Cynthia: Sodalitas

Detective Ward and I shared a quiet dinner tonight while Garrett lurked about somewhere downstairs, and despite the fact that there is a reasonable chance that one of the two men is, in actuality, the Magician, I have grown so accustomed to the possibility or even probability of my own demise by his hand, that I was able to block the thought out completely and enjoy myself. Since Jeffrey's incarceration I must confess that I have been dreadfully starved for pleasant company, much less an actual, well-considered conversation.

I continue to employ a security guard to watch over my home despite the fact that I have no illusions as to his ability to actually protect me from our foes, and I suppose I do so merely to keep Garrett in check in the event that he proves himself to be nothing more than a brute, and not the Magician. Women in my condition have been known to be abused and worse under the supposed "care" of their own assistants, and the thought of being victimized by a perfectly ordinary and commonplace thug whilst all around us our supremely powerful enemies plot against us is particularly mortifying.

Regardless, as Sun-Tsu once remarked, "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer".


It was very, very good to read that you both reached Japan safely. As an aside, I have wondered lately if perhaps the "G.G." on the knife's hilt could in fact refer to two people? Perhaps two individuals serve to carry out the duties of the Magician? Inquire as to the first names of Yoshida's uncles next time it is convenient just to be certain.

Cynthia: Fortuna

All is well here. My efforts these past few days have been spent on attempting to place legal pressure on the Department of Homeland Security to release Jeffrey from his detention, and I believe I may be making some headway, though only time will tell. It is my opinion that the incoming regime change in the Presidency has made them more hesitant to invoke powers they may soon no longer possess.

I also decided that while my experiments to determine whether or not my caretaker Garrett is in fact the Magician have come to naught, there is yet another man with a "G" name here in Milwaukee- Detective Gary Ward- whom I at the very least wished to look in the eye to determine if any information could be gleaned from mere contact.

Under the pretence of desiring to discuss pertinent details of the Walentowicz murder, I invited Detective Ward to my home and offered him some tea while we discussed the case. While the investigation has been taken out of his hands by the Federal Bureau of Investigation, it was obvious that the grisly nature of the killing had affected him deeply, and it appeared to me that he wanted to talk about it just to unburden himself of the awful memories.

Detective Ward reminded me a little of poor Agent Pierce, a dogged investigator, world-weary and in over his head. Is he the Magician in disguise? After spending the better part of an hour conversing with the man, I must confess that I still have no idea. I have invited him back tomorrow night just for tea. If he is the Magician, he can kill me at any time anyway, it seems. If he is not, then I will enjoy the pleasure of his company, resigned to whatever fate has in store.

Yoshida: 21

There is another we have encountered with a "G" name: Detective Gary Ward, with whom Stroud made contact early in our investigation. The fact that he was the officer in charge of the Walentowicz murder makes him a prime suspect in my opinion.

Also, there is another possibility that occurs to me: what if "G.G." actually stands for two separate people? Perhaps Garrett and Godsby work together in some fashion, or Ward and Glen, or some combination thereof? It is a more outlandish concept, but I thought it best to introduce the idea.

As far as testing these theories, the most foolproof way appears to be through blood. In Leopold's one and only post, he tells us that the Magician has no blood running through his veins.

You should immediately hire someone to stab them all and see if they bleed.

Pierce: Apologies

Sorry about Tate's posts. He's not here for his charm, remember. He does have some underworld connections in Russia (not in Kiev, unfortunately), though I admit that I'll be surprised if his trip generates anything of substance.

Still no word on the missing ship. I'm checking in constantly, but thus far there's no clue as to its whereabouts.

I spoke with Detective Ward, but his investigation has been taken over by the F.B.I., and their agent has been reluctant to parcel out information. I do get the impression that the Walentowicz case has stalled for the moment, however.

I have a feeling that when we get a break we'll have to move fast, so relax, recharge and be ready to move.

Josh: You Can't Tell The Players Without A Scorecard, So I'm Making A Scorecard

Okay, time out. I feel like events are absolutely spinning out of control here and I need to get a handle on them. To recap and provide a time line (and correct me if any of this is out of whack, I may not be entirely accurate as I was just blown up last night):

-Over a decade ago, Doctor Shigekazu Yoshida and his assistant Tanaka begin experimenting with the Rabbit Calicivirus on Wardang Island, Australia, secretly releasing the infected test-subjects onto the continent and wiping out ninety-five percent of the rabbit population. He does this as a dry run to see how the virus would work if adapted for humans.

