Dramatis Personae
(in order of appearance)
Professor Josef DIETRICH, colleague of the murder victim. Male, mid 40s, German accent.
Detective Chief Inspector ISKANDAR Meshkia, a man who has held many titles in his life but none more important than “Baba.” Male, late 30s, strong Turkish accent.
Dr. ERNEST Wilde, botanist and puzzle enthusiast. Male, early 30s, Northern English accent.
Eloise “ELLIE” Westmont, a private investigator of many skills. Female, mid 20s, posh English accent.
FREYDÍS Emundrsdóttir, the late professor’s next of kin. Female, late 20s, slight Icelandic accent.
The memory of MUSTAFA Effendi, Iskandar’s childhood friend, now deceased. Male, early 30s, could speak with a Turkish or English accent.
The memory of HALIME, a princess in her father’s eyes, now deceased. Female, about five years old, could speak with a Turkish or English accent.
Mrs. JUDITH Rosenfeld, who was very proud the day she installed a telephone in her building. Female, late 40s, slight Yiddish accent.
EMILIA Niyazova, flapper and velocipedist. Female, early 20s, slight Russian (actually Kazakh) accent.
Constable John TAYLOR, just doing his job. Male, early 20s, London accent.
Constable ANTONY St. John, fencing enthusiast and important alibi. Male, early 30s, London (specifically Estuary) accent.
Chief Superintendent Winston PEMBROKE, Sr., a representative of the system. Male, early 60s, English accent with audible mustache.
Scene 1: Int. Oxford Faculty of History – Day
MUSIC: OPENING THEME.
We rejoin our investigators in the hallway outside Ragnarsson’s office. They shut the door, and due to its previous tampering, it takes a couple of tries to latch.
From his office, DIETRICH notices the investigators moving around.
DIETRICH:
(Off mike)
Inspector?
ISKANDAR approaches DIETRICH’s office, hard-soled shoes against tile.
ISKANDAR:
Hello again, Professor.
I have a few more questions, if you don’t mind.
KURT:
Is Professor Hale still here?
DIETRICH gets up from his desk, pushing his chair back from the table, and comes to the door.
DIETRICH:
He stepped out a few minutes ago.
I don’t think he’s back yet.
ELLIE:
(Aside to KURT and ISKANDAR)
Keep him talking.
ISKANDAR:
(Sighing and clearing his throat to express his annoyance with the subterfuge)
That’s all right.
Were you aware that someone had set fire to a large volume of Professor Ragnarsson’s notes?
ELLIE departs down the hall, her heeled shoes on the tile floor receding.
DIETRICH:
What?
I—no, I had no idea.
When?
KURT:
That’s what we’re trying to work out.
DIETRICH:
(Defeated sigh, dragging a hand over his face)
I’ve been such a fool.
He told me someone was after him, and I didn’t believe him. He wasn’t mad.
I knew he wasn’t mad, and I did nothing.
ISKANDAR:
I’m not certain there was anything you could have done.
DIETRICH:
Nothing was ever out of place. I never saw any of these people he said were following him.
You mentioned his flat—that did happen. Someone tore through his post.
I told him it was some local hooligans, or some intoxicated undergraduates.
He frightened the students, I think. Especially since he returned from the island. They liked to test their bravery by approaching him.
ISKANDAR:
Do you remember when the break-in happened?
DIETRICH:
It was just before he left.
Before he—before he died.
I’m sorry, it’s been a bit of a blur.
In the distance, ELLIE opens the door to HALE’s office.
DIETRICH:
I saw him that morning, you know.
He told me everything was fine. Just going on holiday.
KURT:
He might have been worried about someone else overhearing.
DIETRICH:
I suppose so.
We weren’t friends, Emundr and I, but I fear I was the closest thing he had.
ISKANDAR:
Would you happen to know his address?
I’d like to take a look around his flat.
DIETRICH:
Yes, of course.
I can write it down for you.
DIETRICH retreats into his office, rummaging through scrap paper. He scratches down the address, giving the impression of rushed, sloppy handwriting.
He comes back to the door.
DIETRICH:
Here. It’s not far.
ISKANDAR:
Thank you, Professor.
If you recall anything else about the last few weeks, please let me know.
He rummages through his pockets, producing a note.
ISKANDAR:
This number is for the Metropolitan Police, and this one is for my building. A message will get to me either way.
DIETRICH:
I will think about it. I haven’t been able to think of much else, anyway.
I’m glad the police in London are doing something. I haven’t heard anything here in Oxford.
KURT:
(Overly cheerful, hiding the deception)
We’re happy to help.
DIETRICH:
I suppose I’d better get back to it, eh?
These papers won’t grade themselves. Half of them are from Emundr’s classes.
ERNEST:
Er, one thing, professor.
Did Ragnarsson ever express any interest in botany? Or talk about diseases in plants?
DIETRICH:
I don’t remember him saying anything like that.
ERNEST:
(Defeated)
All right.
DIETRICH:
No, there was something.
He mentioned, once, the plant life on his mysterious island. How unusual it was.
Or, rather, how it was all dead, from the lichens to the trees. He couldn’t figure out why.
ERNEST:
(With renewed interest)
Dead? Did he describe what was wrong with it?
DIETRICH:
No, not really.
