Chapter 3
"The key to growth is the introduction of higher dimensions of consciousness into our awareness."
-Lao Tzu
John kept asking what the experiment was for, but Sherlock would challenge him to figure it out himself. He decided there was no point in pursuing it any further, so he stopped pressing the subject.
Sherlock and John arrived at the Sacramento Police Department with minimal complications, even though Sherlock insisted on driving. It was small, compared to NSY. Sherlock certainly wasn't impressed.
The officers from the Capitol drove off after they made it to the front doors and announced their arrival to the front desk. The two were left to wait for the detective in charge of the case.
"An American detective…" Sherlock said bitterly, "I'm sure he won't be much help."
"Sherlock…"
"Right, right. I shouldn't jump to conclusions before I've even met him," he said mockingly.
"It's true. Maybe—"
One of the officers called to them from the hallway for them to enter. As they stood, Sherlock turned up his coat collar.
With impossibly low expectations, Sherlock entered the office first, with John following behind him. The man at the desk was putting away a book, replacing it on a small shelf behind him.
"You're reading a book while there's a serial killer loose in the city?!" Sherlock exclaimed before saying anything else.
The detective was obviously taken aback by his sudden outburst, but he smiled politely, "I like to read—helps me think," he tapped his finger to his temple. He stood and held out his hand to Sherlock, but still kept it close to himself, "Detective Emmett Greene. It's nice to finally meet you, Mr. Holmes. I've heard a lot about you."
Detective Greene was average looking, perhaps in his mid-thirties. His hair was short, dark brown, with a slight wave. Based on the stubble around his chin, it looked like he was either growing a beard or hadn't shaved.
Sherlock didn't say anything, so John stepped in, "Sorry, Detective. He can be…well…"
"No, it's okay. Governor Hale warned be about him," he stage-whispered to John, trying to lighten the mood.
"Thank you for having me, Detective Greene. Now…shall we—"
"Yes. You probably want to work on the case," he went behind his desk to retrieve a few files, "Please, sit."
John sat in one of the chair, but Sherlock continued to wander around the office. When Greene noticed, he set down the files and folded his hands on the desk.
"So, Mr. Holmes, they say that you can tell a person's life story just by looking at them."
Sherlock turned to him, "…Does news spread that fast?"
"Well…"
"Well, what?"
"Come, on. I'm curious."
Sherlock scoffed and walked up to him. After a few moments, he spoke up, "Your wife divorced you a few months ago, you have two sons, you played the clarinet when you were in school, you're nearly blind in one eye, and you sleep with your mouth open."
Greene looked from Sherlock to John a few times before letting out an exasperated, "Wow…"
"Well? Are you convinced?"
"How did you know all of that stuff…?"
Sherlock sighed, but continued on with his explanation, "You have pictures of your family on your desk, but they're just your children, your wife either not in the picture or torn out of it, suggesting finalization, therefore, divorce. The most recent one is with you and your sons, based on the time stamp, so you have custody, or at least partial custody. And since these pictures were taken only a few months ago, your wife left not far before that point. Then the clarinet…you still play it, based on the curvature of your fingers. The index and thumb are straight whereas the pinky is naturally curved, indicating the natural placement on the instrument, and its intensity suggests years of playing. The electrical outlet to the side of your desk…you frequent it, but there are scratch marks, so you have trouble plugging anything in because of your lack of depth perception. Not only this, but when you held out your hand to shake mine, it was still abnormally close to your body, so you couldn't tell you far to reach. The edges of your front teeth are slightly transparent, resulting from the oxidation while you're exhaling, and since you're not breathing from your mouth now, you do it in your sleep. Did I miss anything?"
John rolled his eyes as Greene sat awestruck. "H-How…"
"Did I miss anything?" Sherlock insisted.
"What? Oh—yeah. Uh, my wife. I didn't divorce her…"
"Ah…was she the one who—"
"She died," he said shortly.
There was a beat of awkward silence, but John nodded apologetically to Greene, who clapped his hands, "Well, enough of that. It really was incredible, Mr. Holmes, but we should get to work."
Sherlock smiled politely and sat down beside John. "I have the general details. Three victims, each with a different modus operandi. The parchment with the numbers, have you deciphered them?"
"No. We're still working on that."
"Then there's the leather. Was there any found at the crime scenes?"
"No. Witnesses say that it was just the smell. You know how distinctive it is."
"Then what progress have you made?"
"…We're sad to say…not much."
Sherlock sighed. "Why don't we start with the governor's friend by the river."
"What? Why there?" John asked.
"The governor is anxious. And we have sufficient information. Detective Greene, did you ever find a fishing boat on the river?"
He furrowed his brow, "No, I don't think so."
"But witnesses say that he was fishing. Tell me, why would you buy a 20,000—what are they, dollars?—fishing boat…which I'm assuming is a lot…and not use it? The boat has to be somewhere on the river. It's a fine place to start."
"Wait, why do you think the boat will help us?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Detective, how did Allan Carr die?"
"He drowned."
"Right. We need to know how and why he fell out of the boat and why he couldn't swim to save his own life. Being an experienced fisherman, he had to have known how to swim. Do you not look at such obvious questions, Detective?"
Greene sighed. "Let's go then. The body is at the morgue, but the scene is still preserved."
As they left the office, John continued to apologize to Greene for Sherlock's behavior.