The Norwood Builder
By Sir Arthur Conan Doyal
Re-written by Marketeer Bubbles to be set in present day.
Foreword: Please note, that I in no way imagined this story, I merely enjoy this tale by Sherlock Holmes's original master, and felt I must make it modern and using Benedict Cumberbatch's character of Sherlock. I am in no way Steven Moffat and/or Mark Gatiss; I do not own any of the names, characters, plot or title.
If you are waiting on the next chapter of my other John Watson story, I promise it is coming, I'm just a little stuck at the moment, and I'm still working on another story I started before that one, which I haven't posted yet either.
"Bored!" Came the familiar cry of London's criminal expert, and world's only consulting detective, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock pushed himself back from the desk, having completed his morning search of his emails, and took the paper from his housemate and best friend, Dr. John Watson.
"Oi! I was reading that", came the doctors' indignant response, which went largely un-noticed by the tall lanky genius. Sherlock was flipping trough the paper, in vain hope that it would present infinite possibilities of crimes to solve. He was severely let down, as it seemed London was quiet in regards to all things largely criminal. Merely a few burglaries, wonton assaults', and one hold up in a service station in the other end of London. The detective threw the paper back at John as he collapsed onto his couch, re-checking his phone for the thousandth time. Still nothing.
It was at this time that their doorbell rang once, followed by a pounding fist on the door. Sherlock and John looked to each other, 'case', they spoke in unison, Sherlock's face lighting up joyfully.
It was moments later, Mrs. Hudson having opened the door that a young man, no older the twenty-five came rushing up the stairs, bursting into the sitting room pale, disheveled, out of breath and very frightened. He looked between the two men, who in turn were looking at him expectantly and realized some apology was due for his untimely and unceremonious entry.
"I'm sorry Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson," he cried. "You mustn't blame me. I am almost senseless. I am John Hector McFarlane." He looked as though this name alone would mean something to the men, but it evidently did not.
"Have a seat Mr. McFarlane" Sherlock offered, pulling John out of his chair. "I am sure John here would prescribe tea for your current state" Giving his friend a cursory glance, John understood and went to make tea, more because Sherlock wanted tea then any actual concern for the man shaking man before him.
Upon handing Mr. McFarlane his tea John took his place in the other single chair, Sherlock still lounged out on the sofa.
"Now, if you feel a little more composed, I will hear what you have to say. You mentioned your name like as if we should recognise it, but since neither of us do, including John here who always seems to have copious amounts of trivial information about celebrities and beyond the obvious facts that you are single, a solicitor, a asthmatic, I know nothing about you."
Familiar as John was with Sherlock's methods, it was not difficult for him to follow the mans deductions, and to observe the untidiness of Mr. McFarlane's attire, the sheaf of legal papers and the mans breathing which had prompted them. John suspected his friend knew more, but was actually managing to restrain himself in order to get a case. It had been three days since his last after all. The client however, stared at Sherlock in amazement.
"Yes, I am all that, and in addition I am in a heap of trouble. Please help me Mr. Holmes! If they come to arrest me before I have finished my story, make them give me time, so that I may tell you the whole truth! I could go with them easier if I knew that you were working on the outside for me."
"Arrest you!" said Holmes. "This is wonde..- most interesting" John had given him a warning look. "On what charge are you expecting to be arrested?"
"With murder! They think I've murdered Mr. Jonas Oldacre!"
Sherlock's face showed no sympathy but a look of satisfaction at the case, he seemed to really like cases that involved proving someone innocent of what the police suspected.
"Well" John said; "It was only this morning that you were saying that the good cases had disappeared from the paper."
The visitor shakily stretched forward and picked up the Daily Telegraph, which was now resting on the arm of the sofa.
"You haven't read todays paper have you, if you had then you would have read this, with your permission?" he glanced the detective who merely gestured for him to continue, he didn't like being incorrect, seems the paper was worthy of reading today after all.
"The headlines are: 'Mysterious Affair at Lower Norwood. Disappearance of a Well-known Builder. Suspicion of Murder and Arson. A Clue to the Criminal.' That is the clue they are already following, Mr. Holmes, and I know it leads infallibly to me. I have been followed here from London Bridge Station, and I'm sure that they are only waiting for the arrest warrant to collect me. It will break Mum's heart! I'm innocent! Scouts honor!" He was wringing his hands with worry and rocking to and fro in apprehension.
John looked upon the man with interest, only just an adult, pale and washed out, clean-shaven with frightened blue eyes and hair combed back in a respectable manor. He was dressed as if he were to go from Baker Street straight to work. From his pocket protruded the bundle of endorsed papers, which proclaimed his profession.
