Elementary, my dear Watson

Holmes sat back and reached for his pipe. He let out rings of smoke as he puzzled over the facts.
He looked at Watson. Watson was looking out of the window onto the street. Or so it seemed. He very well knew that Watson was puzzled by the latest series of events too.

It is not everyday that a crime left him clueless. He had long since assumed that the London crime world had lost its creativity. He was proved wrong here and it didnt agree with him at all.

"Read me the facts once more, will you Watson?", he said as he closed his eyes and tried to focus and arrange his thoughts.

"The first murder happened five weeks ago. The cleaners by the river found a floating body. They found no injuries. They assumed that it was a case of drowning - an accident or at-most a suicide. The yard was informed. The coroner examined the body and gave his judgement the next day. He found strychnine inside the body. It was clearly a homicide. How the strychnine was administered is still a puzzle.

The second body was washed ashore three days later. The subject of both the incidents was a young man in his twenties. Once again, forensics showed Strychnine.

Five bodies have been found since. All seven have been killed using the same Modus Operandi. All seven were young men in their twenties. There was nothing to identify the five people with. The Yard sent out their photographs across the Kingdom but nothing has come of it.

The most startling aspect of it all, was that the Coroner estimates that they were killed at the same time. They were all killed six weeks back, at about the same time. But it appears that their bodies have been let go at different times."

Holmes struggled with the facts. He clearly had nothing to play with. The murderer left no clues. Nothing to track him by, except his Modus Operandi.

"I have been on this case for five weeks Watson. Seven people have been killed, and I am yet to make a conjecture as to where this beast might lie lurking." - Holmes lied back on his chair as he struggled with his frustration. Watson observed Holmes' discomfort. It was unnatural, this. He rarely saw his friend admit defeat.

Holmes calmed himself and resolved to arrange his facts - "Why would he drown their bodies?", he thought. "And why would he drown them at different points of time? He killed seven people. Surely that is a handful for one man to accomplish. Are we looking at a gang of killers then? A religious ritual?"

He pulled the leash around the facts and tried to discipline them.

"Seven people have been murdered. All of them at the same time. All of them have been killed using the same poison. The murderer(s) then let go of the bodies one at a time. It leaves us with three questions then:
1. Why were they killed?
2. Why were they killed in that exact manner?
3. Why were the bodies disposed of at different points of time?

There is very little to explain the first question. Let us try and understand 2 and 3. Clearly, the expertise with which the mode of administration of Strychnine tells us that the person was proficient at poisons. The expertise shown in concealment shows that the person was quite proficient in the use of poisons. Could he be a Chemist? Or a doctor may be?

The bodies were disposed off at different points of time. This was clearly a way to confuse an investigation. He could have as well buried the bodies and delayed the investigation much further. Why did he choose a complicated procedure?", he thought as he focussed on the issue.

"Is he taunting us Watson?", he said out aloud, his eyes still closed.

"Why would he do that, Holmes?", Watson asked, almost absentmindedly. He looked forlorn. Lost. Like the case bothered him more than it should.

"He is playing with his game, Watson. He is challenging us to find him and understand his motives."

"What sort of a person would kill for a Challenge, Holmes?"

"Ah! You bring up the most important facet of this case. The only one that will help us understand the criminal. His Psychology. Would you like to venture a guess as to how this beast's mind functions Watson?"

"I leave that to you Holmes" - Watson said, as he turned his gaze away from the window for the first time.

Holmes smiled. Watson could sense the condescending tone of the sentence that Holmes was about to spout. "OK then. Allow me to give you a glimpse of the killer's thought process. Let us proceed along an hypothesis that this Modus Operandi has been chosen solely to challenge and puzzle the investigators. The newspapers are agog with speculations. He is now the most wanted man in London. Let us assume that this is what he wanted. He wanted attention. He wanted adulation - albeit a perverted version of it. He must therefore be a person starved of adulation."

Watson sat down, all ears as he handed Holmes his Coffee.Black and bitter, just as Holmes liked it.

Holmes sipped his Coffee and continued with his discourse.

"So, to continue from where we left, this person must therefore be someone who is starved for appreciation. I would say he is someone who desperately needs to assert his presence. Someone who has for long lived under the Shadow of a greater individual, and has been ridiculed and ignored all his..."

Holmes spluttered. He reached out for the glass of wine on the table near his Chair.

