Ten Little Sailor Boys. (Open to anyone)

[grandmaster]

Ten Little Sailor Boys.
Overview: The rise of the “Sailor Boy” serial killer has begun. On March 27th multimillionaire Donald Rand was found dead after a political dinner party at North Gotham hosted by politician Archer Lewis who is gathering money for a Senate run in 2012 .The autopsy showed the he had been poisoned with potassium cyanide. In the breast pocket of Donald Rand’s dinner jacket their was a ceramic sailor boy , and a list of ten individuals one of said names being Donald Rand. At first the police attempted to keep this information out of the news, but somehow, someone hacked all of the main news organizations websites, posting three things. One was a copy of the list found in Donald Rand‘s pocket. One was the image of a round ceramic plate that had ten sailor boys around them, with one broken off. The final one was a short letter. No police officials anyone have been able to track the individual who posted the images.

The List:

Sarah Dill
Andrea Stirling
Ronald Mises
Donald Rand
Christopher Andersen
Ashley Wolfe
Muhammad Yunus
Arthur O’Niel
Samantha Delies
Richard Anderson VI

The Short Letter.

Ten Little Sailor Boys all in a row, all connected although how they don’t know. One by one each will fall, unless someone is able to see all. Today the first heads for the hearse, well the rest of the nine fear when they dine.

What can you do? You can either work along side The Question as he searches for the murder. Or you can start your own investigation. If you’re a villain who has an interest in solving puzzles you can communicate “anonymously” online at the chat site “Modern Mystery Lovers” (another thread I'll make) where there is a forum where people are talking things out, and trying to solve the crime from the safety of their armchairs. If you wish you can also attempt to protect one of the Sailor Boys who are still alive, if you can find out who they are, so far none have been identified although I few people with said names have come forward and are now under police protection.

Points of interest. The rhyme the Ten Little Sailor Boys, as well as the story “And Then There Were None”, which made the poem famous.

Death list so far.

Donald Rand: The first Sailor Boy. He was found dead at politician Archer Lewis’ fundraising dinner party, right after supper. Rand was a sixty three year old multimillionaire, who was the founder of Christie’s Crystal and Silverware. He is survived by his oldest son Thomas Rand, who was named after Thomas Wayne one of Rand’s earliest investors.


Victor grabbed his alarm clock as it faithful ticked away the second. Six o’four. He had been asleep for less then twenty minutes. He sighed as his phone kept playing his texting ring tone. Moving his hand to his bed sheets he slowly got up and walked towards his cell phone, much to the annoyance of the sleeping beagle Ralph who was almost stepped on.

“CALL ME NOW!”

It was from his editor. Sage sighed slightly as he then slapped his face and cleared his throat a few times, preparing to sound like the man that his editor knows him as.

The phone rang three times before Victor’s editor bothered to answer.

“What took you so damn long Sage?”

“Sorry, sir. I have a bad habit of being asleep at 6 am. What’s up?”

“Have you seen the front page today?”

“All I’ve seen today is my clock, and this phone boss. Why what’s up?”

“Check out the front page! I know you’re a political opinion writer, but this Sailor Boy thing is the biggest media event of the year so far! I want you to write up something about how police should crack down on this murder as fast as possible, throw in a few things about corruption, idk you know what your doing better then I do. Just make it good Sage!”

“Sailor bo,,,,,”

“Deal with it Sage! I got other people to deal with, I want your piece for the evening edition at the very latest! And don't you dare disappoint me!”

With that Victor’s agent hung up, and Victor just sighed. He then opened up his internet browser, and saw the headline on the Drudge Report. “Sailor Boy Killer Gets Silverware Titan!” Victor read the headline quick and then shut his phone off. He then walked back to his bed, set his alarm for 11:20 and went back to sleep.

[grandmaster]

Victor Sage’s alarm clock rang continuously, echoing like the bells in Rome until finally Sage rolled to his side and pushed the button on the back of the antique mechanical clock. Sage then reached for his tobacco pipe, filled the bowl and lit it as he got out of his bed. His eyes adjusted themselves for the new day ahead of him, as he looked at the clock on his night stand, blue smoke escaping his lips as he did. 11:20. Not bad, although one of these days he was going to have to get eight hours of sleep.