"We must use what time we have John, take the paper and read, out loud, the paragraph in question" not a question, a demand, typical Sherlock style and pompous, John just rolled his eyes and gave a gentle smile to nervous wreck in front of them and took the papers.
Underneath the vigorous headline which had already be read out, he read the following suggestive narrative:
Late last night, or early this morning, an incident occurred at Lower Norwood which points, and it is feared, to a serious crime. Mr. Jonas Oldarce is a well-known resident of that area, where he has carried on his business of a builder for many years. Mr. Oldacre is a bachelor, fifty-two, and lives in Deep Dene House, at the Sydenham end of the road of that name. He has the reputation of being a man of eccentric habits, secretive and retiring. For some years he has practically withdrawn from the business, in which he is said to have amassed considerable wealth. A small timber-yard still exists, however, at the back of the house, and last night, about twelve o'clock, an alarm was given that one of the stacks was on fire. The engines were soon upon the spot, but the dry wood burned with great fury, and it was impossible to arrest the conflagration until the stack had been entirely consumed. Up until this point the incident bore the appearance of an ordinary accident, but fresh indications seem to point to a more serious crime. Surprise was expressed at the absence of Mr. Oldacre and an enquiry showed that he had disappeared from the house. an examination of his room revealed that the bed had not been slept in, that the a safe which stood in the room was open and that a number of important documents were scattered across the room. Then finally, that there was signs of a murderous struggle, slight traces of blood being found within the room, and an asthma, which also had stains of blood upon it. It is known the Mr. Jonas Oldacre had received a late visitor in his bedroom that night, and that the asthma pump found has been identified as property of a young solicitor Mr. McFarlane, junior partner of Graham & McFarlane of London. The police believe that have evidence in their possession, which supplies a very convincing motive for the suspected murder, and altogether it cannot be doubted that development will follow.
LATER – It is rumored as we go to press that Mr. McFarlane has actually been arrested on the charge of murder. It is at least certain that a warrant has been issued. There have been further developments in the investigation at Norwood. Besides the signs of a struggle in the room of the unfortunate builder, it is now known that the French windows of his bedroom (which is on the ground floor) were found to be open, that there were marks as if some bulky object had been dragged across to the wood pile, and, finally, it has been asserted that charred remains have ben found among the ashes of the fire. The police theory is that victim was clubbed to death in his own bedroom, his papers rifled, and his body dragged across to the wood pile, which was then ignited so as to hide all traces of the crime. The conduct of the criminal investigation has been left with the experienced hands of Inspector Sally Donavan, of new Scotland Yard, who is following up the clues with the expected energy and vigor.
"Well that explains how so much information about the whole thing got into the newspaper, honestly, can she never keep her mouth shut? So much for professional integrity" John was shaking his head in disgust.
Sherlock however, who had listened to all this with his eyes closed and his fingertips together, opened his eyes and sat forward once more and looked to John.
"I agree, but there is not much we can do about that, its Lestrade's problem now, the case will have been given over to him, she broke procedure. However, the case certainly has some points of interest. We will take it," He said in his languid fashion. Swinging his grey eyes focus to that of his newest client. "I must have all the data, Mr. McFarlane, how is it that you are here and not in a holding cell, since there appears to be enough evidence to justify your arrest?"
"I still live at home, with my parents at Torrington Lodge, Blackheath, but last night, having to do business very late with Mr. Oldacre, I stayed at a hotel in Norwood, and left for work from there. I knew nothing about any of this until I was on the train, that's when I read the paper. I knew I was in trouble, and I love Dr. Watson's blog, so I decided at once to head here instead." Sherlock had scowled at the mention of the blog, but John had merely smirked raising his eyebrows at his flat mate in a sort of 'I told you so sort of way'.
The doorbell rang once more, this time a loud and steady ring. The trio in the living room heard the unmistakable voice of Gregory Lestrade.
"Good morning Mrs. Hudson."
"Morning Gregory dear" came the friendly reply as heavy footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs. A moment later found Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade in the sitting room doorway. Over his shoulder the trio caught sight of two uniformed police officers.
"Mr John Hector McFarlane," Lestrade said
The man in question rose shakily, paler than a ghost
"I arrest you for the willful murder of Mr. Jonas Oldacre"
Mr. McFarlane turned to Sherlock and John with gesture of despair, sinking once more into the chair.
