[IC] Act One: Los Angeles

Act One: Los Angeles



Theme Tune

Date: 31 May, 1937

It takes several days in total, stopping off at small airfields on the way from Savannah to Los Angeles, and with Lillian engrossed in the journal, occasionally muttering in a corner with Dr Walker about the contents, or trying to work out what Henslowe meant in a particular passage, while Samuel shares the cockpit with Frank, shooting the breeze and reminiscing about the old days. Eventually you land at Grand Central airport, on the outskirts of the city.



Despite the name, it's another small, regional airport, consisting of a single runway, a tower and attached terminal building, and a few hangars. Still, it has a storied history, as Frank relates as you taxi to a halt, with amongst others, Charles Lindbergh, Amelia Earhart, Laura Ingalls, and Albert Forsythe and Charles Anderson (the first black aviators to make transcontinental flights) having been based there, not to mention a large number of Hollywood stars who travel via the airport.

On this occasion, however, there's no sign of anyone famous, just ground crew wearily toiling in the sun. It's a hot day, though much drier than Savannah was, and you don't find yourself covered in sweat immediately as you step from the plane. Everyone you see is dressed casually, unbuttoned shorts, loose pants, even sandals here and there! You also see a greater ethnic diversity here, even at the airfield, black, white, and Asian men and women working together. At least here you shouldn't have to stay in separate hotels. Speaking of which, what sort of hotel are you going to look for?

You do at least manage to pick up a map of the Greater LA region at the airport too:




Impending Doom Points: 4

Gabriel is glad to have some solid ground under their feet. He stretches after the long flight.

"Thank you Frank, you are a fine pilot. I cannot say the same of myself as a passenger, I'm afraid."

Turning to Lillian and Sam, "we can finally book to stay in the same hotel, here. That will make things easier.
We should maybe look at the larger hotels in town, on the off-chance it was where Vincent Stack stayed. The journal says he stayed in 'Room 225'... that usually means second floor, room 25 - not many hotels have 25 rooms on a floor, right?"

He looks for a Phone Directory in the airport, to get a sense of the large hotels in town... once located, he will try calling to enquire about the size of their floors!

"A large hotel might be safer, too... now we have opposition," he adds.

The hotel search is quickly complicated when Dr Walker discovers that there are many motels (most with two floors) that have at least 25 rooms per floor, as well as a number of larger hotels. It would take quite a while to discover which one they used (most hotels also won't give out information about guests who stayed there a decade ago). And, of course, whatever rooms they stayed in would have been cleaned (and possibly even renovated to keep up with fashions) many times since. It would thus be unlikely that you'd discover anything of use in a hotel room after all this time, even if you could work out which one they used.

What sort of hotel are you looking for? Downtown, in the centre of things, or on the outskirts? 5 star or the cheapest you can find? I take it you'll also hire a car?

"Motels... By the dozens." he mutters in disappointment. "It's like finding a needle in a damn haystack."

He sighs and proposes to the others a mid-range hotel accommodation, something with a concierge at a proper reception, in a central location.

"Somewhere near the Hotel Dunbar, if not actually that place. South Central Avenue. I'd like to take a look at it."

"May as well see if we can get the place in question. Make it easier to snoop around, I would think," Sam muses before turning to Frank. "Frankie... considering some gents knew about us back in Georgia, are you certain you'll be safe with the plane?"

It soon becomes apparent that the Hotel Dunbar is still undergoing work to turn it back into a hotel, after a brief spell as the LA headquarters for the Peace Mission Movement. However, you do come across a decent looking alternative, the Hotel Cecil.



It's a large hotel (700 rooms!) over 14 floors, downtown, and was built in the art deco style. It used to be a much fancier grade, but the depression has brought down the prices (and, it has to be said, the grandeur is now a little faded) to try to keep enough guests in order to make it a going concern.

Location of the Hotel Cecil:

Approaching the Hotel Cecil lobby, Lillian endeavours to make.the group comfortable, possibly raising a few eyebrows as she does so.

The man behind the desk at the Hotel Cecil hardly bats an eye as Lillian approaches, nor does he make any further sign of disapproval when he notices that Lillian is travelling with two white men. You soon find yourselves in possession of three room keys on the same floor, and after a long day's travel, decide to freshen up before dining (together! Such a refreshing change after Savannah!). The three of you discuss your next moves over dinner, concluding that the following morning you'll set off for Long Beach and the First Bank of Long Beach, whose address you receive quickly from the hotel's concierge. Most of the chatter around you is of the Brooklyn Dodgers' win over the NY Giants that evening, ending Carl Hubbell's consecutive record-winning streak of 24 games.

Date: 1 June, 1937

The morning is fresh, sunny, and warm, though dry rather than humid. The concierge tells you that the drive to Long Beach is a pleasant one for the most part, that the area around the beach itself is worth a visit, and that it'll take you the major part of a day for the round trip, but that there are some good seafood restaurants on the beach if you're making a day of it.

You pass quite a few oil derricks on the way, and as you enter the city of Long Beach itself, you notice the telltale signs of the earthquake that you vaguely remember hearing about back in '33 - there are still several buildings being repaired, and others demolished, while others that are still standing appear to have been left to fall apart in their own time, abandoned and damaged. Despite the concierge's words, the area you drive into seems to have been hit hard by the depression - you see quite a few homeless people wandering around, some begging, a number queuing at a soup kitchen, and more than a few businesses closed up and boarded up, even those which survived the earthquake intact.



The First Bank of Long Beach is in such an area, and at first you think that it's one of the buildings being repaired, as there is scaffolding over a large part of the building, and a large crack in the upper wall just above the sign proclaiming it to be the bank, but then you realise that the boarded windows suggest otherwise, and what you took to be workmen taking a break on the damaged steps leading to the front door are in fact a group of homeless people.

It appears that the First Bank of Long Beach is no more.

