San Francisco doc Amy Winslow is visiting a friend's Marin estate when an earthquake unearths a secret cellar room with a most remarkable resident. Rising from his self-created sarcophagus is a man thought lost to the history of crime fiction. Yes, raised from a state of suspended animation is the famously brilliant Detective Holmes-the real Holmes, Hubert Holmes-not that fictional Sherlock character author Arthur Conan Doyle conjured up.
Every bit of this sounds preposterous to matter-of-fact physician Amy Winslow. Nevertheless, concerned for the man's physical and mental health, the doctor takes in the quick-witted detective, giving him refuge in her Haight-Ashbury digs. But contentious sparks soon fly between the modern doctor and her Victorian violin-playing guest. Further, Holmes's rants about evil deeds done by the modern progeny of his arch-enemy Moriarty lead Amy ready to diagnose her egotistical but occasionally charming houseguest as delusional.
Whatever the case, it's undeniable that bizarre happenings are afoot in the hills of San Francisco. Capturing Holmes's attention are a series of notably fiendish murders-the first involving a retired policeman attacked by a hungry Bengal tiger. Then the SFPD detective investigating this string of bizarre slayings goes missing, and Holmes makes the startling deduction that the brave cop's death is imminent. Saving Lieutenant Luis Ortega's life means exposing a vile conspiracy between San Francisco's most vile and powerful criminal kingpins, but Holmes is undaunted. He assembles his own crimefighting irregulars, which include a cybersavvy street kid called Zapper as well as Amy herself. It falls to this slapdash group to rescue the kidnapped police officer, and perhaps even settle a long-held score of Mr. Holmes.
With Holmes behind her on her motor scooter, barking orders in her ear as they bounce and swerve up and down the undulating streets of San Francisco, Dr. Amy Winslow is in for a wild ride.
