Back at the precinct, you head to your desk in the corner and activate the console. Brushing through new messages and pings from your coworkers, you browse to the precinct database and David Simmons, your missing person.

While waiting for Simmons' file to print, you notice something strange about your desk. Everything seems mostly in place, except for the picture of your brother, James, in his military fatigues. There's something strange about the glass… it doesn't quite cover the photo; there's a gap between the glass and frame. Grabbing the picture, you turn it over and unfasten the clasps that hold it together. Wedged between the card-stock backing and the base of the frame, a folded strip of paper falls onto the desk. Thin like a Chinese cookie fortune--though several times as long--you spread the paper out on your desk, and read the following message:

tp es uj kw ov yf nf th ce kg bt yr tp yf kg kh bu is ht zi pu my ... you like to playfair, detective, and so did your brother. As a one time courtesy, we suqqest you leave one out.

Also, please don't add me for help. I'll try and hang out in Riddlers Labyrinth when I can.