Notes: Hello, everybody! Here's chapter ten. I loved writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it just as much. And OMG, I loved your reviews and messages from last chapter! I think I'm going to use some of your great ideas on my next stories, Arty Diane (if you don't mind, of course)!
Not betaed. All errors are mine. But if you see something wrong, you can tell me so I can fix it on the next update.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.
Warning: Graphic description of a crime scene.
Chapter 10
Four police cars sped down the unpaved road with their sirens and lights on. As they reached a clearing in the woods, where a beautiful cottage could be seen, bathed in the early morning sunlight, they stopped and the police officers from the first three cars got out, with their guns in hands, shielding themselves behind the cars' doors.
The officer in command, a big afro-descendant man named Steve, who was in the last car, got out from the driver's seat, followed by the two other occupants of the car, Lestrad and Sherlock. With a wave of his hand, Steve gave the order to proceed and four of the police officers headed to the front door while two of them remained in their places, behind the cars' doors. Once in the front door, two of the officers signalized they were going to take the back entrance.
"Police! Open the door!" One of the officers shouted, pointing his gun at the front door. As there was no answer, the first police officer opened the door, which was already slightly opened, and pointed his gun at the living room, getting into the house slowly and scanning the room carefully.
With his gun on his hands, the officer in command headed to the front door, followed by Lestrad and Sherlock.
"Where do you think you're going?" Lestrad asked Sherlock, who was right behind him. "Go back to the car and wait there! You are not armed!" Lestrad whispered, but as Sherlock didn't seem to be moving from his spot anytime soon, Lestrad said louder "Go! Now!"
Hesitantly and frustrated, Sherlock took some steps back, while Lestrad entered the house after Steve. Sherlock saw a motorcycle parked not far from the front door, with a helmet hanging on its handlebar. It was the only vehicle nearby, besides the police cars. He approached the Harley Davidson and examined it. There were blood stains on the handlebar and on the seat. He took up the helmet and examined it. It was a simple black helmet and it hadn't any marks to identify the owner. Sherlock looked at the bike's number plate. He noticed by the code area that it was a motorcycle from London. He picked up a piece of paper and a pen from his pocket and wrote down the plate. He returned to the first police car, where the two officers stood behind the doors, pointing their guns at the house.
"I need you to check out that motorcycle registration." Sherlock said pointing the bike and handing the paper to the officer behind the passenger's door, who looked at his partner behind the driver's door, waiting for his permission. The other officer nodded, allowing him to enter the car to operate the radio.
Sherlock saw Lestrad on the front door, giving him permission to enter the house. "As soon as you find out the owner, come to tell me." Sherlock said to the officer and headed to the front door to meet Lestrad. They entered the house and started looking around the living room.
Sherlock noticed David's personal touch on the decoration with all the photos and art objects around the room. But the harmony and beauty of the room had been broken by some blood stains that could be seen on the floor and on the walls. The handle of the front door was also covered in blood and there were some bloodied footprints on the floor, as if someone had stepped in some blood and walked through the house living the footprints.
Sherlock picked up a photo from a shelf, where he could see Stephen in the same motorcycle he had seen outside.
"I think you might want to see this." Steve said from upstairs. Sherlock put down the photo and followed Lestrad upstairs, to meet the officer in the bedroom. While they climbed the stairs, they noticed that the handrail was also bloodstained.
The main bedroom was a nice, spacious suite, with a king size bed, several books on a bedside table and a desk by the wall. But what got their attention was the blood covering the sheets on the bed. The window glass was broken, shards of glass covering the upper part of the bed. The smell in the room was nauseating, a mix of blood and urine.
Sherlock carefully approached the bed and started to examine the scene.
"Whoever was here is badly injured." Lestrad said following a trail of blood that leaded to the bathroom.
"Or dead." Steve said, looking at all the blood and the shards of glass on the bed. "Now, we have two missing persons, John and Stephen. Who was here? And where is he now? Or his body?" He asked.
