Case File Archive: List of Suspects and Evidence


Below is an ongoing file of emails and documents received from Suspects in this case since the announcement of the Belle Epoque Memorial.  This is listed in reverse chronology — that is, the most recent is on top, and the first is at the bottom.  Each entry is identified by its author and the date it was sent.  Use the Hyper-Link Table of Contents in order to hasten to a particular entry.

1.31.23 Email from Heckuba Gandolfini



I know what you’re thinking.
That’s my stock-in-trade.

And that’s either my ethereal spiritual or spiritual ethereal fanfare, or the theme from Star Trek:TOS.

It was the Madame Herself, The Belle Epoque, formerly of other names and identities and curious accents, who taught me that. “Everyone who means to be someone and everyone who eez anyone, needs a fanfare, a means by which her presence eez not merely announced but felt before she arrives and after she has left. Zee person who matters eez zee person who eez most continuously present, and fanfares extend zee entrances and zee exits. Attention must be paid. Zink of how your dog rushes to zee door to wait for your arrival twenty minutes or more before you drive up. How do zey know? Eet eez because every moment you are gone all zey zink about eez when you will be back, you are literally all zat matters to zem, so zey come to pick up zee slightest perturbation in zee ether caused by your turning for home.” said Belle many years ago, in what became a life-and-destiny-altering conversation.

“I haven’t a dog,” I said.

“Exactly,” said she, “Because what you need are people who treat you like zey are your dogs. True loyalty, unhesitating devotion. And zee difference eez that dogs may love you, but zey cannot do anything for you, in fact you have to take care of zem. But people, well, zey love you and zey pay you and zey will literally do anything for you, anything at all, even before you ask, so long as you train zem correctly.”

“But surely they expect something from me,” I said.

“And zat is zee true beauty of zee equation,” smiled Belle Epoque with that fabled and sublime equanimity.  “Zey just need you to tell zem what zey want to hear. A few priceless words for which zey will pay over everything zey have. Just a few words… of hope. Might be packaged in a promise or a curse, mind you, but zee specie eez zee hope.”

“Which I come up with, how?” I asked. “By listening? By parroting?”

“Awk!” Belle Epoque threw up her hands. “Listening, yes; parroting, merde! Pas de tout!” She leaned forward and her eyes were on fire, I could see she was re-considering whether I was a worthy apprentice, “You tell zem what zey want to hear but zat zey did not know zey wanted to hear. You give zem zee words zey cannot find. You speak for zem. And you do eet by attributing zee words to zee heavens, zee spirits, zee dead, zee cards or zee tea leaves or zee oracles of others, to omniscience eetself, to forces and voices outside of zem but of which you have special connection. Voices so powerful and true and right-feeling for zese dogs zat zey don’t fear even for an instant zat zis could be wrong. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I said, because I did.

“Zen you have zee gift,” said Belle Epoque, “Just never set your sights low, always aim high, know that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle who wrote zee Sherlock Holmes, a character of science and deduction and harsh reality, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle believed that mediums and preachers could talk to heez dead son. Eet was zis zat drove Houdini to promise to return from zee dead by seance on Halloween, to prove to Doyle zat eet could not be done. Meanwhile zee mediums and zee preachers made a fortune off of Doyle’s belief in zem. A belief entirely predicated on Doyle’s need to speak to heez son again, to never have to say good-bye, a need he did not know he had until heez son had died.”

“So no passing the plate, no five dollars here and ten dollars there and whatever falls out of a change-purse, just hit the biggest marks out there, and sell them on what they need before they need it. That’s it, right?” I said.

“Eet eez the basis of all capitaleezm and all politics. Create zee need for something you can supply by first creating zee fear zat your buyer won’t be able to get eet, and, even better, zat someone else will get eet instead.” said Belle.

“And that fear is, is…” I struggled to find the words and the concept to go with it, and Belle rolled her hands to encourage me on, and then I had it: “That fear is the fear of loss of sense of self. The fear of death. The fear of not mattering now and mattering even less after we’re gone. The fear of being nothing and having accomplished nothing lasting, no legacy, no disciples and no one who cares.”

Belle was ecstatic: “Better put zan even I could! Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, what could be more f’ing terrifying! Sell eet, Heckuba, sell eet big and sell eet hard!”


