Sherlock climbed out of the cab. The alley was just across the street. Sergeant Donovan was there. She lifted the crime tape.
"Hello, fr-" she greeted, stopping as her eyes fell on Rose.
They'd gotten into a rather heated row at a previous crime scene and ever since then Donovan had stopped using his nickname around her. And then there was Anderson. The slap Rose gave him…now that was brilliant! He refused to come to any crime scene she attended, which meant Sherlock brought her to all of them…well, all the ones he was called in on. A smile ghosted across his lips as he began examining the scene.
Just an average alley. A bit of old graffiti. Dumpster. The light was burned out above the door. It was used often. Cigarette butts littered the area. Work breaks. Lestrade joined him, open folder in hand.
"Gina Lindquest, twenty-seven, worked in a shop down the street," he flipped a page, probably looking for the name, but Sherlock was already bending down, magnifying glass in hand. "Henrik's."
"Henrik's Department Store?" Rose asked.
"Yeah, that's the name," Lestrade answered. "Do you know it?"
"I worked there."
"You didn't know her, did you?"
"No, it was a long time ago."
On a parallel Earth. Sherlock resisted the urge to laugh. For some reason people tended to get upset when he laughed at crime scenes. He continued his examination. The woman was lying on her stomach, face to the side. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Fully clothed. Long sleeve shirt, trousers, trainers. Nothing ripped or torn. She appeared to be heading to or from work when she was attacked. Although…he glanced around the alley…looking for any indications that a struggle took place and finding none. He turned his attention back to the body.
No apparent wounds. So, she wasn't stabbed or shot. He examined her neck. Strangulation. Cloth. Pink fibers. A scarf perhaps? The killer had removed the manner of strangulation.
Her purse was missing, but mugging didn't fit her manner of death. A mugger's intention was something of value, a purse usually. If a woman fought back then beating was the first choice, stabbing second, and a bullet on rare occasions, but she'd been strangled. He could've used the scarf to subdue her and the strangulation was an accidental escalation, but…pink…it didn't fit. He wasn't entirely sure why it didn't seem to fit, but it didn't.
"Is that a tattoo?" Rose asked.
Tattoo? Sherlock glanced at her and then followed her gaze. The woman's wrist. He picked her hand up and turned it over. Not a tattoo, a brand, similar to something used on ranches to indicate ownership. He examined the burn. It was fresh. Probably done right before or after death. It resembled a flower. Was it part of the killer's MO or something she'd done? Unless another body turned up with a similar brand he wouldn't know for sure. Another one? No, he shook his head, serial killers were few and far between. He doubted he'd be lucky enough for this to be the start of a killing spree.
He pocketed his magnifying glass as he stood up. She hadn't been killed there, so they needed to find the actual crime scene. That's where the rest of the evidence would be.
"Do you know where the crime scene is?" Sherlock asked.
"This is the crime scene," Lestrade replied.
"No, this is where the body was dumped. The actual crime scene is at another location."
He glanced at Rose. She was giving him that smile, the one that meant she thought he was brilliant. Not that he needed confirmation. He already knew he was, but he felt a smile creep across his lips.
"Another location?" Lestrade asked.
"Do give me a ring when you find it," Sherlock replied, turning around and walking away.
"So?" Rose asked, coming up to take his arm while John fell into step on the other side.
"She was strangled. Pink scarf I believe."
"Pink?"
"Fibers on her neck. Her purse is missing, but I don't believe it was a mugging."
"Are you sure?" John asked.
Sherlock gave him his patented don't be an idiot, I'm always right look.
"What about that tattoo?" she asked.
"Not a tattoo. It was a brand."
"A brand?" John asked. "Do you think it was the killer?"
"I don't know for sure yet, but it's a possibility."
"Where to now?" Rose inquired.
"A visit to her place of residence."
John climbed into the cab, taking the seat behind the driver and then Rose slid in after. Sherlock sat next to her, closed the door and the cab rumbled down the road. As he stared out the window something tugged at the back of his mind, something to do with that brand.
Standard Disclaimer.
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