"I really thought this would be a quick stop," Sam says with a sigh. "Why should anything be easy, eh?"

Discreetly checking his sidearm, Samuel surveys the group occupying the steps. "We're here. I feel like making our way inside to verify the box in question has been removed -- or not. That said..." the Marine pauses as his eyes scan the surroundings, flitting from building to alleyway to roof, searching... "...a more discreet entrance is probably wise. If we can find one."

He looks at the state of the building, then at the homeless folks, in frustration.
"All entrances would have been long found by these gentlemen... I suspect the interior has already been thoroughly scavenged."

He shrugs. "No harm in trying..." He starts examining possible ways of egress, first on the facade of the building, then turning around it, on its side and back - if accessible. "Better stay together, in case these gents get the wrong idea..."

The building is on a corner, with other similar buildings to its left and right on the diagonal; you can't see any other entrance, other than the main door to the front. Scouting around the back reveals that there are other buildings there too, and nothing to suggest that there's any alleyway or similar that might take you to any rear entrances. From a fire safety aspect, it's terrible. There are windows - none on the ground floor, presumably for security concerns, though there are some (boarded up) that you might be able to access from the scaffolding.

As you stand around watching the place, one of the people comes forward from the group of homeless people, dressed in a shabby pair of trousers and with a shirt that's been darned several times and hasn't been washed in a while.



"Can you spare a sandwich for a working man with no job?" he asks Dr Walker.

"Huh? I can certainly buy you one," he says, reaching for some change in his pocket.

He gives the man enough for a simple meal. He tries to hide the action from the other tramps, to avoid being besieged.

"Say, this bank. Has it been like this for long? I am an admirer of the architect, and would love to take a look inside..."

"I guess things could have been moved elsewhere by ... whomever owned it. I suppose we'll see."

Lillian eyes the bank and is somewhat surprised by Dr. Walker's exchange.

The homeless man's face grows dark. "Yeah, since the quake of '33. I used to be a senior clerk here, now I live in the old manager's office. There was a run on the banks, then the quake hit, everyone tried to get their money out of the banks. They started repairing the place, but that was costing too much. If you have any savings there, they're gone and ain't coming back. Bank just ran out of money between the repairs and folks wanting their savings, and the managers didn't have a clue what to do, so they just upped and left, and all of us were out of a job, and none to be had here either. I worked for a few months at the Ford assembly plant, assistant bookkeeper on half what I earned here, but no-one was buying new cars either, so that went out, and I've been here ever since. Once my bank foreclosed on my house, I had nowhere to go, so I'm back at this pace, just living here now instead of working here. FDIC came through about a year too late to save the place, took the books and all the physical assets, whatever was left after the bank's board took their slice and ran. You want to come in and take a look, feel free, ain't no-one going to stop you. Just don;t go messing with anyone's stuff, you know? Folks ain't got much, but they want to keep what they do got."

He listens to the man's story, unfortunately not uncommon in these years of Great Depression. "I am sorry to hear that... this Economy's got to pick up... the crisis cannot last forever..." he says awkwardly, like he's been repeating to himself since 1930 or so, his conviction getting weaker with each repeat.

He sighs, looking at the shut down building. "Yes, we will take a quick look inside, if that's alright. Thanks for the warnings, we will be discreet."

Exchanging a look with his companions, he finds an opening to get inside the former bank and has a look around.

Lillian, somewhat sympathetic, follows Dr. Walker, wondering what they'll find.

"I suppose we'll need to go down at some point," she says, "We might need that man's help."

"Well... one thing at a time, I suppose," Sam replies as he slips inside and gets his bearings.

"I think whatever was in that box could have been put to misuse, if they didn't just destroy the contents."

"Hmm.. There's a chance FDIC stored it in some archive, if that poor fellow's tale is true... I'm not familiar on how they operate. But it is a cold trail... Anyway, I think we're done here, my friends."

"Perhaps we should look at who the board members were, see if any of them seem contactable?

Dr Walker realises that Long Beach probably doesn't have a federal building of any size likely to hold an FDIC office; the closest one would probably be in LA. If they came in to remove the safe deposit boxes, they'd either have them somewhere in storage, or would know where they are.

Gabriel shares his realisation with the others.
"Doesn't necessarily mean that we should go there straight away, but... It's a trail to follow."

"I think we may as well Doctor. Knock it off the list, one way or another," Lillian says after a moment's thought.

"It would be a good start for tomorrow's investigation."

It'll take you the rest of the day today to drive back to LA, ahev dinner, etc. What do you wish to do tomorrow morning?

So, in the hotel lobby, Lillian asks and looks through telephone directories for numbers for this Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation and endeavours to find the address.

It's easy to find; the FDIC has an office in the Federal Building, located downtown in a new art deco building, near the similarly new city hall building.



The building itself isn't too far from your hotel, just to the north.

"Let's try an angle that... is almost the truth," he tells his companions before entering. "We can say Douglas Henslowe is my psychiatric patient, and that he recently disclosed the location of these keys to the security box. I should be able to use my credentials if getting to their deposit proves complicated..."

"Very well, Doctor, but perhaps only if they ask. They might just take you for the owner."

Date: June 2nd, 1937

It doesn't take long in the morning to drive (or walk - it's a nice day today) tot he Federal Building. At the large reception on the ground floor, you're directed to the fourth floor, and one quick elevator ride later, you find yourselves in the FDIC office, Los Angeles. It's a small-ish office from what you can see, and when you explain to the receptionist what you are after, she consults a small file in front of her and says "You'll want Mr Burlington, that's under his remit. Marv!" she calls, and a rather harassed-looking man, balding prematurely pops his head out of an office without actually looking at you or the receptionist, his eyes glued to the piece of paper in his hand. "Yeah," he replies, then briefly takes his eyes off the paper, then as he registers your presence, looks back up at you again. "You're First Bank of Long Beach, aren't you?" the receptionist asks, and he replies in the affirmative. "Some people to see you then," she says, as he waves you towards his office.