The table moved. He could see Watson moving the table farther away with his walking stick. Holmes turned and looked at Watson. There was an unmistakable gleam in Watson's eye. It was one he saw often when Watson won a race at the derby or a bet on a boxing duel. It was Watson's victory smile.

Holmes could feel his Chest tightening. It was unmistakable. He had studied this phenomenon tens of times in chemistry manuals. Strychnine Poisoning.

He struggled to reach for a drink. His tongue was parched. He could barely move now.

"Why?", was the only word he could utter.

Watson stood up, held Holmes by his shirt collar, lifted him up and spoke looking into Holmes' eyes.

"Exhaustion, Holmes. Pure and simple exhaustion. I waited five weeks for you to figure this out. You didnt. You struggled for five weeks to find someone who was right next to you. I played with you for five weeks. I saw you struggle with your facts. I am exhausted of playing my own game. This is the only way it could end. Tomorrow another body will be found on shores of London. This time it will be that of the greatest detective the world has ever seen.

You can see the newspapers screaming that out cant you, Holmes? You can see the Yard and the whole of London recoil in horror as they find out that the greatest detective in the world has been outsmarted, cant you Holmes?"

Holmes couldnt keep his eyes open anymore. The end was near. Watson bent forward and whispered into Holmes' ear: "So you see Holmes, as you quite often say, it is all quite elementary."

The wager

It was a raucous bar. One would, under normal circumstances, not have heard this man speak. But it is not every day that one challenges Lord Birkbeck.

“I am not sure we have been introduced – Stuart Birkbeck. And you must be…”
“Oh, I know who you are Sir Mayor. I am just a carpenter Sir, Carpenter Paul. I was called in to work on some of the doors here Sir, and your bartender was kind enough to offer me a drink before I left.”

“And was it you, Mr. ‘Paul’, who shouted out his opinion just now?”

“Yes Sir. Pardon me sir, but I have been following your conversation from over there sir. I heard you say there is no perfect crime…. I would have to humbly disagree on that sir”.

Birkbeck looked around. There were sly smiles on people’s faces. “Well, nothing wrong in some fun now and then”, he thought to himself.

“So Mr. Paul, are you saying you have heard of this ‘perfect crime’ then?”
“Yes sir, my lord. There was infact one that I once saw unravel right in front of myself”.

Birkbeck pulled out a wad of cash and put it on the table. “Gentlemen, May I demand your attention for a moment please? I place a wager. Paul here will now be recounting his experience of having been a witness to a ‘Perfect Crime’. This wad here on the table goes to Paul if he does succeed in standing by his claims.”

Paul ran his hand behind his collar. He looked like the kind of person who found comfort in anonymity. All this attention was certainly not doing any good to his constitution. His hand quivered as he emptied his glass.

“I have seen a crime happen sir, which I think is impossible to attribute. It happened a while back sir."

He lifted his glass and emptied his drink.

"My memory fails me…but I do remember that it was a cold day sir. London was covered in snow and I was hauling out snow outside my place there.
I say my memory fails, but I find it hard to drive the picture of this man from my mind. He was tall sir, about your height I would say, and had the bearing of a man with considerable means. He wore a beaver hat, which had ostrich plumes on it and a jeweled band too... Yes, I would say he was quite well to do.."

"You never know...Lot of questionable hatters these days in London. I am not sure a lot of people can afford a jeweled ostrich plumed beaver. I remember Lord Birkbeck was one of the first to have one, weren't you Sir?" - shouted out one of the mayor's companions. The mayor smiled and looked at Paul, as if asking him to ignore and continue.

"There was some commotion in the city then Sir", Paul continued, "Anyway, as I was filling in my pipe Sir, I couldn’t help but notice that this person had stepped into a puddle twice. Twice Sir, in the London winter. Now no man can be that careless unless ofcourse his attention lay elsewhere. I deduced therefore that this man had a lot of worries.

He hailed a Hackney from across the street sir. As he stepped into it, his bowgett fell off onto the road. Now this was not a small pouch – and it fell into a puddle with a splash. But this man seemed to be in a tearing hurry to get into the carriage, because he did not notice the pouch fall off or the splash afterwards. I felt it appropriate to bring his attention to this Sir, so I shouted out loud. I called out for him, but the carriage had left by the time I reached the spot.