-Doctor Shigekazu Yoshida moves to Atlanta, Georgia and gains access to the Centers For Disease Control, or CDC (at right. Put up a boring, official government seal, eh, Mary? Well, two can play at that game!) This allows him to work to perfect the human Calicivirus strain with financial aid from (and I still find this just about impossible to believe) my father, Scott Howland.

-As Shigekazu and Tanaka are about to fly back to Japan with the formula that will essentially kill all human life on Earth, their car is hit by a semi truck. Doctor Shigekazu Yoshida is killed instantly while Tanaka is dragged off into the backwoods of a small town called Hollis Crossroads by The Old Man (I'm just going to go ahead and capitalize it. I thought of calling him "The Southern Gentleman" or "Colonel Sanders" or something, but frankly having dealt with him first-hand I'm way too terrified of him to get cute with a nickname). The Old Man rams a chisel into Tanaka's spine to paralyze him from the neck down, then spends the next year (!) teaching him to speak English.

-Meanwhile, six months or so later in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, a semi truck broadsides my parent's car, killing my father Scott and paralyzing my mother Cynthia from the neck down. This is the one that I cannot wrap my head around. The deliberate act six months before was to paralyze Tanaka... the random act six months later paralyzes my mother in precisely the same way.

-The aftermath of the attack is witnessed by Mrs. Justina Walentowicz, who just happens to be one of, if not the luckiest Bingo player in the state (B.I.N.G.O., B.I.N.G.O., B.I.N.G.O. and B.I.N.G.O. was his name-O. Good, hopefully now it's stuck in your head, too).

-My mom and I start investigating the crash, hiring Mary Stroud, a P.I. from Madison, Wisconsin. Mrs. Walentowicz gets interviewed a couple of times, then she's horrifically murdered, her head pulled down into her abdomen and up through a hole cut in her stomach. In her smiling mouth is a photograph of the semi truck she thought she saw drive away from the crash. Pushed up and into her brain is a freshly amputated rabbit's foot infected with the Calicivirus.

-In researching the rabbit's foot and trying to narrow down where it came from, we contact Wardang island and acquire the number for Doctor Shigekazu Yoshida's son, Kisho. In addition to having a charming, bubbly personality, Kisho is set to identify the virus of that particular rabbit's foot and determine which continent it came from (and by the way, I'm ready to just call that one over and say it came from Wardang Island. Test away, but I have no doubt). In conversation with Kisho, we find out about his father and the semi truck attack.

-I fly down to Atlanta to get Shigekazu's notes on what we think are the rabbit Calicivirus and also to poke around a bit and get more information on his murder. Mary stays in Milwaukee to keep in touch with Detective Ward, the officer in charge of the Walentowicz case, and also secretly to investigate my family, her own employers (sneaky monkey).

-While recovering Shigekazu's research, a man with an Australian accent leaves me a note giving an address in a small town called Hollis Crossroads and a reference to Tanaka. Meanwhile, Mary discovers that my father wrote Shigekazu a check for three million dollars.

-Sh*t gets weird in Hollis Crossroads to say the very least. What up until this point I considered to be a murder investigation turned into an absolute horror show. So much happened out at that damn house I think I'm going to spend years unraveling it and undoubtedly trying to suppress it. The Old Man killed my bodyguard and essentially framed me for it, Tanaka was unknowingly covered with centipedes (and was there special meaning behind that? I mean, it was beyond creepy and gives me the heebie-jeebies just thinking about it, but did they have some significance beyond that?) and The Old Man's assistants killed Tanaka and themselves all while wearing the same smile Mrs. Walentowicz had (I believe I called it one part amused, one part amazed and one part batsh*t crazy. I'm standing by that description). Finally, we learned beyond a shadow of a doubt that I way-overuse parentheses (true).

-Finally, The Old Man was humming the bingo song (was his name-O) which, along with the matching smiles reminded us of poor Mrs. Walentowicz. Mary called her daughter, found out just how awesome a bingo player she really was and learned that she had been given a special offer to join a retirement community for great bingo players only: a rest home that just happened to be located in Hollis Crossroads. Mary and I are going to go and check it out tonight under the pretense of a married couple considering putting her mother in the home.


The thing I can't stop thinking about is the fact that the murderer driving the semi (Let's just call him The Driver from now on, k?) who killed both my and Kisho's father probably saved the world by doing so. Whoever he is, he and The Old Man are cold-blooded murderers and utter monsters... but are they really the good guys here? I'm going to do my best to bring them to justice, but is that even really the right thing to do?

Also, things happened at that house that I cannot begin to explain. Was most of it a trick somehow? A carefully crafted illusion? Or was it something more? If it was... if it was really what I think it was, then what chance do we have?

