Chapter 6- A Telephonic Interrogation

John

"Where have you taken Sherlock?!" I demanded, staring resolutely into Cartwright's face.

She absently picked at a loose thread on the cuff of her long sleeve, purple like the rest of her outfit. "He's getting his prescribed treatment now," she said, a certain color to her voice that told me she was trying to project carelessness but was having too much fun to fully hide it. This woman was mad, but she might have once been as sane as I.

"'Prescribed treatment'?" I repeated. "Are you a doctor?"

Cartwright's calculating smile was stuck in place, but some of her insane happiness vanished from her hazel eyes. "I was once," she said. I had thought so—who ever uses doctor's terminology to create a metaphor for torture? Someone familiar with the language of medicine.

"I'm a doctor," I appealed. Maybe if I could get her to sympathize with me, Sherlock and I could escape. "I used to be an army doctor."

"Did you really?" she said, feigning curiosity. "That's a shame."

Not the response I expected, needless to say. "Why?"

Cartwright smiled her ruthless, insane grin again. "Since you're so used to blood and gore, it'll be less of a traumatic reaction when you see your friend again."

Mallory

"Rankin, you ready?" Lestrade asked. Danny Rankin, one of Scotland Yard's numerous tech geniuses, nodded.

"Ready to begin the call track!" Danny replied, shooting me a thumbs-up. Lestrade stood behind him, watching the computer screen over his shoulder. I'd managed to convince Danny to help us trace a call I would be making momentarily to John's mobile—if the criminals answered it once before, maybe they would again. "Ready, Mals?"

"Ready!" I replied, pulling out my mobile phone. I dialed John's number, and with one last reassuring glance at Danny and Lestrade, hit the Call button.

They picked up after two rings.

"Who is this?" a woman's voice barked. I swallowed my surprise (exactly how many people were involved in this now?) and began my interrogation.

"Where are Sherlock Holmes and John Watson?"

A pause on the other end. "Oh, it's the famed Sergeant Hudson of Baker Street. We've heard about you."

"Have you now?" I retorted. I decided to throw them a bone—if they wanted to play games, pass me the dice. "Pray tell me what you've heard."

"Only your reputation," the simpering voice answered. "But what a reputation it is. Were you really able to track down a murderer using only his Twitter account?"

I smiled against my will—that was one of the first cases I had worked when I had been promoted to Sergeant. One of my fonder memories. "I had help," I replied.

"Still, you managed to catch him, and that's what's important."

"You know what else is important? Assurance of your hostages' safety," I snapped. "Tell me where they are and we can cut some kind of deal with you."

"I'm not interested in deals, Sergeant," she spat. "I'm interested in my vengeance."

"Vengeance?" I glanced at Danny and Lestrade, the former typing lightning-fast and the latter listening in on my call via a large pair of headphones. How were they getting on?

"These two…vigilantes got my father arrested not too long ago. My father was always an honorable man, and now they've gone and dirtied his reputation. It's now as filthy as yours is clean." Each word was dripping with so much contempt the mobile was almost coated in it.

"What did your father do?" If she could organize such a well-planned revenge, it must've been something bad. But I could still try. "We could probably find a way to reduce his sentence. Give us the hostages and we could work something out with your father, depending on what he was convicted for."

"He hasn't been convicted yet!" she snapped. Good—I had somehow offended her and it was making her lose her cool. "How dare you? He's only just been arrested, you stupid bitch!"

"He's only been arrested?" I repeated. "Even for a vengeful daughter, you move fast."

"We've—had—help!" she snarled out, enunciating every word. "You really think my brothers and I could organize a kidnapping this quickly? We have a double deal—he came to us with a plan and we put it into action. And now everyone concerned is reaping the reward."

"Who is your partner?" I demanded, taking advantage of the fissure in her coolly-superior tone.

"I'm not answering any more of your questions, Sergeant," she said, anger coloring her voice. "Don't try to contact us again. If we receive one more call from you, one of the hostages gets a bullet in the brain. Goodbye, Sergeant Hudson."