Dramatis Personae
(in order of appearance)
KURT Cross, car owner and actor on his current most steady job. Male, early 30s, New York accent.
Eloise “ELLIE” Westmont, the only actual consulting detective in this cast. Female, mid 20s, posh British accent.
Sebastian MILTON, dealer in rare books. Male, mid 50s, London accent.
Detective Chief Inspector ISKANDAR Meshkia, descendant of a long line of Ottoman cavalry officers. Male, late 30s, strong Turkish accent.
Mrs. Mary HOWARD, concerned mother of a missing son. Female, mid 40s, London accent.
Dr. ERNEST Wilde, field medic turned adjunct botanist. Male, early 30s, Northern English accent.
Professor Josef DIETRICH, Oxford professor of history and a friend of the late Professor Ragnarsson. Male, mid 40s, German accent.
Professor Frederick HALE, Oxford professor of history and lurker in basements. Male, early 50s, posh British accent.
The voice of Professor Emundr RAGNARSSON, speaking from beyond the grave. Male, late 50s, Icelandic accent.
Scene 1: Ext. South Bank market – Day
MUSIC: OPENING THEME.
KURT and ELLIE have arrived at Milton’s Rare Books. It’s a rare sunny morning, and the sound of the river is faint in the background. The car pulls up and the engine turns off. KURT gets out and opens ELLIE’s door.
KURT:
Here we are. Milton’s Rare Books.
ELLIE:
Oh, it’s lovely.
There’s an illustrated Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland in the window, there. I wonder if it’s a first edition.
The car door closes.
KURT:
You want me to go in first?
ELLIE:
We’ll do this together.
KURT:
(In a low voice)
Okay. Then we’re looking for a gift for your sister. We’ll call her Claire. She just started university.
ELLIE:
(Low voice)
At Oxford?
No, there aren’t enough women there. Too easy to trace.
KURT:
(Low voice)
Here in London. She’s going to be a journalist, and she loves biographies.
ELLIE:
(Low voice)
So what’s the connection to the professor?
KURT:
(Low voice)
Well, he was in the paper.
ELLIE:
(Low voice)
We’ll just have to try to bring it up and see who reacts.
KURT:
(Low voice)
Improvisation! I like it.
Shall we?
They cross the pavement to the shop door.
ELLIE:
(Normal voice)
I do have a cousin who would adore that copy of Alice in Wonderland, though.
KURT:
We’re here for Claire’s birthday, dear.
Scene 2: Int. Milton’s Rare Books – Day
The door opens with the sound of a high, musical bell. The space is cozy, with soft carpets and a fire burning low in a small fireplace. MILTON and another customer are engaged in a muffled conversation at the other end of the room.
MILTON:
(Off mike)
Welcome, welcome. I’ll be with you straight away.
KURT:
Take your time.
MILTON resumes his distant conversation.
ELLIE:
This is really quite lovely.
Look at the fireplace.
KURT:
(In a passable imitation of a British accent)
All it needs is a pot of tea.
ELLIE:
(Ignoring him)
Let’s look around.
MILTON’s conversation fades as KURT and ELLIE walk between the shelves, moving from carpet to a wood floor. KURT picks up a book, turns it over, and places it back on the shelf.
ELLIE:
(Low voice)
Everything looks normal.
I’d like to get into that back room, but that might be a task for a different day.
KURT:
(Low voice)
What do you think of the proprietor?
ELLIE:
(Low voice)
First impression?
He looks exactly like you’d expect.
He knows Professor Ragnarsson. He’d fit right in with some Oxford historians.
KURT:
(Low voice)
He also knows Nigel, remember?
Wonder how they fit together.
MILTON’s conversation concludes with the sound of a mechanical cash register ringing. The other customer walks to the door past KURT and ELLIE. The door opens with its bell and closes again.
MILTON:
(Approaching)
Ah, there you are.
Just browsing today, or might I help you find anything?
ELLIE:
We just came across your lovely little shop and thought we might pop in.
KURT:
Are you Mr. Milton, or is the name a Paradise Lost reference?
MILTON:
(Chuckles)
I am indeed Mr. Milton.
I’ve been here for…five years, I believe. Five years this spring.
ELLIE:
I can’t believe I’ve never noticed it before.
It’s so cozy. Was this your home?
MILTON:
It still is. I live upstairs.
After my son, well, I didn’t need the space, and the shop was something of a dream of mine.
KURT:
That’s your son, there? Above the mantle?
MILTON:
Yes. Eric.
He was killed at Ypres.
ELLIE:
I’m so sorry.
MILTON:
Thank you. These days, it’s not an unusual story.
So. Is there something in particular you’re looking for?
KURT:
(Getting into character)
The lady’s little sister has a birthday coming up. She really likes biographies. Wants to be a journalist.