His office has piles of paper everywhere, an in box that's overflowing, and several reference works piled by his desk. There are a couple of seats in front of the desk that he waves you to, briefly glancing at another piece of paper on top of the in box as he does.

So, what can I do for you?" he asks, mostly looking at you now.

"Good morning Mr. Burlington. We're here hoping to track down a safe deposit box from the Bank of Long Beach,", Lillian says, noticing the Doctor suddenly seemed a little reticent.

Distracted, Gabriel shows Henslowe's key and adds, "Uh... yes! It matched this key here, you see... I wonder if you have kept its contents in storage?"

"Ah, yeah, gimme a sec." Mr Burlington rummages through some paperwork, consults a filing cabinet, and then says "Yeah, looks like everything's being kept at the Federal Warehouse down in Long Beach. I've got the address here somewhere..."

He rummages around some more, briefly being distracted by yet another piece of paper he finds on his desk, and further by making a quick, monosyllabic phone call (presumably in relation to the paper he just found) before handing you a hastily scribbled note with an address in Long Beach.

"I can call ahead for you if you want, get them to have the box ready for you, since you have the key there," he says.

Gabriel suppresses a wince, hearing they have to trek back to Long Beach. "That would be much appreciated, thanks... how soon do you think they'll have it ready?"

"No idea, to be honest," the man says, running his hand through his thinning hair. Could be straight away, could be a few days, depending on where it is and how hard it is to find it or get to it. I went down once to oversee another bank closure, they basically ripped everything out of the place that wasn't nailed down, then everything that was nailed down, and just put it all in a huge pile in one part of the warehouse. Could have three other banks' worth of stuff on top of it by now."

He looks at the crestfallen faces of the three of you, then continues. "Look, I know this is all a pain in the ass. Pardon my French. If you want, I can have them dig it out and delivered here, I have the bank's master key. Might take a couple of days anyway, but you'll save a trip and it might actually get them to get to it quicker if it comes from me."

"That would be... perfect, thank you."
He shakes the man's hand in gratitude.

"We'd be happy to pay for the service, of course."

"Thank-you, Mr. Burlington, you've been very kind.

Lillian was not looking forward to driving out to Long Beach for no reason, so it was a relief.

"We could start by reading some old newspapers. I hear the LA Times could be the place to check?"

He looks for some info (address, hours open to the public) in phone directories, etc.

"I was always keen on that, Doctor," Lillian replies.

"We could also consider hiring somebody to do certain tasks, without necessarily giving away our motives, if we find that we're not the best suited to perform them."

What do you want to look for? Particular words, people, dates?

"We could start with searching for any peculiar acts of violence around August 13, 1924 and possibly track Katherine Clark's family or colleagues," Lillian suggests outside the building.

"Very good. And I wonder if the LA Times keeps a directory of UCLA lecturers... We could look up this George Ayers, or Avery? Maybe he made the press himself? "

"Failing that, we could go fishing around the UCLA campus? Likely you'd have better access there than I."

Lillian pauses a moment, "If we need to looking around the night scene in this investigation, then I'd better run with it. Where musicians go; at some point I want to check things out in that quarter anyway."

Once at the newspaper, Gabriel gets researching, with Lillian's precious help.

"Thank you, Lillian, if you would be so kind as to find me the... 1924, second semester volume..."

"Here you are Doctor, I'll check the third, just in case there is a follow up."

Between the two of you, finding news reports of the incident is easy, but there's startlingly little in the newspaper reports that you can find. Even the location of the "fire and multiple stabbing" is vague - somewhere out on the hills of rural Los Angeles, it appears. There's very little concerning names of victims, or even accurate numbers of victims, cause of the fire, or...well, much of anything really. That's quite surprising - surely it would have been bigger news than it appears to have been?

"Why don't we cast the net in the society pages for our intrepid photographer?

Lillian wondes aloud.

"I can't help thinking that she's part of that set, or close to it, as a both member and the press."

It's probably a little too late to check on UCLA right now - it's out of town a ways, and exams are on, so admin staff will be busy then heading home. Maybe leave for the next morning?

Lillian finds herself accidentally picking up some god awful gossip.magazines in addition to the sheaf of more.respectable.publications; the content is enough to give anyone nightmares

After spending the rest of the afternoon poring over gossip mags and society pages, Lillian spends the evening at a variety of bars and clubs (which are, surprisingly, integrated) and chatting to likely-looking society people, journalists, and the like.

She quickly finds that if you aren't currently in the news or being seen at events, you're no-one in LA. Absolutely no-one that's about in today's scene remembers Clark, though a good proportion are fairly recent arrivals (within the last 2-3 years) and thus have no idea about people who might have been around more than 10 years ago. Those who do remember those times don't seem to remember her either - presumably because she wasn't from this area, and didn't do any photo work here, which suggests by the time of the events of 1924, she was devoting her entire time to the investigation. She does find one old guy at a rather seedy bar who's well into his cups who thinks he remembers her (though Lillian isn't sure that he's not just telling her what she wants to hear, as she has to remove his hand from her knee at one point), and that was came around here asking questions about some other people, wanting to score some drugs, or something, it was all too long ago (and more than a few beers ago) for him to remember clearly.

So in the morning, having a coffee, Lillian imparts her opinion that, "Clark might not have even been from LA. If she did hang around for any length of time, it might have been because she was fishing on the expedition."

She lifts the cucumber slices from her eyes and takes a sip of her caffeine hit.

"Very plausible. Thank you for your evening research. Shall we dip our toes in Californian Academia now?"

He taps a note with the address of UCLA main reception building.

"Of course, Doctor. Just as soon as I finish this," Lillian polishes the coffee off.