This would have been just after he came back. There were a lot of questions then.
KURT:
We’ll need the records from the expedition sooner or later.
ELLIE returns from HALE’s office with confident steps on the tile.
DIETRICH:
I suppose I can ask Burton when he gets back.
He kept everything Ragnarsson gave him.
KURT:
I believe we’re off to Ragnarsson’s apartment, then.
Thank you for your time, Professor.
DIETRICH:
(Hesitant; he’s being dismissed, and he wants to help more, but doesn’t know how.)
Of course.
DIETRICH’s office door closes.
Scene 2: Ext. Oxford University quad – Day
We follow the investigators out of the Faculty of History.
Wind blows over the grass in the quad and against the door as it opens. It slams shut. Footsteps cross the pavement.
KURT:
Did you find anything in Hale’s office?
ELLIE:
I certainly did.
ISKANDAR:
I hope no one saw you.
This entire business is complicated enough as it is.
ELLIE:
You worry too much, Inspector.
She unfolds a piece of paper.
ISKANDAR:
Please tell me you didn’t remove that from the office you were in without permission.
ELLIE:
Well, Hale almost certainly removed it from Ragnarsson’s office.
Look.
The paper changes hands.
KURT:
(Reading)
Jasmine Indrani, Robert Campbell, Charles Howard, Caleb Thomas, Peter Brown, Cullen O’Mara, Gareth Jones, Eske McIvor.
Some of them have addresses. Some of them are crossed out.
ELLIE:
I think this is a list of everyone who went on the field expedition.
ERNEST:
What does it mean when they’re crossed out?
ISKANDAR:
I think it means they’re dead.
KURT:
How do you figure?
ISKANDAR:
Because I spoke to Charles Howard’s mother this morning.
That’s her address. 10 Wharfedale in London.
ELLIE:
What happened to him?
ISKANDAR:
Drowned, we think.
We recovered the body yesterday.
KURT:
If that’s the case, then the professor knew something you at the Met didn’t.
Looks like Miss Indrani still lives in London. We should check in on her.
ELLIE:
Any name on this list might be able to shed some light on what happened on the island.
ISKANDAR:
Professor Dietrich said that a worker and a student were killed in the field.
Campbell, Brown, and Thomas are also scratched out. That accounts for two of them.
KURT:
Seems fishy that two-thirds of this list are dead now.
More, if you count Ragnarsson.
ERNEST:
“Fishy?” Really?
KURT:
You’re right. I’m sorry.
ELLIE:
I also found these.
Bent paper clips. I suspect they were used to pick the lock on Ragnarsson’s office.
KURT:
Good find.
ELLIE:
And, tucked inside the same copy of the Egyptian Book of the Dead as that list of names, a business card for Milton’s Rare Books.
KURT:
Funny how that place keeps coming up.
ERNEST:
Was there anything else?
ELLIE:
A couple of smudges that could have been soot. Hale might be our arsonist.
In any case, he was doing something in Ragnarsson’s office.
KURT:
Well done.
ELLIE:
(Pleased with herself)
Thank you.
ISKANDAR:
This is valuable information, Miss Westmont, but what happens when Professor Hale notices his things are missing?
ELLIE:
Seeing as how he stole from a dead man’s office, I can’t imagine he’d say anything.
If it becomes a problem, I’ll just put it back.
ISKANDAR:
That isn’t very comforting.
KURT:
The lady’s right, Inspector. You worry too much.
Hale wasn’t supposed to have this document, and now he doesn’t have it.
In the meantime, we have the professor’s apartment to search.
ERNEST:
You have the address?
ISKANDAR:
I do.
KURT:
It’ll be faster if we drive. Come on.
ISKANDAR:
(Steeling himself with a deep breath)
Fine.
Scene 3: Ext. Oxford neighborhood – Day
The car stops in front of a row of townhouses. The pavement is wet, but the rain has stopped. A crow calls out in the background and flaps away.
KURT cuts the engine. The car doors open and the suspension creaks as our investigators disembark.
ERNEST:
Huh.
ISKANDAR:
What is it?
ERNEST:
Oh, nothing.
I was just going to say that these look like student flats.
Sort of figured an Oxford professor would have a nicer place.
ISKANDAR:
It sounds like he lived alone.
ELLIE:
He didn’t have much to care about outside of his work.
KURT:
See, this is why I’m still holding on to the academic rivalry theory.
The guy just didn’t know anyone else. Except for maybe Nigel.
ERNEST:
And people tell me I spend too much time at the lab.
Footsteps on pavement as they approach the front door.
ISKANDAR:
The address is for the upper flat.
ELLIE:
There’s someone here.
Look. There’s a window open.
KURT:
Maybe he forgot to close it when he left.
ELLIE:
Not with all this rain.
KURT:
You’re right.
ISKANDAR rings the doorbell. A chime sounds from within the house.
KURT:
(Startled)
What’d you go and do that for?
ISKANDAR:
Either the bell will summon whomever is upstairs, or they’ll try to run, and we are here at the main exit.
KURT:
You could have said something.
ELLIE:
Can we at least try to present a unified front, gentlemen?
KURT:
I can go around to the back.
Too late: the door unlocks and opens. Damp weather has made the hinges squeaky.