Okay, I feel more up to speed. Not better, particularly, but more up to speed. Time in.

Mary: Picking Up The Pieces

October 28th, 2008: I called Detective Ward back in Milwaukee and informed him of what's gone on in Atlanta, including Doctor Shigekazu Yoshida's murder. It's not surprising that the police hadn't put the crimes together given that the attack on the Howlands had been classified as a simple hit-and-run. Now that there are two separate cases stretching across state lines, the F.B.I. will officially get involved. It appears we were right to wait on formally inviting Detective Ward aboard as he'll no longer be in charge of the case. Mrs. Howland, I would prepare yourself to be contacted by a federal agent sometime today.

Also, I have a question on a matter that happened sometime before your attack. Whenever you feel up to answering, simply let me know. I do apologize for so totally losing my temper with Yoshida as well.

Mary: Pop Quiz

I awoke early this morning mercifully unable to remember my dreams, the steady rain of the night before replaced by a cold, gray drizzle. After putting on one of my brand-new business suits, I began creeping downstairs before seeing a light from underneath Mrs. Howland's door and hearing voices from within. I knocked and entered, nearly tripping over a hard-bound volume of the Encyclopedia Britannica. Books were strewn all over the bedroom, most of them open. Jeff was sitting next to Mrs. Howland, holding a book open for her to view. They both looked absolutely exhausted.

If I had felt that my education was inadequate after previous meetings with Mrs. Howland and Jeff before, this morning's events were so emotionally grueling that I wanted to sue the University of Wisconsin for my money back. Mrs. Howland bade me sit down and immediately proceeded to essentially give me a pop-quiz on events in world history. After years out of college, it's amazing how much general knowledge slips through your fingers. As we went along, Mrs. Howland's mood became darker, her questions more terse. Knowing that I was letting her down (whatever the reason) was agonizing, and after fifteen minutes I was sweating and on the verge of tears. After what seemed like a lifetime, Jeff returned with a fresh pot of coffee and our usual breakfast of homemade waffles, and the test was finally done.

I never challenged why I was being made to answer questions that had nothing to do with the case I was working. I didn't ask myself why I felt so terrible at my lack of retention of dates and events that never interested me. The fact is, no matter the reason, there are simply some people you meet in life that you feel you cannot disappoint. If you have spent any time with Mrs. Howland (and I don't see how it's possible that you haven't, if you're reading this at all), then I'm sure you understand.

My hand shook as I reached out for my coffee cup. I picked it up, immediately spilled some and put it back down on the china saucer without taking a drink. "Mrs. Howland, I'm just so sorry I let you down. I wish I knew more-"

Mrs. Howland's severe expression shifted, the scowl softening to a look of concern I hadn't seen before. "Oh, my dear. No, you performed admirably. This... I believe I am struggling with my medication. Jeffrey has called the doctor, and he will be along presently. Please go about your business of the day and forget that this ever occurred."

Jeff walked me out and escorted me to the kitchen, where he poured some of the fresh coffee into a thermos. Handing it to me he said softly, "In cases such as these, where a loved one is suddenly killed and you are permanently, seriously disabled, there are consequences beyond the physical. Mrs. Howland would like to believe that she is beyond such things, but..." he trailed off, giving a wan smile. "She needs time. That's all. Don't be overly concerned." As we walked together to the front door, he added with a chuckle, "And don't worry about not knowing the precise year Genghis Khan began his conquest of Asia. I doubt very much it will come up in today's investigation." (The Khan, at right)

It was meant to soothe me, but it just made me more exasperated with myself. "But she knows it. For God's sake, you know it, and you're-"

"-I clean adult diapers for a living," he finished, and my cheeks flushed. That wasn't what I meant to say, but I'm ashamed to say that it was probably what I meant, whether I knew it or not. Thankfully, he didn't take it personally, his smile never wavering. He put a gentle hand on my shoulder and said, "She went through a dozen interviews or more before she found me. She chose me because she wanted something more than just a surrogate of her own body, she needed someone who could be a companion for her mind." Jeff helped me on with my coat and added, "What you went through this morning probably wasn't fair. It isn't what you were hired for." He laughed, "It would be like asking me to dust for a print." He wished me good luck, and I shuffled out into the mist, clutching my thermos, emotionally drained before my day had even really begun.

I slipped into my luxurious rental car and ran some errands, mainly killing time before I went back into the St. Francis police department to see Detective Ward. I was hoping the coroner would have more information, but so little time had passed that I knew it wasn't likely. While shopping for sundries I called Detective Ward twice before he assured me that he would call me as soon as he knew anything else. By 4:00PM I got the call, and rushed to St. Francis.