Do you recommend anything?
ELLIE:
Unfortunately for us, she’s read all the important ones already.
MILTON:
She must be quite the precocious reader.
ELLIE:
Oh, yes.
She’ll be attending university in the fall. First girl in the family. Our parents are very proud.
MILTON:
I’m afraid I don’t have any new biographies.
Perhaps she’d be interested in some history?
ELLIE:
I think she might be.
MILTON:
Why don’t you sit down?
I’ll bring you some titles to look at.
KURT:
Thank you so much.
We’ve been at a loss, and we really wanted to get her something special.
MILTON:
Of course, of course.
I’ll find something both attractive and informative for the young lady.
KURT and ELLIE go to sit down by the fireplace, sinking into the plush armchairs.
KURT:
He seems nice.
Also, I live in this chair now. I could fall asleep.
ELLIE:
Well, don’t do that.
KURT:
I’m doing my best. I make no promises.
(Low voice, leaning in)
Look, I think he might just be a friendly bookseller.
It’s not unusual for multiple people to have his card. Especially if they know each other.
ELLIE:
(Low voice)
You’re probably right. I just want to make sure.
KURT:
(Low voice)
You’re the boss.
MILTON approaches with a stack of books.
MILTON:
Here we are.
A few things that might interest you.
He places the books on a coffee table.
ELLIE:
Oh, thank you.
MILTON:
Let me know if you need anything else.
He walks away toward the cash register.
ELLIE:
Let’s see.
Russia in the Shadows. Interesting.
Jailed for Freedom, about the American suffragettes.
Do you think Claire would like this one?
KURT:
You’d know better than I would, dear.
ELLIE:
The Outline of History. Maybe too broad?
From Ritual to Romance and The Golden Bough.
KURT:
Okay, now we’re getting to the good stuff.
Didn’t Nigel have some of these? What’s this last one?
ELLIE:
The Witch-Cult in Western Europe.
KURT:
Might be a little heavy for an eighteen-year-old.
ELLIE:
Nonsense. She’s probably already read it.
(Low voice)
We should ask him about Nigel.
KURT:
(Low voice)
Pick one and we’ll go talk to him about it.
ELLIE:
Definitely the suffragettes.
KURT:
Good choice.
They restack the books and leave the chairs by the fireplace with a creak of furniture. The floorboards also creak softly as they walk to the cash register.
MILTON:
Find something you like?
ELLIE:
Jailed for Freedom.
I really think she’ll like this one.
MILTON:
Perfect. Shall I wrap it up for you?
KURT:
Please.
Say, would you happen to know a fellow by the name of Nigel Blackthorne?
MILTON:
Ah. Him.
Quite the character, isn’t he?
KURT:
He’s interested in that cult rubbish.
Magic and fish folk and the like.
MILTON:
Yes, quite.
Well, I won’t judge a man for his beliefs. Especially not a collector like Mr. Blackthorne.
ELLIE:
Do you keep a lot of those sorts of books in stock?
MILTON wraps the book, unrolling and creasing paper.
MILTON:
A few.
The Golden Bough and The Witch-Cult are anthropological studies, of course, nothing occult.
It’s not often I come across the truly antique volumes that Mr. Blackthorne prefers.
The rarer editions I keep in the back. I can show you, if you’re interested.
KURT:
(In character)
I’m not sure we have the time—
ELLIE:
(Cutting him off)
We’d love to see them.
MILTON:
One pound for this book, then, and you can follow me.
ELLIE places some coins on the countertop, and the cash register chimes and closes again.
MILTON:
Is there a particular title that interests you?
KURT:
Oh, not really.
Though I’ll admit I’m curious after my run-in with Mr. Blackthorne.
MILTON:
Well, if you’re looking for spellbooks, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.
I do have a few first editions you might like, though.
MILTON turns a key in a lock and opens the door to the back room. This space is colder, draftier, in contrast to the warmth of the front room.
ELLIE:
We’ll just take a quick look. We don’t want to take up too much of your time.
A thick carpet covers the center of the floor, and MILTON, KURT, and ELLIE cross over it and walk on bare wood.
MILTON:
This used to be the kitchen, but I had everything moved upstairs.
Don’t mind the boxes, I still need to unpack those for the front.
ELLIE:
What’s this? It’s beautiful.
MILTON:
Ah. I’m not certain yet. Probably a forgery, to be honest, but it was worth a look.
The previous owner said it was a fifteenth-century copy of the writings of Saint Methodius.
KURT:
Can’t say I’ve heard of him.
MILTON:
Neither had I, until last week. A Greek Gnostic, according to the collector.
I don’t think it’s genuine, but I’ll do my due diligence.
ELLIE:
I’m sure you can find a buyer either way.