Sage then walked past the still sleeping Ralph, who’s tail wagged happily as he slept, and grabbed his red smoking jacket, and put on a pair of black silk pajama bottoms. Still puffing away at his pipe, Sage then slowly walked over to one of the laptop’s in his room and opened it up. As the computer begin to boot up Victor stretched out yawning slightly.

“The brain does not work properly without tobacco.” Victor thought to himself.

The blue haze of his pipe began to fill the corner of his room, as he clicked on the Firefox browser. He then went to his paper’s website where their was a story about how a news report of the event had been recently altered slightly, some people believing it was done by the so called Sailor Boy killer.

**
A chipper voiced female news reporter began speaking, as images of people dressed in white tie formal clothing exiting a room with great terror on their face began pouring out. Some of the women in their long silk evening gowns were crying, well others simply had a look of shock on their faces. Most of the men grumbled, well others walked as if they had seen a ghost.

“It was here on March 27th at the fundraising dinner for up and coming political star Archer Lewis, that Christie’s Crystal and Silverware founder Donald Rand was found dead . Poisoned from potassium cyanide.”

It was at this point that the television icon in the bottom corner of the screen went from WWB to the image of an expressionless ceramic sailor boys’ face. Besides that small alteration that would prove to stay their as long as the story continued though their was little changes in the broadcast. The camera then zoomed in on an elderly woman with white curly hair, wearing a large necklace of pearls around her rather large neck. She was breathing heavily, and although the gown she wore was without a doubt one of the most well made that money could buy, she still looked disheveled from the whole situation.

“It just isn’t right!” The woman explained almost breathlessly. “First we have all those nuts running around in long underwear turning Gotham into a world wide joke, and now a proper citizen can’t even come to a dinner party without some mad man poisoning them! Is this what it means to be alive in 21st century Gotham? To be the victim of mad men, and psychopaths? Where are the police? Where are those supposed masked heroes who claim they want to defend us! Where are they now?”

The chipper sound female reporter lowered her voice to a more serious tone . “This woman was not the only one asking that question.”

The scene the turned towards a dapper looking forty something year old man, wearing a white tie and tails tux, and a perfectly executed hair cut. Under his image was the words “US Senatorial candidate Archer Lewis”

“This is an outrage! I will be using every amount of power that I posses to get to the bottom of this travesty! Gotham deserves to be freed from these nut jobs, and I am making it a point of my campaign to put an end to all of these gimmick murders! Sailor Boys indeed! I have complete confidence in the Gotham City Police, as well as the State Police, and the FBI they will bring this mad man to justice. We will not be terrorized!”

The chipper woman’s voice then returned as the scene changed towards an ambulance, where soon two tall strong men came into view pushing a stretcher that had nothing on it but a corpse covered in a white sheet.

“As we have been reporting since the event happened at 9:04 pm last night, it was discovered that their were two foreign items on Mr. Rand’s person. One was ceramic Sailor Boy, and the other was a list with Donald Rand’s name on it. At 2:54 AM every major news organization around the world was hacked into, by a so far unknown individual who posted three things. One was the picture of a round ceramic plate that had ten little sailor boys around it, one of the ceramic boys broken off, which later would be found in Rand’s breast pocket. Another was an image of the list, and the finally their was a short letter. The letter said simply, “Ten Little Sailor Boys all in a row, all connected although how they don’t know. One by one each will fall, unless someone is able to see all. Today the first heads for the hearse, well the rest of the nine fear when they dine. “”

The camera then turned to a middle aged man with a full white beard, wearing a green bowtie and a brown sweater vest over a blue button up shirt. The middle aged man was flipping threw a psychology book, before he was suddenly sitting in a green chair looking very dignified.

“What we have here of course is another individual who has a obsessive compulsive disorder. In this case it has a connection with the poem the Ten Little Sailor Boys, originally of course called the Ten Little Nig *beep*.”

The chipper report then returned for a bit of voice over. “Andrew Nottingham is one of the highest respected psychological investigators into this “gimmick killer” phenomena.”

Pushing his glasses up from the end of his nose, Dr. Nottingham continued. “This so called “Sailor Boy Killer”, is no different then say the Riddler, or the Joker, or Dr. Crane aka the Scarecrow. Whether any of them realize it or not, they are all compelled to follow their OC. In the case of this killer, he is of course compelled to follow his rhyme. How one can die from oversleeping of course I have no idea.”

