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The ride soon ended at what looked like a muddy construction site belted by scattered police cars and officers keeping curious passersby from gathering.
The taxi stopped and let them out. Honor noticed that the posted officers immediately knew Holmes and they either stared at him in fascination or grinned as though it were some joke. Holmes just walked, no, strutted over to the cautionary tape, stepping over it and continuing down an incline towards the obvious centroid of the scene.
A groan was heard from a group of plain clothed personnel who had turned to watch them approach. The woman in the group set her jaw, her dark sharp eyes needling Holmes. Raking at a stray, coiled strand of hair she greeted him sarcastically.
"He's here everyone. We can all go home. The light from on high has descended."
This brought a snicker from the three other men. Sherlock kept moving but in passing he commented lightly. "You'd better get that shirt back to Anderson Donovan before his wife notices it missing."
A look of startled guilt took the woman's face and she looked down at the generic button up visible inside her open jacket. Blushing, Donovan then looked around at her group, realizing she had confirmed Sherlock's accusation.
Honor continued to follow the lanky detective, hearing Donovan's muttered curses and denials behind her. Twenty feet further on, they were met by a young, graying man who's tired eyes transitioned from relief upon seeing Holmes to distrust when he looked to her.
He put up his hand, "Sherlock, who's this? Where's John?"
"A substitute. Where's the body Lestrade." It wasn't a question but a notification that his patience was already critically low.
Lestrade hesitated only a moment then exhaled his yield and motioned ahead of them. Sherlock had only paused and was now pressing on to where the obvious scene was located.
The site looked to be a new construction, possibly a parking structure. A two story deep pit cradled a concrete shell with protruding rebar and piping. A mobile crane vehicle was parked to the side.
Lestrade led them around it to where a few more people were gathered somberly. They wore blue plastic coveralls and gloves, gathering forensic evidence from various places around where Honor guessed was the body.
As they rounded the front of the crane, Honor could see what had happened. A load of thick, metal piping lay in a heap in the mud, the long crane boom also angled forward to the ground. From under some of the piping extended the legs of the obvious victim.
Sherlock stopped a couple of paces short of the body where a man with long, dark hair was taking pictures.
"Move Anderson." Said Sherlock shortly. The man turned around with an expression of unbridled hate on his face.
"Lestrade!" Anderson said to their guide with an icy tone.
Lestrade shot him a tired glare like a mother trying to settle a row between her two children. "I told you I was calling him and to hurry up. I was hoping you'd want to avoid this."
Anderson's pinched face twisted even more as his jaw set and he walked over to Lestrade and growled. "I have worked with you for years. I have been very patient but this is against regulations and you know it. Get him out of here."
"Put it in the report Anderson. There are forms for formal complaints." Lestrade replied evenly.
"But..." Anderson started.
Sherlock was already surveying the body and said in a monotone. "I almost envy the dead sod. He doesn't have to listen to Anderson."
They all looked at Sherlock in horror.
Blinking he added. "Did I say that out loud?"
Lestrade had lowered his head and Anderson zipped down his suit from his chin, glared at them all and stomped off. As uncomfortable as Honor felt at that moment she couldn't help but notice Anderson's shirt was similar and had the same brand on the pocket as did the one the woman Donovan had. In her judgement, there could be a possibility that the shirts were associated and could now see why Sherlock had made the cruel comment about the possible affair between the pair. Of course it seemed the two had an unfriendly relationship and history she wasn't aware of also.
"Go on." Sherlock ordered her. Honor didn't move.
"I don't do well with violent scenes." She had been avoiding looking at the mangled victim.
"Oh brilliant. Then what was the point of bringing you? Hurry up."
Lestrade was also beginning to voice his concern. "Look Sherlock. If she isn't comfortable let's just leave it. I shouldn't be letting just any tourist full access…"
Honor could feel the nausea taking hold of her chest and she swallowed but stepped over to the body. Three pipes lay somewhat impressed into the man. As she approached she could see openings between the pipes to his abdomen, chest and head. A groan escaped her tense throat and she turned her head away. The unnatural way his limbs compounded the gruesome display and Honor hurried back, passing Holmes and Lestrade. She couldn't hold it in and began heaving near the rear of the crane.
"Finished?" Holmes asked placidly and stepped over to the body himself.
Squatting down he took out his magnifying glass and began to study the body.
"We got a call from a coworker about two hours ago. We kept the man for questioning but I don't think he was involved. He'd come back for something and found him just like that the crane still running."
"Time of death fairly recent. Construction worker for 10 + years. Been in a fight within the last week. Happily married. Suffered from some sort of asthma..." Sherlock began to ramble.
"At first we thought it was just an accident but one of the boom controller leavers inside was damaged. Like it's been hit by a bullet. Then we found the slug in the cab." Said Lestrade.
Hopping up Sherlock crossed over to the crane's cab, examining its interior. Lestrade followed him.
"So now we're trying to figure out if it was a bloody good shot that made the load drop on him or what." He said to Sherlock.
"Please, detective inspector. Stop speculating, it's throwing me off." Sherlock murmured as he looked at a hole in the glass of the window that aligned with the lever. Lestrade looked down sheepishly in silence.
After a few minutes, Sherlock got back down from the cab.
"This shot didn't release the pipes." He concluded.
Completely bewildered, Lestrade said, "Then what…?"
"It was the second shot." Came Honor's voice from the rear of the crane. Both the men looked back at her paled face.
"The second?" Lestrade asked.
Nodding, she moved to the front of the crane and pointed at the ground. Unnoticed at first, a small puddle of dark brown, oily liquid had run under the crane and settled in the churned mud. A drip from some exposed hydraulic mechanism at the base of the long arm of the crane showed the path the flow. A hose had been torn open, now bleeding slow drops of the same fluid.
