Chapter Notes: And the bunny keeps on hopping! I did not see this chapter coming, or the insights that came from it. I hope it is in keeping with the other two. Thank you for all the generous reviews! I still see Ian Hart in my head when I write this...if you have not seen 2002 version of The Hound of the Baskervilles...stop and go see its on Youtube! I especially like it because Watson winds up saving Sherlock's sorry behind, even though he did not deserve it at that moment! LOL!
Clea Lestrade belongs to Argonite and her brilliant fics. Be sure to go check them out....as well as KCS...and Shedoc! If you do that will, however, not place me in the best of lights...but oh well LOL!
Once again these are Arthur's kids...I don't own'em
Doctor John Watson, Police Surgeon: Scotland Yard
Chapter Three
Lestrade walked through Scotland Yard with a light step. He was whistling to himself some tune that he and his wife Clea had listened to at a public concert the week before.
He was in a better mood than he had been in for some time.
Watson's little demonstration two days ago had become nearly legendary already. Most who had despised St. Cloud, and to be sure, that was most of the Yard by now, were singing the praises of the doctor. It did not help that Hopkins had somehow managed to recreate the monologue almost word for word. That account spread as it passed around under the guise of sharing information, but Lestrade had inkling that it found more use for entertainment purposes.
St. Cloud had said no words to Lestrade since his efficient, militaristic dressing down. He had meekly turned in the modified coroners finding,and had been unusually accommodating since. Lestrade was still waiting for the resulting controversy to arrive. He knew St. Cloud as Chief Police Surgeon, had connections further up in Scotland Yard hierarchy, which is why the man could be so rude with impunity, and he knew the French man would not take his humiliation well.
He was crossing the receiving area when the Superintendant's door opened. "Chief Inspector, might I have a word?"
The wait is over.
"Of course, Superintendant Collins," Lestrade replied dutifully, as if he could refuse.
He entered the neat office and took his seat across from the tall fastidious man. Collins had the look of aristocracy, even though he was as common born as Lestrade. The man was also very well educated and understood that he was a political functionary and left the true work to men under him while deflecting and dispersing any undue attentions. Lestrade and his fellow inspectors quite liked the man; of course, they still did not like a call into his presence.
Collins did not settled into his desk, but instead he studied the activity out on the floor in silence. Lestrade took that as a bad omen for things to come.
Collins finally turned to the Chief Inspector. "I have been privy to many things occurring within these walls, things I let pass for the sake of moral, and our mutual goals. However, I have been placed in an unenviable position by this week's activities."
Lestrade nodded.
Collins pursed his lips contemplatively before continuing. "At this moment, down in the dissection rooms, do we, or do we not have the mutilated corpse of Lord Glastonbury?"
"We do indeed, sir," Lestrade replied cautiously.
Collins nodded as if that were information he had already accepted as truth. "I must also inquire, are we questioning his young wife for possible conspiracy to commit murder?"
Lestrade nodded to confirm that as well.
Collins sighed wearily. "You are aware that the Glastonbury's are calling for an apology from this office?"
Lestrade decided to stay mute, so he indicated he had not.
Collins walked over to his desk and settled into his chair. "Do we have a confession, or evidence beyond refute that I can give them to hold them at bay?"
Lestrade realized he could no longer stay carefully silent so he chose his words carefully. "We have very promising leads we are pursuing; I feel it is only a matter of time before the case will be shored up."
Collins frowned at that pronouncement. "So, at this time, all we have are the clues that were given to you at an impromptu consultation by a man who is not even officially a police surgeon, and you felt that was sufficient to question the Lady Glastonbury, and open this office up to scrutiny and possible repercussions?"
Lestrade gritted his teeth; once again, he cursed his inability to think like a diplomat. He and Gregson had made the decision together to call the Lady in, along with her possible paramour, but it would appear that he was going to absorb the blame should matters deteriorate. "Inspector Gregson and I felt it was prudent to question the Lady Glastonbury, concerning her husband's whereabouts, we felt many of her answers as to her own activities warranted further scrutiny. Doctor Watson's findings were an invaluable resource, as such, we have managed to establish a time line for Lord Glastonbury's last days, and as to a motive for his murder, and to the method of said murder."