I know plenty of people with vast collections of beautiful books they’ll never read.
KURT:
Say what you want about Blackthorne, but at least he does read.
MILTON:
Well, it’s none of my business what one does with a book after purchasing it.
I’ll give you my card, in case any of your acquaintances are looking to expand their unread collections.
ELLIE:
I’ll be glad to pass it along.
MILTON:
Well, now you’ve seen my inner sanctum. I suppose it’s not as exciting as it sounds.
Is there anything else that might interest you today?
KURT:
No, that should be all.
Thanks for your time and the recommendation. I think Miss Claire will love this one.
MILTON:
My pleasure.
Do come by again.
ELLIE:
I think we will.
KURT and ELLIE cross over the carpet again to leave the back room and exit the shop. The door chime rings once more.
Scene 3: Ext. South Bank market – Day
The door closes behind KURT and ELLIE. A cold wind blows dry leaves across the pavement as they walk to the car.
KURT:
I think that went well.
ELLIE:
I guess I have a new book to read.
KURT:
What did you think of Milton?
He opens the car door.
ELLIE:
I’m not sure.
He seems a little odd, like he doesn’t get out much.
KURT:
Can’t blame him.
Ypres was…it was bad. I wasn’t there, but I knew some people who were.
I think he just wants to work on his books and live with his memories.
ELLIE:
I guess I expected him to be more like Nigel.
But he’s only an ordinary sort of odd. If that makes sense.
KURT gets into the car, and the doors close.
KURT:
So you don’t think there’s a particular connection to Ragnarsson?
ELLIE:
It’s not some great coincidence that a professor of history and a collector of rare and ancient books would know the same book dealer.
But I’m glad we went, all the same.
KURT:
On to the next lead, then.
ELLIE:
No rest for the weary.
KURT starts the car engine.
KURT:
Speaking of, do you think we could get one of those chairs for the office?
I’ve never been so comfortable in my life.
ELLIE:
We’ll talk about it.
Scene 4: Int. Scotland Yard – Day
MUSIC: BRIDGE.
It’s a slow midmorning at the Metropolitan Police. Background chatter is sparse, and a single telephone rings. The sound of a typewriter is prominent throughout.
ISKANDAR:
I only need you to look at these photographs and tell me if you recognize the person.
He pulls a chair out for Mrs. HOWARD.
HOWARD:
(Uncomfortably)
All right.
ISKANDAR:
Take all the time you need, Mrs. Howard.
Papers shuffle as HOWARD turns over the photographs.
HOWARD:
Why does he look like that? All pale and…soft.
ISKANDAR:
A constable pulled the body from the river.
He was underwater for some time before he was recovered.
HOWARD:
I don’t understand.
My Charlie is—he was a strong swimmer. Ever since he was small.
ISKANDAR:
You believe this is your son?
HOWARD:
(Clearing throat)
Yes, that’s him.
ISKANDAR:
I’m so sorry.
HOWARD:
He got that scar when he fell out of a tree. He was six.
It bled everywhere. He was so frightened.
ISKANDAR:
You’re certain, then?
HOWARD:
Yes.
I’m his mother.
ISKANDAR:
When was the last time you saw him?
HOWARD:
It’s been almost three weeks.
(Shaky breath)
I knew something had happened to him. He would never have just left like that, with no note.
ISKANDAR:
He lived with you, yes?
At the house on Wharfedale?
HOWARD:
Ever since my husband died.
Charlie was all I had left.
She slides the photographs across the desk to ISKANDAR, who taps them into a stack.
ISKANDAR:
He sounds like he was a good son.
You did well as his mother.
HOWARD:
Most of the time.
I did tell him not to take that job in the North Country, but he didn’t listen.
It barely paid him at all.
ISKANDAR:
When was this?
HOWARD:
Last summer. I think.
I’m sorry. The last few weeks have been a blur.
ISKANDAR:
(Gently; he understands her grief.)
What was he doing recently?
HOWARD:
He was helping at a shop on the South Bank. A tailor’s, I think.
Installing shelves and such. Some driving.
ISKANDAR:
Can I ask you to think about the last few weeks before he disappeared?
Had he met anyone new, or done anything odd?
HOWARD:
No, nothing like that.
He liked his work. He was hoping they would hire him on more permanently.
But then, he’s been odd since he came back from the North Country.
ISKANDAR:
How so?
HOWARD:
He had nightmares.
He wouldn’t tell me what he was doing on that job. Usually he tells me everything.
ISKANDAR:
How old was your son, Mrs. Howard?
HOWARD:
He’ll be—
He would have been twenty in May.
(Shaky breath)
ISKANDAR rummages through his pockets for a handkerchief.
ISKANDAR:
Here.
HOWARD:
Thank you.
(Sniffle)
I should really talk to the vicar, start arranging things.