"One moment Lestrade," Sherlock asked, holding a figure up to stop the men, "Half an hour more or less won't kill anyone or make any difference to you I wager, I would like to here this mans account of events"
"Then you can come down to the yard with us and watch the interview there"
"That involves being surround with idiots, no, I'll stay here and I won't pick pocket you for a month if you let him stay too" Lestrade, looked at the to uniformed officers, who had smirks as the shrugged their agreement.
"Oh, all right, but no-one say anything at the yard, it really doesn't help with getting you in on cases as it is" he answered back. "But as it's been reported to me, we won't have any difficulty in charging this gentleman Sherlock" Lestrade said grimly. "But we" he gestured to the officers behind him and himself, "are staying"
"Suit yourself" Holmes replied, non-fussed, and "now Mr. McFarlane, I think it is time for you to tell your side of the story." All eyes turned to the poor man in John's chair.
"I'd like nothing more then the truth to come out." He said, taking a deep breath, he began his tale. I must explain first, that until yesterday, I knew nothing of even the existence of Mr. Oldacre, I know my parents were acquainted with him before my birth, but only from snippets of things said, I'd never actually met the man before. Then, yesterday, at around three pm, he shows up at the office, no appointment I might add, and insisted that it be me that sees him. Kate in reception can confirm that.
He brought with him the several sheets of paper, covered in scribbled writing, this is them" Mr. McFarlane pulled them out of his pocket and spread them over the coffee table for all the see, "He explained that these are his will, that he wanted me to draw it up officially, he also wanted to wait while I did so. So I began, and, too my astonishment and reservations, I found that he had left everything, his property, assets, business, everything, to me. I had reservations about this, but upon questioning the strange ferret like man, I found his eyes full of amusement.
I re-read the terms of the will, but he explained that he was a bachelor with no living relations, that he had known my parents years ago and that he had heard I was very deserving due to my grades, charity work and general life style. He said he felt assured that his assets would be in worthy hands. Of course, I was flattered, but suggested that perhaps, he should leave it to charities instead, but he remained stubborn that I should inherit it all. Of course, all I could do was mutter my thanks. I tried to explain he 'conflict of interest' but he would not have a bar of it. In the end, the will was duly finished, signed, and witnessed by my clerk. This is it on the blue paper, and these slips, as I have explained, are the rough draft.
Mr. Oldacre then informed me that there were a number of documents – building leases, title deeds, mortgages, script, and so forth - which it was necessary that I should see and understand. He said his mind would not rest easy until the whole thing was settled, and he begged me to come out to his house at Norwood that night, bringing the will with me, to arrange matters. 'Remember my boy, not one word to your parents until everything is settles. We will keep it a little surprise for them.' He was very insistent upon this point and made me promise. I am a man of honor, what was I to do but keep the promise, it was not hurting anyone;
You can imagine that I was not really in a place to refuse him anything anyway, he was to be my benefactor, and so, I called home to say that I had important business and that I didn't know if or when I'd be home that night. Mr. Oldacre had told me to be at his place at nine so that we could dine before business. He said he wouldn't be home before that. Took awhile to find the place, I never was any good with directions, always getting lost, anyway I reached his place at around half past and I found him-"
"Wait a minute, who opened the door?" Sherlock interrupted.
"A middle aged woman, who was I suppose, his house keeper"
"And it was she, I presume, who mentioned your name?" he turned to Lestrade who confirmed this with a nod.
"Proceed then" Sherlock said dismissively.
Mr. McFarlane wiped his damp brow, and then continued his narrative:
"I was shown by this woman, into a sitting room, where a frugal supper was lain out. Afterwards Mr. Jonas Oldacre led me into his bedroom, where there was a large safe in the corner of the room. He opened the safe and took out a mass of documents, which we went over together. It was between eleven and twelve when we finished up. He asked that since we couldn't disturb the housekeeper whose room is near the front door that I leave via his bedroom window; it had been open the entire time.
"Was the blind down?" Sherlock asked
"I am not sure, but I think it was about half way down through the evening. Yes! I remember how he upped it up in order for me to climb out. I couldn't find my asthma pump, which I usually keep in my hip pocket. 'Never mind my boy, I suspect I shall see a great deal more of you now, I shall keep it here until you return, I'm sure you have another, I will find it in the morning.' I left then, agreeing with him, safe open and the papers made up in piles on the desk. It was so late that I the trains had stopped working and I've never really be comfortable in cars, I decided to stay at a hotel instead, the 'Anerly Arms', I knew nothing about this horrible event until I read the paper this morning"
"Anything more you want to ask Sherlock or can I take the man now?" Lestrade asked "times up", the detectives eyebrows had raised once or twice during the explanation.