The scene then changed to a twenty something individual who was wearing a wrinkled shirt, and a pair of jeans. Tears were rolling down his face as he steeped forward towards a podium that had about a dozen microphones on it, each branded with the logo of the media giants who owned them. The chipper reporter talked just before the young man.

“Donald Rand’s son and heir Thomas Rand, made this statement two hours ago regarding his murdered father.”

The young man’s voice trembled lightly and he wiped away a few tears from his face. He then inhaled slowly, his voice making and almost snotty quivering sound as he talked.

“Anyone who knows the stories about my Father and I know that we didn’t always get along, but he was still the greatest man I ever knew, and didn’t deserve this! Because this murder, this killer, this ba…” he inhaled slowly and then wiped some more tears away from his face his hands trembling for a moment, and then nervously crumbling up the edges of the paper he was reading from.

“This, this bastard thinks he has a right to destroy families and make people live in fear I am going to bring the full extent to the power I now have to make his life a living hell. I am offering a four million dollar reward to the group or individual who brings this mad man to justice. Upon his conviction and execution I will either give the money to you or to whoever, or whatever group or individual you want, tax free.”

The crowd of reporter and photographs clapped and cheered at the sound of this new information.

“I will also be setting up the Donald Rand Foundation. This foundation’s goal will be to help out those individuals who had the same personality traits of my late father. Honor, respect, and a belief in hard work and justice, and…. and…”

Mr. Rand then broke down turned away from the podium and walked away sobbing. A man in a suit stepped forward telling all the reporters and photographers there that Mr. Rand would answer all their questions at another time when he was better able.

The chipper report then quickly began speaking again.

“Since Thomas Rand’s announcement, bounty hunters, private detectives, and simple interested individuals the world over have decided to try to solve the mystery. One of those groups comes from and unlikely place.”

The scene then turned to a smiling twenty two year old young woman. She had on a pair of Buddy Holiday glasses, long black hair that ran down her back. She was wearing a bright pink shirt that simply said “Modern Mystery Lovers.com”, a short lacy dress, long black and white stripped socks, and a pair of patent leather high heeled boots.

“People like webmaster Sasha Kenshin, and the members of her forum “Modern Mystery Lovers.com” are the new face of the amateur detectives attempting to help police.”

Miss Kenshin then began to speak in what can only be described as a forced valley girl style. “Well, you see it’s like this. The people at Modern Mystery Lovers.com are like the best armchair detectives around! We live for this kind of thing, because like puzzles and challenges like this need to be solved, like for the good of mankind. We are like just normal people you know? We aren’t a group of like crazy people wearing their pajamas to go out and punch people! We are SOOOOO much like better then that. We are simply people who are like trying to do our civic duty!”

The chipper reporter then did another short voice over.

“Miss Kenshin’s group are not to be taken lightly. They have famously helped officials solve crimes in the past.”

“We’ve like solved a lot of crimes before that like the police haven’t been able to solve.” Sasha said with a large smile on her face. “People continuously underestimate us. They think like because we are just a group of random people that we don’t have any talents, but that is how we solve things!”

“Asked what she would do with the reward money if she and her forum poster solved the crime, Miss Kenshin said.”

“Oh that’s easy! I mean I’d divide it up among those who helped us on the board, but for me I’d donate my money to save mother Earth, because like if we don’t who will? Cause I feel like we as a people, and I mean like as a human people, that we like don‘t respect things! Like just the other day I saw my neighbor cutting down the tree in his front yard simply because one of it‘s large branches broke off and like feel and broke his garage roof. It‘s like hello! That tree is like making oxygen and….”

**
Victor then stopped playing the recording, emptied the black ash inside his now cooled pipe into an ashtray and head towards the bathroom to take a shower.

**
March 28th 11:32 pm.

It was dark and the crescent moon wasn’t up to the task of bringing light to the surrounding darkness. Sirens blared, and gunshots echoed from the East Gotham even though The Question’s perch on the Daily Doughnut factory roof was a few miles away from those sad slums. As the Question breathed slowly, looking threw a pair of binoculars into the windows of the Gotham City Morgue he had to fight the urge to smile at the sweet aroma of the late night “factor chefs” bellow as their vats of boiling fat turned out Gotham’s famous morning treats.