“Your new name, ‘Heckuba, ummmm, Gandolfini, yes, Gandolfini, I rather like zee rhythm of zat, almost melodious, someone will write you a wonderful song some day and everyone will sing eet in your praise.” said Belle.

“My fanfare?”

“Your fanfare.”

And so that was how it was with Belle. She chose you, regardless of who you were and what you’d been, and she revised and re-created you, each to fit a unique vision she had of you, and, in her circle, her thrall, you had access to all the best and the brightest and the richest and the Conan Doylest… and life was good.

Of course we all knew that we were her menagerie, her dogs, but we each vied to be her favorite, and we each thought we were. That may have been her highest genius, and, lest you think otherwise, it was no con. Belle Epoque was unfailingly honest.

“You, dearest darling Heckuba, are zee soothsayer zee world has long been awaiting. The truth eez your power, and your clairvoyant knowledge of eet is your stock-in-trade. How you manage eet is up to you, as eet eez for all God-given talents. And you will tithe me fifteen percent.”

I know what you’re thinking.

And I’m thinking that, for the first and only time, that nitwit Hunny Lou is right: Madame Belle Epoque is not dead. It’s not just that she lives on through all of us, it’s that I don’t think she died, not all alone in her high-rise sunroom like that, with only someone none of us ever heard of identifying the body before it was cremated.

So, who in the heckuba is Castor Rotsac? Who has a palindrome for a name? Unless it’s an Otto, of course.

If Belle eez gone, surely it eez murder.

And the Memorial Event figures to be quite a drama. Everyone should be able to foresee that. Suspense, mystery, and murder.

See you there.

But contact me anytime if you want a reading or have questions about anything I wrote here.

My email:

1.27.23 Email from Hunny Lou

Hello Hunny Bunnies!

I just know I should not be writing y’all, but Javvy said it was okay, is that okay? Of course, I’m not allowed to say I know Javvy, I know that, but gosh, if you know Madame Bee, you know Javvy, am I not correct? So, if you know Bee and you know Javvy, then I am sure I know you too because this Hunny collects all her little bunnies from the same hutch!

And that’s what they call deeductive reasoning. I know because I read it in a book where this deetective solved a murder no one else could solve, and that was because he was the murderer! Can you imagine?!

But really I mean it was kind of a cheat, because he knew all along who’d done it, so there was no way I could figure it out ahead of him, and that is no fun and not right! I know you agree!

Do you not?

So what is the story with this group that’s putting on M.Bee’s memorial, these Mysterious Writers of America? Why are they mysterious? Why don’t they want us to know who they are? What are they hiding? And why would M.Bee choose them to put on her memorial, how could she trust a whole bunch of mysterious people, what if they are doing a whole memorial totally different than she wanted? And how come this Hunny didn’t know that Bee knew them? This is mysterious all around, do you not think? I don’t know how to be deeductive about this at all, not when people are hiding things from me.

So we better watch these mysterious writers like a hawk. Hunny Bunnies, time to go hawk, you hear? At the memorial, caww caww caww caww, we are hawks, nothing gets by us, okay? Hawk eyes and hawk beaks and hawk claws. Caw caw.

I’m being deeductive when I say something is very very wrong here. I know Javvy doesn’t understand how Bee could be found dead where she was found dead, that whole inverted locked room thing, and I don’t understand it at all because how can Javvy say you can be locked into a place when it’s really that you are locked out of the other place? So we need to focus on that too, when we are at the memorial. I think the locks and the doors and the whole thing is going to be there somehow in person so we can deeduct on it.

Poor M.Bee. I miss her. I miss him too. I miss all of M.Bee.

If you want to contact me, Hunny Lou,

email me at

Just write “Caww caww”, and I’ll know it’s you,

a Hunny Bunny being a total hawk.

Don’t worry, M.Bee, we’ve got your back. You’re not dead to us, just on hiatus like every time you went and had your pretty-up surgery. I just keep thinking we are all going to be sad at your memorial, and then you’re going to suddenly walk in and start dancing with us and maybe yell swear words at someone and throw a champagne glass or a shar-cute-a-ree plate. In fact, I am sure of it. Say “cheese”! Go Bee!