"Not until I have been to Blackheath"
"You mean Norwood" said Lestrade.
"Oh yes; no doubt that is what I must have mean" Sherlock replied rolling his eyes and sounding quiet sarcastic. His smile more of a smirk. Lestrade had learnt by now, through more experiences than he'd like to admit, the Sherlock's razor like mind could cut through that which was impenetrable to him. I saw him look at Mr. McFarlane curiously.
"I think I should like a word Sherlock" He said, "Now Mr. McFarlane, these two officers behind me will take you to the car that is waiting. The poor man arose, and with a last beseeching glace at us, walked from the room. Lestrade remained.
Sherlock picked up the pages left by McFarlane and examined them with keen interest.
"You know I have to take those in as evidence right?" Lestrade asked patiently.
"There are some points about the documents, Lestrade, are there not?" he asked, ignoring the mans question.
The DI looked at them, not seeing what the issue was.
"I can read the first few lines, and these in the middle of the second page, and one or two at the end, those are clear as print," he said; "but the writing is very bad, and there are places where it is almost completely illegible"
"And what do you make of that Lestrade?" said Sherlock
"That it was written while moving?" A question more then a statement.
"Very good, in a train in fact, the good writing represents stations, the bad script movement, and the very bad writing passing over roads or that new rail work that is happening in the tunnels. It is possible that, given his generation, he is computer illiterate, but still, annoying. However it does give us data. A scientific report would pronounce at once that this was drawn up on a suburban line, since nowhere in the vicinity of London could there be so few stations. The train must have been an express, only stopping once between Norwood and London Bridge."
"And this is important because?" Lestrade prompted.
"Well it corroborates McFarlane's story to the extent that the will was drawn up by Oldacre on his journey yesterday. It is interesting don't you think that a man should draw up a document in so haphazard a fashion. It suggests that he did not think it was going to be much practical importance. If a man drew up a will which he did not intend to ever be effective he may do so."
"Well he drew up his own death sentence at the same time" Lestrade pointed out.
"Oh, do you think so?"
"You don't I take it Sherlock?"
"Well it is quite possible; but the case is not clear to me yet, and you know I never share theories, your lot always over react"
Ignoring the jibe at the police force Lestrade continued;
Not clear? Well, if that isn't clear, what could be clearer? Here is a young man who learns suddenly that if a certain older man dies he will gain a fortune. What does he do? He says nothing to anyone but arranges that he will go out on some pretext to see his client that night; he waits until the only other person who could be witness is in bed, and then in the mans own room, murders him and burns the body in a bloody wood pile. He departs to a near hotel. The blood stains in the room and also on the puffer are very slight, it is probable that he imagined the crime a bloodless one, and hoped that if the body were consumed by fames it would hide all traces of the method of Oldacre's death – traces that must have pointed to him. Isn't that all that obvious?"
"It strikes me Lestrade, as being a bit too obvious actually, it occurs to me that while imagination is not your strongest point, even you could, for a moment, put your place in the accused shoes'. Would you choose the very night after the will had been made to commit your crime? Would it not seem dangerous to you to make so very close a relation between the incidents? Again, would you choose an occasion when you are known to be in the house, when another has let you in? And finally, would you take the great pains to conceal the body and yet leave your own belonging, the puffer, as a sign that you were the criminal? Admit it Lestrade, all of that is very unlikely unless the man is an imbecilic moron, which he doesn't strike me as either. Close, but not quite there."
"As to the puffer Sherlock you know as well as I do that a criminal is often flustered and doesn't think clearly or logically. He was likely afraid to return to the room. Give me another theory that would fit the facts."
"I would give you several if I thought you would listen, why would McFarlane have burned the body anyway, it doesn't fit the puzzle"
"To hide the evidence of course"
"With modern technology, everybody knows, thanks to those police shows, the evidence can be found in the smallest of places, really, you should know that by now, especially with Anderson and Donovan's track records for missing things."
"Well Sherlock, you and John may go look for your evidence, and while you are, we will hold on to our man. The future will show which of us is right. Just remember, that as far as is evident, none of the papers where removed, and that the accused is the one man in the world who had no reason for removing them since he was heir-at-law and would come into them anyway after probate."
John noticed Sherlock seemed struck by Lestrade's last remark
"As you said, the future will tell, John and I will be by Norwood shortly, bye"
"Bye Sherlock, John" and with a nod of his head, Lestrade followed his officer outside.
"You know I have work today, right?"
"Call in sick John, a mans life is in danger we need to get to Blackheath"
"Why not Norwood" John asked, already calling the clinic while trying to follow his friends train of thought.