“So the rumors are true.” The Question thought to himself as he focused in on a thirty something Hispanic male wearing a white lab coat, who was standing other a dead body on a metal table. “Dr. Rodriguez did move to Gotham. Odd though. You’d think a man who was afraid for his daughter’s safety would move to a city like Metropolis. Gotham isn’t as dangerous as Hub City, but it is hardly a safe city either. Supply and Demand perhaps? He probably does receives more “customers” here.”

The Question placed the small binoculars inside one of the inside pockets of his trench coat, as he stood up and jumped down off the roof of the factory, he somersaulted in the air spinning slowly, and then landing on a nearby fire escape of an adjacent building. He then grabbed onto the cold metal ladder with his leather gloves and slide down to the concrete ally bellow, the sound of his Allen Edmonds echoing lightly as he landed.

Know he had a choice to make. Knock out the two uniformed Gotham police officers that were guarding the door way, or simply sneak in from the rooftops, or one of the windows? The Gotham City Morgue was a double storied building and should have been easily guardable even by the often inept police force of Gotham. The simple fact that the force couldn’t supply more guards was just another said sign, of how outnumbered the officers were.

Staring at them from the adjacent alleyway, Sage read their name plates to himself. “B. Brown and J. Anderson.” The Question thought for a few seconds as his brain pulled up the mental folder of the two officers. Both officers Brian Brown, and Jonathan Anderson were inept police officers with the talents of Wal-Mart security guards. Better suited for traffic duty then guard duty, but they were also one of the few honest cops on the force. It’s obvious that the Commissioner wanted men on the job that he could trust, even if he couldn’t trust completely in their talents.

Inept or not, the officers had held up the duties of their office the best that they could, so their was no reason that they shouldn’t go home in the morning to see their families again, instead of visiting the hospital. The Question quickly made his way across the street, and then returned back into the shadows. From their The Question pulled out a small grappling gun, and aimed it towards the rooftop. The hook grabbed the ledge of the roof, and Victor tugged on it a few times before he moved his way up the side of the building in a flash.

Victor then quickly snuck over to the rooftop door. He inspected the door and once seeing that besides the simple door lock their had been no alterations, he placed the small grappling hock into one of his trench coats pockets, and then pulled out a small pick pocket set. In less then fifthteen seconds he had the door opened.

“These models were almost universally easy to open.” Victor thought to himself as he slowly made his way down the spiral staircase heading towards the first floor, where his old friend was. “Then again, who expects anyone to break into a morgue?”

The door to the first floor squeaked much louder then Victor preferred, but he quickly was threw it and had it shut again. All the lights in the hallway were off, but Victor squatted near the exit door for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust a bit better before he moved forward. All he needed now was a police officer that he hadn’t seen inside before walking around and discovering him. Most officers simply walked around with a flashlight in their hand in this situation, shinning it all over and making their presences known to anyone that was there, but some older veterans had learned that it was best to simply sit in the dark and observe.

After a few moments Victor was certain that he was alone in the hall. The well dressed vigilante then adjusted his hat and slowly walked towards the only shinning light in the hallway, a small square beam that headed towards a glass window that had the letters “Dr. Hector Rodriguez” printed in black. Suddenly though he heard the sound of shattered glass coming from the good Doctor’s work area. The Question picked up his walking pace, but still moved cautiously towards the door.

The blank faced man then looked inside, and saw his friend with a look a fear on his face holding a walkie talkie in his right hand, although both were raised high into the air. In front of him stood a man dressed in shabby black clothing, and a black ski mask, In his hand was a snub nosed .38 special Colt Official Police Revolver.

“Now listen here Doc, I don’t want no trouble. Just a bit of information regarding the stiff you have lying over there.”

“Armatures.” Victor thought as he silently opened the door an snuck in behind the man in black. The good coroner’s eyes widened even more if that was possible, when he saw the brim of fur felt fedora appear behind the ski masked mans head. Victor then struck the back of the mans skull with a quick punch and the man fell quickly to the ground. Dr. Rodriguez’s eyes continue to stay wide until the Question steeped into the light and his blank face appears before him.

“Que…. Question? Is that you?”

“Greetings Dr. Rodriguez. How are you tonight?” The Question asked as he pulled the revolver out of the knocked out man’s hand, slipping it into his suit jacket front pocket. He then pulled the man’s mask off and started searching threw the man’s pockets.

Dr. Rodriguez placed his raised hands down, he free left hand covering his heart as he breathed heavily. “Jesus Christ, your like some kind of God damn angel or something. First you save my little girl from that pedophile, and now this!”