Do you need something else from me? Now that he’s…identified?
ISKANDAR:
Not at the moment. I’ll be in touch if I do.
Do you have someone who can stay with you for a few days? A neighbor?
HOWARD:
Oh, I don’t know.
I suppose I could ask Mrs. Baker. I always feed her cats while she’s on holiday.
ISKANDAR gets up, his chair scraping against the floor.
ISKANDAR:
Good.
I have an assistant, Emilia. She’s a very sweet girl. I’ll have her check in on you.
If there’s anything else you need, or anything else you can remember about your son before he went missing, please call me. This is the number of my residence.
HOWARD:
(Numbly)
All right. Thank you, Inspector.
ISKANDAR:
I’ll do everything I can to make sure your son rests easy.
HOWARD:
That…that would be nice.
It’s been so long since he could sleep.
Scene 5: Ext. Outside Sunset Investigations – Day
MUSIC: BRIDGE.
We follow ISKANDAR to his next appointment: meeting KURT, ELLIE, and ERNEST outside the Sunset Investigations office. Walking quickly, he pulls out a pocket watch.
ISKANDAR:
(Sigh)
Didn’t wind it.
He snaps the pocket watch closed and hurries along. We hear KURT’s car door close.
ISKANDAR:
So sorry I’m late.
KURT:
(Yawn)
Far as I can tell, you’re early.
Coffee?
ISKANDAR:
Ah, you’re a lifesaver, Mr. Cross.
KURT unscrews a metal lid.
KURT:
I have my moments.
English tea doesn’t quite do the trick, does it?
ELLIE:
Speak for yourself.
ISKANDAR:
One of these mornings, I’ll make you coffee the way it’s meant to be made—
KURT:
(Off mike, spluttering and coughing)
ISKANDAR:
(Oblivious)
—but for now, I’m in your debt.
You’ve already met Dr. Wilde?
ELLIE:
He was just telling us about the letter he got from the professor.
ERNEST:
This whole business just gets more bizarre every day.
ISKANDAR:
I suppose they told you about Mr. Blackthorne, as well.
ERNEST:
Yes. Unfortunately.
KURT:
I have a good feeling about Oxford.
Shall we, then? Off in search of answers?
ISKANDAR:
If we get to the station by ten o’clock, we should be there before noon.
KURT screws the lid back on the Thermos.
KURT:
Nonsense. I’ll be driving.
Let me introduce you to my second-best friend in the world—after you, Ellie my dear, of course.
ELLIE:
(Lightheartedly)
He thinks he’s funny.
KURT:
Mr. Ford’s Model T.
ISKANDAR:
(Momentary stunned silence)
We’re going all the way to Oxford? In that?
You’re serious?
KURT:
She’s got four seats and goes just as fast as the train.
In fact, I’d bet I can get us there faster.
ISKANDAR:
I don’t think that’s safe.
ELLIE:
I’ve ridden with him dozens of times. It’s quite all right.
KURT opens a door to the car.
ERNEST:
The sooner we get there, the sooner I can get back to work. The lab is a mess.
Our investigators climb into the car. The suspension creaks. All four doors slam shut.
Scene 6: Int. Kurt’s car – Day
The engine starts. KURT shifts gears, and the tires spin against the wet pavement as the car pulls out into the street.
KURT:
Get the map, would you, dear?
ELLIE rummages through a stack of papers tucked under her seat. The car picks up speed.
ELLIE:
Just head north out of London.
KURT:
Oh, I forgot to mention, Inspector—we went to that bookstore the other day. Milton’s.
Nice enough place. Small, though.
ISKANDAR:
(Noticeably distracted)
Hmm.
Did you speak to the owner?
KURT:
We did.
Nice guy. Had a few of the books old Nigel likes.
But I’m happy to report that there wasn’t a fish person in sight.
ERNEST:
That’s something.
ISKANDAR:
Oh. Good.
KURT:
You all right back there?
ISKANDAR:
Yes, of course.
The car goes over a bump, suspension springs creaking.
ISKANDAR:
(Sharp inhale, under his breath)
Bismillah.
KURT:
Don’t worry. It’s a little bumpy, but you’ll get used to it.
ISKANDAR:
(Queasily)
With all due respect, Mr. Cross, I hope that I won’t have to before we all abandon this terrible fad and go back to locomotives and horses.
ERNEST:
On the positive side, it’s much more comfortable than the back of an ambulance in Flanders.
KURT:
The doc’s right.
Leather seats, a modern suspension, and we’re not being shelled. What more could you ask for?
ERNEST:
Exactly.
KURT:
I was in France, myself. With the Foreign Legion.
ELLIE:
Take a left up here.
The car slows to make its turn and speeds up again.
KURT:
What about you, Inspector?