"Because it is where this case begins, two unexpected events, only one of the criminal in nature, of course the police will ignore the first, it is only logical to try and through some light on the first unexpected event – the sudden change of the will to someone else so sudden and unexpected, come on then John, the game is on!" and with that, the duo left Baker Street in a cab and headed for Blackheath.
The day was unhelpful in Sherlock's high opinion, yielding little information on events. The first thing he did upon returning home that evening was to snatch up his violin and start lamenting his frustration through said instrument. John went to the pub.
The only things that they had found out was that nobody actually liked Oldacre, in fact he was considered a black-hearted wretch. McFarlane's father was at New Scotland Yard, pleading his son's innocence. His mother wouldn't hear or admit any possibility that her son was guilty, and when asked about Oldacre, she was nothing but bitter and with no sorrow at his passing, un-meaning to she was strengthening the polices' case for them. When pried for information John was told the following.
"He [Oldacre] was more like a malignant and cunning ape then a human being, that he has been since he was just a young man, we dated for a while, I am just grateful I found him for what he was and left him before it was too late. I was engaged to him Dr. Watson, but when I heard how he had turned a cat loose in an aviary, I was so horrified at his brutal cruelty that I left him that day, refusing to have anything to do with him again." She had fished a photo out of an album and showed it to Sherlock and John. It was slashed and defaced with markers and cuts. "He sent it to me, like this, on the morning of my wedding, cursing me."
"At lest he has forgiven you now, since he has left everything to your son" John tried to console the now sobbing woman.
"No-one, my son included want anything to do with Jonas Oldacre, dead or alive!" she cried angry and upset. "My son is innocent, you'll see Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, you'll see, he's innocent!"
After walking around and talking to a few locals, John stopping for lunch "You know I don't eat on cases John", the pair had headed down to Norwood next.
Arriving at Deep Dene, they found the big modern home of the deceased man. A stately brick home with a well cared for garden. A large lawn sprawled to the front door. To the left and back from the road was the timber yard that had been the scene of the fire. The victims bedroom window, the same that had been used by McFarlane, was on the ground floor, in the back corner of the let side of the house, over looking the timber yard, however, in saying that, the house, being on a diagonally placed block, meant that passers by on the road could see into the man bedroom. Sherlock seemed please by this, but only momentarily.
There was no Lestrade, only a few officers remained on guard from nosey people and reporters. Neither Donovan nor Anderson was there either. Before entering the house, Sherlock and John had gone to examine the fire damage. The officers had, just that morning, found a treasure trove of charred organic remains and several discoloured metal discs. Sherlock had examined them with care, and there was no doubt that they were pants buttons. Sherlock could even make out the slight 'Hendricks' marks. From there Sherlock had started to examine the lawn very carefully, John giving him his space, keeping a close eye on his friend while talking quietly with the officer on duty. Being summer, the ground was hard as rock, and no traces of footprints could be seen; only drag marks of something heavy being dragged through a low privet hedge, which was in line with the woodpile, could be found. More support for the police theory.
An hour of searching the garden had brought nothing else to the great mans' attention so they had headed into the taped off house. Upon entering the bedroom only slight blood satins where found, but they were evidently fresh. McFarlane's puffer had been found on the ground, their clients name on the prescription sticker around the grey tube, but it was well established that it belonged to their client, he had admitted to leaving it behind. Foot marks could be seen indented in the carpet, but only two sets, further collaborating The Yards theory.
Sherlock had then examined the contents of the safe. Most had been taken out and left on the table. The papers had been sealed up between two envelopes; the police had opened them already. As far as John or Sherlock could judge, nothing contained was of any great significance or importance. Mr. Oldacre's bank statements had been printed out and they two showed only that McFarlane was set to inherit a vast fortune. However it was John who suggested that not all the papers where there, after taking care of both his and his friends' finances for so long, he had an eye for it, he mentioned his theory and his observations, supporting by pointing out some allusions to deeds of high value that could not be found.
Sherlock had been pleased beyond belief at John's discovery, after all, why would anyone steal what they where to inherit, it meant Lestrade's theory was flawed and therefore inadmissible.
After exploring the hall and the sitting room where they had dinned, Sherlock questioned the housekeeper.
Mrs. Lexinton was a small mousy figure with suspicious eyes and she knew something, of that Sherlock was sure, but he could not work out how to get it out of her, and John's constant muttering of 'be polite' had meant he could not employ his usual tactics. The woman had let McFarlane in at nine-thirty, for which she was sorry forever doing so, and then she had retired to her room, going to bed at around ten thirty. She had known nothing of a struggle; she had awoken when the fire alarm had gone off. She had called the fire service, which records indicated was true.