There is a brief pause as FREYDÍS takes in the eclectic crew in front of her.
FREYDÍS:
Can I help you?
KURT:
Oh. Hello.
Is this Professor Ragnarsson’s residence?
FREYDÍS:
It is.
But I’m sorry to inform you that he’s not here. He died several days ago.
Once again, ISKANDAR rummages through his pockets for his warrant card.
ISKANDAR:
I’m aware.
My name is Iskandar Meshkia. I’m with the Metropolitan Police.
FREYDÍS:
Meshkia?
Oh, you sent the telegram. I was under the impression that there wasn’t going to be any more investigation.
ISKANDAR:
I…don’t believe I’ve sent any telegrams recently.
FREYDÍS:
It had your name on it.
Well, if you’re here, maybe something else has come to light?
ISKANDAR returns the warrant card to his pocket.
ISKANDAR:
That’s correct. More or less. I’m here to gain a better understanding of Professor Ragnarsson’s work and the days leading up to his death, and hopefully rule out the possibility of foul play.
These are my colleagues. Consultants.
Could I ask your name?
FREYDÍS:
Freydís. I’m the professor’s daughter.
I suppose you should come inside.
Scene 4: Int. Ragnarsson’s flat – Day
The door closes behind the investigators, and they ascend the narrow staircase. The floorboards creak. This is an old building, cheaply maintained.
KURT:
When was the last time you saw your father?
FREYDÍS:
It’s been almost three years.
ISKANDAR:
(Stunned; he can’t imagine a father spending so long away from his family)
Why?
They reach the top of the stairs. FREYDÍS unlocks the door.
FREYDÍS:
I would say you should ask him, but, well.
Here we are.
The door opens. Even here, the floorboards creak. The room is empty, and voices echo slightly.
ELLIE:
One of your father’s colleagues at Oxford said you lived in Reykjavík?
FREYDÍS:
I do. With my husband and my daughter, who has never met her grandfather.
The last I heard from him, he was on his way for a visit shortly after she was born.
He never came.
FREYDÍS moves around the room, stacking books to make room for the investigators.
FREYDÍS:
Two weeks later, I received his letter saying he’d had an appointment and he’d come again later.
Then nothing.
To be honest, I thought he’d died a year ago.
ERNEST:
So you don’t happen to know anything about what he’d been working on since then.
FREYDÍS:
I haven’t known about his work since I stopped doing half of it for him.
Can I offer you something? Tea?
I’m afraid he didn’t keep much here.
You can set those books on the floor if you want to sit.
KURT:
You were his assistant, right?
FREYDÍS:
I was.
Which means I typeset every paper he ever submitted for review, organized his research, did half his translations, slept in a tent in the mud at every dig site.
I feel sorry for the poor girl he hired after me.
At least he paid her, I think.
ISKANDAR:
That seems like a lot of work.
FREYDÍS:
It needed to be done, and I was there.
My mother did it, before. It’s why I didn’t marry an academic.
Tea? I’m going to make some.
ELLIE:
Tea would be lovely. Thank you.
FREYDÍS leaves the room.
FREYDÍS:
(Off mike)
I don’t think there’s much here that will help you.
I’m just packing up his books and clothes.
ISKANDAR:
Your father mentioned a break-in to some of his colleagues.
In the kitchen, FREYDÍS pours water into a kettle.
FREYDÍS:
(Off mike)
Everything was locked up when I arrived. I got the key from the landlady.
Pots and pans clang in the background.
KURT:
Did you notice anything out of place?
FREYDÍS returns to the living room.
FREYDÍS:
Not really. Like I said, there isn’t much here.
I assume he was living out of his office, mostly.
He had some mail piled up. It’s over there on the mantel. I’ve already contacted the post office.
ISKANDAR:
I should tell you—your father wrote you a letter. It wasn’t finished.
I found it…with him. You should have it.
FREYDÍS:
Oh.
ISKANDAR:
Will you be coming to London? I can arrange to have it sent to you, instead.
FREYDÍS:
I have to arrange for the funeral, so I should be there in a day or two.
ISKANDAR:
Of course. I’ll be sure to have all his belongings ready for you.
FREYDÍS:
Thank you.
The kettle whistles in the background, startling KURT.
FREYDÍS:
Excuse me, just a moment.
She leaves the room.
KURT:
(Hiding being startled)
I could use some more coffee, honestly.
ELLIE:
Some of these envelopes have been absolutely mangled. Someone was in a hurry.
KURT:
Seems a little excessive to break in just to go through someone’s mail, doesn’t it?
ELLIE:
There’s a perfectly good letter opener here, besides.
The clinking of ceramic cups announces FREYDÍS’s return from the kitchen.
FREYDÍS:
I’m afraid he didn’t keep any sugar, and the milk has gone bad.
It’s quite nice tea, though.
ISKANDAR:
Thank you for sharing it with us.
FREYDÍS:
Someone has to drink it.
Sit down, please.
More books are moved from a sofa to the floor, and ERNEST and ELLIE sit down.
KURT:
So, you said you used to do translations.
FREYDÍS:
Yes. Old English, Icelandic, Old Norse, Middle High German.
A little bit of Old Gaelic, but that’s a bit of a beast. I don’t think I could read it anymore.
ISKANDAR:
Do you think you could read this?