"The bike outside belongs to Stephen." Sherlock said kneeling beside the bed to take a look on the detective books that were on the floor. They had probably fallen from the bedside table.
"But this house belongs to him, doesn't it? So, the bike being here doesn't mean anything. He could keep the bike here to make quick trips to the village. It doesn't mean all this blood belongs to him." Lestrad conjectured.
"It's a Harley Davidson. I doubt he would keep it here just for quick trips." Sherlock saw a small picture on the floor and he bent down to grab it. It was a passport sized photo, with a woman smiling to the camera.
"John was here." He said showing the photo to Lestrad. "This photo used to be in his wallet."
"It's his sister." Lestrad said, recognizing the woman in the photo.
24 hours earlier
Sherlock was in front of a laptop, sitting at David's desk in his office at Anderson's Company. He was staring at the password screen for almost one hour now, but he didn't dare to type any password yet. He looked at Charlie, who was standing by the door, with angry eyes again. Charlie seemed to shrink under the intense gaze. Sherlock was mad at him. He was the forensic officer who had lost two attempts of typing the correct password, while the forensics were trying to break the laptop password. Now Sherlock had only one attempt left.
Lestrad and Samantha were in the office too, in complete silence, only answering Sherlock's questions. He had asked questions about when Stephen and David usually celebrated their first date, what was Stephen's cell phone number and if they had any pet names for each other. He tried to combine the numbers and the letters in his head, but nothing seemed right.
"Maybe it's something simple, like Stephen's birthday?" Lestrad dared to ask.
"David liked detective books and had an imaginative mind. He wouldn't use a simple password, which would be easily broken." Sherlock answered. He stood up from his chair and started pacing. "I want to be alone. Go away all of you!" He demanded and they hurried to comply.
"I'm going to a coffee shop for a quick breakfast. Do you want me to bring you something?" Lestrad asked from the door and only received a mortal glare in response. "OK, call me if you need me."
Once Sherlock was alone, he started to look around the office again, trying to get into David's mind. David loved detective books. There were plenty of them in the shelves. He loved decoration and expensive art objects. And he loved taking pictures from family and friends and spreading them all over the places. Sherlock had already noticed that Abelia's photos were disposed far away from his desk. But now he noticed that the nearest photo frame from the desk was a film-strip kind of frame, with eight little black and white photos of Stephen in sequence. In each photo, Stephen was with a friend. In the first photo he was holding Martha, the receptionist. Next, he was with a middle age blonde man whom Sherlock didn't recognize. Then he was with Samantha, both smiling to the camera. On the fourth, he was with Abelia, both serious and a little apart from each other. Then there was David. After that, there was Patty. The seventh photo, Stephen was alone holding a big black umbrella in a rainy day in downtown, and the last one was another photo of Stephen and Patty.
Sherlock stood there looking at the photo frame for a long time. Then he smiled, turned around and sat down in front of the laptop. He was about to type the password when he hesitated. If this cue was wrong, it would cost John's life. He picked up the phone and called the receptionist demanding her to send Samantha.
"The man in the second photo with Stephen." Sherlock pointed at the second photo on the strip, as soon as Samantha entered the office. "Who is he?"
Samantha looked at the photo. "His name is Yves Le Martin. He is a friend of both Stephen and David. He is a retired lawyer and lives in France. But why are you asking? Do you think he has something to do with David's death?" She asked quizzically.
"What the words my sad pup mean?" Sherlock asked. "Have you ever heard them?"
Samantha looked at Sherlock astonished. "Stephen has this beautiful honey colored eyes. David used to say when Stephen looked at him with his big sad puppy eyes, he couldn't deny him anything, you know? But how..."
"I know the password." Sherlock cut her off and began to type the code. They both hold their breaths until Sherlock typed the last letter and pressed enter.
"How did you break the password?" Lestrad asked, looking at the laptop screen, while Sherlock run through David's e-mails. He hadn't even managed to finish his breakfast and Sherlock had called him, telling he had broken the password. "That was fast!" Lestrad had thought, getting up from his table and leaving his half-eaten croissant behind.