When asked about any enemies Mr. Oldacre had, they were informed quiet shortly that everyman did, but that the man had kept mostly to himself and only ever met people in business. She had also recognised the buttons, having been shown them earlier. It was also found that, after calling the fire department via the house landline, she had taken the garden house and tried to put the fire out herself, or at least stop it spreading. The woodpile had been very dry and thus, had burned like tinder; she hadn't stood a chance at stopping it. It was also noted that both she, and the fire fighters had smelt burnt flesh in the smoke that had risen.
Mrs. Lexington had known nothing of the victim's papers or private affairs.
After interviewing the housekeeper, the detective and his blogger had headed home. Where Sherlock was now playing his violin and John was starting to write up the uncompleted case for his blog; much to Sherlock's annoyance. Angelo's was ordered in for John and Sherlock just remained quiet, except for the low moan of his instrument.
John was awoken the next day to vicious yells or disjointed and random case facts and stomping feet, rolling over, it was only just five thirty in the morning. Seriously, did Sherlock ever sleep? Getting out of bed and throwing his dressing gown on, john meandered down stairs to find the mad man, blue dressing gown flowing behind him, pacing the living room.
"We are missing something John! I can feel it; I know it! But all evidence points to McFarlane! Here, look at these!" he all but pushed some documents into John's hands
"Please tell me you didn't steal evidence again Sherlock, I really don't appreciate the yard going through my belongings on fake drugs busts" groaned John, looking through the papers anyway. Sherlock just ignored him, still pacing like a caged lion.
On looking through the statements, John could see where Sherlock had highlighted particularly large deposits over the last twelve months to one Mr. Cornelius Brown.
"Why would a retired builder deal with such large sums of money and all to the same person?"
"Exactly John, I would like to find the man, he may be a broker, but there is no correspondence between the two men, no emails, snail post, text messages, I've gone through all the data. He may know something, we should find him and fast, before the innocent, yes, I'm sure he is innocent, McFarlane is brought before a court on charges."
John was making tea five minutes later in the hope of getting something into Sherlock before the day started, and they had just sat down to it, when Sherlock's phone bleeped with a text message.
Important fresh evidence found, McFarlane's guilt fully established, thanks anyway mate – GL
"Idiots" was the first thing to come from Sherlock's mouth after reading the text aloud. "This is Lestrade's little cock-a-doodle-do of victory" he scowled, "but it is too premature to abandon the case, after all, evidence is a two edged thing, and may possibly cut a very different direction to that which Lestrade 'imagines'" the word was practically spat. "You'd think they'd have picked up something from my methods by now, wouldn't John, come along"
"You realize it is not even six fifteen yet?"
"So?"
"Never mind" said Watson shaking his head ruefully, "lets go get dressed"
It was an hour later that found the pair back in Noorwood, at Deep Dene, the place was surrounded by media and morbid sightseers. Sally Donavan met us at the gate; her face flushed with victory, her manner being its usual annoying self but with triumph mixed in.
"Well freak? What are you doing here, we solved this case without the 'help' of you and your little pet"
"I have formed no conclusions as of yet Sally"
"Well you don't get to this time, we don't need or want you here"
Then it's a good thing I'm working for McFrlane not you and thus have the right to enter then isn't it?"
Sally was forced by this proclamation to allow Sherlock and John in, but she was obviously unhappy about it.
Anderson was the next Yarder they met, and he crowed like a rooster.
"You don't like being beaten any more then the rest of us do freak"
Sherlock and John ignored him and ducked under the tape, finding Lestrade talking to some other officers.
"Lestrade, I wish to see this new evidence"
The man jumped as the pair came up behind him not having expected their presence that day.
"Err right, sure, this way." He led the pair down the dark hall; no natural light seemed able to get in here. It was near the end that he pulled out a lighter and struck it. By its light, a stain of blood upon the whitewashed wall, as if someone had been leaning over, using the wall for balance to pick something up, say, like an asthma puffer. But it was not just a bloodstain; it was also a perfect fingerprint. "This must be where McFarlane stopped to pick up his fallen pump before losing it again in the bedroom, we've run the prints through the data base, they've been confirmed as McFarlane's. We have him Sherlock."
"Indeed you do" Sherlock replied, but his tone caught the attention of both John and Lestrade, they both turned to look at him, his eyes dancing with joy, he appeared to be having difficulty holding back some kind of laughter. John knew he had cracked the case, he just didn't know how yet, but Sherlock loved any chance to show off, so he'd have to wait.
