Gustav and Murphy make their way in the bitter cold to the 32nd Precinct in Harlem. Gustav’s badge ensures that a meeting with Captain Robson is relatively quickly set up.

Robson is a tall, solidly built man with gray hair, heavy jowls, and a nose that appears to have been broken more than once. He wears an expensive tailored suit and sports a diamond tie pin. One of his incisors is missing, which is readily apparent whenever he flashes one of his frequent toothy grins.

“Well done for taking care of those killers yesterday,” he smiles to Gustav. “Quite a stroke of luck that you arrived just in time to catch them in the act, hmmm? We’ve identified the stiffs as two Kenyans; Iregi Kipkemboi and Jomo “Jimmy” Jepleting. Apparently a third fella was found nearly dead outside the station near the hotel – and we’re bringing him here for questioning. They’re obviously copycats, trying to make the murder look like one of the Harlem murders, but I’m wise to their tricks.”

He flicks a microscopic speck of dust from his suit and grins. “We do things our own way here in Harlem, Detective. It may not be pretty, but we keep the peace. Just leave things to me and my boys, and everything will be fine and dandy.”


This message was last edited by the GM at 21:52, Fri 24 Aug 2018.

All throughout Dr. Lemming's unending stories, Rachel tries to get a word in.

"This african cult you mentioned-- do you know what it was called?"

EMERSON IMPORTS



Dermot wants to know what Emerson means by that, in what way Silas makes him uncomfortable. He jokes, "Is it his bad breath, or are his prices just too high?" trying to probe.



WITH CAPTAIN ROBSON

Dermot naturally feels uncomfortable in the presence of a man of the law. This explains why he feels at ease in the presence of a policeman so obviously gone crooked. He decides to prod Robson a bit:

"I'm sure your methods are effective for getting the result you desire. Tell me, if you don't mind: what makes this murder so different from the others?"

The offices of Prospero House are located on Lexington Avenue near 35th Street. This modest concern does not aim for best sellers but rather for books that deserve to be published because they will interest select readers for generations to come.

Bromley and Johan make an appointment and are soon met by the owner, Jonah Kensington. He is a short, squat man whose balding pate is framed by uncontrollable curls of graying red hair. He wears pince-nez glasses, the discomfort of which causes him to fiddle with them constantly. Kensington’s suit is tailored to flatter his bulbous frame, and his clothes are immaculate.

“My dear fellows, come in, come in!” he exclaims as he ushers you into his spacious office. “Jackson has told me about his adventure in Peru with you and your friends. I’m still in shock – Jackson was a dear friend of mine, and I’m glad that you were there to dispatch at least some of those scumbags.”

He pours drinks for you all and offers a toast to departed friends. “Are you planning to attend the funeral tomorrow? I can arrange transport for us all if you need. Jackson mentioned once that you’re all in his will.”

Kensington believes that the police theory of a cult murder is correct; after all, Jackson was always infatuated with blood cults. He also thinks that either some old enemies at last caught up with the courageous author, or else that Jackson’s new project was even more important (and dangerous) than Jackson himself had believed. Jackson, he says, had a theory that a blood cult had massacred the Carlyle Expedition, but that not all of the principals of the expedition had been killed. Kensington requests the Jackson correspondence file from his secretary, and reads from it the following letter;

August 8, 1924
Nairobi

Dear Jonah,

Big news! There is a possibility that not all of the members of the Carlyle Expedition died. I have a lead. Though the authorities here denied the cult angle, the natives sing a different tune. You wouldn't believe the stories! Some juicy notes coming your way! This one may make us all rich!

J.

P.S. I'll need advance money to follow this one up. More later.


A short while later, Kensington received the notes, as promised (See ‘Important Documents - link to a message in this game’). Jackson then sent him a wire from Hong Kong to say his inquiries were proceeding nicely. After that, Jackson was not heard from until the middle of last month (December 16, 1924), when he wired from London. Jackson’s telegram was very excited and a bit crazy sounding. He said he’d been in London for a few days, where he’d dug up a lot of stuff. Jackson said he’d seen unbelievable things, and mentioned a plan or conspiracy of monstrous, worldwide proportions. He said that there was a timetable, and that he needed to find the missing pieces—he mentioned needing to go to Australia—but wouldn’t or couldn’t explain more. The wire ended, saying that he would soon be in New York. Jackson took passage on a freighter the next morning.