"The photo frame with 8 photos of Stephen." Sherlock looked at the photos on the nearby shelf. "Each photo has a friend, except for the photo where he is with an umbrella. Maybe David didn't know anyone whose name begins with the letter U. The initials of each friend and the umbrella form the phrase My sad pup."
"Wow. This guy is really unbelievable." Lestrad said, examining the photo frame. "Did you find anything useful on his computer, yet?"
"Plenty. There are thousands of photos of David and Stephen. In most of them, they are in a place, a kind of country house. I asked Samantha where this place is, but she didn't know." Sherlock opened the photo file and showed several pictures of David and Stephen in a beautiful house. "These photos are intimate. They are carefree. Look at this one here. They are kissing. And they printed some of these photos and placed them on this country house." Sherlock double clicked a picture where they could see a living room decorated with photos of David and Stephen. "David didn't want anybody to know he was gay. But he felt comfortable enough to place these pictures around the living room."
"We investigate all David's and Stephen's properties. There was no country house or cottage registered in David's or Stephen's name." Lestrad said.
"If it was their secret place, and David didn't want his parents to know about it, maybe it's been registered in someone else's name."
"A country house is a perfect place to hiding someone. We need to check this place out. Something else?"
"Yes. I've been reading David's e-mails. There are thousands of e-mails here and he doesn't even have a separated file for spams. They go straight to his inbox! I don't know how he can find something here! But he does have a separate file for the e-mails he exchanges with his friend Yves, the second in the photo frame with Stephen. Yves is a lawyer and David's close friend. Their friendship seems to date back to when David was in college and Yves used to give lectures there." Sherlock closed the photos and opened the e-mails.
"And Yves knows about David's sexual orientation. I've found e-mails from before he met Abelia. He says he was in a relationship with Stephen, but he didn't want anybody to know, especially his parents. He asks Yves to study a way to give Stephen the same guaranties as if they were legally married. He wanted to provide him financial support, in case of his death, so he wanted Stephen to inherit some of his estate. But he knew his parents would challenge the will and Stephen would end up with nothing. It was Yves idea for them to start a company together. Yves also advised him to start buying gold, a little at a time, in order to not arouse his parents' suspicions, and to keep it in a bank vault. In case something happened to him, Stephen would be able to use the gold as a safe haven asset. He has been doing it since they got together again five years ago, and even when he was dating Abelia, he kept doing it. He says clearly in the e-mails that he was not intending to marry Abelia, even when she got pregnant. And look at this e-mail here. This one was sent when he was being threatened. He tells Yves he is afraid something would happen to him, and asks Yves to assure that, in this case, Stephen would get the gold he saved for him. His unborn child was already in the will."
"If the money is the reason for David's murder, then can we deduce Jimmy and Abelia knew about the vault? Maybe they knew David's password and read the e-mails?" Lestrad conjectured. "And Abelia would have known David had no intention to marry her."
"That's possible, and would explain a lot. David asked Yves not to tell anyone about the vault, including Stephen. And only three people have authorized access to the vault. David, Stephen and Yves. So, what we need to know now is the location of the vault. Then, we need to keep surveillance on the bank to see if someone tries to access the vault."
"So we need to talk to Yves."
Samantha was worried to death. His best friend was missing and she didn't know if he was OK, or even if he was still alive. First David and now Stephen? And to add insult to injury, the news that Abelia was kidnapped by Stephen had gotten to the office and became the main topic on the rest room gossips. How could people believe that bullshit? They worked with Stephen every day, for God's sake! She needed to make them see there was no way Stephen would kidnap Abelia or beat her up. He was a kind hearted guy, despite his black leather jackets and his taste for motorcycles.
But for now she would have to leave that asside. She had been busy all morning with a more important task. Sherlock had given her a mission: find Yves. And she had been trying all morning. Yves lived in France, but she found out he was out of country giving a lecture in an international congress in Vienna this week. He was not answering his cell phone. But she didn't give up. She spent all morning trying to reach him, even calling the congress headquarters. The woman who answered the call said he had to go home earlier and if he wasn't answering his phone, he should probably be on the plane. It was already afternoon when she finally managed to get him to answer his cell phone.