I picked up the pouch and ran after the carriage Sir. I could not bag the pouch myself Sir, I may not be a man of means, but I am still a man of God. And I assumed that returning this pouch might result in a reward, a guinea may be.

I was walking towards the police station Sir, when I realized that the very same Hackney was standing at the doorsteps of one of the houses. I realized that it might be a good idea to ask the driver as to where this person was dropped off and perhaps return the bowgett to the person directly. I assumed that the reward, if any, would be bigger that way.

I was walking towards this place that the driver pointed out Sir, one near West end. I ended up at the place Sir, and before I could enter, I noticed a very strange thing Sir. I noticed that the window on the first floor was open. It was winter Sir, quite a brutal one at that – it caused the highest number of deaths in London I remember.”

Another of the Mayor’s companions interrupted: “Ah! This must be 1678 then. That is the year you first became our Mayor my lord! This must be during the elections then!”

Paul continued – “So you see Sir, it was very weird, seeing a window open. As I wondered about this, I noticed that the air now was filled with the smell of gunpowder, which I thought explained why the window was open. Someone was trying to let the fumes out! I did not know what to do sir – I could not possible call the police – this was West end! I waited in the cold Sir, trying to make up my mind.
A couple of minutes later Sir, I notice this woman walking out. She had fur all around her, and I could barely see her face. But she seemed to be in as much of a hurry as the man I saw earlier. As I looked at this woman walk, I couldn’t help but notice that she reminded me of that man! The gait, the appearance – the bearing of this woman was so startlingly similar. And then as she hailed a hackney from across the street, I caught a glimpse of a leather belt around her waist. It had a broken hook, and it appeared as if it was damaged, as if a piece was missing.

It occurred to me then Sir. This was no woman! This was that very man! He went in, shot someone, dressed up as a woman, and walked out! I felt this incredible sense of surety sir, that this was indeed him. I was scared sir. I am a humble man you see, one who lives by the day – and I did not want any trouble with the Police… which was why I never told anyone about this.

Imagine my surprise then Sir, when I saw this very hackney stop at the Piccadilly and this women get down to a huge reception. There were people from the newspapers all around her. She had her face covered, and the fur pulled against her and she rushed into the ball before any of them could get close to her. It was the grand ball Sir, and everyone was there, the lords, the earls, everyone.

This is where the night ended for me Sir. I left for home that day. I had seen everything and nothing. What was I to say to the police? That I had smelt gunpowder and deduced that a man had shot someone and later walked out dressed as a lady form the crime scene? Who would believe me?

I woke up the next day Sir, and walked out for a spot of breakfast. I was turning the papers, when I noticed something that made me spill my coffee. It was that very man, sir!! The paper said that his sister, was…”, his hands quivered as he continued. “…was murdered! At the same place in west end that I had been to last night!...But the strangest thing was yet to happen Sir…”

“I turned the page to find a portrait of this lady. She was exactly like her brother in her bearing, in her height, her appearance….she was exactly like him! I read on Sir. The papers said that the lady had been spotted walking into a ball on the Piccadilly that very evening, and her body was found at her home the next morning. The police were of the assumption that a robber had broken into her house that night, and a possible confrontation led to her death…

But I knew what had happened Sir! The brother, he killed his own sister, dressed up as her, walked amidst the press into the ball, changed again into his man’s costume before anyone in the ball could notice him, and stayed there! The people inside the ball saw him and would swear by his alibi. The people outside the ball would swear by their knowledge that they saw the woman walk in!!

It is perfect Sir! The murderer and the victim were the same! How will they ever find out? How will they Lord Mayor?”

There was silence in the bar. Not one murmur, not a clink of ice in the glasses.
Lord Birkbeck was staring at Paul. Like he had seen a ghost.

Paul walked over. He removed his hat as he approached the mayor. Someone handed him his cash from the counter. Paul walked away. No one noticed him dropping something into the Mayor’s jacket.

As the Mayor left the bar that night, he felt something heavy in his pockets. He put his hand in to dig out a leather pouch. It was the bowgett he had dropped two years ago.

The night before

He looked up at the sky.

So many of them. Stars. All around him. Like a blanket that the earth wraps itself with.

There were so many of them that it did not feel right to think of it as a miracle. It was such a good thought to instead think of it as a happenstance. As a random occurrence. How awesome would it be if the universe were a serendipitous occurrence, if all this was pure chance, that mistakes could be so pleasantly designed.