Your father had it in his briefcase.
He hands her the photograph.
ERNEST:
Professor Dietrich said it was an old alphabet.
Elder something.
FREYDÍS:
Elder Futhark.
ERNEST:
That’s the one.
FREYDÍS:
It’s called that after the first five letters.
This one’s called “fehu,” it makes an F sound. This one’s “uruz.” This one is “thurisaz,” or “thorn,” and it’s a TH sound, and so on.
ISKANDAR:
Can you read it?
FREYDÍS:
I’m out of practice. Let me see.
She returns her teacup to its saucer and examines the photograph.
FREYDÍS:
No, actually, I can’t read it.
KURT:
Why not?
FREYDÍS hands the photograph back to ISKANDAR.
FREYDÍS:
Because it’s gibberish.
There aren’t any words I recognize, and a lot of these consonant and vowel clusters don’t exist in any language I know.
Even reading just the symbolic meanings of the runes, like for a spell, it doesn’t make any sense.
ISKANDAR:
Does the number there mean anything to you?
FREYDÍS:
No.
It’s very strange that it’s there. My father liked his copies clean and consistent.
KURT:
You mentioned a spell? A magic spell?
FREYDÍS:
You find them carved on jewelry or weapons, or in stone artifacts.
People believed they could invoke the gods or grant blessings, that sort of thing.
This was many centuries ago, you understand.
ELLIE:
Was this something your father might have believed in?
FREYDÍS:
Not at all. He is—he was—a Christian.
More than that, he was an academic. He didn’t put any stock in that sort of thing.
ISKANDAR:
I understand.
Maybe it doesn’t mean anything after all.
FREYDÍS:
I should get back to packing.
The investigators move to get up.
FREYDÍS:
No, no, finish your tea. Stay as long as you like.
It’s been too quiet in here all day.
Scene 5: Int. Kurt’s car – Day
The investigators prepare to leave Oxford. The car doors close, and the engine turns on.
ERNEST:
Inspector, wait.
ISKANDAR:
(Startled)
Yes?
ERNEST:
Could I see that photograph? With the…the alphabet?
ISKANDAR:
Oh. Yes, of course.
ISKANDAR goes through his pockets and hands over the photo.
ERNEST:
That number. Seven ninety-five.
ELLIE:
Oh! It was in the wastebasket.
Something about “the year of Our Lord.” Hold on, I have it.
ERNEST:
The year of Our Lord.
Wait a second.
ERNEST pats down his own pockets and finds a pencil and a scrap of paper.
He scratches down some notes.
ERNEST:
Right before that is a four-letter word. And before that is a three-letter word.
Our Lord.
It’s a substitution cipher.
ELLIE goes through the papers rescued from the wastebasket.
ELLIE:
Here we are.
(Reading)
“On the feast day of Mary Magdalene, in the year of Our Lord seven hundred and ninety-five.”
ERNEST writes more notes, the paper crinkling under his pencil.
ERNEST:
So this is an O, and this one’s an N.
Then T, H, and E. That should help.
More notes.
The drone starts again.
KURT:
How’s it going back there?
ERNEST:
Just a moment.
This one has to be a W.
ELLIE:
Maybe it’s an encoded message for his daughter.
KURT:
Or for us.
ERNEST:
This has to be a name. I’ll come back to it.
ERNEST writes in more letters, the pencil scratching on the paper.
ISKANDAR:
What does it say?
ERNEST:
I think I’ve got it.
(Reading)
On the feast day of Mary Magdalene, in the year of Our Lord 795, a party of Northmen descended upon us like wolves in the night.
(Fading out)
The heathens…
BRAN:
(Narrating, fading in)
The heathens slew Brother Conn and Brother Faendelach, and plundered all the gold from the altar and the scriptorium.
Drone grows louder.
BRAN:
(Narrating)
And I the unworthy Brother Bran begged the Northmen to spare us with the promise of greater riches to the north at the hollow island.
They departed with their plunder, and they will not return.
Drone continues to grow louder.
BRAN:
(Narrating, fading out)
I fear I have done the unforgivable, and I pray God might have mercy on our humble souls and on the souls…
ERNEST:
(Reading, fading in)
…and on the souls of the heathens.
Drone stops.
ELLIE:
It’s the manuscript. The one that told him about the island.
KURT:
But why would he encrypt a translation of it? Couldn’t anyone just go into the collection and look at the original?
That’s what that other guy was doing. Professor Hale.
ELLIE:
But that was in the original language. Not very many people can read it.
ERNEST:
I guess he wanted to keep a copy for himself.
But why the cipher?
ISKANDAR:
It wasn’t meant for us.
It was for Ragnarsson himself. To continue his work.
A few seconds of white noise as the car pulls out and starts on its way.
Scene 6: Ext. The dream of a garden outside Istanbul – Day
MUSIC: BRIDGE.
The next morning. Iskandar is dreaming; wind blows through an orchard, and birds sing. The muffled voices of two women converse in the distance.
Someone pours coffee into small cups.
MUSTAFA:
How’s the leg?
ISKANDAR:
Better.
The doctor says I can ride again, but Aysun would rather I wait another week.
MUSTAFA:
She’s wise.
We’re not young men anymore, you know.
