Showing posts with label 5c. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 5c. Show all posts

Chapter 71: Cheryl Eastap


Cheryl Eastap
portrait by Benjamin Sullivan
Not five minutes later, our landlady was tapping at the door. "I've brought your lunch, gentlemen," she said. "And there's a telegram for you, Mr. Holmes."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," said my friend, taking the telegram and leaving me to handle the tray of food. "More good luck," he said when he had finished reading. "Cheryl Eastap will call on us at four o'clock this afternoon."

"Is she one of the two attractive blondes Bucky suggested you should contact?" I asked.

"Indeed she is," replied the detective. "I know nothing else about her, or her connection with this case, but I am sure we will find out soon enough."

As usual, his prediction proved to be correct. Cheryl Eastap arrived shortly before four and introduced herself with a surprising statement. "I would have come sooner had I known you were interested in the case, Mr. Holmes," she said. "I am so thankful for your message."

"Please sit down," Holmes said, "and tell us, from the beginning, how you came to be involved in this case."

"It was through my work, sir," she replied. "I'm a fashion designer, and I teach at Central Saint Martins College. I knew Gareth Williams from the college. He was a part-time student there."

"I see," said Holmes. "Did Gareth take one of your courses?"

"No, he took two courses with me, sir," she replied.

"Both in the past year?" he asked.

"Yes sir," she answered. "The first one started in the winter and finished in the spring. The second began in early April, if I recall, and ran until late June."

"Tell me about these courses," Holmes said.

"They were short, introductory courses," she replied. "We would meet once per week for ten weeks, and that was all. Just enough to give the students a good overview of the subjects, and a chance to try some simple things themselves."

"What were your impressions of Gareth as a student?" Holmes asked.

"He was very talented, sir," replied Ms. Eastap, "clearly very interested, and quite well-versed, for a beginner."

"What subjects did you teach him?" Holmes asked.

"Fashion design and interior design, sir," she replied.

"Hmm, fashion design," he said. "Would it be fair to assume a rather large percentage of your male students might be gay?"

"I do believe that would be a fair estimate," she answered.

"Aside from open declarations of interest," he continued, "can you, perhaps, spot the gay men by the way they look at the young women?"

"Most of the time," she replied, "you can tell by whether they look at the young women."

"And in Gareth's case, would you say he was looking?" asked the detective.

"That is how it appeared to me, sir," she said. "If you're asking whether Gareth was gay, I can tell you I never saw any sign of it."

"Unfortunately," said Holmes, "in this case, the undercurrent of deviant sex will not go away. I am sorry to mention it, but I must."

"Yes, of course," replied Ms. Eastap.
Central Saint Martins College of Art & Design

"I am given to understand," said Holmes, "that you are unhappy with the police and their investigation."

Cheryl Eastap nodded and said, "Yes, sir. They came to see me not long ago, and asked all manner of questions about the courses, the assignments, and so on."

"Yes?" said my friend.

"They seemed especially interested in an assignment Gareth had completed which was called 'Living Spaces.' They even suggested that Gareth may have 'gone overboard' and locked himself in the holdall while trying to find out how small a space a person can live in."

"And what did you think of that line of reasoning?" asked my friend.

"It's not 'reasoning' at all, sir," replied the teacher. "There couldn't possibly have been any connection between the assignment and the young man's death. The police were simply trying to create a decoy."

"Are you certain?" asked the detective.

"Absolutely!" replied our guest.

"What makes you think," asked Holmes, "that the police were merely trying to establish a decoy?"

"What else could they have been doing?" she countered.

"They clearly understood the nature of the assignment?" he pressed.

"Yes sir," she said, "they most assuredly did."

"And it carried no risk of accidental confinement?" he continued.

"None at all!" she replied. "It was an interior design assignment, sir. It was about the spaces people live in and how we can make them more attractive. That was all."

"I'm sorry if you find this frustrating," said the detective, "but I must ask the questions, you see?"

"Yes, of course," she said, and seemed to relax somewhat.

"Do you have any idea," Holmes continued, "why the police might be trying to establish a decoy?"

"None at all," replied our guest. "I was hoping you would tell me."

