The sorrows of death compassed me, and the pains of hell gat hold upon me: I found trouble and sorrow.

Psalm 116:3


May 3, 8:12

"You better take a look at this."

Lestrade looked up from his desk. Donovan stood there leaning on the door frame, arms crossed, as always.

"What is it?" he asked, a bit apprehensive. The look in his subordinate's eyes was not encouraging.

"Last night there were reports of the sound of a gunshot in Hyde Park. We checked the security footage and this is what we got."

Donovan moved to take control of his computer, and he rolled his chair out of the way for her. She bent over, typing quickly with precise fingers. About 30 seconds later she swiveled the screen towards the detective with - was that smugness?- in her eyes.

Lestrade leaned toward the screen, looking closely. The camera showed a view of the bridge that went over the Serpentine. The footage showed it was around midnight. There were two figures on the bridge - facing each other at about 5 meters apart, and appeared to be talking. One figure was tall and dark, from head to foot, wearing a dramatic black coat. The cape made the movements of the tall man exaggerated, so it was easy to see he was swaying unsteadily on his feet, putting his hand on a lamppost for balance. The other was short by comparison - solidly built, with short, light brown hair.

Lestrade recognized them instantly.

The audio wasn't very good, and he could only pick up a word here and there. Then the dark figure slumped against the pole, and the change in view caused Lestrade to see an object in his hand - a gun, held straight out towards the smaller man. His stomach twisted. The shorter figure started to move toward the other, slowly, hands held up in surrender. Before he got very close, the dark figure suddenly sprang up, causing the smaller man to back up defensively, finding the railing at his back. Distressed, he raised his voice - but he didn't seem to be calling for help. Lestrade vehemently wished that security cameras had better sound quality. Then, with seemingly no provocation, the gun in the dark figure's hand bucked, with a loud explosive noise.

Lestrade's face drained of its color.

The smaller man was pushed by the force of the shot over the railing and into the lake with a sound somewhere between a plop and a splash. Then the dark figure, like a shadow, glided away unsteadily into the darkness outside of the ring of light cast by the lamppost. Donovan stopped the playback. Lestrade just sat there, staring at the still shot of an empty bridge, for a full minute. Then Donovan interposed on his reverie.

"...Sir?"

Lestrade stared a bit longer. Then he got up from his chair strode out the door of his office, Donovan in tow. I'll get to the bottom of this, he said to himself.

He swore it.