ISKANDAR:
(Laughing)
Speak for yourself.
MUSTAFA:
The gray at your temples is just a fashion choice, is it?
I’m glad you’re home, my friend.
ISKANDAR:
(Deep breath, sigh of relief)
So am I.
MUSTAFA:
Things just haven’t been the same since you left.
It’s like there’s something in the air. I can almost taste it.
ISKANDAR:
What do you mean?
MUSTAFA:
(Slightly distorted)
There’s something in the air.
I can almost taste it.
ISKANDAR:
Mustafa—
HALIME:
(Off mike)
Baba!
She approaches the veranda, small feet running on packed earth.
ISKANDAR:
There you are, princess.
What happened to your dress?
HALIME:
I fell.
ISKANDAR:
I can see that.
All right, up you go.
(Grunt of effort)
Are you hurt?
HALIME:
No.
I found this stone. See?
MUSTAFA:
Look at her. She’s getting so big.
HALIME:
Hello, Mustafa.
MUSTAFA:
Well, hello there, little princess.
It looks like you took quite the tumble.
ISKANDAR:
Is this for me?
HALIME:
I found it in the garden. It’s blue, see?
ISKANDAR:
Why, thank you. It’s very pretty.
Go inside now and put on your other dress before your mother sees what you’ve done to this one.
And wash your hands.
HALIME:
Yes, Baba.
She slides to the ground, and the sound of her small feet recedes into the background.
MUSTAFA:
Isn’t she the sweetest thing?
You should have more.
ISKANDAR:
(Brief, uncomfortable pause)
InshAllah.
MUSTAFA:
(Repeated from earlier)
I’m glad you’re home, my friend.
The wind grows stronger, and the sound of it in the trees turns dry and brittle. A drone begins.
ISKANDAR:
Something’s wrong.
MUSTAFA:
(Off mike, now distant)
It’s like there’s something in the air. I can almost taste it.
The drone increases in volume, and the wind changes to the sound of blowing sand.
ISKANDAR:
Mustafa?
The rattle of distant gunfire.
ISKANDAR:
Halime?
Also in the distance, the scream of a horse.
ISKANDAR:
Halime! Aysun!
His words are lost in the sound of sand and wind. The drone reaches a crescendo and cuts out.
Scene 7: Int. London tenement – Day
A knock on the door wakes ISKANDAR.
ISKANDAR:
(Gasping for breath)
Another knock.
JUDITH:
(Off mike, on the other side of a door)
Telephone for you, Inspector.
ISKANDAR:
(Deep breath)
Thank you. I’ll be right there.
He gets up, and the floorboards creak as he crosses the room. He opens drawers and shakes out fabric, runs the tap to wash his face, and picks up his locket from the table, the fine chain scraping against the wood.
Awake and dressed, he leaves his flat, opening and closing the door, and descends the stairs.
He picks up the telephone receiver.
ISKANDAR:
Inspector Meshkia.
EMILIA:
(Filtered through the phone; brightly)
Good morning! I didn’t wake you, did I?
ISKANDAR:
Not at all.
How are you?
EMILIA:
(Filtered)
Oh, I can’t complain.
So, about the address you wanted me to look up, on Roseberry?
ISKANDAR:
What did you find?
EMILIA:
(Filter)
It’s a ladies’ home. Nurses, mostly. A teacher or two.
The landlady said Miss Indrani moved away last summer. Said she was heading for Edinburgh.
ISKANDAR searches his pockets for a scrap of paper.
ISKANDAR:
Did she leave a forwarding address?
EMILIA:
(Filter)
Unfortunately, no.
You could try the police up there, or maybe the university. They might know where she is.
ISKANDAR:
I’ll do that.
Did the landlady say anything about her? Was she nervous? Leaving in a hurry?
EMILIA:
(Filter)
She didn’t mention anything like that.
Is she okay? Miss Indrani, I mean.
You didn’t really say why you were looking for her, other than that she used to know that professor.
ISKANDAR:
I don’t…I don’t believe there’s anything to worry about. Especially if she made it all the way to Edinburgh.
EMILIA:
(Filter)
And if she didn’t?
ISKANDAR:
I’d like to find her.
I’ll send a telegram to the police in Edinburgh.
EMILIA:
(Filter)
I can ask around. See if anyone else knows where she went.
ISKANDAR:
Be careful.
If you notice anyone following you, go inside, in a public place, and call me as soon as you can.
EMILIA:
(Filter)
Yes, dad.
Will you tell me what you’re worried about?
If it’s about the case, I can keep a secret.
ISKANDAR:
(Brief pause)
I wish I knew.
Just be careful.
EMILIA:
(Filter)
I always am.
I’ll be by with your groceries later. Are you out of coffee yet?
ISKANDAR:
I don’t think so. I’m not sure.
EMILIA:
(Filter)
So that’s a “yes.”
I haven’t heard from Mrs. Howard yet. If I buy her some flowers, will you reimburse me?
ISKANDAR:
Of course.
EMILIA:
(Filter)
Okay, I’ll see you later.
With coffee, and hopefully some news.
Scene 8: Int. Scotland Yard – Day
MUSIC: BRIDGE.
We’re back at the Metropolitan Police headquarters, with its usual sounds of typewriters, phones ringing, and conversation. A pair of men hurry by, and a door opens and closes.