Collins studied Lestrade, his eyes intense and dismembering. "Tell me about this Doctor Watson. Before I sent you to the Diagones Club in response to that summoning from Mycroft Holmes himself, I was unaware that the man was anything more than an amanuensis for an amateur detective. If we are to place our futures upon this man's musings, I really must know why he is worthy of such faith."
Lestrade felt the strain of this conversation. How could he explain something to Collins that you could only realize upon meeting the man in question? He could detail Watson's service record, which was impressive to anyone's eyes, he could explain the man's training by the world's foremost investigative genius, but if you only saw Sherlock Holmes as an amateur and his methods dubious at best, that would not suffice. He could even mention the man's credentials as a doctor, but that would only justify a small corner of what the man was. Lestrade, before that demonstration two days past, was not even sure of the extent of the doctor's capabilities, Watson was not one to trumpet them, or draw attention. That was part of the reason most persons who read his accounts, saw him as a lesser spectator to Holmes, than the partner he really was.
Collins nodded at Lestrade's sudden silence. "I have talked to all the Inspectors involved, and all have had the same reaction. There does not seem to be a consensus about this man, or about his qualifications. Hopkins essentially told me I have to meet the man to understand why they accept his word so readily."
Lestrade had to nod at that. "I am sorry sir, but he has many qualities that do not translate to the spoken word, or to credentials on a piece of paper. He's a man who has seen things, horrible things that we cannot fathom, has managed to live with them. Beyond that, he has not allowed himself to be embittered because of those thoughts and memories. He has a unique gravity, which engenders easy trust."
The Superintendant sat in thought for a minute. "I regret to inform you, Lestrade that I will be forced to release Lady Glastonbury by the end of the day, and her attendant as well if I do not have so much as a confession."
Lestrade leapt to his feet in outrage. "Sir, we have the site of the murder, we have an eye witness that saw a horse matching Colonel DeBeer's prize stallion and a rider in the streets near that dock, we have the young boy who ran messages from Lord Glastonbury's Hotel room to his wife, and his wife's response. We are close to getting a search warrant for DeBeer's sabre, alleged as the murder weapon; according to the cast taken from the body it has a nick that can identify it. We even have a well-established history of the Lady Glastonbury's dalliances, and her husband's addictions..."
"But do you have that sabre in custody now, or some concrete evidence that links this young woman to the murder of her husband, because she is giving DeBeers an alibi," Collins asked patiently, His tone insistent.
Lestrade leaned on the desk to emphasize his point. "If we let that Lady leave with that man, she will not live to see another sunrise, and he will disappear. She is his only link to this crime, he is a killer anyone can see that from looking at him, and she is not aware of whom she has made her bed with."
Collins closed his eyes, ran a hand across his face ending at his chin. Lestrade sat back down, he felt for Collins, but the man needed to know what was at stake.
"If you can give us a few more days, we will find what we need to convict them both," Lestrade insisted.
Collins shook his head emphatically. "The Glastonbury's are applying too much pressure, she will be released by the end of the day, and she will insist that DeBeers is released as well. She is already complaining that we have upset her and she is feeling faint and wishes to see a doctor."
Lestrade sat back down, deep in thought. "Her doctor in particular or will any doctor suffice?"
Collins gave him a strange look. "She has not specified, I supposed it can be one of our surgeons."
Lestrade smiled at the man. "Sir, I have a request to make, I think it may be an answer to our difficulties."
Collins sighed. "What's one more?"
