Chapter 7

John awoke to a loud, echoing thud coming from downstairs. As he rubbed his eyes, still groggy from sleep, the knocking continued. He turned his head to the clock on his nightstand. It read 11:46 AM, but he hadn't changed this clock, so it was 10:46.

The knocking grew increasingly louder, and from what he could tell, the visitor was growing impatient. He stood, finding that he was still in his clothes from last night.

He opened his door and yelled downstairs, "Coming!"

The visitor stopped knocking, and John stumbled down the stairs. When he opened the door, the unexpected (and unwelcome) ray of sudden light blinded John after his hours in the dark. He held up his hand to shield his eyes and opened the door further to let his visitor step inside. As he closed the door, he turned his head to see who it was. His jaw must have dropped halfway to the floor.

"Oh, stop it." she rolled her eyes, obviously annoyed.

John remained silent.

"I just wanted to see my little brother again. Is that a crime?" Harry argued, slurring her words.

John hadn't seen Harriet in months. Last he heard, she had divorced her wife, Clara, but had stopped drinking after her time as an alcoholic. They rarely contacted each other, preferring to avoid the other's company, though Harry sometimes commented on his blog. Even as children they didn't get along too well. They eventually grew apart, and communication was minimal.

Now, standing before him, John noticed that she didn't looking significantly different—or perhaps he didn't remember her appearance very well. She resembled John so much that anyone else would guess that they were fraternal twins. Her hair is still mouse brown (just as John had once had), hanging just below her shoulders, but a few grey tendrils were barely visible. Her clothes and hair were slightly disheveled, as if she had quickly tried to fix them. John could smell the lingering scent of alcohol and concluded that she was drinking recently.

"Did you drive here?" John asked, trying to break the awkward silence.

"Yeah. So?"

John sighed. "Harry, you're drunk."

"Well, everyone else was being really nice about it on the road," she smirked.

John led her into the flat and sat her down, but she immediately flopped on her back, lounging with her arm hanging over the side of the sofa. John sat in a chair across from her.

"Nice place," Harry drawled, lazily examining the room. She turned her head to John, who was scowling.

"I thought you stopped drinking," he scolded.

Even in her inebriated state, John saw a flicker of sadness in her eyes, a tear welling up.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

John must have looked incredulous, since Harry rolled her eyes again. "You're the only family I have left…and based on the newspapers, I'm all you have left, too."

He was about to retort, but she kept talking.

"My friend…my best friend—he…he…" she choked, putting her hand to her mouth. "He…died… yesterday," she sobbed.

John knelt down by her side, placing a sympathetic hand on her arm.

"You just need to rest—"

"He died yesterday! You know what it's like, John! Tell me what you did when that detective friend of yours offed himself…did you...?!" she yelled, mocking him.

John pulled his arm down. "Look, I'm sorry about your friend, but if you came here just to yell at me—"

"His name was James Leza," she nearly whispered, like she knew that it would trigger a reaction, one she couldn't expect.

John blinked and gasped silently.

James Leza? But…

"I know you're part of the investigation," she said quietly as tears began to roll down her cheek. "They called me and asked me a few questions about him. They said that you had arrested the suspect…or something like that."

He was one of Caesar's victims. The one I investigated yesterday…the one Delgado was questioned about. Why would a serial killer target him?

"I—I didn't know—I didn't know that you knew him…" he stammered.

"Shut up," she scoffed as she turned her head to the ceiling, closing her eyes.

John bit his lip. "Look…I don't mean to be…insensitive…but the police were right. I'm working with them to catch this guy. Can you tell me what you told them?"

Harry sniffled. "No."

"Harry…"

"I'm going to tell you the truth."

John stared at her inquisitively, his brow furrowed. "You—you lied to the police? Harry, that's illegal."

"I know. I just—I didn't know if I should tell someone who I didn't trust. I came here to tell you."

He didn't believe her. She was drunk, unaware of what she was saying…

"On record, it says that he works for an insurance company. But he told me once…he said…well, I don't remember exactly what he said. But I know he wasn't telling the truth."

"You know, that sort of thing is hard to forge."

"I don't know how he did it. I just know that he did. He would talk about his job sometimes with me—stuff he had to do. He never told me what it was for, where it was…anything.

"But sometimes, I would catch him talking to himself. Sounded like he was nervous about something. Every so often, he would mention the name 'Brooks'. Does that ring any bells?"

John made an odd sort of noise in the back of his throat, so quiet that it was only audible to him.

Oh my God…

Not long after this revelation, Harry fell asleep. John suspected that she had been drinking all night over the death of her friend.

He let her rest on the sofa while he tried to work everything out. When Harry mentioned Brooks, he instantly thought of Richard Brooks, Moriarty's alias…or was Moriarty the alias? John still hadn't solved this much, but he certainly knew who Harry was talking about. It couldn't be anyone else. He wouldn't have to keep it such a secret if it wasn't.

As he made a cup of tea for the two of them, his eyes glanced over the manila folder still on the coffee table. He made a mental note to give it back to Molly soon.

When he sat down, his phone began to ring. Setting the two cups on the table, he checked the caller ID. Lestrade—maybe there was progress with the case, or maybe Delgado.

"Hey, Lestrade—"

"John, we have a…situation. Remember Delgado from yesterday?" he sounded disturbingly anxious.

"Yeah, you took him into questioning, right?"

"Well, we did. But…this morning, we were moving him to detention, and…"

"What? What happened?"

"These two guys ran in, knocked out some of the officers…and then...he escaped...Delgado escaped..."