The two of you (Samuel isn't feeling too well - something he ate, probably, so decides to stay behind) prepare to leave to go to UCLA when the man on the front desk of the hotel calls you over.

"We just had a call from a Marv Burlington over at the FDIC, says to tell you that your box has arrived early."

"Marvellous! Thank-you for that." Lillian replies to the hotelier.

When out of earshot, "Well, Doctor, let's go there first. We could consider putting the contents in a more solvent institution."

"Ha! Maybe some pieces of this complex jigsaw will fall into place after all... Long Beach it is, then," he says, then asks the receptionist to call them a taxi cab.

June 3rd, 1937

The cab ride to the FDIC in downtown LA (not back to Long Beach!) doesn't take long, and you soon find Marv Burlington's office again. The receptionist calls him as soon as she sees you, smiling at the pair of you, and Marv waves you into his office. There are several different piles of paper on his desk, some more files by his feet behind the desk that peek out as you take your seats, and a safe deposit box sitting on the desk.



"You have your key, I assume," Marv says, producing a keyring from a drawer (which itself is unlocked by a key that the official takes from his pocket) and sorting through the many keys on it before deciding on one. Dr Walker produces the key they found buried in Savannah, and slides it into place in the lock on the box, which it does easily, and turns as if the lock has been freshly oiled. Marv does the same with his own master key, and the top of the box clicks as it opens up.

"I'll leave you to it for a minute, go get a coffee - you want one, either of you?" as he departs from the office, leving you in private to examine the contents.

Inside you find two things - a thick book, with the title "ledger" on the front in embossed lettering, and an unmarked, closed envelope that appears to hold several thick sheets or similar inside it, from the feel of it.

"Yes, thank-you, Mr. Burlington, that would be most welcome.," Lillian says, more to get him to spend extra time out of the way, in case what is inside is as strange as the book she'd read on the aeroplane.

Holding the envelope flat, she uses a pencil to slide open the envelope seal, taking care not to spill the contents.

Gabriel thanks Burlington profusely for the remarkable speedy recovery of the safety box, accepting his offer of a coffee.
He opens the ledger nervously, unable to shake the feeling that he is trespassing some forbidden threshold.

Don't be silly, old man. It's just some old notes...

Lillian opens the envelops to find that there are a number of photos (that explains the "thick paper" feel) inside - about a dozen in all - and judging from the one on top, these are rather racy. It's probably best if you wait to examine the others somewhere private, so Marv doesn't get the wrong idea if he comes in to see you poring over them.

Dr Walker, on the other hand, finds that his reading material is far less racy - it is in fact some sort of accounts book, though a slip of paper does fall out of the book as you open it.

Echavarria... Like the name of that dead cult leader, he thinks glancing at the paper.

As Dr Walker flips a few pages of the accounts ledger, he realises something - firstly, it's fairly obviously a working copy - each date's entries were down on each day, rather than a copy where everything was written at the same time (you can tell by variations in ink fading etc)., and secondly, it's encoded. Rather than specific names and amounts, everything is in some sort of code, including symbols. Dr Walker reckons it would be take a few days to try to work out the code.

"I hope we will be allowed to take these documents with us, Mrs Blakey. The ledger is written in code, and will require time to study it. Or involving an expert, perhaps..."

He ponders on the two names on the slip, and the corresponding words in quotes.
Codename? Passwords? Places?

"For all intents and purposes, they're ours, though I'm glad I was careful with the envelope. I have either a collection of hobby photographs or blackmail materials. Right now, I'm not sure which."

She pauses.

"Might need that coffee after all."

The contents are yours, so you can take them away with you and do whatever you wish with them.

What next? Anything else with Marv?

Lillian is pleasant with Marv when he returns, but soon aims to head somewhere and unobserved to study what they have.

Gabriel thanks the man and his office, and pays any fees that are due for their prompt service.
Like Lillian, he is eager to get somewhere they can examine their findings in peace. However, what he glimpsed of the envelope contents makes it difficult to imagine studying it with Lillian. It would be awkward and quite inappropriate.

"I am wondering if we could find an expert able to help us with the ledger code. Perhaps some mathematician..."

"I'm willing to have a look at it," Lillian replies, "If I can't solve it, then it might be an idea, but I am somewhat concerned about what they might do when they read it."

Dr Walker and Lillian return to the hotel, where they find that Samuel is still indisposed, and begin to examine their findings from the safe deposit box. The photos - of which there are about a dozen - are fading and obviously taken from concealment - there are shrubs and pieces of furniture masking some of what's going on in them. Some are obviously shot outdoors, some inside, and presumably through windows given their appearance. Each contains between three and a dozen participants, and even the least perverse of them would easily rank as amongst the most vile acts you've ever seen.

The pictures are not titillating, or sexy, or even pornographic. The outside shots are in some sort of private garden, while the indoor ones are shot in a variety of opulently furnished rooms, except for two which appear to have been taken in either the servant's quarters or a normal, cheap apartment somewhere. While there is no clothing on any of the participants to hint at social class, several wear expensive jewelry and most appear well-coiffed, though there are a couple of participants who look like they could be vagrants.

A younger Edgar Job appears in two of the photos, eagerly participating. There is one man, a Latino-looking man of indeterminate age, who appears in every photo, again participating with great gusto.

Then Lillian notices someone that she's seen recently. It takes her a few moments - not least because from the angle of the person, it's hard to make out parts of his face - but then it clicks. When she was reading through the papers, she came across this guy, a photo of him at least. She vaguely remembers seeing an obituary in the LA Times, which at the time she simply passed by - the B movie actor Richard Spend! Going back to the newspaper morgue might reveal more there.

In order to focus on something less unsavoury, you crack open the accounts ledger, and both try to work out what';s going on there. You have already surmised that it's written in some sort of code, and it's going to be a painstaking process to decode it before you can even begin to think about what it entails. Still, you get to work on it for now.