“I’m hardly an angel.” Victor said in a low commanding voice. He then pulled out the man’s wallet from his back pocket and opened it up. Looking down at it he saw the man’s Private Investigator license. “Dr. Rodriguez, meet Joshua Goldstein Private eye.”

“God damn psychopath more like it. He was going to shoot me or something!” The doctor. stammered out slightly, as he moved over to rolling chair. He the laid down the walkie talkie in his right hand, and opened up a desk draw pulling out a bottle with a brown liquid in it.

“Calm yourself doctor. Your no good to me in a worked up condition, and you do owe me one it seems.” the Question said calmly as he walked over and grabbed a hanging orange extension cord, using it to tie up Joshua Goldstein PI.

“I do at that, and more.” The good doctor said as he pulled out a shot glass, and drank some of the liquid from the bottle before putting it back in the draw. “What is it you want so far away from Hub City? As if I have to ask.”

The Question simply shook his head upwards towards the corpse of Donald Rand. “Tell me Doctor are all the reports true?”

The coroner inhaled slightly and then walked towards the naked corpse on the metal table, the Question not far behind. “Well Donald Rand here is a man of considerable good health, except for the whole being poisoned thing. He has the physical body of a man ten years younger then his sixty three years. Would have probably lived close to a hundred with all his wealth and health, had he not been chosen by this Sailor Boy maniac anyways.”

“Potassium cyanide?” The Question asked as he placed his right index finger and thumb under his chin.

“Ingested. If I had to guess probably in whatever whiskey he was drinking, but you can ask Michele Golden if you want to know the specifics of what kind of whiskey and what glass, an all of that stuff.”

“Golden?” the Question said almost taken a back by surprise.

“Oh, you didn’t know? That’s a first for you isn’t it? I’ve never known you to be surprised by anything.” The Doctor said in a generally surprised tone. “She moved here a few months ago, following some new boy toy of her’s here. This is her first big case as a member of the GCPD from what I’ve been told. Surprisingly that smart mouth pain in the ass get’s along with the federals who are also on this case.”

The Question shook his head up and down slightly. Michele Golden was a loud mouth, arrogant, opinionated, and a former lover of the Question. If she could even be called that, “sex buddies” was more like it, although Victor still felt odd about making love to a woman well wearing a faceless mask, and her not even knowing his name. But love was not something he though Golden understood, to her he was just another cop buddy who was good in the sack. He could guess how she got on the feds’ good side.

“Boy toy?” Vic asked though as the wheels in his head kept on turning.

“Yes. You’d be surprised to find this out knowing you two’s history, but she is engaged to one of Gotham’s high class muckity mucks. Some big shot who is a Vice President for Wayne Industries.”

Vic listened carefully, but he had also grabbed onto the dead man’s hands and was examining his fingernails.

“That is the blood of his girlfriend. Mr. Rand had a healthy sex life to the end. Some people have it all really. A good woman, millions bordering on billions of dollars, and no worries.”

“Perhaps if Mr. Rand was more concerned about his well being I wouldn’t be examining his fingernails.” The Question side slowly.

“True enough I suppose, but I don’t know what your looking for. There is nothing. I’ve searched the body multiple times, every square inch inside and out. He ingested cyanide, simple as that.”

“Any idea how that ceramic boy, and letter ended up in the inside pocket of his dinner jacket?” The Question asked slowly.

“You know me Question. I deal with the dead, how they died, occasionally I learn a few little secrets but I leave the investigation of the patient’s life when he was alive to the investigators, I only deal with why they died. If I know you I‘m fairly certain you have a general idea already though.”

The Question simply nodded yes, but said no more. He then pulled out one of his Question mark cards, and handed it to Dr. Rodriguez. “When you see Michele tomorrow hand her this and tell her to meet me at Gotham Park, second bench past lovers rock.”

The coroner took the card and grinned lightly. “How romantic.”

“Hardly.” The Question said as he picked up the still knocked out Joshua Goldstein and flung him over his right shoulder. “Give me ten minutes. I’m going to put this body down near Tweedledee and Tweedledum, after ten minutes is up you can call them on your walkie talkie, and tell them that I stopped Mr. Goldstein here from shooting you.”

“I can’t do that! If they find out I gave up any information I could lose my job! This isn’t quite Hub City Question!”

“Just tell them that I came in, knocked this guy out and left like a big hero. They still believe in that stuff here Doc.”