You strike me as a veteran, if you don’t mind my saying so.
ISKANDAR:
(Uncomfortable pause)
Egypt.
Then Medina.
KURT:
Were you Foreign Legion, too?
ISKANDAR:
No.
Another uncomfortable pause, with the white noise of the moving car, as the group realizes they were not all on the same side in the war.
ERNEST:
So.
Oxford. Dead professor.
ELLIE:
Blackthorne mentioned a field expedition that didn’t go well, and he said when Professor Ragnarsson got back, he started acting strangely.
Mr. Cross thinks that’s a good place to start.
KURT:
(Quietly)
I do?
(Speaking normally)
Yes, thank you.
I think he found something there. I mean, besides the couple of artifacts that Nigel was interested in.
ERNEST:
Like what?
KURT:
I have a hunch that this is a case of academic rivalry.
Maybe he found something valuable. Or maybe he found some people—an uncontacted tribe, or something.
ERNEST:
I suppose Nigel would say it was a tribe of fish people.
KURT:
I mean, it’s probably not, but who knows?
ISKANDAR:
You think someone murdered him in order to…take credit for his discovery?
KURT:
Well, it’s too early to say.
But that’s where I’m leaning, personally.
ELLIE:
Ragnarsson was an archaeologist, so his office will be in the Faculty of History.
Along with all his potentially jealous colleagues.
ISKANDAR:
It’s Saturday morning.
Will anyone be there?
ERNEST:
We’ll be able to find someone. Trust me.
Academia only closes for Christmas.
ELLIE:
I’m quite curious why the professor wrote to you, Dr. Wilde.
ERNEST:
You’re not the only one.
ELLIE:
On the right, here.
This should take us to Oxford.
KURT:
(With forced cheerfulness)
Like I said, I have a good feeling about today.
I think we’ll finally find some answers.
The car picks up speed, increasing the roar of the highway.
Scene 7: Ext. Outside Oxford Faculty of History – Day
MUSIC: BRIDGE.
An hour or so later, we arrive at Oxford University. The car comes to a stop, and the engine turns off.
KURT:
Here we are.
The party disembarks, opening and closing the car doors. The suspension creaks as weight readjusts. KURT takes out a pocketwatch.
KURT:
Fifteen minutes ahead of schedule.
I told you this was faster.
ISKANDAR:
I still think we should have taken the train.
Footsteps on gravel as the four investigators walk away from the car.
ELLIE:
This is it, up this way.
They cross from gravel to pavement as they near the building.
ISKANDAR:
I don’t see anyone.
ERNEST:
It’s early. There’s probably someone inside.
Our investigators come to a stop in front of the door. KURT tries the handle.
KURT:
Locked.
ERNEST:
Guess we’ll have to find someone to let us in.
I’ll try the next door.
ELLIE:
No need. I can get us in.
She unrolls a leather case of metal implements.
KURT:
She always comes prepared.
ISKANDAR:
We are not breaking in to the university.
ELLIE:
This will only take a moment.
Two metallic files scrape against each other.
ISKANDAR:
Miss Westmont, we are here under the pretense that this investigation is legal and under the authority of the Metropolitan Police.
ELLIE:
Of course, Inspector.
And under those auspices, it’s important to expedite the process a bit.
ISKANDAR:
Miss Westmont.
KURT:
Don’t worry.
We can always say it was open when we found it.
ISKANDAR:
That doesn’t make it any better!
ERNEST:
Shh—someone’s coming.
ELLIE closes the lockpicking kit with a brief metallic jangling.
DIETRICH:
(Off mike)
Hello there.
KURT:
Morning!
Dietrich approaches with footsteps on pavement.
DIETRICH:
Can I help you?
ISKANDAR:
(Taking charge)
I hope so, sir.
Do you have a key to this building?
(He rummages through his pockets for his warrant card.)
Detective Chief Inspector Iskandar Meshkia, with the London Metropolitan Police.
My colleagues and I are investigating the recent death of a professor here.
DIETRICH:
Ah. I was wondering if anyone was going to come by.
ISKANDAR closes the warrant card and returns it to his pocket.
DIETRICH:
You’re here about Ragnarsson, then?
ISKANDAR:
We are.
Did you know him?
DIETRICH:
I did.
Or, I thought I did.
What can I do for you, Inspector?
ISKANDAR:
Is there anything you can tell us about the days leading up to his death?
I’ve also heard about a recent field expedition that might be relevant.
DIETRICH:
Emundr hadn’t done any field work since last spring, but I can show you what we have.
ISKANDAR:
Thank you very much.
DIETRICH takes a ring of keys from his pocket.
DIETRICH:
Come in, then.
He turns the key in the lock and opens the door.
Scene 8: Int. Oxford Faculty of History – Day
Led by DIETRICH, the party enters the empty building. Footsteps echo down the hall.