"Oh, dear, that first picture isn't indicative of what follows. Also, I recognise him!" Lillian elaborates on Richard Spend, privately resolving to take a pass on any of his movies.

Lillian has a go at the code, with Dr Walker in assistance over the next few days, hoping her affinity with musical composition is enough.

"Good Lord..." he mutters, at the sight of the material. This is hard to watch, even for someone used to the darker sides of the human psyche. The fact that he is witnessing this in the presence of a woman makes things much more awkward. He turns various shades of red, and has to loosen his tie knot.

I must examine these... they are repulsive, but might give us a hint of some sort...

Another day and Lillian begins to see merit in seeking help through their patron's influence. Perhaps they might make an inroads in to the puzzle before that, make things easier.

The photography gets forgotten for now, the envelope buried under clothes in a suitcase.

"Well Lillian, looks like you are more maths-inclined than I am, good job.... Now, time to see what doors the Winston Rogers name can open, don't you think?" he says, grabbing his hat.
"UCLA first, then back to the Times to look into that movie star fellow?"

"All that seems like a good idea, Doctor. We should follow up Richard Spend too."

Before leaving, Gabriel arranges for the envelope to be stored in a safe for customers' use at the hotel (hopefully in one of their rooms?). The encrypted ledger they carry with them, of course.

He stops a taxi cab in the busy Los Angeles streets and gives the driver the UCLA destination.

Date: 4 June 1937 Location: Los Angeles

Lillian spends the entire day poring over the accounts ledger, trying one thing or another, before making a startling breakthrough, thanks to an off-handed comment from Dr Walker, and believes she has made considerable headway in solving this encrypted conundrum, though the entirety still evades her somewhat. It's certainly not a simple code, double-layered to increase security, and she's managed to fully peel back the first layer (having the "Towncar" and "Black" clues has helped considerably - at least one of them had to be something cropping up regularly, and you think you narrowed it down to a couple of possibilities, especially since one kept getting mentioned with withdrawals of profits (at least you think so, and which was presumably "Black," ie Echavarria).

The following morning, with letters, numbers and symbols still revolving around Lillian's head, the pair of you decide to set off for UCLA.



Armed with the name of a maths professor, Stuart Tichener, you wander around the university, a new-built (less than 10 years ago) Romanesque campus that's still in the building phase - you can see new buildings being erected here and there on the outskirts of the campus. The university as an institution is older, of course, and some departments are still on the old campus, but the majority have now moved into their new buildings here, just outside the downtown city.



Prof. Tichener's office is quite spacious, though filled with books and papers everywhere, several chalkboards filled with indeterminable squiggles that you suppose are mathematical proofs.

"Professor Tichener? We are here on behalf of Miss Winston Rogers, I believe she contacted you?"

He will introduce himself and Lillian, and illustrate the cryptography problem at hand, making sure he shares Lillian's progress on it.

"Here is the encrypted document, a ledger of some sort. We thought you maths geniuses could be interested in cracking it?"

As you look around the professor's room, something suddenly strikes you, and at roughly the same time - you both look at each other as you each remember something that Edgar Job mentioned off hand when asked to describe Avery / Ayers / whatever his name was:

"He was a professor at UCLA, when I was there. Don't know what he taught though. Not maths. Glasses, pencil moustache, middle aged, you know, professor type."

What does that tell you about what Job himself studied?

As they wait for Tichener he leans towards Lillian, speaking soflty. "Perhaps we could take a look at faculty schedules from around the time Edgar Job was here. Figure out what courses he took, to find who this Avery was... and, could Echavarria have lectured here too back then, I wonder? He did find a follower in Job, it seems... maybe he was recruiting impressionable students here at UCLA..."

"Absolutely. Perhaps there are other former students in play, too."

Gabriel then focuses his attention on the blackboards. He does not follow or understand the complex algebra on display, but he looks for some discernable words, or annotations, that might shed some light on what is being worked on.

Mrs. Blakey silenty hopes that she doesn't recognise Professor Tichener from the photographs.

Professor Tichener arrives pretty much as soon as you enter his room, a short, bald man (who doesn't seem to be in any of the photos, though to be fair, several only depict parts of the body, and finding out if they matched up with the professor would be most indecorous). He smiles broadly, and immediately asks to see the coded ledger - it seems that your patron has already been in touch with him - and upon receiving it, and being told what Lillian has accomplished so far, makes "mm" and "mm-hmm" noises softly as his eyes dart over the pages.

"You've made very good progress - have you considered a career in maths? Or perhaps even for the Bureau of Investigation? he asks Lillian, quickly turning pages and making more "mmhmm" sounds. It takes him about five minutes before he starts explaining the double code and how he has solved it and mentions how close Lillian was to cracking it, just a small error here and a transcription error there that she would have noticed as she took the next steps, etc.

Once the code has been explained, it's a fairly simply job to translate, so he leaves that to you to do yourself."Is there anything else I can help you with while you're here?"

Gabriel is impressed by the clever cypher, and more so by the Professor's ability to unravel its mysteries. Lillian came close, too: a clever woman.

"Ha. Your expertise makes it seem easy, Professor Tichener. Lillian had pushed it as far as her remarkable ingenuity could, but it was the right choice to ask an expert to crack the last hurdle... "

As Titchener offers further help, he takes the opportunity to ask, "Yes... perhaps you can point us in the right direction. How could we access University records to find out what courses a former student, from years ago, attended? Type of subjects, names of teachers... that type of thing. And possibly, where could we consult a list of former lecturers and teachers? I must admit, Academia and the intricacies of Campus bureaucracy are not my strong suit..."