The front desk officer was getting to know me and waved me past toward Detective Ward's cubicle with a grunt. Ward remained seated, ran a hand through his gray hair and said, "Just got some blood work back. Not sure if it's important, but it is unusual."

"Did they find drugs in her system? Was something wrong with her?"

He shook his head. "Not her. The rabbit." He opened one of the ubiquitous Manila file folders and handed me a sheet. It was filled with medical jargon and utterly incomprehensible to me, but Ward gave me the highlights. "They found evidence of rabbit hemorrhagic disease virus, or RHDV. It's a virus that's deadly to rabbits, and though there have been a few minor outbreaks in the U.S., it's since been totally eradicated."

It was more than a little odd to be essentially doing an autopsy on a bunny, but every piece of information might help, so I went with it. "So the rabbit isn't native? Where is it from?"

Ward shrugged. "I talked with a zoology professor at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee this afternoon, and he didn't exactly pinpoint it. Apparently this virus began in China back in 1984. It spread pretty fast to Europe. He said Australia had a massive outbreak of the virus in the mid-nineties and it wiped out something like 95% of their rabbit population." He shook his head and chuckled, "So we've narrowed it down to more than half the world. Wish I had more for you."

I thanked him and rose to go, then remembered Josh's questions about the blood on the floor and the order of events. Ward told me that based on the blood spatter, the rabbit's foot was cut off first, then the killer went to work on Mrs. Walentowicz. He also said that the rabbit's foot was pushed into her brain before the incision was made in her abdomen.

Also remembering Mrs. Howland's wishes to potentially include him in our little cabal, I asked if he would be open to coming by the house for a visit. He agreed and said he would be by before 11:00 tomorrow morning.

Cynthia: Gravatus

I am experiencing some medical difficulties this morning, in all probability due to side-effects of the myriad medications I have been prescribed. The doctor on call will be attending me throughout the day, but I doubt I shall be posting with any frequency.

Joshua, I believe your hypothesis of hypnosis is sound. Miss Stroud, please inform Detective Ward of this theory. Also, if you believe that the case will remain in the Detective's hands and not be passed on to the FBI, invite him to the house so that I may make his acquaintance tomorrow morning. If he proves suitable I may provide him with the encryption key granting him access to this site.

Mary: Autopsy

The rain intensified as I drove down I-94 West to Mayfair Mall, my rental car's wiper blades whipping back and forth at high speed, clearing the droplets out of my sight almost before I registered they were there. I'm sure it's never a good sign in your life when your rental car is far, far superior to the car you own. Living in a gorgeous mansion by the lake, driving a Lexus, eating waffles every morning with Jeff and Cynthia and trying (and failing) to keep up with them as they discuss philosophy, psychology and history has been an incredible experience, but it isn't truly real to me. While living this life-at least for a short time-is making me feel totally out of my depth, it is still growing more comfortable by the hour. I have to steel myself for the inevitable return to my home in Madison, and the dirty dishes, unpaid bills and piles of laundry that are my reality.

Mrs. Howland insisted that I purchase some new business suits and charge them to her as expenses. The clear statement here is that she found all of the clothes I wear to be lacking, and I have never been so simultaneously humiliated and thrilled at the same time. Once at the mall I took my time to make sure that the money would be spent wisely, and that I was purchasing ensembles that not only would meet Mrs. Howland's approval but that also expressed what I enjoy. Four hours later (a bit longer than I had anticipated) I left the mall with my new suits, a Cinnabon and an embarrassingly bloated expense ledger.

Upon exiting the Mayfair Mall parking lot it was well after seven in the evening, and though it was a long shot that I would receive any information of value from Detective Ward about the case at this time of night, my sense of duty (or, more to the point, guilt about the bill for the clothes) impelled me to drive down to the St. Francis police department and at least try. I am pleased to say that my journey was certainly not in vain.

After shaking off my umbrella in the foyer, I entered the station and almost literally bumped into Detective Ward, who was on his way out. He looked even more gaunt and haggard than he had that morning, but he worked up enough energy to give me a polite smile. "Miss Stroud. I was just knocking off, but come back to my office, I've got something you are absolutely going to want to see."