TTFN and big goopy kisses to all you Hunny Bunnies — see you April Thirty — and I will be wearing a very special, a very gentle, a very sweet blush pink ensemble so don’t none of you wear any shade of pink to M.Bee’s resurrection memorial, that’s MY color palette, always has been, not a secret!

And YOU, you stick to your own wheel, you know who you are, Heckuba Gandolfini, Miss Black Meets Blue! If you don’t want people always thinking you’re a witch, then stop dressing medieval and go sit on your pointy hat! Prophesy is so, so, so yesterday!

And hello Captain Addy! I know you’re seeing this ’cause I know what a good security investigator you are! And I don’t blame you for what happened to M.Bee on your watch. I know you’ll be deeductive and find the truth, but if it turns out you did it, then that’s just not fair, not at all! Personally, I think it’s — well, I’m not going to say, not til I’m all dressed and fussed over and at M.Bee’s event on April 30 at the Kiana Lodge.

So, wicked pumps or thigh-high boots, my Hunny Bunnies, which spikes do you want me in at the memorial?

Vote via email: pumps or boots?

1.25.23 Email from Captain Artur Adirondack



You know when it all went to heck? I’ll tell ya when it all went to heck. January the F-F-F-First in the year Two Thousand. That was the exact day. Because that was the day that all heck was supposed to break loose, the day all this internet digital cyber-ninja inhuman fascist pedo-insanity was supposed to blow up — boom! — and be done.

No more space lasers, no more voting machines, no more computers, done, hasta la bye-bye, bring back people you can look in the eye, an actual eye not a red light dot, and let a mouse go back to being a dang mouse, something you hit with a hammer if you find it on your desktop.

(And yeah, more people were worried about space lasers in the 1980’s than they are now — just ask Reagan and his Star Wars efforts — so don’t think anything happening today is new in any sense of the word. There are no new conspiracy theories, every one of them is as old and cold and malignant as time, because time equals mortality and that means death and none of us is gonna beat it, so we fictionalize villains that turn us into heroes. Want to hear a sigh? Sigh. Just do me one courtesy, human being to human being, remember that Q came from Star Trek and was Chicken Little before that. Nothing is new, absence of evidence is not evidence of absence, and it’s impossible to prove a “not”. But I digress.)

So that was the day — Jan One, Two Thousand — that TMI was supposed to end, that we were supposed to stop hearing stuff we really don’t want to know about, because, for me, there are too many things I will never understand and even more that I do not believe, and I do not want to have to.

But dang if tech did not melt down on Jan One or Jan Two, in Two Thousand or any other year since, and, how-do-you-do, this digital world isn’t making us closer, it’s driving us apart because people by nature are trusting and they believe what they hear whenever it explains away what frightens them, even if it’s a complete f-f-f-lie.

Because none of us believes that fear ever lies. I mean, why would it? Fear is the wisdom of painful experience, isn’t it? And what could be more real and true than pain?

Which is what brings us to Javvy, pronounced “Havvy”, or as we call him “Havvy HaveNot”, the pained person who emailed you mid-day yesterday, and I’m sorry.

I’m head of security for Madame Belle — now the estate — and if Y2K had been Y2K, you would not have ever in your life heard of Havvy HaveNot unless maybe you caught his act howlin’ at the moon some night in Yakima when the keg ran dry.

So, sorry, we will find out how he got those e-mails out to everyone and we will stop it. But, just so you know, he’s no harm. He’s just havin’ a hard time letting go of Belle, I mean you gotta understand all he’s been through to try and please her, all the changes he made for her, back and forth, guy girl guy girl guy girl, girl guy, I’ve lost track, changes all over the place because it was what he thought she wanted, and then she up and died on him, and now what is he?

Nonetheless, stay clear of Havvy HaveNot for no reason other than he’s too time-consuming. And because Madame Belle’s last wishes were very clear. And being as I was the one who found her like that and couldn’t do nothin’ to help her, the least I can do is see to it that her final wishes are honored. The least I can do.

I’m Captain Artur Adirondack, Epoque Security Systems, and you are dismissed.

Have a good day now. See you at the memorial on April 30.

1.24.23 Email from Javvy


Hello? Hello? Are you there?

They do not want me here,

this post will not stay up for long.

Please to hurry.

This is Javvy.