After arriving in New York a few days ago, Jackson left more notes with Kensington. They were so bewildering and fragmentary that Kensington concluded that either Jackson had gone over the edge and needed six months in a sanitarium, or else that the author trusted anyone so little that he’d hidden all the information in his head so that it would be undetectable.

“I am not eager to show these later notes to anyone. I think that their strangeness reflects poorly on Jackson’s sanity and upon his integrity as a writer, and potentially upon Prospero House…”


This message was last edited by the GM at 14:36, Sat 25 Aug 2018.

In reply to Rachel Katz (msg # 36):



"Hmmmm.... what was it again... the Red Tongue? No, the Bloody Tongue, yes that's it. Now, did I tell you about the Ninki Nanka? It's is a monster that lives in the Gambia River in Gambia. It is a dragon-like creature with the body of a crocodile, the head of a horned horse and a long neck like a giraffe! More tea and scones?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:17, Sat 25 Aug 2018.

In reply to Dermot Murphy (msg # 37):

EMERSON IMPORTS



"Silas is a skinny, cackling freak - always smiling and making jokes," says Emerson. "Wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him."


WITH CAPTAIN ROBSON



"Well," replies Robson with a grin. "For one thing we caught the killer red-handed. And I mean that literally - he was spotted holding a bloody knife and standing over his poor victim. Fortunately he has a date with Ol' Sparky* one of these days. And this latest murder took place outside of Harlem. That's a first, so they're obviously not connected."

*The electric chair
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:00, Sat 25 Aug 2018.

In reply to GM (msg # 39):

Rachel thought her face would crack as she kept a smile on her face, feeling like a predator, waiting to pounce on any bit of useful information from the good doctor's ramblings. After quite a bit, Rachel decided that whatever other useful information she could glean from the doctor was not worth another story from him.

"Oh dear, I'm taking up too much of your time. I must be off, doctor, however, I'm terribly interested in your work, would it be so much to ask if we could correspond, should you find anything interesting regarding that cult of the Bloody Tongue? You can reach me at this address." Rachel said, giving him a card to her antique shop. With a flurry of excuses, she tries to extract herself from the doctor.

A thought occurs to her, as the doctor mentioned 'Adams'. The morning paper had mentioned such a man. While she wasn't entirely sold on the idea that the Adams they had arrested might've been the wrong man, they might at least have leads to his accomplices.

She made her way to the police station, but found that the lieutenant was out. Rachel left a message about wanting to speak about Hilton Adams, and headed to the publishers of the morning paper in hopes to find the writer, Rebecca Shoshenberg.

Now located in the recently expanded 229 West 43rd Street building, rather than the offices after which Times Square was named, the headquarters of the New York Times is a hive of journalistic activity. Rachel is directed to the news department’s crime section and to Miss Shosenburg’s neat and orderly desk. Rebecca Shosenburg is a small, dark-complexioned woman with wavy black hair. As a first impression, she appears humorless and overly intense, but this is largely her professional demeanor.

While she is surprised to see Rachel, Miss Shosenburg is secretly delighted to be able to talk about the case with Jackson’s friends, even more so if Rachels reveal that she was at the murder scene. Shosenburg has already retrieved the relevant clippings about the Adams’ murders from her scrapbook, so they are ready to show to Rachel. While the reports concerning the first two bodies make no definite link between them (despite the strange symbol carved into their foreheads), by the third murder, connections were being drawn, although the police seemed baffled by the deaths, especially as no ties could be found between the victims other than their visits to Harlem—hardly noteworthy, considering how popular the area is after dark.

Shosenburg suspects that, initially at least, the fact that the first bodies were found in different police precincts meant that there was little coordination or sharing of information between the various investigations. Even after everything was transferred to Captain Robson of the 32nd Precinct in Harlem, there wasn’t much progress on the case until Hilton Adams was arrested at the scene of the eighth murder. As far as she can tell, Captain Robson ended up heading the investigation due to the fact that most of the later corpses turned up either in Harlem or on its fringes, bolstered by Dr. Lemming’s pronouncements that an African death cult was involved.