"Unfortunately," he replied, "I cannot tell you anything concrete at the moment. But you have been most helpful, and I thank you very much for calling on us this afternoon."

"You are welcome, Mr. Holmes," she replied, rising to leave. "I wish you the best of luck on this case, sir."

"Luck has been running more with us than against, lately," he said as he walked with her to the door, "and perhaps it will continue to do so."

"I do hope so, sir," she said as she departed.

Chapter 72: Sian Lloyd-Jones

Previous: Cheryl Eastap

Sian Lloyd-Jones
Shortly after Cheryl Eastap left us, a courier appeared with another telegram for Holmes. The young lad waited while my friend scribbled a reply, then hurried off again. Holmes turned to me, smiled, and said, "More luck, Watson. We could hardly have expected so much good fortune in such a short time."

"What is it?" I asked, "the other attractive young blonde?"

"Yes, indeed. Your intuition has been very sharp lately," said my friend. "This telegram was from Sian Lloyd-Jones, asking whether she can call on us this evening."

"I'd be delighted to meet her," I said.

"I'm sure you would," replied the detective.

Sian Lloyd-Jones arrived shortly before seven o'clock, moving quickly and appearing somewhat flustered. "What is the trouble, Ms. Lloyd-Jones?" asked Holmes, as we helped her to a comfortable armchair.

"It's nothing, sir," she answered slowly and with evident difficulty. "I'm sure my affliction will be temporary. I've been scrambling to get here as quickly as possible, and I think I simply ran out of breath."

"You are under considerable stress," Holmes observed. "Please take your time."

After several deep breaths and a few sips of water, she spoke again. "Yes, sir, we are all under considerable stress," she said in a much clearer voice. "It's been a horrible six weeks for all the family, and all the friends."

"And you are?" asked Holmes.

"I'm a friend, sir," replied Ms. Lloyd-Jones. "A longtime friend of both Gareth and Ceri. I met them twenty-five years ago, so of course I know their parents, and many of their other relatives, sir."

"You met as children?" Holmes asked.

"Yes, sir," she answered. "We met at Ysgol Gynradd Morswyn primary school. Gareth was two years younger, but he was moved up two years because he was so clever. He used to read encyclopedias at six. Even in primary school, he was doing his GCSEs during lunchtime.

"We were childhood sweethearts at school. Then when we went to Bodedern, our secondary school, he moved on leaps and bounds with his intellect. He really was a genius. I would say a date, say May 15, 1974, and he would count back and then say, 'Yes, it was a Wednesday.' He could work it out. But if he was here today, he'd hang out and enjoy a chat and a catch up. He was so approachable.

"I was quite naughty at school. I used to sell his homework. He used to have a big list. People used to come, all those who couldn't do their maths, and he would do it for them. We only sold it for school dinner money, 70p a time or something like that, and I used to buy magazines. He got nothing, to be honest. He didn't want anything. That's how he was, how we were as friends."

Holmes gave me half a wink, which I took as meaning, "Whew! Did you catch all that?"

I nodded and smiled. Sian Lloyd-Jones took a long drink of water, and the interview proceeded.

"How and how much did you keep in touch with Gareth over the years?" asked Holmes.

"After school, we went our separate ways," replied Lloyd-Jones. "But four years ago, our paths crossed again in Manchester.

"It was surreal at first. I was coming down the escalators at Selfridges and I spotted him coming up. We took off again. We went out for a drink and chatted. To be honest with you, I think we were both slightly in awe of each other. We were both excited by what the other was doing and amused too. He told me he was working for GCHQ.

"We talked for a couple of hours and made a pact we would always stay in touch, and we did. We called each other every week from then on. And he would come up roughly once a month. He was hugely into music, from classical to rap. Music was his life. He'd always tie up his visits with a gig at the MEN Arena or the Apollo. I never went with him, I'd meet him afterwards or the next day. He'd often help me with the shopping for my shoots."

"Shoots?" asked Holmes.

"Yes, sir," replied our guest. "I'm a fashion stylist, and I'm always looking for sharp new items that fit my needs. Gareth had a good eye for fashion. He was fun to take shopping."