Holmes body was almost wiggling with suppressed excitement as he spoke next, almost too sure of himself and what ever he had discovered.
"Tell me Lestrade, who found this mark?"
"Mrs Lexington, the housekeeper pointed it out to Anderson, why?"
"Where was the night guard?"
"He remained on guard in the bedroom where the murder took place, ensuring the scene remained untouched"
"So why didn't Anderson and his team find this mark yesterday?"
"We had no particular reason to carefully examine this part of the hall" Lestrade was beginning to see where this was going.
"Of course, and I suppose there is no doubt in anyone's minds that this mark was here yesterday?"
"All right Sherlock, out with it, what had you found" Lestrade was getting irate now.
"While it is defiantly McFarlane's thumb print, he did not put it there."
"Then who did Sherlock? And how?"
"Ah now, that's the real question isn't it, see I examined this hall very thoroughly yesterday, and this mark was most certainly not there then, and since it is highly unlikely the McFarlane escaped the holding cells, returned to place more evidence against himself and then returned to the cells, without anyone noticing, I think we had best work it out, come on John, we are taking a work around the garden, there seems to be a nice path around the house." And with that he led John, who gave an apologetic shrug to Lestrade as he followed his friend out. Of course Lestrade, concerned for evidence and proper procedure, also followed.
The two men followed Sherlock around the house, stopping when he did and watching as he eyed each side of the house. He then proceeded back inside and started to look at each room of the house as if they would give him something. By now, other members of the force had noticed Sherlock's, Johns and their chiefs behaviors and where giving him a wide birth. Finally, upon reaching the third and final landing, and exploring the three unused bedrooms, Sherlock gave a sudden smile and held a finger to his lips, motioning for his friends to follow him out and away.
"There are some rather unique features about this house don't you think John?" Sherlock asked quietly and away from others ears. "I think it is time that we took our friend Lestrade" he shoot the man a furtive glance before returning his gaze to John, he was playing the prat, "into out confidence, don't you"
"Perhaps you could take me in to Sherlock" John asked, enjoying Sherlock's smile at everyone else's expense.
"Lestrade, we are missing an important witness to this event, perhaps we should present him, will you please get a couple of your smarter people, not Anderson and Donavon, too much stupid between hem and then come up stairs, and do be quiet about it"
"What are you up to now Sherlock?" Lestrade asked before radioing for two constables to join them.
"You'll see, come on" and he led the four men, John, Lestrade, and the two constables
"I assume being police you have loud strong voices?" a nod from The Yarders. "Excellent, now when the smoke alarm," and he pulled Lestrade's lighter from his own pocket, to a annoyed John and DI's look "goes off, start yelling fire as loud as you can until I tell you to stop." And he lifted the lit lighter up to the nearest smoke alarm and waited. Then the five men started shouting as the alarm sounded loudly.
The men stopped shouting at once when amazingly, a door suddenly opened what had appeared to be a solid wall. Out flew an elderly gentleman, like some little frighten rabbit.
"Hello Jonas Oldacre, how are you today, Lestrade, I present you your missing witness" Sherlock had the look of a cat that had caught the cannery.
Lestrade and the constables stared at the new comer in amazement, Lestrade being the first to regain his composure. John and Sherlock looking quiet pleased at the result.
"What's this then? What have you been doing all this time then, eh?"
The newcomer was blinking in the sudden light of the corridor; he was a ferret like little man, with greasy combed back hair and an odious face full of malice and cruelty.
Oldacre gave an uneasy laugh, shrinking back from the furious face of Detective Inspector Lestrade.
"I have done no harm" the small man said bravely.
"No harm! You have done your best to get an innocent young man put in prison, being highly detrimental to his growing career, you have wasted precious police time and resources, you have started a fire that could have done a lot more damage then it did, thankfully and you have the gall to say 'no harm done'? Seriously?" It is an offence to lodge a false police report, and a felony to falsify records. It is also fraudulent to say you are dead when you are very much alive!"
The wretched creature began to whimper.
"It was only a practical joke, a bit of a laugh"
"Oh! A joke was it? You won't find the laughing on your side, I can promise you that!" turning to his officers he ordered they take Mr. Oldacre to the sitting room and await his arrival and to send word to the cells to have Mr. John McFarlane released.
Once the new 'eye witnessed had been escorted out of hearing range, Lestrade turned back to a now openly smiling Sherlock Holmes.
"Nicely done Sherlock, shall we see where this rat has been lurking? I'm sure John will want something to describe in that blog of yours, am I right?"