-
Lestrade was sitting with Lady Glastonbury in an inquiry room. She had a cup of tea in front of her, which one of the secretaries had provided. She sipped it, but winced as though it was dreadful. Lestrade had the same tea, and he liked it well enough. He supposed it was her sensitive palate at work. A Lady who was used to the best that life had to offer was not going to be receptive to anything a lowly constable could provide. Lestrade in his line of work had encountered persons in all areas of social status. Some of noble birth saw their position as a responsibility and were actually altruistic and kind. Others of that standing saw their eminence as some indulgent from the almighty to be as elitist and arrogant as humanly possible.
Lady Glastonbury belonged to the later group.
She was cool as a snowdrift on top of Big Ben and just as distant. She answered all of their questions with a poorly disguised air of disdain. She seemed be under the impression that they had stepped beyond their rights by even talking to her. She was certainly beautiful in a highborn way. Her aristocratic features, carefully maintained, her skin glowing and soft, her dark hair up in complicated braids, her brown eyes lacking any warmth.
"I must once again protest this treatment, you will most likely lose your position over this, and I sincerely doubt you will ever be part of the constabulary anywhere on the isle for this affront," she mentioned conversationally, as if her conclusions were forgone.
Lestrade had heard variations of this threat several times over the course of the last hour. He was trying to be patient, but he was losing faith that the note he had sent to Kensington had the desired effect.
They both looked up as the door opened. In walked Doctor Watson, the look he gave Lestrade was extremely irritated. "I do have a practice to maintain, Lestrade," he intoned as he crossed the room.
"I am aware Doctor, but I would not trust our distinguished guest here to just any mere surgeon."
Watson sighed as he sat his bag down on the table. He glared at Lestrade as he crossed to the Lady Glastonbury.
"I apologize for my appearance, dear Lady, but I have had a trying day, and the summons was most...urgent, precluding my ability to be presentable." Watson removed his hat and gloves, and sat down gently taking her hand in his, pulling out his pocket watch.
"I hear you have been suffering feelings of faintness, I need to take your pulse if I may?" he asked her in a soothing placating tone.
She nodded at him stiffly. He gently grasped her wrist and checked his watch.
Lestrade noticed that the Lady visibly relaxed, Watson's gentleness and genuine concern for her welfare had gotten further past her defences than Lestrade or Gregson had in three hours of interrogation. "It has been a most difficult day for me as well," she informed him archly.
Lestrade leaned back as if he was bored, but he was watching closely. His note to the doctor had the details to what they needed from this woman, and a request for him to try his hand. So far, he only seemed to be there in his capacity as doctor.
He asked her some more questions, checking her eyes and their pupil dilation in the overhead lights. He moved his finger in front of her face, asking her to follow it.
He turned to Lestrade with angry eyes, but his voice was clipped and casual. "This young lady is suffering from low blood sugar. I suggest you get her some scones to go with her tea, I would not, however, suggest you be cheap about it."
Lestrade nodded, left briefly to order a constable to run to a local bakery. Less than a half an hour later, Lady Glastonbury was delicately nibbling a pastry, with a fresh cup of tea the doctor had insisted be made with a couple lumps of sugar. She actually looked friendlier, but that could be from her chat with the doctor, who even Lestrade had to admit was being extremely charming.
"I have a confession to make, m'Lady." Watson stated conversationally, "I am here as a doctor, but they have also implored me to attempt to convince you to confess."
Lestrade shot up in his seat livid, he was sputtering in his anger, but the doctor held a hand up to him, the anger in his hazel eyes telling Lestrade to calm down and remain quiet.
She watched this display with a look of bemusement. "You are most kind to tell me of this deception, Doctor," she informed smugly as she sat her scone down on a napkin.
Watson shook his head emphatically, "No, I am not being kind. Because of my honour, and my inability to lie or coerce, you will most likely walk out that door to your death."
She suddenly looked discomfited. "You believe this too?"
He nodded gravely. "I was a soldier, m'Lady, a Major in service to the Crown; I have known men such as your escort in times of war. It brings out the worst in them; some do not leave that darkness behind once they leave it for home."
"You do not know Ronald." She stated adamantly.