"He came to Manchester from Cheltenham to see you?" asked Holmes.

"Yes, that's right," she answered. "I saw him roughly once a month until I moved to London two years ago. Then he was too far away for regular visits."

"Until he was seconded to MI6 and moved to London himself?" suggested Holmes.

"Exactly, sir," she replied. "Then our friendship deepened. We didn't have many friends around us -- he'd moved from Cheltenham, I'd moved from Manchester -- and so we stuck closely together. We'd grown up together and enjoyed each other's company.

"We used to go to Nobu Berkeley Square in Mayfair. He always treated me. We just used to hang out.

"Sometimes we'd go to the Fifth Floor bar at Harvey Nichols and drink cocktails. It would be apple sours for me. He would have a non-alcoholic cocktail. He used to join in with whatever was there, white wine or champagne if there was a group, but he wasn't a drinker. If it was just me and him he wouldn't have anything at all.

"He used to just turn up at any time. He was always welcome. I might have spoken to him and told him I was finishing late and he would pop round. Sometimes he would stay over on the sofa. He would always bring me a bottle of rosé and often some cigarettes. He was a true old-school gentleman.

"He loved candles. He used to love burning my expensive candles and then we'd have a catch-up and a gossip. There was no one like him, I had such an in-depth relationship with him. He was so knowledgeable about everything from restaurants to cars to maths to politics."

"I'm pleased to see you've recovered your breath so completely," said my friend with another quick glance in my direction. "But it's easy to see you are still under considerable stress. Can we offer you something stronger to drink?"

"Yes, sir, that would be lovely," she replied. 

Chapter 73: Lloyd-Jones Continues


Sian Lloyd-Jones
Sherlock Holmes filled a snifter with cognac and handed it to our blonde visitor. "Sip on this and try to relax," he said.

"It's delicious!" she said after her first taste. "Is it French?"

"Yes," replied Holmes. "Château Vernet, '97."

"I can't say I've ever heard of Vernet, sir," said our guest, "but they make a very fine cognac."

"It's a family business," said my friend, "on my mother's side. Uncle Pierre would be pleased to know of your reaction. But surely your time is of some value. Please tell us more about Gareth Williams."

"The person everyone talks about?" Sian Lloyd-Jones asked rhetorically. "I don't recognise him at all. He was the complete opposite of everything that has been said about him. It's been awful for everyone but particularly his family.

"They're completely broken by this because it's not the true Gareth at all. He was a lovely guy, a true, old-school gentleman. He had an excellent sense of humour and, from the bottom of my heart, he was the most charming, sensitive, gorgeous man. Truly, he was one in a million. He was somebody who really had a sound judgment for life.

"He was very effortless as a person. Nothing was a bother to him; whether you asked him to call you a cab or do a big deed, he was always the same. He wasn't a loner and he wasn't lonely. He had close chums in Cheltenham whom he was very friendly with and whom he spoke highly of, but because of the line of work they do they naturally keep in the background. He loved what he did and he thrived on it. He was a workaholic. That kept him very happy and content.

"When Gareth was not at work, I was the person he spent more time with than anyone else. I have thought about this every day since he died. I find it difficult to see anything in his personal life which could lie behind this. But I know this is a murder investigation so we must remain open to every possibility."

"We are trying to do so," replied my friend, "although I wouldn't blame you for thinking the police were not."

"The police have been very disappointing, sir," she said. "They made a big issue out of the women's clothes that were found in his flat. But there's no mystery about them. He bought them for me and his sister.

"He gave me the trousers I am wearing today. Stella McCartney, seven hundred quid minimum, and it was nothing out of the ordinary for him. He gave me so many things, the list is endless. He bought me a high-end Balenciaga top, a Gucci bag, a Mulberry bag, an Armani fur. He did the same for his sister. I truly believe that Ceri and I were going to receive the clothing. We received so many things from him, that wouldn't have been strange.

"I've seen every item of clothing that was there in the flat. There was Diana von Furstenberg, Stella McCartney, all in a size 6 or 8 which he wouldn't even fit an arm or a leg into. He was small but not that small. And the shoes they found in his apartment were not in his size, but his sister's. He was so generous you wouldn't believe."