TAYLOR:
(Off mike)
That’s what I told him.
PEMBROKE:
(Off mike)
Inspector Grey, good to see you.
Another door opens and closes.
FREYDÍS:
Excuse me. I’m looking for an Inspector Meshkia?
TAYLOR:
Er, sure, I think he’s in.
His desk is at the end of the row there.
FREYDÍS:
Thank you.
The background noise grows louder as she crosses the room at a brisk pace. She wears sensible shoes; maybe rain boots. When she arrives at ISKANDAR’s desk, the background noise quiets so their conversation can be heard.
FREYDÍS:
Inspector.
ISKANDAR:
(Startled)
Oh. Hello.
(He stands, pushing his chair back)
Forgive me, I didn’t expect to see you so soon, Mrs. …?
FREYDÍS:
It’s ‘Emundrsdóttir,’ but Freydís is fine.
I’m here for my father.
ISKANDAR:
Of course. I’m not sure if the body is ready to be released yet, but I can escort you to the coroner’s office.
They’ll have more information for you there.
FREYDÍS:
I can find my way there myself. I have questions for you.
ISKANDAR:
(A beat; he’s surprised at her directness.)
I will answer them as best I can. Please, sit.
The background noise grows louder for a moment as they take their seats.
FREYDÍS:
Was my father murdered?
ISKANDAR:
The honest answer is that I don’t know.
My superiors would say no. The consultants you met in Oxford might say yes.
FREYDÍS:
And what would you say?
ISKANDAR:
Truly, I don’t know.
FREYDÍS:
If you had to guess.
ISKANDAR:
I’d prefer not to, especially on a matter of such importance.
All I can do right now is assure you that I’m doing everything I can.
FREYDÍS:
And what can you do, Inspector?
It seems like the police department isn’t going to investigate. It seems like you and your ‘consultants’ are on your own.
ISKANDAR:
You are…mostly correct.
I’d appreciate it if you kept your voice down.
FREYDÍS:
(Marginally quieter)
Do you have evidence that my father was murdered?
ISKANDAR:
Nothing conclusive. Not yet.
FREYDÍS:
Then what are you doing? What do you have?
ISKANDAR:
Professor Ragnarsson was found with his lungs full of seawater. The coroner told me he believed it came from London Harbor.
As your father was nowhere near the harbor at the time of his death, it follows that there is a strong possibility that he was forcibly drowned.
FREYDÍS:
“A strong possibility.”
ISKANDAR:
Right now, I’m trying to sort out the facts from the speculation.
Your father believed he was in danger, that someone was targeting him for his work. As he’s no longer here to explain himself, I am making do with what he left behind.
He goes through a stack of papers.
ISKANDAR:
Here.
This letter is yours. He wasn’t able to send it.
FREYDÍS:
After three years without so much as a word, he writes me a letter?
ISKANDAR:
It seems there were a lot of things he wasn’t able to do before he died.
A pause as FREYDÍS reads the letter.
FREYDÍS:
Will…will they let me take his body? Or do they still need it?
ISKANDAR:
I will ask.
With the coroner’s report done, I don’t see why he would need it.
FREYDÍS:
(Making up her mind about something)
Good.
He should come home to Iceland. I think he would want that.
ISKANDAR:
Will you let me know if there is anything else I can do for you?
FREYDÍS:
I think I’ll be in London for a while longer.
Tell me if you find anything.
ISKANDAR:
I will.
FREYDÍS stands; ISKANDAR does as well a moment behind.
FREYDÍS:
I believe we’ll see each other again soon.
She leaves, with the same brisk footsteps on the tile floor, receding into the background noise.
Scene 9: Ext. London street – Day
Time passes in Scotland Yard—one last ringing of the phone, and then the typewriters go quiet and people get up from their desks and make their way to the door. Interior doors close and lock. ISKANDAR is still doing paperwork, his pen scratching across a page, until it is the only sound.
He sighs, sets the pen down, stacks his papers, and gets up from the desk. He walks to the front door and opens it. The wind is strong, with a hint of light rain.
ISKANDAR:
All this rain.
You’d think I’d be used to it by now.
He pulls his coat around him and starts walking.
ANTONY:
(Off mike)
Oi! Meshkia!
A car passes by, splashing through a puddle. ANTONY approaches at a half-jog.
ANTONY:
I thought that was you.
ISKANDAR:
(Torn between wanting to connect with one of his only friends and not wanting to talk to anyone)
Oh. Hello, Antony.
How are you?
ANTONY:
Not too bad, myself. The usual characters have been quiet lately.
I haven’t seen you at the fencing club recently. Everything all right?
ISKANDAR:
I’m sorry. Everything is…fine, I think.
I’ve just been busier with work than usual.
ANTONY:
You’ve still got paperwork from that bloke last month? The one putting bricks through windows?
ISKANDAR:
Yes, among other things.
(Forced cheerfulness)
No rest for the weary, or however that goes.
ANTONY:
Don’t remind me.
If you’re not finished filling it all out, I’d like a little credit for you bringing him in. As your fencing partner.
You wouldn’t have been ready for him without the hours of practice.
ISKANDAR:
Oh, no. That would just make more paperwork for you.
ANTONY:
You’re probably right.