Once ensconced in his small cubicle, Ward opened his lower desk drawer and pulled a Manila file folder out, laying it gently on his desk. He stared at it for a long moment, then looked up at me. "Off the record and unofficially, Randazzo is an utter f*ck-up. I never believed for a moment that what happened to your client was a simple hit-and-run. The traffic pattern, the rate of speed, the fact that he had to make a pretty tricky swerve past some parked cars to hit her car at all... everything added up to intent, at least as far as I was concerned, but it wasn't my case." He spared a glance back down at the folder sitting on his desk, his fingers tapping gently on the cover. "Your client made a phone call today, and apparently she can be damn persuasive. Randazzo is off, I'm on. I'm treating today's murder and the attack on your client as a single investigation." Ward smiled disarmingly then, his grin hinting at the handsome man he would have been twenty years before. "There are a lot of cops that wouldn't be too thrilled about a private investigator running alongside their case, but I'm fine with it. We've got plenty to do as it is, and if there's a victim out there who's willing to funnel resources into a case, I'm going to use them, not fight them. Just keep what I tell you out of the press and tell me what you know when you know it, that's all I ask."

This was about the best news we could have received. With Ward now running the investigation, we had a competent, sympathetic police liaison. As his fingers absently rapped on the folder, he continued, his voice softening to a whisper. At this time of the night there was only one other officer in the station working the front desk, but I instinctively leaned closer conspiratorially.

"I thought the scene of the murder was the weirdest and worst-I mean... they're still working out how the hell the murderer got a goddamn smile on her face. They're thinking he drugged her with something that would produce the effect, but we're waiting on toxicology." Detective Ward shrugged helplessly, then sighed and deliberately flipped open the file folder, sliding it over the desk to me.

Without waiting for me to read it, he said, "They didn't find it at the scene, but as soon as they began the autopsy proper they couldn't miss it. Something had been... they're not sure, probably pushed in somehow-into her brain. Coroner says he thinks the killer went up through the back of the throat and into the skull, though he doesn't know how it was done without major drilling, and they can't find any sign of that."

I looked up from the file. "There are so many questions I have regarding how the body was manipulated, actually. How did he pull the head down through the body cavity-"

He put up a hand. "You've got the same questions the experts do, and there's no answer in sight, at least not yet. I like to think we're a pretty capable bunch, but as of now I'd be shocked if the F.B.I. didn't step in on this one. There's just so much unanswered, and this last find... in her brain... it's just so far over the top." Ward slumped back in his chair, gesturing for me to read the coroner's preliminary report. As he had said, a foreign object had been found lodged next to Mrs. Walentowicz's hippocampus. The coroner was waiting for further tests to be conducted, but he was almost entirely certain as to the object's nature: it was a rabbit's foot.

Mary: Detective Ward

A very light rain fell, dotting our windshield as we sat waiting for more information from the crime scene investigators. I told Josh that I could call him a cab to take him home, but he declined. The police didn't owe us anything-and my private investigator's license seemed to be more of a joke to them than anything-but we had been cooperative and I was working for a wealthy, somewhat high-profile client. Bottom line, I didn't have any other leads or interests, and if we we're on hand than there was at least a chance that we can could get something else out of them.

I was beginning to doubt if the police even remembered we were there, but then I saw the officer in charge of the case, Detective Ward, step from the building and fend off the two local television camera crews long enough to motion me over to his car. When we were both sitting in the front seat of his unmarked cruiser he just sat there for a while, slowly shaking his head. Finally he took a deep breath and simply said, "Come down to the St. Francis Police Department... I've got something you're going to want to see." Then he let me out, started his car and drove away.

Ten minutes later Josh and I were hustling into the precinct house- a grim, squat, fluorescent-lit cinder-block of a building. There were only three officers that I could see on duty, and all of them were working the phones, probably scrambling to stonewall the media as long as they could before the ghastly details of Mrs. Walentowicz's murder came to light. Seeing as everyone was busy we started to sit down, but then Detective Ward stuck his head out of an office door in the back of the room and wearily waved us over.

Detective Gary Ward was in his late forties or early fifties, with more salt than pepper close-cropped hair. When I spoke with him, it was a relief to see him looking as stunned as I felt about the days events. It was clear that while this was a veteran cop, the atrocity we'd witnessed was well out of even his comfort zone.

"I'm going to let you see a photocopy of a photograph taken at the crime scene. This copy is not going to leave this room. You may act on the information you receive from the photocopy, but you are not to tell anyone how or where you got it." He looked at Josh then and said with a sympathetic tone, "You were pretty out of it at the time, so I'm sure you don't remember... but I was on the scene the night of your parents' accident. My condolences."

Detective Ward reached into his jacket pocket and unfolded a letter-sized sheet of paper. "This is a copy of a crime-scene photograph taken today. They're going to be going over the original with everything they can throw at it for prints and whatever else they can get. They found it... it was crumpled up and jammed in the victim's mouth."

It was a picture of a semi truck. It was the big rig Mrs. Walentowicz had told me the night before was probably the one she saw driving away from the crash.