Beautiful Minds
Chapter 1 – "Culture Clash"
I tap my fingers rhythmically on the arm of my chair. I knew the murderer I had been chasing for months was in England and I had to find him. The one thing that puzzled me most about this sudden trip across the pond is why, why England? He seemed very content to murder at will in the states but did he grow bored and want to try his hand at outwitting England's best.
Two murders in a matter of hours would suggest that the assailant was indeed on his way to making England's most wanted list in no time. I'm sure had he not killed a very prominent member of parliament's son I would have never gotten the call from Mycroft Holmes.
As I attempt to hail a cab a black car with tinted windows pulls up, stopping at the curb in front of me. A more than beautiful woman steps out, holding the door open. I nod my head to her and climb in the car.
"Mycroft, so nice to finally meet you." I extend my hand; the rather regal man taking it.
"I see you're as intuitive as you are beautiful Ms. Christie. There are a few matters to discuss before I take you to the crime scene. First and for most, my brother." Mycroft crinkles his nose as if he's smelled a foul odor.
"Sherlock, yes I believe I've heard of him. I very much look forward to working with him." Mycroft holds up one long slender finger, closing his eyes so gently.
"One does not work with my brother; you attempt to work around him whilst he enjoys his playground. I've brought you here because you know the killer best. When you do meet my brother, do try to refrain from hitting him." A small, somewhat evil smirk filters across his lips and I take it there is no brotherly love lost between them.
We ride in silence until we reach the crime scene, Mycroft's assistant typing away on her cell phone. "Mycroft, I will catch him. This I promise you."
Mycroft reaches forward to close the car, his eyes gazing up at me. "Do your best but we both know Sherlock will catch this killer."
As the car drives off I feel a bit miffed. If he assumed I took the red eye from New York to just play second fiddle to his brother then Mycroft Holmes is sadly mistaken.
Pulling the sash of my trench coat tighter I walk over to the yellow tape marking the scene of the murders. An attractive man with graying hair approaches me, his mannerisms giving away his status.
"I'm sorry miss, this is an active crime scene. You really can't be here." He holds his arm out as if to block my view.
I reach inside my coat, making the gentleman a tad uneasy. Pulling out my credentials from the NYPD I hold them out to him. "The name is Abbatissa Christie, profiler for New York 's finest. I believe Mr. Mycroft Holmes called you. I need in there, this is my crime scene."
He shakes my hand, lowering his head just a bit. "I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade. Unfortunately, your crime scene is no longer yours."
We walk over to the yellow tape and I see him, Sherlock Holmes. Tall, a little thin with a marvelous glow in his cool blue eyes. His dark curly hair and high cheek bones set off his extraordinary face. If he was half as witty as he is attractive then I am indeed in for a battle of wits. His companion could only be John Watson, the doctor Mycroft had mentioned on the phone.
John seemed to be a regular fellow but being a doctor I would never assume he's without his own special idiosyncrasies. Lestrade walks with me as I go about searching the area of the park for myself. Sherlock looks at Lestrade, his eyes watching my every move.
"Excuse me but can you kindly remove yourself." Ignoring him I go about my business, causing John to let out a small chuckle.
"I don't think she heard you Sherlock, perhaps you should ask her again." John pushes his hands in his pocket, the smile on his face giving away his current giddy mood.
I collect a few items from the ground, placing them in a plastic evidence bag. As I approach the first body, the corner begins to collecting the second. "Excuse me, please give me a moment then you can take the bodies."
Sherlock walks around me as if studying me. I ignore him, taking in the dead man on the ground. Eventually Sherlock walks over to a tree, leaning up against it with his hands in his coat pocket. "Tell me, have you found anything useful or do you like wasting people's time?"
Rising from my knelt position I place my hands in my pockets as well, retrieving the evidence bag. "The younger of the two victims was killed first. He's dressed for a jog but it's obvious he didn't go running. The runners watch he's wearing states his heart only increases at the time of his death. He came out here to meet a lover and was caught off guard. He's an avid runner so he's in good physical shape yet it only took the killer a matter of seconds to subdue and kill him. The second man is a photographer by trade, out taking pictures of the skyline. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time." I hold up the plastic bag, pointing to the contents. "Neither of the two men smoke and these cigarette buds are fresh. They are too close to the body not to be the killers and upon further inspection I think he wanted us to find them. He left his DNA for us to link him to the murders."
Sherlock leans off of the tree, clapping his hands in a sarcastic manner. "Bravo. I'm glad someone here, besides me of course, is using a portion of their mind."
"Abbatissa Christie, good to finally meet the infamous Sherlock Holmes. Now if you'll excuse me I need to collect the boot impression." I move around him, Sherlock following me.
"Interesting. I was about to do the same thing. Tell me Ms. Christie, what is it that has you so interested in the print?" Sherlock still being his smug self, leans over me.
"The killer never wears the same shoes twice. The brand of shoe is his way of sending me a cryptic message to his next killing. The last shoes he wore were runners training shoes." Taking a picture of the print with my cell phone I ask for the print to be cast.
Sherlock runs his long finger over his chin, his blue eyes set on me like a hound on a fox. "Come, you must tell me more." He takes me by my arm and drags me towards John. "John, a cab if you please. Ms. Christie and I have a great deal to talk about. Mind you I find you intriguing but you are still ordinary in many ways."
"Sherlock, manners." John sternly says to him as I lift my eyebrows.
"You are indeed a rare specimen Mr. Holmes but your social skills are well … inept. Thank you for the backhanded compliment but if you need me you can find me at Scotland Yard." Walking away from them I can hear the pattering of his boots.