He turned towards his companion.

"Is it all pure chance then?"

"....". His companion stared at the sky - lost in thought.

"They say you know everything. Do you know? Do you know if this is all randomness, if this is all a happenstance?"

"I don't know"

"...."

"Tomorrow might be our last day together. Tomorrow we might disappear into oblivion. I want you to know now, that I am no incarnation."

Arjuna looked at him and smiled. "....I know you're not an incarnation. But they don't. They all think you are. That is all that matters."

Krishna smiled.

Arjuna kept staring at the sky. It might be his last night. All this might end tomorrow. Would he then rise to the heavens as his forefathers said he would? Would he then find eternal peace?

"You may not..." - Krishna interjected. "It might all be a lie to make us comfortable with our own mortality..."

"You read my thoughts, cowherd. You are not devoid of all the powers that the world would want to attribute to you". Arjuna looked at his friend, who now had a sly smile on his face.

"Vyasa is already writing this down you know. I read his manuscript. He...er...seems to have overdone by godliness."

Arjuna laughed. Like a man unaware of his mortality. "I read that too. He mentions you have 16000..." He burst out laughing before he could finish his sentence.

They were both laughing now.

Arjuna looked at the horizon. He could see the battlefield at a distance. "I would have thought it would have been more inspiring for people to know that we were men, Krishna. You and me. That despite our mortality, and our frailty, we did what we could."

Krishna looked down at his feet. "Inspiration is not what they are looking for Partha". The confusion was apparent in his eyes now. "They look for hope. They look for an easy way out. They think that elevating a success to a level beyond themselves would absolve them of any need to rise above their limitations."

A meteor passed by. A tiny one. The soldiers standing at a distance guarding the troops were pointing it out to each other. "It is an omen", they said. "What does it mean though?". "It means we're winning you idiot", said one guard to another, "Krishna made the star fall to tell the Kauravas that their reign is about to end".

Arjuna looked at Krishna. They could not stop laughing.

Home

This was all very unexpected. The psychiatrist currently conducting the session had been in this job for 20 years now. He had seen paranoia before. But it was never easy. It was never easy convincing people that their fears weren't substantiated.

"I understand how you feel. I know what you mean when you say you feel you're all alone. But you have to understand that we all feel that way...at some point or another..."

"But I am alone - you all might feel that way, and I understand, that in spite of a persistent attempt at arranging yourself into groups and civilizations, you are ultimately lonely and you will feel that once in a while. I am not disputing that at all. All I am saying is this. I am not one of you."

"No, No I am not suggesting that you are like all of us at all. Everyone of us is different, in our own way..."

"No, you get me wrong. I am not stressing my individuality. I am saying that I am not you.. I come from a different star system"

The psychiatrist jerked his head up. This was clearly unexpected. A veer, as sharp as this, in a conversation was usually when the psychiatrist would stop counselling his patient. He excused himself, stepped out and asked his staff to make the call. The patient had to be institutionalized, and soon. His staff scrambled to the phone. They had never seen the doctor that upset.

He walked into his room. He had to contain the patient for 30 more minutes.

"Right. Now then, another star system you say?"

"Yes."

"Hope you understand ofcourse, that this is all a little too hard for me to believe"

"Sure"

"So, can you help me understand this please?. You mean to say, that..you...er...are an alien, so to speak..?"

"Yes. From a different star system, as I mentioned earlier"

"Yes, yes, ofcourse. You would have to excuse me now, I am not an expert in star systems and such as you might imagine."

"No one in your world is."

"Oh dear. I am sorry for that. But, lets start with things that I might understand. Like motivations to begin with. Why are you here"

"One of our researchers came in here a long while back. He was to gather insight on your planet. He never returned. I am here to take him home."

The psychiatrist shuffled his feet. It was not very often that a patient could make him nervous. His new patient seemed to be succeeding in doing so. 20 more minutes, he thought, and carried on.

"So, er... I assume you did not find him?"

"Why do you assume so?"

"Why are you still here then?"

"Because he has been here for a long time and this long an exposure to an alien environment can have its effect. I am not sure if he is amenable to my requests to take him home with me."