DIETRICH:
I’m Josef Dietrich. My office has been beside Ragnarsson’s for five years now.
I’m going to miss him.
ISKANDAR:
I’m very sorry for your loss.
It seems he was well-liked.
DIETRICH:
I’m not so sure about well-liked, but he was brilliant. Particularly with languages.
Driven, too, perhaps to a fault.
He lost his wife some years before I met him. Didn’t have anything besides work.
KURT:
Did he have any other family?
DIETRICH:
A daughter.
She was his assistant for years, but she married shortly after the university hired me on. Moved back to Reykjavík.
I’m afraid I can’t recall her first name. It was something old-fashioned.
We arrive at DIETRICH’s office, and he goes through his keys again.
DIETRICH:
As far as I know, Emundr didn’t have any other family.
Let me just drop off these papers.
His key turns in the lock.
DIETRICH:
Let me see.
After his daughter left, Emundr hired Miss Indrani.
Indian girl. Caused quite the stir.
The office door opens.
ISKANDAR:
That’s not a name that has come up yet.
What can you tell me about her?
DIETRICH:
Not much, I’m afraid.
Quiet girl. Focused on her studies. Emundr kept her busy.
Not that I think anything…untoward was happening, of course.
She went on the expedition and left shortly after they came back. I’m not sure where she ended up.
KURT:
Ellie, dear, make a note that we should follow up with Miss Indrani.
In his office, DIETRICH moves stacks of papers around on his desk to make room for a new stack of papers.
ERNEST:
So, er, what happened on the expedition?
DIETRICH:
I don’t know, exactly. Emundr wouldn’t speak of it.
People said that a student died, as well as one of the workers hired to move the equipment.
In any case, it was called off. They came back weeks ahead of schedule.
Emundr wanted to try again, but the department wouldn’t give him the funding. Quite understandably.
KURT:
Do you know what happened to the folks who died?
DIETRICH:
I don’t. Emundr never said.
He must have made reports, but I don’t have access to them.
DIETRICH continues stacking papers.
ISKANDAR:
Do you know where the expedition took place?
DIETRICH:
It was on some island in the North Atlantic.
I’m afraid only Emundr knew exactly where it was. He searched for it for months.
He taps another pile of papers into a neat stack.
DIETRICH:
I suppose that will have to do, eh? One day I’ll get this place organized.
I don’t think it would help anyone besides Emundr find the place, but there’s a particular manuscript that he found before the war.
It mentions the island. He was obsessed with it ever since.
KURT:
Couldn’t hurt, if it’s not too much trouble.
DIETRICH:
Not at all.
Follow me.
DIETRICH leads the way out of his office, closing the door behind him. Footsteps echo on the tile floor.
ISKANDAR:
Ah, Professor Dietrich.
(He produces a photograph from his pocket.)
Do you think you could translate this? It’s a photograph of a document found with Ragnarsson’s body.
I haven’t found anyone who recognizes the script.
Footsteps stop as DIETRICH pauses to examine the photograph.
DIETRICH:
Interesting.
I believe the alphabet is Elder Futhark. It was a specialty of Ragnarsson’s.
It’s a Germanic alphabet that fell out of use by the ninth century. I’m afraid I can’t read it, myself. My area of study is a little more recent.
ISKANDAR:
Does the numeral there mean anything to you?
Seven, nine, five?
DIETRICH:
Nothing comes to mind.
It looks a bit out of place, there, among the runes, doesn’t it?
Emundr had his ways.
ISKANDAR tucks the photograph away. They continue down the hallway.
DIETRICH:
If I recall correctly, Emundr took the manuscript from the special collections again recently.
It should be in here.
More footsteps. DIETRICH arrives at another door with the party following behind.
DIETRICH:
Inspector, I have to ask.
Is this an investigation of a murder?
ISKANDAR:
(Thoughtful pause)
It is…unclear.
I am trying to rule it out, at the very least.
DIETRICH:
Ah. Well, I hope—
I’m not sure what I should hope.
KURT:
How was his relationship with the other faculty?
DIETRICH:
Fine. A bit tense, perhaps, with Burton—he’s the head of our department.
But I would say they were still friends.
KURT:
Tense? Because of the funding?
DIETRICH:
And the expedition.
Burton thought that Emundr…not that he was at fault, exactly, but that what happened might have been prevented.
He didn’t want it getting out that a student had been killed.
ISKANDAR:
Do you agree?
That Ragnarsson might have done something differently?
DIETRICH:
I don’t know. I wasn’t there.
ISKANDAR:
Did he mention anything to you about being followed?
Or someone breaking into his apartment?
DIETRICH:
Ah. Well. He did, on occasion.