The professor purses his lips and blows out as he thinks. "I'm not sure you'd be able to get access to a student's records, and former professors would be difficult. I'd suggest when you know what department, consulting someone that works there that would remember old hands. The current professors, of course, you can find in the campus guide. Do you know what departments they were in?" He rummages about a bit, and finds one that's in date and passes it to you. "You can keep that if you like, it's the end of the year now anyway, and we'll be getting new ones soon."

"Thank-you, Professor Titchener. You've been incredibly helpful."

Lillian takes the campus guide for a later peruse in the car.

"We'll leave you to your duties. Thanks again."

Once in the car, after thanking and parting ways with the Professor, Gabriel also focuses on the guide.

They start browsing it. "Let's start from the basics, you never know... Is there a Professor George Avery, or Ayers mentioned somewhere?"

"Let's look together," Lillian says, lowering a car window and flipping open the book.

"Maybe one.of us will see something the other doesn't. We should look out for Job and Echavarria also. Any of the names, really."

There are no Echevarrias, and no Jobs but you do spot a "George Ayers" who is apparently a Professor in the History department who specialises in archaeology of primitive religions. There's an office number too for him, on this campus.

"Here's our man! What do you think? Shall we try speak to him, since we're here? We could use my Psychiatry angle... Job is my patient, and we are looking into the possible causes of his trauma..."

Then he thinks of the incident in Savannah, when their opposition made itself known. " Or is it too dangerous, too direct an approach? "

"It is an idea, but this is where we could do with someone with us who is better at the rough stuff. I wonder what they consider to be primative religions, though I'm pretty sure what we are encountering isn't worthy of the name."

He nods. "True. Perhaps it is safer to try arrange to meet Ayers in a public place of his choice, away from the campus. They might feel less exposed, if the matters to discuss are sensitive... Let's try phoning him."

He will look for a public phone and try Ayers' number as listed in the UCLA guide.

Gabriel finds a switchboard number in the guide.
"Yes... Could you please connect me to Professor George Ayers? He's in office... 214, History Department?"

The woman on the other end of the phone asks Dr Walker to wait for one second while she puts him through on the switchboard, but then after a few seconds, returns to the line herself.

"I'm sorry, but we don't appear to have a line for Professor Ayers."

Upon hearing what was said, Lillian says, "Right, let's go see him. We don't know what he looks like, so that makes it harder for us to follow him off campus without laying ground work first. What pretext do we have for travelling all this way? Why would you care about Job so much in particular?

"Well, the Professor doesn't need to know Job is in Savannah... I could say his family employed me to try unlocking the state he is in. Break through his trauma, as it were... We need to be careful around this man, though. We don't know his affiliations, and the stakes seem still high, judging from our goodbye committee in Savannah... "

" Let's go, " he says, leading the way in the search for the History Department and Ayers' office.

You quickly arrive at Professor Ayers' office, but have to check when you get there - it's the correct office number (it matches both the campus guide book and the information the switchboard operator gave you), but the name on the door reads Dr. Roman Brittain.

A jest, surely, given the name? As you ponder what to do, the door opens and a student steps out, apologising and holding the door open for you. You can see a man inside sat at a desk, youngish for a professor, but dressed in the obligatory tweed jacket and bespectacled.

"Enter" he says.

He examines the lettering on the door, to understand if it is properly set, or a quick, temporary prank.

Then, knocking, he steps through. "Excuse me... we are looking for Professor George Ayers? The University guide pointed us to this office?"

The plaque is an engraved brass plate screwed firmly into the door. If it's a prank, then it's either gone unnoticed, or the resident of the office is the prankster.

The man looks up, surprised to see that the newcomer into his office is not a student, and presume sthat you are a fellow professor, albeit one that he doesn't know.

"Ayers? I'm afraid not, not for a while now. That's why I claimed his office. Had his things put into storage in case he ever does come back. I'm Roman Brittain. Yes, my parents had a sense of humour."

You'd guess by his demeanour and delivery that it's a sense of humour he doesn't share.

"Can I help you at all?"

"Oh. That is... Unexpected. Maybe you can... Did something happen to him? Perhaps there is an address, to reach him?"

"Oh, you'd have to speak to Samantha, the History department secretary for anything of that sort. She'd be the one to know."

"Is your History Department secretary nearby, please, Doctor? We're pretty much strangers to this campus." Lillian pitches in.

"Just down the corridor, turn right at the end, you can't miss it." the professor says, then proceeds to busy himself reading a student's paper. It appears that he's helped you as much as he's planning on doing.

"Thank-you, " Lillian says and carefully proceeds in the direction given.

"Do you think we'll be able to access those papers, if he was leaving something for you, Dr. Walker?" she asks quietly.

The History department's main office is, as Professor Brittain said it would be, obvious when you turn the corner. The secretary, a middle-aged woman with wavy (dyed) brown hair smiles and asks how she can help you.

"Don't know... Maybe the leftover papers are a nuisance for the administration. They might be willing to release them... Let's try."

Once at the Secretary 's desk, he responds:
"Yes... We were hoping to meet Professor Ayres, but we are learning he' s not been seen in a while. Is he unwell? Do you know if he left anything for a Doctor Walker? That's me, here's my card... A box with some papers? Or do you maybe have an address, for Professor Ayres? "

"Professor Ayers? He's been on sabbatical for the last few years. I know, I was the one who arranged his trip to Ethiopia. Haven't seen or heard anything back from him for a while now, not even sure he's still there[, but he hasn't been back since. Funny, I thought it was just going to be a normal sabbatical, for a semester or two, but it's been, oh, it must have been about '24 when he left, I think. Don't know why he never came back, but between the two of us, I wouldn't be sorry if he didn't come back. Just something about the guy, He was rather an unsettling guy.

Her hand suddenly shoots to her mouth. "Oh, you aren't a friend of his are you?" she asks, in horror.

When Dr Walker asks about a box of papers, she says "You'd have to speak to MacDunn about that, he'd know, if anyone." She points to an office with a brass plate that reads "Dr. Hamosh MacDunn, Head of History."