ISKANDAR:
So, I’ll thank you, informally, for the hours of practice.
I promise I’ll be back at the club soon.
ANTONY:
You’d better.
It would be just my luck for Nigel Blackthorne to show up with a magic sword right when I’m out of practice.
ISKANDAR:
(Brief pause)
Are you…worried about Mr. Blackthorne?
ANTONY:
Oh, no. Not really. He’s been behaving himself since getting kicked out of the Cross and Coin again.
ISKANDAR:
Was that when he attacked the dishwasher?
ANTONY:
You heard about that?
Yeah, I had to bring him in to sober up.
The kid’s all right. Doesn’t want to testify, which I’m sure is teaching Blackthorne the wrong lesson.
ISKANDAR:
Hmm.
ANTONY:
That must have been what, Thursday before last? Friday morning?
Will Grey hasn’t let him back in yet, so maybe it’ll stick this time.
ISKANDAR:
I hope so.
ANTONY:
Listen, I’ve got a long-awaited appointment with my bed. Double shift today.
Good to see you, Meshkia.
ISKANDAR:
I won’t keep you. Sleep well.
In the distance, Big Ben tolls seven o’clock.
ANTONY:
Don’t worry, I will.
And I’ll see you soon, yeah?
Scene 10: Int. London tenement – Day
Big Ben tolls eight o’clock.
Because his work is never done, ISKANDAR is on the phone in his tenement building.
ISKANDAR:
Thank you, yes.
I’m calling about someone connected to a case here in London.
White noise on the other end of the line.
ISKANDAR:
Indrani. I-N-D-R-A-N-I.
Jasmine.
Static.
ISKANDAR:
None at all? She never enrolled?
More static.
ISKANDAR:
I see.
More static.
ISKANDAR:
Of course. I’ll call back once I have the paperwork in order.
I appreciate your time.
He hangs up the receiver and scratches down a few notes.
There’s a knock on the exterior glass door.
EMILIA:
(Off mike, muffled)
Hi, sorry I’m late.
ISKANDAR crosses the foyer and opens the door. The rain has grown heavier.
ISKANDAR:
What are you doing out in this weather?
EMILIA:
Bringing in your groceries.
Can you hold the door? I want to bring my bicycle inside.
ISKANDAR:
I don’t think Mrs. Rosenfeld will like that very much.
EMILIA:
We don’t have to tell her.
The bicycle hits the door frame, and the door closes, cutting off the sound of rain.
ISKANDAR:
You should stay inside, at least until the rain stops. I can’t imagine it’s safe.
EMILIA:
Thanks.
I have some other errands to run. I was hoping I’d still have some daylight.
Did you know there’s a funny man standing outside your building? I said hello, but he didn’t answer me.
ISKANDAR:
A funny man?
EMILIA:
Yeah, right there, under the tree by the road.
With the mustache.
Muffled sound of rain.
EMILIA:
I don’t know. I don’t like the way he was looking at me.
Anyway, I brought your coffee, and a couple other things. I’ll have to bring the paperwork later. I didn’t want it getting wet.
ISKANDAR:
(Suddenly stern)
I’ll walk you to your train station. You can leave the bicycle in my apartment.
EMILIA:
Do you know that guy?
ISKANDAR:
No. I don’t believe so.
Just to be safe.
EMILIA:
Okay.
ISKANDAR:
I’ll carry it.
The bicycle chain turns, spinning the wheel.
ISKANDAR:
You don’t recognize him?
EMILIA:
Don’t think so. I’d remember the mustache. He looks too young to have one.
ISKANDAR:
He’s not that young.
EMILIA:
I mean, it’s not in style anymore. Most younger men shave.
ISKANDAR:
I suppose I haven’t noticed.
He carries the bicycle up the stairs, EMILIA following behind. The tire bounces once when he sets it down in front of the door and takes his keys from his pocket.
EMILIA:
I can come back tomorrow and pick it up. I know you don’t have room.
When will you be home?
ISKANDAR:
Seven, at the earliest. It will be almost dark by then.
He pushes the bicycle inside.
EMILIA:
They’re working you hard.
ISKANDAR:
I’ve just been busy lately.
EMILIA:
Oh! Did you find that girl? The professor’s assistant?
ISKANDAR:
Not yet. She’s not at the university in Edinburgh.
But it hasn’t been so long. I’m sure I can find her.
EMILIA:
I’ll ask at the boarding house again. She might still be in London.
ISKANDAR:
No, that’s all right. I’d rather you not trouble yourself.
EMILIA:
But you said you were busy.
And I might as well—you’re paying me.
ISKANDAR:
I know. And it’s kind of you to offer.
I just don’t want you getting involved with this case.
EMILIA:
If you say so.
Just let me know if you change your mind. I know lots of people.
Floorboards creak as they enter the flat. The door remains open.
ISKANDAR:
It’s better if you stay away.
Perhaps you shouldn’t come by this building for a few days.
EMILIA:
What about my bike?
And I only brought you one can of coffee. You’ll be out again before long.
ISKANDAR:
Don’t worry about me. I know how to ration things.
EMILIA:
(Doubtful)
Even coffee?
ISKANDAR:
Especially coffee.
I can bring the bicycle to your building tomorrow morning.
EMILIA:
All right.