She hurried to pass the call to Sherlock, who was still in David's office with Lestrad, dissecting his e-mails and planning their next move.
"Yves I'll put you on speaker. I'm here with Samantha and detective inspector Lestrad with the Scotland Yard, in charge of David's case. Samantha told you About David's murder?" Sherlock asked.
"Yes I'm devastated. He was a very close friend." Yves answered with his French accent. "I was out of country giving a lecture, so I wasn't answering my phone. I read about David's death on the newspapers yesterday. I knew he was being threatened but the news about his murder really surprised me. Somehow I thought he would get through it."
"And Samantha told you Stephen is missing?" Sherlock asked, looking at Samantha, who nodded.
"Yes. As soon as I knew about David's death, I tried to contact Stephen, but he wasn't answering my calls and texts. I called the office and they said he didn't go to work. So I booked a flight back to London."
"Yves, we broke into David's laptop and accessed his e-mails. We know about the vault. Listen very carefully, if the man who killed David is after his money, this could be our chance to catch him. We need to know which bank is the vault." Sherlock said, slowly.
"Oh, God!" Yves moaned on the other end.
"What?" Samantha, Lestrad and Sherlock asked in unison.
"I think I screwed everything up! Oh, God!"
"What did you do?" Sherlock asked without patience.
"While I was boarding the plane, I kept trying to call Stephen. I finally managed to talk to him when the plane was about to take off, so I had to talk very quickly.
"Wait, did you talk to Stephen?" Samantha asked hopefully.
"Yes, this morning on the plane."
"So, he's alive! Thanks God!" Samantha said relieved.
"But I don't think he is OK. His voice was a bit weird. He said David was dead and he wanted to know if I knew where the key to David's vault was. That was when I noticed something was very wrong, because David never told Stephen about the vault. It was a secret. Nobody knew, but me. He only trusted me to take care of Stephen's interests, even against his own parents. We had everything planned. David wanted me to tell Stephen about the vault, only if something bad happened to him. Even in this case, I would have to wait until the worst of the grief period was over. David wanted him to be able to think clearly and make decisions about his future. So, how Stephen knew about the vault? And did he kill David to get the money? I confess that the possibility crossed my mind, but somehow I didn't believe that. I know Stephen for quite a while now. It's not him. He doesn't really care about money. David was the one who did. So, the other and more likely possibility was that whoever killed David must have gotten Stephen." Yves sighed.
"I had to act quickly to protect the money without putting Stephen's life in even greater danger. So, in order to buy some time, I told him where to find David's key, then I finished the call and called the bank. Unfortunately, I couldn't reach the manager, but I left a message asking him to make up an excuse and don't let Stephen access the vault. Maybe ask him to return later because the vault was in periodic maintenance or something. Then I had to turn off my cell phone for the worst two hours flight of my life. As soon as I landed, I took a cab to the bank and looked for the manager, who said he didn't get the message and let Stephen access the vault. The gold is gone. Stephen's life is probably not valuable anymore. And it's my entire fault! David just wanted me to take care of his soulmate and I..."
"Stephen was alone?" Sherlock cut him off.
"The manager said he entered the bank alone. He was in a wheelchair and had some bruises on his face. He said he had dislocated his ankle in a motorcycle accident. I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to worsen the situation!"
"Yves, stop!" Lestrad cut his rambling off. "You didn't do anything wrong. If you had refused to give him the location of the key, maybe he would be killed right then. At least you gave him some more time. Now we know he is still alive and in London. We have to hurry to find him before it's too late."
"One more thing, Yves. We need the address to David's cottage. I'll pass the call to Samantha. Give her the address, OK?" Sherlock passed the call to Samantha and turned to face Lestrad.
"What now?" Lestrad asked.