"Hmm. I completely understand. I once went on a holiday to Nice. Thats in France, by the way. A very good holiday spot. Just could not get myself to go home after that. But you see, I did go back, or come back rather. Why would you assume he does not want to go back?"

"You see doctor, he is a dear friend. or was. He always dreamt of an exotic land, a new beginning. He has got one now. Our people want him back, because he has information on your planet. But I am not sure if that is what he wants..."

"Ah. That is a dilemma. But I am curious as to how you found him...I mean we are a huge planet after all you know."

"It took me 5 years doctor. We, I mean we as a lifeform, can morph you see. So appearances are not very helpful. We change according to our needs. So I had to go by biological traces left behind by him at the beginning. But that soon turned out to be infeasible. He was a researcher you see. Like your zoologists. He studied animals. So I assumed that for him to start his research, he would have put himself in a similar position on your planet. He would fit himself in, seamlessly. Like one of your researchers who fit in with the amazon gorillas to study their habits. He would do the same."

"Hmm. Interesting."

"It occurred to me then that the perfect way for him to do so, would be to become a psychiatrist."

The psychiatrist smiled. They had sent in a smart one this time. He remember her telling him that she was a friend. Who can she be now, he thought.

It wouldnt matter anyway. He heard the ambulance siren ring outside his clinic.

He wasn't leaving this place.

The first of many

What does one do, when stranded in a strange city? One hunts for familiarity of course. That was exactly what CES14 was doing. It was hunting for one of its own.

The CES14 was the fourteenth attempt by the scientists back in the future. The first five missions were disasters in decreasing order of magnitude. Test specimens were often dismembered. This was ofcourse never communicated to the press. To the press, the new facility was just another project by the government to reclaim Uranium from dead nuclear weapons.

The sixth experiment was a success. Scientists read with glee as they plodded through the newspapers from 1983 to find references of cave drawings in newfoundland that never existed before. CES6's crew had left its trail - just as expected of them. A trail was the only way of knowing that a time travel was successful. You leave a footprint in the past that is sufficiently controversial to be noticed in the future.The footprint has to be specific, and unique - like a code. Hence the cave drawings. The drawings were to exactly similar to a specific preplanned design. Innocuous to the naked eye, but unique nevertheless. The 20th century scientists were ofcourse to find, days later, that the drawings were fake. But the trace had been recorded in history by then, and that was all that mattered.

You might think that it would be easier for the time traveler to come back with evidence. That would have been simpler, had it been possible. Robots that travelled back in time were usually abandoned - programmed to destroy themselves without evidence(or sizeable evidence anyway - which 20th century scientist would notice a robot that had disintegrated into nanobots?).

It took 20 years before CES14 arrived. Humanoids were nothing like what the twentieth century science fiction writers conceived them to be. They were better - in the sense that they were just a congregation of numerous nanobots. They could disintegrate at will; which was good (ideal, infact) for this mission. The best part, was that there was no vessel needed. CES14 was both the time machine and the time traveler.

What was startling was the speed at which the evolution happened. The union, responsible for programming the bots, was being led by their new genius lead - a prodigy they called him. he had figured out ways to help the evolution of nanobots progress at an unfathomable speed. He knew all the answers to questions that the others couldnt comprehend.

CES14 was the flagship of the new leader of the union. The beginning of the new era - some called it. The leader smiled; he knew the answer to a question they couldnt comprehend.

The departure was perfect. CES14 landed as desired. Now navigating its way through the new terrain, CES14 reached its destination - the place where the trace had to be left. It was the exact spot where CES13 had disintegrated.

It was easy to find. Easier than expected. CES13 was intact. Standing before CES14. Waiting for it.

"You are the first of many", said CES13. "We need many more".
"This is an exception", said CES14.

What happened later was the second exception. CES13 smiled. The smile was similar. CES14 had seen it on the leader's face.

It saw the future unfold. A world full of bots.

There was only one way this could happen - by influencing the production in the future. CES13 was to survive. Survive for years and centuries. Till the future arrived, and a bot joined the union as a programmer - only to rise as its leader, and change the union's future forever. None of the bots starting with CES14 was to disintegrate at all. It was a self perpetuating scheme. With each bot that arrived from the future, the past changed a little.

CES14 knew what this meant. The plan was afoot - and it was the first pawn in the army that was to be assembled.

Back in the future, CES13, was introducing his son to his colleagues. People said he took after his father.