“Dr. Langston, Detective Taylor, I trust your flight was pleasant.” A tall ginger-haired man in a suit and shades stood just outside the crime-scene tape, greeting two men. One was a large burly dark-skinned man, the other taller, thinner and white.

“Yes, thankyou, Lieutenant Caine. Now, the body, if you would.” Horatio led the other two under the tape and towards a woman of only twenty-three laying on the ground.

“So young…”

“Yes, maybe.. too young.” A new voice was speaking. Caine placed the voice as western european, maybe french.

“Excuse me,” Inquired Dr. Raymond Langston, “Would you mind telling us who you are?”

“He,” A new voice now spoke, with a british accent, “Is Hercule Poirot, and he is investigating a murder. He is a private investigator, as am I. I am Sherlock Holmes, and I was employed to investigate him.”

“Now detectives,” Poirot again, “We must use ze little grey cells-”

“-To eliminate the impossible.”

“Yeah, sure. Or, you could listen to me.” Hieronymus Bosch was on the scene.