"Too true Lestrade, shall we?" John gestured to the still open secret door.
Sherlock took the lead and entered. A lath-and-plaster partition had been run across the passage six feet from the end, with the door cunningly concealed behind in it. It was lit within by slits under the eves and the a small window hidden by the guttering. Some furniture, a small solar powered mini bar to store food and water were within the room along with a healthy supply of books and papers.
"There's the advantage of being a builder," Sherlock said as they exited the room. "He was able to fix up his own little hiding place without anybody being the wiser, except of course for the housekeeper. You'll be wanting to arrest her as well Lestrade."
Lestrade sent the order ahead via radio as John looked at Sherlock with some akin to pride.
"Come on Sherlock, tell us how you knew that place was there he asked, knowing he was just adding fire to the mans already too big ego.
"This floor is six feet shorter then the one below, yet it is a square house, I decided the man must still be within the place. I figured, anyone who would do such a thing to someone else, must be a bully or a coward, based on character statements we had already collected yesterday, it made sense he was a cowardly sort, who stays indoors when there is a fire?" John made a coughing remark about something to do with their kitchen and fires, but it went largely ignored by Sherlock as he continued. "So, I decided to smoke him out, so to speak, as for why do it this was, I felt like amusing myself, we could have barged in there and arrested him, but wasn't this more fun?" he asked.
Lestrade groaned and John tried to keep his laughing quiet.
"Really John, you shouldn't giggle at a crime scene," Of course this sent both men into hysterics and Lestrade just shaking his head at the tow of them, a smile playing at the edges of his mouth and merriment in his eyes.
"Okay, okay, settle you two, you still haven't said how you knew he was in the house Sherlock"
"Simple, the thumb mark, I knew it had not been there the day before, I always pay a good amount of attention to detail, I don't just see I observe Lestrade, you should really know my methods by now, but anyway, I noticed the packets of papers where sealed with wax, strange that people still do that, but what better way to make things 'official' and to get a thumb print. McFarlane wouldn't have thought anything about it, it is not his nature; but Oldacre wanted the fingerprint, knowing it would be damning evidence, seriously, he watches too much crime TV, but anyway, he made another wax imprint to reverse it, used his own blood as he did in his room and placed the mark there himself. I wager if you go through the documents yourself you'll see I'm right."
John was like a proud parent and Lestrade was just astonished at the lengths people would go to.
"But what was the purpose of all this, the motive, why McFarlane?"
"Payback, revenge, did you know that McFarlanes mother and Oldacre were going to be married? I did mention you should go to Blackheath I'm sure of it, just as well John and I did."
"We did go there, but we never found that out"
"Surprise surprise, anyway, a man like Oldacre, hold old hurts, would have schemed for ages not knowing how to get revenge on the woman he supposedly loved. Then during the last, oh, say twelve months, things have gone down hill for him – secret speculation, I think, - and he finds himself dodging creditors and the tax office, anyway, he starts swindling money into Mr. Browns account, who you'll find is just him using another name, more Freud to add to the list of crimes. He intended to take a new identity and start over."
"Sounds plausible, go on" Lestrade prompted.
"He figured that dying was a suitable way to cover his tracks while also using it as a way of revenge against his former lover, if he could give the impression that he had been murdered by her only son. It was a well thought out plan, and had he not wanted to perfect perfection, he would have gotten away with it, the fingerprint was all we needed, and what ruined his scheme. There are one or two questions I would like to ask him though, shall we?" not waiting for an answer Sherlock gracefully led the way to the sitting room where a cuffed and angry faced Mr. Jonas Oldacre sat, a police officer on each side, Anderson and Donavan looking for all the world like they had seen a ghost.
"It really was just a practical joke, I swear" the man was whining.
"Oh do be quiet," hissed Sherlock upon entering the room
"I merely wanted to see the effect of my disappearance, and I am sure you wouldn't imagine me as to let that young man go to prison for it, not me, not ever!"
"We'll let the jury decide that Mr. Oldacre, as I am charging you with conspiracy, and fraud."
"And you'll find your creditors will probably impound the banking account of Mr. Cornelius Brown" John added.
The little man started and stared at John and Sherlock in turn.
"I have to thank you for a good deal," he said. "Perhaps I'll repay my debt someday"
Sherlock smiled indulgently.
"I fancy that for some time you will find your time fully occupied, however, since John and I are done here, we shall take our leave, John has a blog to write up and I wish to go and examine the organic remains found in the ashes of your fire, I look forward to working out what you used Mr. Oldacre, good day!" And with that the two best friends left without another word. With Sherlock already itching for his next case.