Watson's eyes fixed on hers, Lestrade could tell the intensity from across the room. "I sincerely hope I am wrong, because if I am not, you will likely not live out the week."
With that statement Watson packed up his bag; he picked up his hat and coat and started for the door.
Watson suddenly paused as if he had a thought. "Has DeBeers shown you his necklace?"
She started. "To what are you referring?"
Watson turned to her calmly. "Forgive me for being forward, but I saw the body. Your husband was known to have had a gold front tooth, it was missing. I thought whoever killed him, extracted it to show the person he killed for, the task was complete. It suddenly occurs to me, you do not have the stomach for such a memento. He must have taken it for himself."
She frowned.
Lestrade tried to repress the feeling of excitement. You have it Doctor, you found the thread that unravels the knot, keep worrying it!
Watson came back over and sat his things down. He painfully knelt down and took her hands in his. "DeBeers collects trophies, most men of his bent do. I am thinking that he keeps human teeth as a necklace, which was a common practice among certain regiments. They took those teeth as trophies from vanquished enemies. Are you entirely certain you are not just another trophy to this man?"
She was blinking too quickly. He had touched a nerve inside her, happened upon a doubt that she had buried. "He loves me."
Watson's voice was gentle but his tone was angry. "Men, such as him, love only conquest. Your husband was sick, he was killing himself with Opium, and losing his fortune in the parlours, and you could not get him to stop. You felt helpless, DeBeers offered to take care of you; it is only human to want to feel secure."
She was crying now. She looked into his kind eyes, "I had to do something. William did not love me. He drank all the time before, and gambled in the clubs at all hours, then someone introduced him to Mah-jong and I lost him completely..."
Watson nodded encouragingly for her to proceed. "Then you met Ronald DeBeers, and he made you feel safe."
She nodded, the tears really flowing now. Watson pulled out his handkerchief for her. She dabbled at her eyes. "Then William stopped coming home..." Watson nudged gently.
"He sent word through messengers, that he had debts that needed to be paid or they would murder him. I did not want to send money down to that Judas pit, and to those...people!" she stated coldly.
Lestrade did his best to remain invisible; he was silently urging the doctor to the right track. He needed her to say the right words and he needed her to be willing to repeat them later.
Doctor Watson studying her face, he was smiling kindly to sooth her. "You can protect yourself from DeBeers, and you can accept responsibility for your actions, all you have to do is testify against him and make your involvement known. It is your only option now, DeBeers knows you are his only connection with this crime, he will make sure you disappear, you do not want to wind up on his grisly necklace do you?" he inquired in a placating tone.
She nodded tearfully.
Doctor Watson looked up at Lestrade. "Someone needs to come in here and take her statement."
Lestrade scrambled for the door, he exited pulling the door shut behind him to see Bradstreet, Gregson and Hopkins all standing around. They glanced up hopefully. "Hopkins, get your pad," Lestrade blurted. The Inspectors and Constables that had been milling about burst out into spontaneous celebration, while Hopkins rummaged for a pad and pulled out his ever-present pencil.
Lestrade nodded to Gregson, "Well Tobias, get DeBeers up for processing, he's your collar after all, and tell the bastard I said hello."
-
The statement was brief and damning for Colonel Ronald DeBeers. Lestrade was sure the big roughshod man would be swinging from a noose before the month was out.
The Lady Glastonbury would have a different path. She was involved with the conspiracy to commit murder, but her cooperation, and the obvious manipulation that took place would save her from worst of the penalties. She would still be in jail for some time, and her standing was irretrievably lost, but she would be alive.
Doctor Watson sat with her holding her hand throughout the entire statement; she gave him a kiss on the cheek out of gratitude before she was removed to her own cell.
Watson looked particularly grim as he accepted the thanks from the Yarders, and Lestrade walked him out, the doctor was limping from the pain he caused himself by kneeling on the floor.
"What is the matter, Doctor? We have won the day. I should think you would be happy."