Sherlock looked closely, nodding.
"Damage sustained by a Lapua or Norma magnum cartridge. It's probably laying around here somewhere." He said then looked around, eyes fixing on a neighboring building. "He shot from there. Perhaps he's left some bread crumbs."
"What's that?" Honor pointed under the curvature of one of the pipes, pressed into the mud and hardly visible.
Lestrade reached under with a gloved hand, removing a muddy, brown fold of leather.
Opening it he said. "It's his wallet."
A small piece of paper escaped the sleeve of cards Lestrade was looking through and fluttered to the ground. Sherlock picked it up, his face tensing. Honor could almost see his mind responding to a sparked memory and him drawing upon the vast data banks in his brain.
"I think we have our connection." He said passing the paper to the DI.
Honor caught only a glimpse of the printing on the small paper. It was a ticket stub of some kind, she only caught the word: Daresey.
"Look back at all the other possibly related murders. I wager they're connected by this football club. Text me the details." Sherlock turned and began to walk swiftly back the way they had come.
Awkwardly Honor nodded to Lestrade and hurried after Holmes. Almost having to break into a trot to keep up with him she was feeling too ill to inquire about anything that had just happened. From what she had seen she could piece together what had happened to the poor man but apparently there had been similar attacks in the past that Holmes felt could have been performed by the same shooter. Lestrade had been right, the marksman's skill was incredible if her guess at the angle and distance he had fired from was right.
At the road, Holmes veered right down the pavement. Honor felt a trickle of sweat run down the side of her feverish face. The tightness in her chest felt like it was compressing on her heart, making it beat harder and faster. Try as she might, she could not keep up to him and Sherlock pulled farther ahead of her.
"Mr. Holmes... I think I need to sit down." She called breathlessly.
Without a word he continued on; crossing the street and entering the building.
The sun was sinking behind the skyline, taking with it what little warmth the light had brought. Honor wasn't sure if she was shivering from the cold or experiencing tremors and she pulled her arms closer to her as she ungracefully plopped down on a concrete retaining wall. The street and sky felt like they were turning inside out and Honor put her face in her hands trying to still the force she felt weighing on her body.
"Get on with it!" Came a bellow in her head.
Honor pushed her head into her hands harder.
The voice was now soft as she heard it again. "I had to see it for myself."
She looked up through a section of hair that had escaped her bun and blinked painfully at a familiar man. How did she know him? "Earth angel, earth angel, will you be mine..."
She had heard this before, it was an echo of a memory. Then she remembered the blow. The same face was twisted in anger as the man's hand struck her. She had felt the pain felt like it was so far away, just like when she had felt the sear in her back.
A hand nudged her arm. The man stretched over her, his eyes stern.
"Come on let's go." His calloused tone made her feel suddenly defensive and she leaned away from him.
"Honor. Get up." He insisted.
"Get away from me." She growled, the world still stretching and retracting around them. With a sigh he grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. She clenched her fist and tried to hit him but he caught her wrist easily.
"I won't solve them anymore, no matter what you and Sean do to me!" Honor fought to free her arms but she felt the weakness in her muscles give to the steel grip that held her.
"Honor. It's me. Holmes."
Her mind turned this over skeptically but she calmed her struggling. Yes. It is. She looked at him as if he had simply appeared in front of her, steadying the ground and taming gravity. The conformation of reality settled on her slowly like waking from a nightmare to the relief of consciousness.
With a raised eyebrow, Sherlock released her.
"Some sort of delirium?" He asked as though it were as serious as a cold.
Feeling oddly embarrassed, Honor only nodded. Her body felt frail but she forced her muscles to steady as much as she could. A couple of people had stopped along the walk watching suspiciously. Sherlock did not seem to notice or more likely he didn't care.
"Let's go." He turned and went to the curb, waving down a cab.
When one pulled over he opened the door and got in. Honor followed sluggishly.
"Are we going somewhere else or back to your apartment...flat?" She tried not to sound too whiny.
The door shut, the cab was now cruising through the congested streets. Holmes must have been lost in his thoughts because he only replied with a faint. "Hmm?"
It wasn't worth the effort she decided. Honor leaned her head on the window frame and let the exhaustion wrap her like a blanket.
It couldn't have been more than minutes later she heard, "You look terrible." he said.
She straightened up. "Thank you." She didn't try to mask the sarcasm.
Eyes on his phone he continued, "I think your observations and deductions back there, although crude, were satisfactory."
Resentment welled up in Honor's chest at his tactless and odd comment, "I'm so glad. I'm sure you had already figured all that out or would have anyway." She snapped.
"Assuredly. Still, you look like you could use a drink. Would you like to pick something up?" His offer was surprisingly human and she wasn't quite prepared for it.
"I don't drink. I mean I never have." She admitted.
This did win her a quizzical stare from him. But it was gone as soon as it came.
"Well then, anything else to calm your nerves?"
"A toothbrush." It just came out before she could think and a half smile lifted his face.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of change.
"Stop here." He ordered the driver then handed the coins to her. "There's a shop right there."
Honor looked at him blankly. She could not believe what she was hearing. For all his perceptiveness, he thought she could do this and walk back to the flat by herself? She had no idea where she was and although she did feel better, what if that were only temporary? The temptation to hit him again was overwhelming. She bit her lip, her chest rising and falling with each upset breath. If he noticed he did not show it.
"Go on, the meter's running. I'll see you at home." He urged irritably.
Parting company with him would probably be the best idea at the moment anyway or she would end up in jail for assault or worse. Honor exited the cab and slammed the door, watching it swerve back into traffic.