ISKANDAR:
You’re being careful, aren’t you?
Stay where there are people. Don’t take any shortcuts through back alleys.
EMILIA:
I heard you the first time.
You worry too much. It’s bad for your health.
She rummages through her bag to produce a canister of coffee and place it on the counter.
ISKANDAR:
I’ll make the coffee. Sit down by the radiator and dry off.
The scene ends with the sound of the stove being lit.
Scene 11: Int. Scotland Yard – Day
MUSIC: BRIDGE.
The next morning, we’re back at Scotland Yard, with its established background of typewriters, phones, and conversation.
The door to PEMBROKE’s office opens and closes, cutting off the background noise.
PEMBROKE:
Meshkia. Good to see you.
ISKANDAR:
I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me, sir.
PEMBROKE:
Not at all. I was actually hoping to catch you this morning.
When was the last time we spoke, Inspector? Just to refresh my memory.
ISKANDAR:
Late last week, sir.
PEMBROKE:
And what did we talk about?
ISKANDAR:
(Suspicious; is this a test?)
Professor Ragnarsson’s death, sir.
PEMBROKE:
Ah, yes, that whole tragic affair. Do you recall what I told you, then, about the professor’s case?
ISKANDAR:
You said that he most likely died of a sudden bout of pneumonia, and I should discontinue my investigation.
Sir.
PEMBROKE:
So you do remember.
Perhaps you can tell me why, with that being the case, you’ve attempted to hire three consultants for that very investigation.
ISKANDAR:
I apologize, sir.
I should have been more direct and transparent with you about what I was doing.
PEMBROKE:
Is this a language problem, Inspector?
Did you not understand what I said?
ISKANDAR:
No, sir.
PEMBROKE:
You must know that I’m not going to sign off on the consultants.
Can you explain to me why, after a week or two weeks or however long it’s been, you are continuing to spend the police’s time and resources on an investigation I explicitly told you to cease?
ISKANDAR:
(Steeling himself)
I am confident in the belief that Professor Ragnarsson’s death was not an accident, sir.
My investigation, which has been largely on my own time, continues to support that belief.
I apologize for not being forthcoming, and for the matter of the consultants. I’ll accept a formal reprimand, if that’s necessary.
PEMBROKE:
We’ll discuss that later.
What exactly makes you think this is a murder? Do you have a suspect?
ISKANDAR:
Not yet. But the professor believed he was being followed, and a few of his acquaintances corroborate it.
He wrote to his daughter, warning her of possible danger.
PEMBROKE:
Paranoia isn’t all that uncommon.
ISKANDAR:
(With building confidence)
I would agree if he hadn’t died suddenly, sir.
What’s more, an academic contact was attacked shortly after his death.
PEMBROKE:
But you have no proof that all this isn’t just an unfortunate coincidence.
Ragnarsson wasn’t a young man.
ISKANDAR:
I’m only pursuing the most logical conclusion, as I see it, sir.
Each coincidence seems less likely than the last.
PEMBROKE:
What would it take to get you to leave this alone, Inspector?
ISKANDAR:
(Seriously considering the question)
A reasonable explanation for the professor’s death. Pneumonia—it kills in days, weeks, not hours.
Especially since he was perfectly healthy the day before. Sir.
PEMBROKE:
You’re a dogged sort of fellow, aren’t you?
No wonder we had so much trouble in Arabia during the war.
ISKANDAR:
(Ignoring the slight)
I’m also concerned about the professor’s daughter. She recently arrived in London from Iceland.
She’s…unsatisfied with the Metropolitan Police’s results, and has been asking questions on her own.
If there is indeed some danger, I’d rather it be me at risk, not her.
PEMBROKE:
(Paying closer attention)
What exactly has she been doing?
ISKANDAR:
She came to ask me about my investigation directly. She did not say so explicitly, but from her demeanor, I suspect she means to chase down some leads of her own.
PEMBROKE:
Do you think she’ll go to the press?
ISKANDAR:
It’s possible. She isn’t happy with me or the department.
PEMBROKE:
The last thing we need is reporters getting in everyone’s way.
All right, Meshkia, Let me propose a deal.
Give me everything you’ve got on the professor, and I’ll put whoever we can spare on it.
ISKANDAR:
(With relief)
Thank you, sir. I’ll bring you the files straight away.
PEMBROKE:
Just give it a rest for a few days. You can use the time to catch up on your other cases.
ISKANDAR:
(Worried)
Are you taking me off this case, sir?
PEMBROKE:
Not at all. Not yet, anyway. Just let the constables handle the leg-work for a while.
ISKANDAR:
Of course, sir. Thank you.
PEMBROKE:
Excellent. I’m glad we could see eye-to-eye on this at last.
(Forced friendliness)
Now, get out of my office. We’re both far too busy to stand around talking.
The office door opens, letting in the background noise of headquarters.
MUSIC: OUTRO.
Forward to Episode 5: And There Is Nothing Green That Remains
The title for this episode comes from “Persephone Returns” by Emily Rose Cole: “A lost son is called prodigal. / A lost daughter is just called lost.”
Is the decoding of the puzzle still satisfying when the audience can’t see it? I’m not sure. That’s something I’m working out with this draft.
Thanks for reading!
Space Whales Press 
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