Watson spun on Lestrade his moustache quivering in his anger. "That young lady had been in that room complaining of faintness for two hours before you sent for me. I did not come for you."
Lestrade was confused. "But...the brilliant way you handled yourself, that ingenious guess about the necklace of teeth?"
Doctor Watson paused as the hansom he had flagged pulled up. "All I have done is to see to her health, you did not call an interrogator, you called a doctor." He turned to Lestrade the coals of his eyes banked low. "When you call me in the future, you might want to bear in mind that I am not Holmes. My priority will not always be the case at hand." (3)
Lestrade, struck dumb by those words, could only watch as doctor embarked and the hansom drove off.
Feeling numb, he turned and entered the Yard. He had not gone far across the receiving area, when he heard, "Chief Inspector Lestrade, are you free?"
He tensed, but gave the Superintendant a nod. He followed the man into the office.
Collins had a bottle of cognac he kept for distinguished visitors; he had poured two small glasses. "I feel this denouement calls for a celebration. This case will make a nice feather in the unit's cap. The Glastonbury's dropped their complaint, and will be far too busy repairing scandal, so no further repercussions from that front..."
Collins trailed off when he saw Lestrade's face. "You do not seem to be sharing in the success Lestrade. Would I be too forward as to ask why?"
Lestrade informed his superior of the Doctor's strange reaction.
Collins settled behind his desk. "I think I am finally getting the full measure of this man."
Lestrade started. "You understand why he acted that way?"
Collins nodded. "You and the other inspectors are not literary men, if you've never read the works of Shakespeare, or Beowulf, the tales of King Arthur and his round; if you had you would know more about the man in question."
Lestrade fought his temper, he did not appreciate it when someone pointed out his educational shortcomings, but this man in front of him was not Holmes. This man was his superior, so he managed to choke out, "Please elaborate."
Collins seemed to be lost in thought. "Your Doctor Watson is a knight of the old order, a chivalrous gentleman, and a throwback to a lost era. I do not wonder that you were unable to explain him to me earlier, I doubt you or your compatriots have met very many men such as this."
Lestrade still felt confused.
Collins noted his befuddled expression. "Let me ask if this sounds familiar. He protects women, children, and the elderly, to the detriment of his own health. His word is immutable, and more unchanging as the North Star, he would rather die than break it. He is affable enough and allows any slight to his person to pass unchallenged, but will declared war on any disparaging remark or action towards a loved one. If he is at your back, you never have a fear from that quarter. He is so honourable he wins his enemy's respect, as well as his friends. I am I painting an accurate portrait?"
Lestrade stared at his superior in open awe. "I thought you did not know the man."
Collins laughed, "I should like to, but alas I was just reciting elements of the chivalric code. If you wish to have dealings with this man further, you might do well to memorize it."
Collins pulled out a leather bound folio out of his desk. "When next you meet the good doctor, be sure to give him his credentials."
Lestrade accepted them cautiously. "I thought he would need training before he received his official appointment."
Collins smiled. "Winning his enemies respect, as well as his friends, remember? The senior police surgeon at Scotland Yard, Doctor Georges St. Cloud, signed off, that he had witnessed the Doctor's abilities first hand and found them sufficient to begin work as a police surgeon immediately."
Lestrade checked them and saw Doctor John Hamish Watson, Police Surgeon: Scotland Yard.
Now all I have to do is get the stubborn bastard to accept them. He mused.
Story Notes: As I wrote that scene with the Lady Glastonbury, I was amazed at Watson's behavior. To be honest he baffled me. I took extra time to wonder why the man wound up on the Lady's side against the yard, then it hit me, Watson is a doctor first and foremost! He could have just as easily been Major Watson, he earned that right, but he would rather be known for saving of lives than for taking them. How that will come into conflict with the Yard...that remains to be seen. Watson is like an onion, I keep peeling but I keep realizing I'm just beginning!
(3) For the angry Watson stare down check out my profile!
Bart