"Not exactly... we only corresponded on academic matters... I never met the man. (lowering his voice) But what you say is of great interest to me. It makes sense. You sound like a very sensitive person... tell me, what about him did you find unsettling?"

"I'm not sure I could put my finger on it. He was just..." she leans forward a little and speaks in hushed tones to match Dr Walker. "Just somethign not right there. Never wanted to be alone with him, in case he'd say something you weren;t expecting, or something. Just...not right."

Gabriel nods conspiratorially.
"He did use some strange turns of phrase in his letters, that made me wonder... but your first-hand account is priceless..."

He presses on, keeping the low tone of voice. "I have heard from Professor Brittain that Ayers' things were put in storage, when Brittain took his office. If I may be so bold... You don't think that, we could take a quick look at them, without disturbing MacDunn?"

"I don't know where it would be kept, I don't deal with that side of things. You'll have to talk to Dr MacDunn, I'm afraid."

"I understand... you have my thanks. We will. Goodbye."

As they take their leave, directed towards MacDunn's office, he whispers to Lillian.

"Oh well, I tried. But at least we know that Ayres had a strange aura about him, that didn't fail to impress negatively on his colleagues.
Now, would you please lead the dances, with MacDunn?"

"I'll give it a shot, Doctor, but it does strike me that this place is your bailiwick."

Lillian leads on towards Dr. MacDunn's office and knocks, only entering if she hears a response.

Assuming he's in...

"Good day to you Dr. MacDunn. My colleague here is Doctor Walker and I am Mrs Blakey, assisting him on this trip. Many years ago, Professor Ayres was corresponding and researching in an area of unusual interest. We'd hope to see him, but in his apparent absence, we'd like to access some papers that he may have left behind, if they're still intact, please."

MacDunn is a large, white-bearded man who has obviously spent too long sat at a desk or stood at a lectern in a classroom, his belly quite large. As Lillian speaks, he looks at Dr Walker, seemingly confused as to why his secretary appears to be speaking instead of the man himself, but appears to shrug it off quickly. When he speaks, it's with a deep Scottish brogue, his words spoken somewhat slowly and mellifluously, as if rolled around his mouth first to savour them before being uttered.

"Ayers?" he begins. "Haven't heard that name in a while. Here, sit ye selves down," beckoning to a couple of chairs in his quite spacious office. He leans back in his chair to stare at the ceiling, tilting it at a quite alarming angle, enough that both of you fear he's going to tip it over, but it appears this is something he's used to and his belly provides the necessary ballast to keep him stable.

"He's been gone since, what '24? I remember I gave him permission to travel to Africa for a year, some dig he was interested in. I told him he'd need a private donor to finance his trip, and he came up with one straight away, was a little surprising as these things tend to take up some time. Name's on the tip of my tongue, a local businessman. What was it now? Mexican name."

He spends some time in thought on this matter, giving you the opportunity to jump in if you wish to.

"Wouldn't be a Señior Echavarria, would it? He was somebody referenced before."

Yes! That was it! Ramon Echavarria! That's the fellow! Anyway, I believe he went alone, no graduate students applied for time off to visit the dig. I seem to recall that he sent back reports, though rather perfunctory if you ask me, for a while, but they tapered off after a while. Haven't received any in a while, now you mention them. Should be around here in a file somewhere, but I doubt you'd be interested. Nothing of import to them, mostly weather reports, things like 'dig goes well,' that sort of thing."

He observes the large man's body language and tone of voice.

Dr Walker gets the feeling that Professor MacDunn's demeanour has changed slightly as he discusses Ayers' absence - there's something he's not saying here, and is a little nervous about it.

"Oh, is that so? I'd imagine a radio silence like that must be quite the pain in the neck, for you and the department," he says, trying to sound sympathetic. "Assigning supply teachers for Ayers' lectures... students' dissertations left unsupervised... Lots of loose ends! Makes one wonder if this Ethiopian trip is worth the trouble. And the investment, for that Mexican sponsor... is he well known?"

The professor's body language has subtly changed, and as Dr Walker asks his questions, you can see the man fighting internally before he starts explaining.

"Between the three of us, it's probable that he's either met a sticky end out there, or gone native - which is pretty much the same thing. But without confirmation, he's staying on the rolls here. My budget depends on the numbers of tenured staff, you see, and, well, graduate students are generally capable of teaching his classes. I don't know anything about this Echavarria character, he hasn't invested in any other digs done by my department, I think he was a personal friend of Ayers, to be honest. I can find the details of Ayers' trip if you like though? If you ever find yourselves in Ethiopia, you can track him down." He laughs a little sardonically at this point - as if you're likely to be travelling all over the world in search of such answers!

"If you're after his things, I believe everything from his office was put into storage in one of our old downtown buildings. I can give you the address and a letter to present to have a look through, if you think your papers might be in there."

He writes a quick note, then gives you an address for a downtown location.

"The address and letter is much appreciated, Professor MacDunn. So would the details of Ayers' trip, thank-you," Lillian says in return.

The professor rummages around in several filing cabinets, muttering to himself as he does so, before eventually finding what he's looking for. It's a small dossier, as he said before, the reports sent back by Ayers are brief and reveal nothing, but other documents are more revealing. The dig director was apparently Bartolo Acuna, a Spanish archaeologist, and was based near modern day Dallol, in Ethiopia. Acuna apparently organised the dig, which Ayers asked to join. It began in June of 1924, but Ayers left LA to join in late July 1924, arriving in early August at the Eritrean port of Massaua. This means he wouldn't have been at the massacre site in LA. From Massaua, he travelled by boat to Mersa Fatma, a small industrial town in Eritrea, before getting a train from there into Ethiopia, to a place called Iron Point. Dallol is apparently close to the end of the line there.