"Excuse me for asking this," said Holmes, "but did his interest in women's fashion extend to cross-dressing or homosexuality?"

"Not as far as I know, sir," replied Ms. Lloyd-Jones. "He liked fashion. He saw it as art.

"He had lots of magazines at his flat, Italian Vogue and all sorts, but he was open with his family, and if he was gay and had any temptations he would have spoken about them, especially to his sister. Hand on heart, there were no 'innuendoes' about him.

"His father was his best friend and he adored his mother and his sister. He was really open with his friends and family about his personal life and I truly believe if he had any interest in homosexuality, he would have spoken to his sister and to me as well.

"I'm not in denial and nor are Gareth's mum, dad or sister. It would have been fine with us if he was gay, but he had too much interest in women. He wanted a girlfriend and he wanted a wife and family. The truth is he wished he was better with women. He had a mild stutter, which was a big barrier as it would get worse when he was nervous.

"I don't know if he ever had a girlfriend. There weren't any I was aware of but to be honest, we never mentioned it. I know it was my next big project to get him a girlfriend. He felt he lacked confidence with women. He cherished the time he had with his sister and with me and he wanted that with other girls. I know because Gareth had a bit of a soft spot for me."

"When did you last see him alive?" asked the detective.

"It was in April, sir," Lloyd-Jones answered.

"April? That was a long time ago," said Holmes. "You were both in London, and yet --"

"Ah, but we weren't," she interrupted. "I moved back to Wales for a while and Gareth came to see me there in April. We went down to Trearddur Bay and watched the sunset. We'd spent the whole afternoon together. I was at home with my parents and he stopped by. He was excited about the trip he was planning -- a driving holiday to the West Coast of America during July and August. He seemed very together. There was nothing troubling him. It was just a lovely, completely normal afternoon. I had no way of knowing I would never see him again, sir."

"I understand, Ms. Lloyd-Jones," said Holmes, "and I am very sorry for your loss. Can you tell us when you last spoke with Gareth?"

"We stayed in touch by phone," she said, "once a week usually, and the last time he called me was Saturday, August 14. I wasn't in but he left a message. He said he was leaving London and moving back to Cheltenham, and wondering when we would meet up next. He was happy and warm and the same as he always was. I didn't get the message until the Wednesday as I was in Spain for work and couldn't pick up messages abroad.

"He was fine, which is why I'm sure he didn't try to take his own life. And anyway, he'd never do that. He loved his family too much to commit suicide.

"On August 23, the day he was found, Ceri called me at 11 A.M. and asked if I'd heard from him. I said, 'Yes, a week ago.' He and Ceri were due to go to Paris on the Wednesday of that week. She'd tried to get in touch over the weekend and there was no answer on the home phone or the mobile.

"It was odd she hadn't heard from him, particularly as they were going away. She said, 'What do you think?' I told her I was sure it was nothing to worry about. But the minute I put the phone down, I knew something was wrong. He was like clockwork, so predictable. It was completely out of character for him.

"I spoke to Ceri again later and we both admitted we were worried. We thought he must have had an accident or something. She called his work and they said he hadn't shown up for a meeting on Wednesday."

"Make sure to note that, Watson," said my friend. "It may be crucial." Then to Ms. Lloyd-Jones, he said, "We are very interested in the time Gareth spent in London. What else can you remember? Any detail may be significant, so please tell us everything you can recall."

"He came to see me one evening in January," she replied. "He often came round with his work, but that night he came over with a box file and started going through it. He had two passports."

"Why two passports?" asked Holmes.

"He said he was learning his new identity," Lloyd-Jones replied. "It was all so relaxed. I was taping up shoes and co-ordinating outfits and he was going through his papers. He probably fell asleep on the sofa that night and stayed overnight with all the documents."

"Do you know anything else about the new identity he was learning?" asked the detective.

"No, sir," she answered. "He didn't tell me anything substantial about it. But he did say in February that he'd be unavailable for nine days because he was on a training exercise. He'd often go away, so I didn't think any more about it."