I need YOU to sign up for my beautiful Belle’s Memorial event on April 30, 2023, and then make me your guest or sell me your space. You must do this.

I will make it worth your while. It is the only right thing to do.

They cannot keep me out.

I deserve to be there with my love.

Yes, I hated her too. It was both. But I was the most important person in her life.

She wants me there, no matter what she said. If you know her, you know this is true.

Please write this down — text me at 310.751.0084 or email me at —

thank you, you are doing the right thing.

I must go now.

You will see me at the Memorial, you can count on it.

1.20.23 Original Invitation to Belle Epoque Memorial

April 30, 2023 and, no, it’s not too early to calendar this, because space is limited to this first in-person MWA NW event since Covid!

Invitation to a Life (post-mortem)

MWA Northwest is honored to host this live in-person event at the Kiana Lodge in Poulsbo, Washington (actual site of Laura Palmer’s demise).

the preseNce Of your person is requesTed on April 30, 2023, for The one day celebration of tHe lIfe of philanthropiSt/artist/pErformer/ sociAlite/changeling madame belle epoque, whoSe untimelY, unexpecTed, and cOnfusing “accidental” death iS still a mystery waiting tO be soLved.

the guest list for this celebration is limited only to those found in the madame’s hand-written notes, so this inVitation is not transfErable. identities will be confirmed At the door—coMe prepared to prove yoUr Relationship to maDame—and no prEss are allowed undeR any circUmstances.

madame’s first ex-husbaNd (and second ex-wife) javvy is aLso Expressly uninvited, at madame’S explicit inStructions. indeed, anyone even menTioning that name Will be ushered Out by security and escorted off the property. as soMe of you may stIll be frieNds with javvy or think yoU have been promiSed a share Of madame’s vast estate through javvy, please be forewarNed.

drEss should reflect care and self-expressIon. madame very much wanted her gueSts To feel “at Home” but Respectful of both the solEmnity and thE wArmth of the occasioN. anD do feel free to bring gifts, offerings, photos, or tokens commemorating your experiences With madamE.

in Addition to spending time with madame’s fRiends and family, thEre will be severAl “experts” in attendance who have Long experience with mysteries such as this and beLieve the data Might just prOve elementaRy and worthy of both thE current and next generatiOn. Read what came before that which you knew as the beginning, and new impossibiLities will bEckon from ahead.

meanwhile, your needS for food and drink will be well-Sated, and the event will variously take place both indoors (in the multiple rooms of the main lodge) and outside by water’s edge. and, yes, there will be s’mores by the fire… unless matters take an unexpected turn. (maybe don’t wear your best shoes.)

Case Discussion

1 Comment

  1. I think he did it.


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Tickets for MWA Members: $100 Tickets for Non-Members: $140 All Tickets include Continental Breakfast and Gourmet Sandwich Bar Lunch (including Kiana Lodge’s fabled fresh salmon!), as well as snacks, fruit, sides, salad, desserts, s’mores and beverages throughout the day. There are only 60 tickets available for this event.

  • Date: April 30, 2023
  • Event Check-in: 10:00 am
  • Informal gathering from 10:00 to 10:30 am
  • Memorial and tributes begin at 10:30 am
  • Special Presentations, Physical Autopsy, Forensic Case Analyses throughout the morning
  • Continental Breakfast, snacks, beverages served throughout the morning
  • Gourmet Sandwich Bar Lunch with sides and salad: 1:30 pm
  • Special Presentations, Interrogations, Psychological Autopsy, Theories of The Case throughout the afternoon
  • Snacks and beverages available throughout the afternoon
  • Dessert and s’mores by the fire: 4:00 pm
  • Evidence, indictments, accusations, final solution, The Reichenbach Falls, attempts to prove and arrest, as: The Truth Comes Out: concluding at 5:00 pm
  • Final Curtain: MWA NW Writing Contest for Styles Event Guests — “The Belle Epoque Writing Challenge” – a creative prompt will be given as a printed and numbered hand-out at Styles Event conclusion. Entry submissions are due within thirty days. Good luck to all! There will be three cash prize winners, and online publicity/promotion announcing the winners. (see below for contest details)

Exact timing of events within the day are subject to change as circumstances require. 

Questions? contact us