Although she has not been able to find any concrete evidence, Shosenburg believes that Robson is, at best, incompetent, and at worst, corrupt, and may have been responsible for framing Hilton Adams.

“If you’d like, I can introduce you to Millie Adams, Hilton’s wife. I could also try to convince Hilton to receive you as visitors at Sing Sing, if you would like to speak to him directly?”


This message was last edited by the GM at 16:35, Sat 25 Aug 2018.

In reply to GM (msg # 42):

"Yes!" Rachel replied excitedly. "To both-- I mean. I'd love to meet his wife. How quickly can you arrange a meeting to Sing Sing? How many people can you get in?" Rachel asked rapidly.

"It's just that, I'm not the only one on this, and my colleagues might be able to provide a different sort of insight or something."

In reply to GM (msg # 40):

EMERSON

"Ah, real oily guy. I know the type. Thanks for your help."

Dermot gives Emerson the card for his legitimate front business in case we shoukd ever want to work together.



ROBSON

Dermot follows Gustav’s kead, subtly positioning himself in such a way to lend a quiet air of intensity to the intimidation.

Robson turns beet red as he listens to Gustav’s tirade. He gulps and takes a drink of water from a glass.

“Easy now, Detective. I know you’ve been through a lot – and I understand your friend was just murdered in front of you. I’m just trying to keep the peace here, you know? People were afraid to go out after dark, and there was a lot of heat on me from local businesses to catch the killer. So what if he didn’t kill all of those people – he certainly killed the last guy, and we found him at the crime scene. He’s in the slammer, people are happy, the Chief of Police is happy. Bada bing, bada boom – problem solved!”

He gets up from his chair and reaches for his hat. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Detective – I have a meeting to attend.”
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:11, Sat 25 Aug 2018.

In reply to GM (msg # 45):

Dermot Murphy would normally be amused, but this is personal enough that he’s rather annoyed instead. He leaves Robson with a passing remark:

"New York has only the finest policemen, I can see. When you get your next payoff, buy yourself a gold tooth. Your ugly mug makes your gaudy suit look bad."

In reply to Rachel Katz (msg # 43):



Rebecca smiles at Rachel's excitement. "I'll see what I can do, Rachel - may I call you Rachel? It will likely take a day or two before I can get a response from the prison, but I might be able to arrange to meet Millie tomorrow. How many of you are there in total?"

In reply to Dermot Murphy (msg # 46):

Gustav leaves in disgust. He's been working in New York's finest for close to a decade, filled with commendations and respect from colleagues. But a few bad apples always finds thier way into the cracks.

"Fuckin giving us policemen a bad name" he whispered to no one in particular.


They leave the harlem precinct to proceed to little africa. When Mr. Murphy signalled to Gustav that they were being followed.

"Psst, amateurs, but we do not have time to deal with this. Follow my lead Mr. Murphy"


keepee I plan for us to walk fast then suddenly make a turn on an abandoned alley, readying our weapons. once they pass on us we ambush them with pistols drawn and interrogate them
This message was last edited by the player at 01:36, Sun 26 Aug 2018.

Jonah Kensington reluctantly produces a set of papers and pushes them across the table to Bromley and Johan.

Jackson’s final notes are folded and stitched together to form a small quarto volume of 40 pages. Frequently a page—or a dozen or more—are blank; sometimes a single word is repeated for several pages. Most entries are written with agitation and can barely be read. All the words, however, are clearly in Jackson’s hand. The contents of the final notes are as follows:

Many names, many forms, but all the same and towards one end...

Need help...

Too big, too ghastly. These dreams... dreams like Carlyle’s?

Check that psychoanalyst’s files... All of them survived!

They’ll open the gate. Why?... so the power and the danger is real. They...

Many threads beginning...

The books are in Carlyle’s safe...

Coming for me. Will the ocean protect?

Ho ho, no quitters now. Must tell, and make readers believe.

Should I scream for them? Let’s scream together…

In reply to Gustav Schmidt (msg # 48):

Gustav and Dermot increase their pace slightly as they walk towards Little Africa. The two men following them also speed up. Spotting an alleyway on the right, Gustav and Dermot duck into it and take cover behind a snow-covered dumpster as they draw their guns.