"Do you know of, or even suspect, any connection between Gareth's job and his most unfortunate death?" asked Holmes.

"Frankly, sir," Lloyd-Jones replied, "I find it very difficult to see anything in his personal life which could lie behind his death. His family respect, 100 per cent, that he worked for MI6. The family and I both respect the role he was in. But personally, I don't think we'll ever get an answer as to what happened.

"The most hurtful thing about all the innuendos that have been smeared around is the way they imply not only that Gareth was into kinky sex but also that he was somehow responsible for his own death. That is just so far from the truth! It's painful to all of us, sir, but especially to his family."

"I understand completely," said the detective. "To have lost such a remarkable young man must be bad enough, but to endure the character-assassination that has gone on in the press is more than any family should have to bear."

"I'm glad to hear you say that, sir," replied our guest. "I'm not sure we ever will know how and why he died, but the family need some answers. It's not fair for them to suffer like this."

"We will find the answers the family need if we possibly can, I assure you," said Holmes, rising from his seat. "I cannot promise that they will be happy with what we find, but we will do our best to discover the truth, whatever it be."

"Thank you so much, Mr. Holmes," said Sian Lloyd-Jones, leaving her seat and starting toward the door. "If anyone can break this case open, sir, surely it must be you."

"Thank you for saying so," replied my friend. "And thank you for coming to see us this evening. It has indeed been a pleasure."

Chapter 74: Pipe And Violin


I found Holmes sitting on a stack of pillows.
"What do you intend to do now, Holmes?" I asked when Ms. Lloyd-Jones had departed.

"I'm going to fill a pipe and smoke it," he replied, "as many times as necessary."

"Do you need me?" I asked.

"Not at the moment," he answered. "You're more than welcome to stay if you wish, but if you have other plans --"

"I'm just feeling restless," I replied. "I think I'll slip over to the club and play a few frames of snooker, unless you need me here."

"No, go ahead," he said. "You will certainly find me here when you return."

"Please open some windows before you get started," I said. "It's a lovely evening, and the fresh air will do you good."

"Consider it done, Watson," he replied. "Enjoy yourself, win or lose."

I found my friend Thurston at the club, and we played for several hours. It was well after midnight when I returned to Baker Street and found Holmes sitting on a stack of pillows in the centre of the room with a pipe in his mouth. I couldn't make out any other details, because my view was obscured by a thick blue haze.

"My pipe and violin are within reach,
and so, perhaps, is a solution."
"I thought you were going to open the windows," I complained between coughs, as I began to open them myself.

"Eh?" said the detective, noticing me for the first time. "I am dreadfully sorry, Watson. I didn't even know you were here. I've been lost in thought, sitting here with my eyes closed."

"I can see that," I answered. "But you should have opened the windows before you lit your pipe!"

"It's a lucky thing you came along when you did," he replied. "Otherwise it would have been even worse!" I clearly couldn't argue.

"Have you come to any conclusions?" I asked.

"No," said he, "but I have more than an ounce and a half of tobacco left. So there is still hope."

"Can I be of assistance?" I asked. I was hoping he would say, "No," so I could retire for the evening.

"Not as yet," Holmes replied, "although I may need you tomorrow. You may as well get some sleep."

"Do you need anything before I go?" I asked.

"No," he said. "Thank you. Don't worry. I'll be fine. My pipe and violin are within reach, and so, perhaps, may be a solution to the Alderney Street mystery."

"I'm glad to hear it," I said. "I'll see you in the morning."

I washed, changed, crawled into bed, and tried to fall asleep as quickly as I could, but it took several hours. Sometimes I could hear Holmes muttering to himself, but I couldn't make out what he was saying. Occasionally I heard bursts of music: a quick passage full of fire; a long, deep note all by itself; a series of dissonant chords that never resolved; all separated by long periods of silence, with intermittent muttering.

I have never clearly understood what goes on in Holmes' mind when he's hard-pressed to solve an important case, but many times I have seen him use his pipe and violin in combination to produce astonishing results. So I was thinking hopeful thoughts when I finally drifted off.

