Part 2

Upon leaving Baker Street, I inquired to Holmes whether or not we should contact Inspector Lestrade as to where he were going, and at first he seemed disinclined.

"It isn't often that we find a criminal that abashed us personally rather than caused the loss of life. Let's pursue this on our own and see where the trail leads us," he suggested as I hailed for a taxi. Neither of us spoke much as we drove across London toward the Birlstone Tower, so I took the opportunity to find out more about Porlock Industries using my smartphone.

According to the internet, the tower was built roughly twenty years ago by an American entrepreneur named Frederick Porlock. Having lost most of his inheritance in the stock market back home, the thirty three year old had chosen to trade in what little funds he had left for foreign bonds, opting to increase his business by becoming a computer mogul.

Thanks to the dotcom craze of the nineties, Porlock had been successful, and launched himself as the owner of several fine hotels all across the United Kingdom, but Birlstone Tower was his first and according to the article I was reading his proudest achievement.

The hotel was designed with the super-rich in mind giving them a sense of security with state of the art equipment and a network of computer monitors that might rival Buckingham Palace. But interestingly Porlock also catered to the poor, allowing them access to suites if the right credentials were issued and I couldn't help but to admire the fact that he didn't forget his roots. Seventy stories high, the Birlstone Tower sat on the corner of Porlock Avenue and Meander Street, as we pulled up on the curb of the five-star skyscraper; I noted several police cars were parked adjacent the opposite direction and Sherlock remarked, "Perhaps we weren't so unique after all?"

After paying the cabby we stepped into the lobby where several officers were already talking to the clerk who'd apparently been up all night and the familiar face of Molly Hooper appeared from the elevator.

"Sherlock! Watson! Lestrade was just about to call you over here," the medical examiner commented her eyes brightening at the sight of my taller companion. As usual, Holmes dismissed her without even a glance his cold eyes examining the scene and then he stated, "Did the murder take place in the penthouse?" "How did...?" Molly began but then shook her head and muttered, "Nevermind just come up and see for yourselves."

I shot a curious glance at Sherlock but he said nothing as we stepped into the elevator alongside Molly, who quickly pressed for the penthouse and commented, "Happened last night around 10:30. Night clerk found the body first. No forced entry, all security systems appear completely functional; so of course becomes how did the killer enter the apartment?"

"Amazing," Sherlock agreed as the elevator stopped and we stepped out to the crisp air of the penthouse. A small pool, perhaps six feet deep stood in front of us, a gentle breeze from the north nearly pushing my coat back as Sherlock turned up his collar and strode toward Lestrade who stood on the opposite end of the pool where the body lay, or rather that was what I assumed.

Upon closer inspection, I was able to discern that there was no body at all; merely the appearance of one like a shadow cast from the overlooking suite itself. "Where is the body?" Sherlock wondered to which Lestrade smirked and answered, "We asked the clerk the same thing, plenty of blood to be sure but nothing more. Obviously there was a murder here but how it was committed could take ages if we don't have a body."

"On the contrary judging from where there is water on the cement we can determine how the victim fell, not to mention he seemed to be grasping something in his right palm, a marker perhaps," Holmes said pointing toward a simple design that was on the corner of a potted plant. "It looks like two V's, followed by the words… you've been served," I observed thinking back to the virus I received this morning and my companion commented, "This just became interesting."

Lestrade stared at me for a moment both of us undoubtedly agreeing on what Holmes found interesting most people would consider bizarre and he got out his phone and scanned thru various acronyms remarking, "As far Google is concerned V. v. Could mean any number of things. 5, 5 for Roman numerals of perhaps initials or a name of a group or even constellations in the stars," Sherlock explained and then added, "But it stands to reason that our victim is the very same person who sent us that virus. It was a message to get us here John."

"Hold on, what?" Lestrade asked in confusion. "We received a worm, likely sent to us from this address by the person who died last night," I explained to which Holmes observed, "Judging by the fall the way the writing was done, we're searching for a man probably mid forties, this place is familiar to him. Check the records, perhaps we can learn from that who he was."

Lestrade nodded and got on his cell as we entered the suite itself to stare in confusion at the mess that was made there. Clothes and sheets, furniture and just about every object in sight was tossed about in a seeming search to which I remarked, "Was this robbery?"

"Perhaps, his laptop is missing," Sherlock observed as he walked about taking in every aspect and added, "But I believe we were made to think this was a heist gone wrong." "What makes you think that?" I wondered to which he quickly explained, "Some drawers tossed others left untouched, materials in a mess in one location while organized in another. Our culprit was in a hurry to leave, obviously to remove the body before the police arrived."

"Holmes, we have an issue," Lestrade stated as he entered the room and my companion commented, "Don't tell me, there is no record of the guest." "You nailed it," the Inspector admitted to which I commented, "It seems like someone doesn't want us to find out who got killed tonight." "I couldn't agree more," Sherlock said raising an eyebrow and strolling out before commenting, "I need to think."