"Now we save a life. Maybe two." Sherlock said getting up from David's desk and closing the laptop. "We can't wait anymore. You need to send someone to arrest Jimmy and Abelia. And that woman who claims she found Abelia in the woods." He picked up the paper with the address which Samantha handed him.
"And what about us?" Lestrad asked following Sherlock out of David's office.
"We need to check that cottage out."
Angela was mad at her husband. Peter was doing that again. Ignoring her. "Are you even listening to me?" She asked, raising her voice to make sure he would listen this time.
"Of course!" Peter said, suddenly pushed out of his own thoughts.
"What did I just say?" She asked, turning on her seat to look straight at him.
"Uh, that your mother wants to visit this weekend?" He asked, trying hard to remember what they were talking about, before he turned his wife's voice down, and started answer her with mumbled monosyllables.
"I said that hours ago! I'm here talking to you for hours and you wouldn't even listen to me?" She asked angrily.
"I was just distracted! What did you say again, darling? I'm listening now." He said with the sweetest voice he could manage, trying to placate his wife's anger.
"Don't call me darling! I'm mad at you right now. And I told you to slow down or you're going to miss the turn." She said turning to look through her window, while their car sped down the deserted road.
"I know where the turn is. Don't' worry." He said looking for the turn that would lead to his parents little cottage.
"Last time you said that, we missed the turn and we got lost. It took us almost two hours to get to your parents'." She said matter-of-factly.
"Yeah, but that time I was distracted because you wouldn't stop chatting." He said, losing his temper.
"Ooooh, so now it's my fault?" Angela could not believe how he always found a way to turn everything into her fault.
"That's not what I said."
"That's exactly what you said, Peter. And if you don't slow down right now, I swear to God, Peter, I'm going to get out of the car and go walking all the way to the cottage." Angela said very seriously, although both of them knew all too well that she would never do such thing, since the cottage was nearly 20 miles distant and it was almost 3 o'clock in the morning.
"Ok!" Peter said, slowing down the speed from 70 mph (113 km/h) to about 15 mph (24 km/h). "That's good enough for you?" He asked.
"That's not funny, Peter." She said looking nervous, as they approached a curve on the road.
"You told me to slow down. I did it. We'll never miss the turn now."
"Stop this, Peter. It's dangerous. If there is someone behind us when we get to the curve they'll not have time to brake. We'll get hit."
"This road is deserted at these late hours. There's nothing for miles, only trees."
"Really? So why is that man walking on the road if there's nothing for miles?" She pointed at a man who was walking on the road, half a mile ahead.
"That's strange."
"I think he's drunk. Look, he can't walk in a straight line. Maybe he just got out from a bar somewhere."
"Baby, the nearest bar is miles from here. And there're no houses or cottages in this road, only the woods. This man will have to walk hours in complete darkness to get somewhere. I think he may be in some kind of trouble." Peter said worried, while the car approached the man slowly.
"It's none of our business, Peter. Please speed up."
"We should ask him if he needs some help."
"Are you insane? He could kill us. Or worst. Have you never seen horror movies? What do you think could happen to cute couples like us, which stop to talk to creepy drunk strangers in dark deserted roads?"
"He is stumbling to the middle of the road! He's going to get hit by a car! I'm going to ask him if he needs help. Give me that flashlight." Peter tried to open the glove compartment.
"Peter, please no! What are you going to do if he points a gun at us? Hit him with the flashlight? Please, speed up." Angela said panicking.
They saw the man turning around and falling on his knees in the middle of the road. He raised his arms above his head, as to say he was disarmed. The lights from the car were blinding him. They noticed that a handcuff was hanging in one of the man's wrists while the other wrist was wrapped in a bloody cloth. The man was covered in blood.
The car stopped beside the man and Peter didn't lower his window, but he could clearly hear the man saying "Please, help!" and then the man fell to the ground unconscious.
Next chapter: Stephen's life is in danger and they race to find him before is too late. Abelia is finally confronted.
Following chapters: Sherlock has to make a hard decision: catch a murderer and let someone die? Or save a life and let a bad guy, who can kill again, escape?