, running her wrinkled hand down Emma's face. "Emma... are you responsible for this mess?"
"I... No, I—"
"Because if that's true... You are no longer my daughter."
Emma trembled, a sickly pale. "I... I did it for you. I killed Zachary for you!"
"And you've done a horrid job at it." Jane glared at the Carlisle matriarch. "Because she is still alive."
Columbo huffed his cigar. "Mr Durk?" The officers were already at Emma, taking her away. "Thank you for your time, Ms. Shepherd."
For the first time, she smiled at him. "40 years too late... But better now than never." He nodded. Jane was escorted out then, and it fell quiet in Thornbridge.
Alexa cleared her throat. "I appreciate the effort you put in, despite my lack of seeing it. But considering the amount of eyes you have thrown into the situation, I promise you, this does not mitigate the damage you have done to me and yourself, Lieutenant."
"Gee, I didn't mean to upset you Madam, and I thought I told you earlier, but the reason I brought these boys in was because you committed a crime."
"What?"
Columbo tapped the shoulder of a nearby cop. "Constable, am I correct in saying that Britain has no statute of limitations?"
"That's correct, Lieutenant."
He looked back at Alexa. "Do you remember that discussion we had when you went to look at your fake funeral? I talked about what Aron said, and how peculiar it was, how much you lost. But before all of that, you owned about half the world. That's an inheritance that smells of blood."
"Whatever you are getting at, you are wasting your time. I want you and the entire force gone now."
But nobody budged.
"40 years ago, I believe you and Zachary murdered your older brother, and that you made it look like an accident. I believe you did it, so his spot in Providence went to you instead. And you became the Carlisle matriarch."
"Hearsay and speculation. You have no idea what you are doing, nor to the powers you mess with."
Columbo waved at the butler. "Mr. Fernsby?"
He kept his professional demeanor even through the police arrival, and he stepped forward. "May I be of any assistance?"
Columbo rummaging again through the paper bag. "I found this in your fireplace. It's in here somewhere... I probably shouldn't have left it in here. It's a real fragile thing. There it is." A pile of black, charred papers. The sight of it made Fernsby sweat. "Am I correct in saying this is Zachary's diary?"
He held his breath, glancing at Alexa. She appeared on the verge of exploding, and this time at him. Hesitantly, he answered, "That is correct."
"Fernsby..."
"Don't blame him, Madam, if anything, he tried to protect you. Now, uh... Mr. Fernsby, do you happen to have a magnifying glass?"
Hands shaking, he passed one over.
"Thank you." He started reading.
"Columbo, I will make sure no police institution will ever let you through their gates again."
"Madam... I'm not even sure you can pay your own guards anymore."
For once, the steely Madam Carlisle was speechless
"Before he died, Zachary was going to confess to the world. Confess that he and his sister murdered Montgomery Carlisle 40 years ago. He would've published it in a book. As a matter of fact, he talked to your brilliant daughter for help. Isn't that true, Rebecca?"
Rebecca gulped, wetting her tongue. "Yes. He was curious about my connections to the publication business. For a friend, he said."
"None of it is true," Alexa spat. "Zachary, believing me dead, wished to exploit our absence for profits through lies and defamation. Tell me, Lieutenant, do you have a body? Do you have any physical evidence from the incident 40 years ago?"
"No..."
"Then you have nothing but speculation! I demand again that you leave us alone!"
"Just one more thing, Madam. There's something you really need to see." Again he reached into the bag. From it, another letter. "I found this in a hidden room. It's for you. You and the late Zachary Carlisle. I think you'll recognize the writer."
She snatched the dusty paper from his hand. As she read, it started in her hands; the way they shook. Then a twitch in her eye. A fold in her lip, fighting to curve into a frown. Alexa sat down. She read it once. Then twice.
"If you had waited a little longer, you'd be in the same spot that you are now, and Montgomery would be alive. He'd have forfeit everything to be with Jane. That's a love that no amount of money can replace."
The unstoppable matriarch never looked more human.
"Madam... would you be willing to make a statement?" Columbo offered a hand. To the family's surprise, she took it. "Mr. Durk, see that she makes it."
"Right away, Lieutenant..."
...
Agent 47 waited in the short hallway to Fernsby's office. Alongside the police vehicles were ambulances for reasons he did not know. They were scouring the outside; he waited for the perfect moment when nobody was looking, wanting to jump into the shrubbery out the window and flee from there.
This was beyond anything Agent 47 could have foreseen. He'd have to forfeit the tokens or the file—not with Alexa at risk of escaping thanks to police apprehension. They had to bring to a police car; he had time to grab a propane tank and set off a chain explosion. All he needed to do was get out...
There. A gap in everyone's vision.
As he began to vault, a now-dreaded voice popped up. "Mr. Rieper? This is the last thing, I promise." How the hell did he know he was here?
Agent 47 stopped, leaning at the windowsill. He knew talking would only dig a deeper hole. He watched Columbo with several police officers waiting in the other rooms, waiting.
"Do you remember at the graveyard, when I was with Alexa Carlisle, and I told her about what those bank tokens unlocked?" Columbo took out a new cigar. "Do you have a lighter I can borrow?"
47 kept glaring.
"Ah... sorry for asking. Maybe there's a matchbox here somewhere. Oh well. It can wait. Anyway, I'm sorry to say, but I never stopped looking into that vault. I had some friends head to that bank, Milton-Fitzpatrick, and comb through everything, given we had Rebecca's permission and we were on official police business. And not only did we find that file on Arthur Edwards, but we found a list of Providence's assets. There, we found a name: ICA. Or as you better know it, the International Contract Agency. The very one that the fabled Agent 47 works for."