Pipe and violin worked wonders.
I slept until nearly eleven Thursday morning, and when I awoke I found that my companion had already dressed, eaten, and left. On the tray with my breakfast was a note:
Watson,

Pipe and violin worked wonders. Our prospects are now brighter than ever.

I've gone off to see my brother. I expect to return in time for dinner.

Please don't make any plans for next Tuesday afternoon or evening. I may need you then.

SH
Clearly Holmes had made a breakthrough of some sort, but to imagine how or where was beyond me.

Why Tuesday? I certainly wasn't making any plans, but I had no idea what my friend intended or why he might need me.

I recalled the remark he made when he heard that Ceri called Gareth's work to ask about him, and was told Gareth had missed a meeting the previous Wednesday. "Make sure to note that," Holmes had said. "It could be crucial."

Crucial how? What did it mean? I couldn't help wondering.

I wondered whether I had failed to appreciate the significance of something Cheryl Eastap had said, or something Sian Lloyd-Jones had said. In the latter case, given the rapid flow of words and ideas, it wouldn't have been difficult to miss something -- or several things.

In the context of what we already knew -- or thought we knew -- our two recent interviews, combined with the new details Bucky had shared with Holmes on the Underground, only helped to make the case more confusing, at least in my mind. Holmes would see it differently, no doubt. He always did.

But why was he suddenly so confident? What had he caught that I had missed? What deductions had he made, sitting on pillows in the poisonous blue haze with too much nicotine coursing through his veins and a violin ringing in his ear?

And would he make me wait five days to find out?

Chapter 75: One Trap After Another

Previous: Pipe And Violin

Mouse Trap
I spent most of Thursday afternoon stewing about the Gareth Williams case, anxious for Holmes to return. He arrived just in time for dinner, bristling with energy and enthusiasm.

"The time has come, Watson," he said. "We have enough cards now to make a play. If we do it well, we should be able to crack the case. I have begun making arrangements. Mycroft is well-positioned to help us. You will be here Tuesday, won't you?"

"Yes, of course," I replied. "I did get your note!"

"Good," he said. "I will certainly need you."

"I take it you've made a breakthrough?" I said.

"In this investigation," he replied, "we've seen evidence of one trap after another. Were the 'Liquid Bombers' trapped in an impossible mission for the sole purpose of making them available to be taken down at the most politically opportune time? Were the 'Easter Bombers' trapped, possibly by association only, in a completely fictional terror exercise? It does appear so, does it not?"

"Well," I answered, "if the 'Easter Bombers' were planning an imminent assault, wouldn't they have had weapons? And if the 'Liquid Bombers' were plotting to blow up intercontinental airliners, wouldn't they have had bombs and passports? And wouldn't they have needed a viable plan of attack?"

"Indeed," Holmes continued. "If there is any truth to the reports that Gareth Williams helped to decode their email and foil their schemes, would he have seen enough to understand that these plots were not what they seemed to be? It is easy to argue that he was bright enough to do so. On the other hand, it is difficult to see how he could have missed the indications. We spotted them ourselves in the short email excerpts The Telegraph published, whereas he would have seen hundreds or thousands of messages."

"Indeed," I nodded.

"I remember suggesting," said Holmes, "that Gareth's analytical skill, combined with the evidence of entrapment clearly visible in the lightly-encoded email, may have put Gareth himself in a different sort of trap. Having come face-to-face with the truth about these so-called 'bombers,' what could he do next?"

"You did mention that," I said, "and, so far, your reasoning seems very plausible to me."

Squirrel Trap
"Last night as I sat and smoked," Holmes continued, "there came a time when I found myself reflecting on all these traps, thinking about what we had heard from Cheryl Eastap and Sian Lloyd-Jones, and trying to recall everything Bucky had said on the train. And slowly I began to discern, dimly at first, the outlines of yet another trap, one set by very clever and powerful people, a trap whose target could have been none other than Gareth Williams."

"Are you sure of that?" I asked.

"The longer I sat and thought about it," he replied, "the more certain I became. After a short sleep, I felt even more confident in my analysis. The time for action has arrived, and my first move was a long talk with brother Mycroft."

"Why Mycroft?" I asked.

"Because of his connections, Watson," he explained, "and because he knows I would never lie to him. He will be vital to us on Tuesday."