All Ayers' funding was provided by Ramon Echavarria.

Gabriel nods at MacDunn as he opens up about the funding angle. "I perfectly understand. Funding is the lifeline that keeps departments open. I would have done the same, in your position."
He tries to give his voice a confidential, reassuring tone.

Then he starts reading with Lillian the travel dossier that MacDunn produced.
"How interesting... Mind if we take some notes? " he says, jotting down dates and details.

"Hmm? Oh, not at all." Professor MacDunn seems a little bemused that anyone would be interested in such mundane matters.

"You have been such great help, Professor. Perhaps your introduction letter to the storage place can shed some light on what Ayers might have left for us."

They will wait for the letter to be finalized and make a note of the address before leaving.

"Hrm? Oh, yes, nothing ventured, nothing gained," MacDunn says, eyes focused on a document he found while searching for your stuff, and with his mind obviously moved on from your conversation already to whatever it contains.

Back downtown, and the afternoon is drawing to a close as you arrive at the old campus buildings downtown. It takes just a few minutes to locate an ancient janitor who mumbles his name (something Polish maybe? Russian? and who doesn't look like he has had the strength to move anything, even a mop, in decades) who takes you shuffling down this corridor, up these stairs (with a quick rest half way up to catch his breath), down that hallway, until he reaches a room marked 203. He produces a large keyring, with at least 50 keys on it, but goes straight to the correct one immediately. He opens the door, grumbling in whatever his native tongue is, and then says "Half hour, then close up." and shuffles off. You reckon that with a good headwind, he might just about reach where he's going to before he has to return to escort you out.

There are boxes and piles in the room, a small room that obviously used to be an office but which is now devoid of furniture. Books are deposited on the floor, some with spines facing out, others facing in, and all are academic works on ancient religions or archaeological treatises on similar cultures. Nothing jumps out at you that's particularly interesting.

It's his papers that might prove to be a goldmine though, if you can work your way through them quickly enough.

"So, this is what happens when one disappears... belongings locked up in a forgotten room..." is what he says, facing the ocean of papers.
But what he thinks is, will this happen to me? Will MY books and papers be forgotten in some vault...

He decides to busy himself on the material, hoping the work will get his mind off darker thoughts.

"Almost feel that we're on the cusp of moving this forwards," Lillian says, as she rifles through the paperwork.

Dr Walker finds a copy of Ayers' itinerary, that matches with what you already know - good to have it confirmed, at least. While he's perusing this, Lillian uncovers an address book, with at least a hundred names in there, including an address for Ramon Echavarria in Highland Park, Los Angeles. You also note that Bartolo Acuna is mentioned in there. There's nothing to identify any of the people in the address book, so whether Acuna is a cultist or just an academic, you have no way of telling from this address book. You don't see any entry for Edgar Job.

Lillian also finds a large promotional poster for a movie, autographed by the star of the film (it reads "Thanks for all your help George! Olivia Clarendon").

"Lillian... come take a look at this," he says pointing at a selection of documents that he has placed on a table.

a selection of notebooks and papers that Ayers scribbled notes on, that make it clear he is - or was - a member of the cult, and one in high standing. It seems he is a true believer in the strange and unnatural creatures you've heard mentioned so far, and his records are mostly concerned with several entities, including Gol-Goroth (which he also refers to as "the Fisher from Outside"),and some entity named as "the Liar from Beyond." Ayers, over time, it seems, has come to the conclusion that Gol-Goroth is some sort of intergalactic buffoon, (if a strange and dangerous one), and that Echavarria was playing his cultists for fools, pretending worship of Gol-Goroth in "public" (by which it is obvious that he means within the cult, not openly to the general public) while worshipping the Liar in private. It also seems clear that Echavarria must have sidelined Ayers to some degree - he mentions taking his initial concerns to Echavarria, and being put off (Echavarria seems to have treated Ayers as a fool along with the other cultists, but Ayers saw through the facade), and Ayers appears not to have known anything about the upcoming ritual that turned into the massacre, as no mention is made of the plans, or at least anything out of the ordinary.

"I suppose if they're spitting into factions, it is something to bear in mind," Lillian says, almost trying to convince herself of the benefits of such knowledge.

"In case we ever have to deal with these lunatics and need a way of exploiting them."

"Indeed. Echavarria clearly had a hidden agenda. And now you have an address for him. What do you think, too risky to approach him directly? Is he even alive?... Maybe it's worth researching the man to see if there are mentions of him in the recent press?"

"Maybe, but there is this Bartolo Acuna to consider as well. Perhaps in some sort of business directory or the phone book? He might even be affiliated with the University."

Acuna isn't in the UCLA campus guide. If you want to know more about him, you're going to have to do some digging (the university library would be a good place to start, since you know he's an archaeologist.)

"Back to the University Library for a look for B. Acuna?" Lillian says, gathering her notes.

"Maybe there is a reference to Echavarria in some documents also, but I suspect they will be harder to find."

You travel north a little way, the evening turning into dusk, and find yourself in a nice-looking area - expensive houses, like small mansions almost. It's easy to see which one is Echavarria's too - you recognise it immediately from the photos. This is the location of those sordid orgies. There are lights on in the house, and a couple of new cars in the driveway.

There's also an elderly man in his garden across the way from Echavarria's house watching you quite closely. He waves when he sees you spot him.

Suggesting that we might as well see what old man wants, Lillian greets him, "Good evening, Sir. Is there something we can help you with?"

The old man smiles and says (with a fairly heavy German accent) "Good evening to you too. I vas thinking I am able to help you. I don't remember you around this area before, so I vondered if you vere perhaps lost? Or visiting someone?"

"Oh, that's very kind of you. We are indeed new to Los Angeles, touring the sites. Someone told us that the movie star Olivia Clarendon lives at that address... Is that correct? I am a bit of a fan boy, you see..."