Their pursuers pause at the entrance to the alley and have a short discussion. One seems ready to barge in, but the other holds him back and shakes his head. They take a few steps back towards the street and can no longer be seen from this angle.

In reply to GM (msg # 47):

"Oh dear. Jackson's funeral is tomorrow. Is there no way of contacting Millie tonight? There's about five of us."

Gustav picks up most of the conversation between the two plain-clothes;

Younger man; "They're trapped now! Let's get 'em!"

Older man; "Don't be a sap! We're supposed to just follow them. Let's hang back."

Rebecca smiles. "About five? I'll see what I can do, but it's unlikely to be before tomorrow. I am actually planning to attend the funeral as well. I didn't know Mr. Elias personally but I loved his writing - and sometimes it can be interesting to see who attends a funeral."

In reply to GM (msg # 53):

Dermot looks around for another exit, but finds only an empty dead-end alley. He whispers to Gustav:

"Looks like they'll wait us out. Maybe we can talk our way past 'em."

In reply to Dermot Murphy (msg # 54):

Gustav looks at Mr. Murphy incredulously, then with a hint of mischievousness, replied.

"Or we can throw trash cans at them then tackle them?"

A friend to the last, Jonah Kensington has arrangements to have Jackson buried in the Evergreens Cemetery in Brooklyn. The service is held in the cemetery’s chapel, a picturesque stone building used when the decedent has no local church. Due to the condition of his remains, there will be no viewing of the body. As it is January (and a snowy one at that), Jackson’s remains are to be stored in a mausoleum on the grounds after the funeral.  Turnout is small, with the only mourners apart from you being Jonah Kensington, Carlton Ramsey, and his niece Willa Jones.

The service is conducted by Rev. Lawrence T. O’Dell, Jr., a minister with the Seamen’s Church, in Manhattan. While Jackson was ostensibly a Christian, he did not regularly attend any services and Kensington, otherwise at a loss, asked the church (a branch of the Episcopalian church which provides ministers to ships and sailors in New York Harbor) to provide an officiant for the service. The Reverend, a quiet-spoken, considerate man in his forties, has spent the preceding day talking to Kensington and looking over Jackson’ writings.

The eulogy he gives begins with a reading of Psalm 13 and is surprisingly moving, touching on Jackson’s wanderlust, generosity of spirit, ability to quickly make friends, and his dedication to the triumph of truth and civilization over falsehood and barbarism. He proclaims the relatively small turn-out to be a sign that as Jackson was a man of no fixed home, only the world itself is a large or fine enough cathedral to contain all those who mourn his passing. His comments end with the hymn “Sunset and Evening Star,” which is performed a cappella by Rev. O’Dell and anyone wishing to join in.

The only other scheduled speaker is Jonah Kensington. His words are few, but his friendship with Jackson is as clear as his emotion. His friendship with Jackson was one of several decades beginning when both were copyboys at the New York Observer; Kensington offers a few anecdotes highlighting the depth of their friendship and Jackson’s virtues. He concludes by saying that he almost awaits some quick telegram from Jackson in Heaven, asking for financing to cover expenses with the promise of interviews with the Evangelists and the chance at an exclusive with Satan, if time permits.

There are a few reporters in attendance, all of whom keep a respectful distance during the ceremony itself. Once it is over, they ask the mourners questions about who may have killed Jackson and whether his murder was connected to research for a new book. One of the reporters present is Rebecca Shosenburg from the New York Times.

Carlton Ramsay greets you after the ceremony and tells you that he was Jackson’s lawyer and also the executor of his estate. Carlton is a a small, wiry African-American man, filled with nervous energy. The expensive bespoke suit he wears looks a little shiny and frayed. While he is clearly going bald, Ramsey tries to mask this by pasting strands of well-oiled hair across his crown.

“My deepest condolences. I was a friend of Mr. Elias as well. You may not know this, but he included you all in his will. If it is acceptable to you, we can head to my office in Harlem for the reading. Or if you would like to take some time to mourn, we can certainly reschedule for whatever time you wish.”