"Why Tuesday?" I asked.

"It suits his schedule nicely," replied my friend, "as I expected it would."

"Can you tell me more about your plans?" I asked.

"Not yet," said Holmes.

"Well then," I persisted, "can you tell me more about this new trap, whose outlines you first saw last night?"

"Think of all the new details we have learned since Monday when I rode the train with Slate," Holmes said. "Which of them seem to show Gareth acting most out-of-character?"

Then he answered his own question: "Going to a gay bar, seeing a drag cabaret show, visiting bondage websites, and taking fashion design courses, no? When did he start doing all these things?"

"I don't know," I said. "Do you?" 

"According to Slate," Holmes continued, "the unconfirmed sighting at a gay bar and his confirmed attendance at a drag cabaret show were relatively recent: May and July, if I recall correctly. He said Gareth visited the bondage websites in August. All quite recent, and increasingly 'deviant' over time. His taking courses in fashion design seems the least 'deviant' activity of the lot, and it began in the winter, preceding all the others by several months, if we are to believe Cheryl Eastap." 

"I don't see why you would disbelieve her," I said. "Most of what she told us, especially regarding course scheduling and content, would be very easy to check. And she stood quite firm when you challenged her on her tale about the police and their quest for a decoy."

"Indeed," said my friend. "To me, the most curious thing about this timeline is the fact that Gareth enrolled in his first fashion design course at about the same time as he was assigned to 'learn a new identity,' if we are to believe Sian Lloyd-Jones." 

"She seemed very credible to me," I said. "If she were concerned about casting herself in the best possible light, she wouldn't have told us she sold Gareth's homework when they were children!"

Bear Trap
"I agree," said the detective. "It crossed my mind that she may have told us that story to make herself seem credible, anticipating your reaction, so to speak. But I rejected the idea on a number of counts, including her general demeanour and the condition in which she arrived.

"Now here's a very interesting point: Have you ever heard anyone describe Gareth as a good actor? Or a good liar? Fluent in languages? Good at practical jokes? On the contrary, we've been told he was quiet, socially awkward, extremely honest, with a speech impediment that got worse when he got nervous. Unless we have this all wrong, he was the exact opposite of the type MI6 prefer to send undercover. He took a box of files to a friend's place, and fell asleep there with his two passports, for crying out loud!"

"You don't suppose the new identity was a ruse?" I asked.

"I do suppose!" he replied. "What was he doing? Was he going to a cabaret show in order to try and decode secret messages coming from the transvestite entertainer onstage? Was he planning to catch the next batch of terrorists that way?"

"It doesn't seem very probable," I said.

"Or was he simply following instructions," said Holmes, "thinking he was developing his 'new identity,' but actually laying in a trail of evidence that could be used against him later?

"And if that were the case, what could be the point of the exercise but to provide a semi-plausible basis in reality for the decoy: a purely fictional story -- 'kinky sex game gone wrong' -- that would be prepared in advance and released to accompany, and nearly drown out, the news of his death, and every bit of news about the case that has followed?"

Holmes paused to let me absorb the implications of the hypothesis he had advanced. "If that is the case," I said, finally, "then the assignment to learn a new identity could be seen as evidence of premeditation."

"Absolutely!" replied Sherlock Holmes, "and as proof of a monstrous trap -- with the double aim of silencing the man and smearing his reputation at the same time.

"And, of course, if this be the crime, there can be but one suspect. The Chinese, the Russians, the Iranians, al Q'aeda, the Taliban, the Irish Republican dissidents, the Beatles, and the Rolling Stones -- all working together -- could not possibly arrange the assignment of a given task to a given British intelligence officer. Much less could they pry him away from GCHQ and insert him into MI6."

"You don't suppose Gareth was seconded to MI6 in order to make this murderous trap possible?" I asked.

"Don't I?" replied my friend. "Why not? Give me one good reason and I'll drop the whole idea like a hot potato!"

"Well then," I said after a long pause, "What next?"

"If you ever write about this case," he replied, "you could call your story 'One Trap After Another.' Surely the time has come for us to set a trap of our own."

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