He asked if I had seen any of these men he thought were watching him. One had a mustache, another a wooden leg.
I told him I could count a dozen men matching each description. I thought the stress after the expedition was affecting him.
DIETRICH turns another key in a lock. The door to the reading room opens.
DIETRICH:
Maybe I was wrong.
In the background, a drone begins. The group enters the room, their footsteps echoing.
ERNEST:
There’s a light on.
DIETRICH:
A student must have left it on. Wait a moment.
He walks ahead, taking slow, careful steps.
DIETRICH:
Hello? Is someone there?
He stops.
DIETRICH:
Hello?
A single set of footsteps approaches, echoing. The drone grows louder, ending with a single, loud note.
DIETRICH:
(Surprised gasp)
Ach du meine Güte!
The investigators catch up with Dietrich in a rush of footsteps.
KURT:
What happened?
DIETRICH:
Professor Hale! What are you doing here?
Are you all right?
ISKANDAR:
Sir?
HALE:
(Groggily)
What…? Who—
Oh. Dietrich. You startled me, is all.
Who are these people?
DIETRICH:
Constables from London.
Are you unwell? You were just standing here in the dark. Did you put the lamp on by the door?
HALE:
Oh.
No, I’m quite all right. One of the bulbs is out.
DIETRICH:
If you’re sure, then.
I was going to show the inspector Ragnarsson’s manuscript. Is it still here?
HALE:
Well, it must be. I haven’t moved it.
(Losing focus again)
It’s just—it’s just here. Right here.
DIETRICH:
Let me turn on this light.
Be careful, it’s quite fragile.
A lamp switches on, and there is a shuffle of footsteps as the party gathers around the manuscript.
KURT:
Huh.
Not sure what I expected. More pictures, maybe.
ELLIE:
I was thinking of my grandfather’s books.
This is just a scrap of paper.
DIETRICH:
It’s a fragment from what was presumably a larger text.
Irish, if memory serves. Emundr translated it. He might still have his notes in his office.
ISKANDAR:
We should check his office.
DIETRICH:
This tiny thing was what drove him to seek out the island.
I thought you might want to see it. Maybe I just wanted to have another look.
I’m sorry it wasn’t more helpful.
KURT:
Not at all. Any information at this stage is useful.
HALE:
Shall we all return to the daylight, then?
It must be almost lunchtime.
ISKANDAR:
Professor Hale, was it?
May I ask how well you knew Professor Ragnarsson?
HALE:
Well, we were colleagues. Did a minor collaboration on a paper a few years back.
Lately he was obsessed with the North Atlantic, and, well, there isn’t much to be found there.
I was sorry to hear about his passing.
ELLIE:
You certainly seemed interested in his manuscript.
HALE:
Oh, I wasn’t here for—
I was looking for—
(A beat. He genuinely doesn’t remember.)
No matter. It wouldn’t interest you.
I can’t read this, anyway. Give me something Latin or Greek.
DIETRICH:
I’m afraid Emundr was the only one with a translation.
He never published it.
HALE:
You know, the last time I checked, Scotland Yard didn’t hire lady inspectors.
KURT:
They don’t.
I’m consulting, and Miss Westmont is my secretary. I’d be just lost without her to take notes.
ISKANDAR produces his warrant card again.
ISKANDAR:
I’m in charge of this investigation. Detective Chief Inspector Meshkia.
HALE:
(Mollified, but still disdainful)
I see.
Well, I don’t think I’ll be of much more help to you, so I’ll bid you good day.
Dietrich, always a pleasure.
He walks away, his footsteps receding. The reading room door opens and closes in the distance.
DIETRICH:
I apologize for him.
He’s often a bit, ah, standoffish.
The students either adore him or they’re not fond of him at all, with not many in between.
KURT:
No offense taken. We’re an eclectic bunch.
ISKANDAR:
I’d like to take a look at Professor Ragnarsson’s office, if you wouldn’t mind showing us the way.
DIETRICH:
I can show you, but it’s probably locked.
I don’t have a key, and Burton won’t be in until Monday.
KURT:
I’m sure we can figure something out.
DIETRICH:
If you think it will help.
We can go back up the way we came.
Scene 9: Int. Ragnarsson’s office – Day
MUSIC: BRIDGE.
A brief, contemplative interlude. DIETRICH leads the investigators back to the faculty offices.
DIETRICH:
Here we are.
I’ll be next door if you need anything.
I want to help. I feel…I should.
I owe it to Emundr.
ISKANDAR:
Thank you, professor.
If there’s anything we need, you’ll be the first to know.
DIETRICH goes into his office and closes the door.
KURT:
All yours, my dear.
The door latch turns.
ELLIE:
No need. It’s open.
This lock has been picked, and not very well. Look at all these scratches.
KURT:
Looks like someone attacked it.