This message was last edited by the GM at 23:51, Sun 26 Aug 2018.

In reply to GM (msg # 56):

Rachel was glad to see Rebecca at the wake, and before the vultures started swooping in, she found her way to the reporter.

"Did Millie agree to meet us? When?"

Rebecca smiles sadly at Rachel and wipes away a tear. “Such a beautiful ceremony. Mr. Elias seemed like a wonderful man. I’ll help in any way I can if you can catch the monsters behind this. As for Millie, yes. She is willing to meet us all this evening at 7 PM, at the Lafayette Theater. And her husband has agreed to a meeting, but this Tuesday is the earliest the prison would allow.”

Leaving the ceremony, you travel together to Harlem. The reading of Jackson’s will takes place at Ramsey’s office in Harlem, on 124th Street and Lenox Avenue. The office is small, simply decorated and neatly kept, housing only Ramsey and his secretary, Willa. Before the reading itself, Ramsey fetches a bottle of good bootleg bourbon out of a cupboard and offers everyone a drink.

You spend some time sharing memories of Jackson and his exploits, with Ramsey often shaking his head in mock disbelief and chuckling. For all the sadness of the occasion, Ramsey is happy to have other friends of Jackson around. During this chat, Ramsey mentions that Jackson visited him the day before his death and updated his will. Although Jackson didn’t say anything explicitly, Ramsey believed that he was in fear of his life and wanted to make sure his affairs were in order should the worst happen. Ramsey then reads the will, breaking off frequently to explain various details further. The important points are:

• Jackson has given full power of attorney to Ramsey, who has complete authority to liquidate his assets. Ramsey is instructed to use these assets to create and manage a fund. The total value of Jackson’s assets comes to a little over $20,000.

• Elias requests that any friends of his who attend the reading make use of this fund to continue his investigation of the fate of the Carlyle Expedition. Ramsey will make disbursements from the fund to pay for travel, accommodation, living costs, equipment purchases, legal bills, and medical expenses. You should make sure you acquire the necessary receipts and send them on to Ramsey in a timely fashion.

• Ramsey is also to act as a central point of contact for those involved in the investigation. If you were to split into multiple groups, he will coordinate communications between you. He will also assist with recruitment if you need to hire people with special skills, or to bolster your numbers should any of you be unable to continue. Jackson gave Ramsey his ‘little black book’ that contains the names of a number of suitable candidates.

• When he visited Ramsey the previous week, Elias also left a note to be read to you in the event of his death;


Greetings from beyond the grave!

By now you know that all I’ve really left you is a whole heap of trouble. If I were still around to have an opinion on the matter, I would understand if you decided to walk away from it all. Hell, if I’m dead right now, that’s a great indication I should have done the same. But you know me too well, and I know you too well. If you were the kind of people who always did the sensible thing, we wouldn’t be such good friends.

You were there for me when I needed you in Peru, and I hope you will be again, even if it’s too late to save me. I’ve been pulling threads all over the world, and while most of them are still unraveling, I think I’m onto something big. Carlton and Jonah can fill in more of the details for you – I’ve left some of my papers and notes with Jonah, which should help you work out which hornet’s nest you need to poke next.

I trust you to bring my killers to justice. Of course, I’m assuming I was murdered – it will be just plain embarrassing if I was run over by a trolley car! Follow my investigation to the bloody end and seek out the truth. I’m not asking you to finish my book – none of you can write worth a damn!

Your friend, always

Jackson
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:28, Mon 27 Aug 2018.

In reply to GM (msg # 58):

"I asked around, and Dr. Lemming, the folklorist, gave me a name to the cult that uses the symbol... on Elias. The Bloody Tongue. He mentioned Silas N'Kwane-- the name behind the card to Emerson Imports. Seems he owns a 'Ju-Ju house' down at Harlem. I also spoke to the reporter. Rebecca-- we can meet Hilton Adam's wife tonight. And we can get into Sing Sing to speak to the guy on Tuesday. Innocent or not, I think he might have information on the men that did this to Elias." Rachel was telling the others in the car on the way to the reading of the will.

"I'll try to call the Ju-Ju house, ask around if Elias had been over, or if he had bought anything from them."