47 showed no reaction. But he heard Diana ferociously typing in the background. She would make things right. She always did...
"The file didn't tell us everything about the ICA, but we do know this: their assassins are always deployed with a so-called 'handler' supporting them. It's those handlers that choose their contracts, and for absurd amounts of money, are dispatched to kill their target. So I wanted to ask... Uh, what was it? Oh! Diana."
His eyes narrowed.
"I confess, I got curious, and I had some boys run a background check on you. Everything checked out. Even your wife, Diana Rieper. It said you'd been married for a long, long time. But... I don't mean to pry into personal territory, but... it's just strange."
"He has nothing," Diana reminded, mostly to herself. After 47 declared them married, she added that to the profile. There was no time to completely create a new one, though, which was the purpose for the pre-made profiles in her system. But there could've been an inconsistency...
47 noticed the stress in her tone. He could afford to say this: "I thought the focus was on me? Whatever you noticed about my wife, I'm not sure I'd know."
Columbo grinned. "Finally got you talking. But you're right, that's just a curiosity on my end, it's not something I wanted to have the boys go after, anyway."
"Lieutenant," 47 said, and Columbo felt every bit of danger in his voice. "What is your point?"
He shook his head. "I don't think your name is Tobias Rieper. I believe you are Agent 47, and Diana is your handler."
"You think I am an urban legend?"
"So was the ICA. So was Providence. But now we both know how easy it is to hide under everyone's noses. I just wanted to ask, your target was Madam Carlisle, right? I noticed that it wasn't just you popping up wherever there was some accident waiting to happen. The Madam was there, too. About to arrive, anyway."
47 returned to his silence.
"And that bit at the fountain... After I finished talking to Emma and Gregory, I went around the whole garden. I asked the gardeners, the staff, the outer security people, everyone. And I just couldn't figure one thing out about you, sir."
The hitman gazed out at the sky.
"What did you need that screwdriver for? Because this gardener, Mona, she happened to mention that she misplaced her screwdriver. Blue handle, Phillips-head, exactly the one I saw you holding. I asked if you someone borrowed it, and the last time someone asked for it was last week. So why did you need something in the garden that you never used?"
Diana took a breath. "47, get out of there now. We will have to kill Alexa Carlisle en route. Don't worry about what happens here; I'm pulling resources to cover up any mention of this."
Columbo took a deep breath. 47 recognized it as relief. Did he realize something? What did he have? Everything was circumstantial and meaningless; what did he have?
"Rebecca? Do you have it ready?" Columbo shouted.
"Here, Lieutenant!" On cue, she rolled a plastic table inside, wires running along the floor and onto a speaker device on top.
47 and Diana watched on bewildered. "What on earth is he doing now?" Diana uttered.
He watched Columbo bring a finger to his ear. "Pardon the intrusion, Diana, I'm real sorry about this, and I think you oughta stop that coverup, because it won't do you much good at this rate." The Italian's voice dug into his ear like a mutt with a bone. Out of everyone behind the earpiece, his was the absolute worst.
Agent 47 fully faced him now, eyes widened ever so slightly.
"Mr. Rieper, do you know what this is?" Columbo pulled a radio earpiece out, but unlike the security's, it was a much more discrete and smaller version. Just like 47's. "I got it from one of the guards. When I first arrived here, I saw the guy at the gate talking to his pals through this, and things like that stay with you. Technology is a scary thing. Only been, what, a few decades? And we're soaring past like no tomorrow. It goes way over my head."
Rebecca performed some set-up on the speaker, adjusting some settings on her phone.
"We found the ICA's encryption code on the Milton-Fitzpatrick file, and Rebecca and my brother-in-law helped me lots. He works with equipment like this, and he's a bonafide radio expert. He helped me connect the earpiece to your private frequency, and Rebecca devised a way to record everything."
"It's ready," Rebecca said.
With the click of a button, Diana's voice boomed for everyone to hear. "47, get out of there now. We will have to kill Alexa Carlisle en route. Don't worry about what happens here; I'm pulling resources to cover up any mention of this."
47 no longer heard Diana's typing. He never stopped looking; thinking up every possibility for escape.
"One more thing," Columbo said, making him grit his teeth. "After I found out how Emma got in and out of Zachary's room, that had me thinking. Please correct me if I'm wrong, I know you're an expert in this. When you're sneaking around, you don't wanna be found, right?"
Agent 47 didn't even budge.
"Well, I'd assume so. Feels pretty natural with 'sneaking around', I would think. Anyway, I noticed something. She left that room the same way she got in. Makes sense. Use the well-beaten path because it's the safest. In fact, it happens a lot in these kinds of cases. They always stick with the familiar route because it's the one they know best. Here?"
Columbo walked beside 47, looking out the window. "There's only one way out. The window. Heads into the bushes. The bushes down there, sir, see?"
The hitman glanced down, confirming as much.
"I checked with Mr. Fernsby. Indeed, one guy, Oscar, called in sick. That lines up with what you told me. But the strange thing is, nobody saw him leave. I asked everywhere. I asked the guys at the gate, the maid raking around the bridge, and I even looked at the boat near the greenhouse." Columbo shrugged. "Nobody saw Oscar."
The paramedics from the ambulance then yelled, clambering through the bushes. Only then did Agent 47 stop thinking. He let his fists soften. Well-played, Lieutenant.
"That's where you came in, Mr. 47. I figured that, much like Emma, your escape route would be the same way you arrived. And for you, it was through that window. You heard them earlier, but paramedics..."
"We found him!" they shouted, pulling the stripped, unconscious Oscar out.
"Agent 47," Columbo said, "you're under arrest."