“Gotham. Only people who aren’t from Hub City believe that it’s really so bad.” The Doctor said turning around slowly to grab the bottle in his desk draw one more time. “Before you go lets have on shoot for old time’s sake.” But by the time Rodriguez turned around The Question was gone.

**
March 28th 11:57 pm Mature Context Warning. Reader discretion is advised. Do not read if easily offended. Completely skip this section if blood and attempted rape bother you


The Question laughed to himself slightly as the two police officers scratched their heads looking at the tied up private investigator, his gun next to his feet, and the Question’s calling card sitting behind his ear. Victor then placed his binoculars back into his trench cost and raised the coats collar slightly as he began walking threw the alleyway.

Rain slowly started to come down as the church bell’s, and town clock’s rang in March 29th. But behind the chimes was a scream of terror. The Question turned down another alleyway. Their a man had a woman bent over a trash can, fighting with her to get her belt off with a knife not far from her throat. He had a proud large smile on his face, and it seemed to get wider as tears began to fall at a faster pace down her face. He looked almost twice her size as he moved his body over her‘s manhandling her with ease, and had a good twenty years on her late teens early twenties. Some people looked outside their windows and then closed them as the woman tried screaming for help one more time before the man punched her in the face.

These were the people that the latex brigade tended to forget, Victor thought to himself. They aren’t important enough for those super few who have been granted the power of the Gods. The man had finally unbuckled the woman’s belt, pulled it threw the loops of her jeans and threw it behind him with an almost proudful flair. His knife was near her throat again as she felt him unbutton her jeans lightly. Victor then grabbed the belt the man had thrown behind him, and wrapped it around his throat tightly.

The man gargled as The Question tightened it even tighter around his throat, pulling him up straight and off of the young woman.. The woman ran forward buttoning her jeans with one hand, until she fell on all fours screaming as loud as she could. On the ground rain pouring over here, she decided to turn around, and see what all the noise was. It was a man in a hat and trench coat choking out her attacker with her belt, but that wasn’t that oddest thing about him! He had no face!

The man started stabbing behind his head wildly with his knife, before Victor drove his head against the red bricks of an adjacent apartment building breaking the man’s nose, and forcing him to drop the knife. The belt was still wrapped tightly around the man’s throat, as the attempted rapist tried to gasp for air. The Questioned then released him, allowing the man to fall to the ground gasping the best he could.

The Question threw the knife into a nearby trash bin, and then picked the man up slugging him across the face with such force that a few teeth went flying into the air when his knuckles connected to his jaw. He picked him up again slugging him one more time with similar results. Blood began to pool around the downed face as it hit the pavement, the Question then kicked him eight times in the guts, before he pulled out a pair of handcuffs. He cuffed the mans right hand to a nearby metal pipe. The man in a state of shock his head moving left and right, back and forth, as if he didn’t understand what was happening to him.

“You listen to me you son of a bitch.” The Question said as he grabbed the man by the chin and forced him to look at his blank face. The man’s eyes wandered as the shock from the beating the Question had just handed him began to take over his entire body. “Tonight I held your life in my hand, and tonight I gave it back to you. If I ever find you out here doing anything again, whatever the verdict of your trial is, your life is mine.” Victor then decked the man one more time, this time with much less force, but it wouldn‘t take much to make a man‘s broken nose hurt more. Blood ran out of the attempted rapist nose and mouth as the man began to shake lightly on the ground, his right arm up in the air hooked onto the pipe.

Victor then pulled out two cards. One said the word “Attempted Rapist”, the other simply hand a Question mark on it. He placed both onto the man, with two bobby pins. The attempted rapist moaned in pain, but seemed unable to move beyond that.

Victor then walked over to the still cowering young woman and offered her his hand. “Come on, milady. Let’s get you to the nearest police station. They will want to take your statement, and hear your story.”
Her hands shacked as she took his leather gloved hand. The blood stains always washing off them as the rain continued to come down.

She tried to speak, but The Question shook his head no, simply saying. “Just tell your story to the police. They have experts their that will help you. Remember to tell them that the knife is in the second trash can to the right of that maggot.” She held onto his right arm tightly until he dropped her off to a nearby police station. Victor then watched her walk into the station still shaking, but holding one of his Question mark cards in her right hand. She looked back towards him only once, but by then Victor was heading down another alleyway.