While completely out-on-the-roof drunk.
ELLIE opens the office door.
ISKANDAR:
That smell—is that smoke?
ERNEST:
It looks like it’s been ransacked.
Footsteps as the four of them enter the room. The space is cramped, packed floor-to-ceiling with bookshelves. A fragment of broken glass crunches underfoot.
Someone shuts the door behind them.
ISKANDAR:
Where is that smell coming from?
KURT:
Did the professor smoke?
ISKANDAR:
He didn’t carry any matches. Certainly no tobacco.
ELLIE:
No, this smells like burning wood. Or paper.
KURT pulls the chair away from the desk and removes the metal rubbish bin from underneath.
KURT:
Here. The waste bin.
He shakes it, disturbing paper and ash inside.
ERNEST:
That’s a lot of ash.
Erm. Did someone break in here and burn all his notes?
KURT:
Maybe. It fits with my theory, anyway.
I don’t like that Hale fellow. He seems off.
ISKANDAR goes through the papers remaining on the desk.
ISKANDAR:
Not much is left. These look like lecture notes.
Viking colonization in Ireland.
More rustling of papers.
ERNEST:
That looks like a list of call numbers for the library.
ISKANDAR turns over a picture frame. Another bit of glass falls out, hitting the desk.
ISKANDAR:
I think I know what went in this frame.
A picture of his family. Ragnarsson had it in his briefcase.
ERNEST:
He had a daughter, right? And his wife passed away?
KURT:
Clear the way, gents.
Let’s see if anything survived the fire.
ISKANDAR and ERNEST clear paper and glass off the desk. KURT overturns the wastebasket, emptying paper and ash onto the desktop. The metal bin is then placed on the floor.
More rustling of paper and stirring of ash as the contents of the wastebasket are examined.
ELLIE:
There isn’t much here. I think someone stirred the ashes already.
KURT:
Whoever broke in here, I’d guess.
ELLIE continues rummaging through the ash.
ELLIE:
Wait, here’s something.
Just some fragments, but they’re all in the same handwriting.
RAGNARSSON:
(Overlapping voiceovers)
It is possible there is no connection, but—
—must reject Nigel’s theory—
A drone begins in the background.
More rummaging through the ash.
RAGNARSSON:
(Overlapping voiceovers)
Jasmine reminds me that the women of the island must have been many, but I must confess I think of them as “her”—
—and there is nothing green that remains—
The drone grows louder.
RAGNARSSON:
(Overlapping voiceovers)
—green grows the lily—
On the feast day of Mary Magdalene in the year of Our Lord 795—
—green grows the lily—
—I have yet to find a complete source. I fear it only exists in the memory of a singer long dead—
—green grows the lily, green grows the lily—
The drone reaches its crescendo and stops.
RAGNARSSON:
(Voiceover)
Perhaps it is time to abandon the project.
A few seconds of silence.
ISKANDAR:
Keep everything you find.
ELLIE:
Not to worry, Inspector. Filing is one of my many responsibilities.
KURT:
There’s hardly anything here.
I suppose we’re lucky even that much survived.
I can’t make any sense of it. Can you?
ISKANDAR:
No. Maybe in combination with some of the documents he had with him, but…
KURT:
(Defeated)
Yeah.
ISKANDAR:
According to his unfinished letter, Ragnarsson was headed to France and then on to Iceland.
He left all his books untouched—except for that one, there. The empty space.
That’s likely the book of poetry he had with him.
ERNEST:
Maybe he planned on coming back.
KURT:
I assume he locked up, and then someone broke in later.
ELLIE:
Whoever picked the lock had to have access to this building, but not this office, right?
ISKANDAR:
What do you mean?
ELLIE:
I didn’t notice any tampering with the front door.
KURT:
Oh, I see what you’re saying. It had to be someone with a key to the building.
Someone from this department.
ISKANDAR:
You’re going to say Professor Hale, but I’m not sure.
He seems unwell.
KURT:
One way to find out.
MUSIC: OUTRO.
Back to Episode 2: Flora and Fauna
Forward to Episode 4: Lost Daughters
As I struggled through formatting this, my laptop fan spinning angrily, I couldn’t figure out what bit of technology was annoyed with me. Was it WordPress, grumpy about having to handle such a large document? Or Chrome, angry about how many tabs I have open?
This mystery, like that of Ragnarsson’s death, remains, for the moment, unsolved.
I was going to have Ernest decode the professor’s runic text this episode as an exciting conclusion, but the investigators haven’t met Ragnarsson’s daughter yet, who can tell them that it is untranslatable (and thus a new tactic is needed). So that’s been moved to Episode 4.
I’m happier with this version of the script, but I’ll be the first to admit that it still needs some work. Thanks for coming along for the ride.
Space Whales Press 
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