Master of Murder
Chapter 13
Escape
As Sherlock entered the room sounds of the scuffle came from the rear of the house. He quickly observed the room as he headed in the direction of the sounds. Four upholstered Victorian style chairs and a small matching table sat in a row to the left of the entry in front of a stately bookcase filled with leather bound volumes, perfect for a formal meeting or a photo op. To the right was a more modern boardroom style table surrounded by eight leather chairs. A whiteboard and multimedia center filled the end wall. A hallway lead to several doors; presumably personal living quarters for guests. The sounds came from behind a swinging door with a small window in the back wall.
John and Anthea followed him through the door into a small kitchen then into the room beyond. A chair was bolted to the center of the wooden floor, a semiautomatic pistol lay several feet away. Mycroft was struggling with Tumbleson on the floor beside the chair, trying to keep him from getting up. The back of Mycroft's head was bloody from where Reginald had struck him with the pistol. Sherlock and John helped the two to their feet while Anthea searched the kitchen for something to attend to Mycroft's wound.
While John held Tumbleson from behind, Sherlock looked around the sparely furnished room and asked, "Where's Morris?"
Mycroft blinked as Anthea began wiping the blood from the back of his head with a damp tea towel. "You didn't see him?" Mycroft replied. "He headed out through the…" Mycroft paused. "Damn! He used the priest hole. There is an escape tunnel behind the end cabinet in the kitchen. It leads to the garage in back."
—Ɵ—
Reginald banged open the door to the garage and ran blindly down the dark alley. He wasn't sure where he was, all he knew for sure was that he needed to get away. Find somewhere to hide. Figure out what he needed to do next. He felt disoriented, confused. It must be the adrenaline. Fumbling in his pocket, he pulled out his mobile phone. Leaning against a pole, he pulled up the dialing menu and selected a number with a shaky finger.
"Hello, Mr. Morris," said a smooth voice. "It's rather late, why are you calling your emergency number?"
Reginald wiped some sweat from his brow. "It's all blown, they know all about us," he said. "I'm pretty sure they've got Tumbleson, I need help, somewhere to hide."
"They know all about you, Mr. Morris. I seriously doubt my involvement has registered on their radar. I'm afraid our association must be terminated at this time. I do want to thank you for your outstanding contribution to the organization. Please rest assured that the funds you helped collect are greatly appreciated and will be very instrumental in furthering our agenda. Goodbye, Mr. Morris, best of luck."
James Moriarity clicked the button to end the call. He slid the back off of the mobile phone and removed the battery, then dropped both on the table in front of a rack of five identical phones. All things considered, it had been a relatively successful operation. Some doubts had been cast upon the character of one of the Holmes brothers, a significant amount of working capital had been diverted to his accounts and, however insignificant she might have been to the equation, a Holmes family member had been taken out of the loop. He paused to think about the others that had been involved in the operation. Petey had driven the car used to kidnap Mycroft, but he wouldn't be a problem. Barker had managed the actual financial transfers, nothing to worry about there either. Both were seasoned veterans of several operations of this type and had proven their loyalty many times over. Morris had never known his real name and they had never met in person. Moriarity smiled and turned his thoughts to other matters.
—Ɵ—
Sherlock and Anthea held Tumbleson by the arms in the kitchen as Doctor Watson stepped in through the tunnel entrance. "Gone," he reported. "No sign of him anywhere out there, looks like he's on the run."
The door to the loo opened and Mycroft emerged, adjusting his waistcoat slightly, a relieved smile on his face.
The swinging door from the front room opened and Sargent Sally Donovan came in. Seeing Sherlock she smiled. "Hello, freak, why am I not surprised you're involved with this?" she said. "We get a domestic disturbance report and arrive to find the front of the house totally destroyed."
Sherlock nudged Tumbleson towards her. "This man is an accomplice in the murder of Penelope Masters, please place him under arrest."
Donovan found a pair of handcuffs and snapped them around Tumbleson's wrists. "Gladly," she said. "I hope there is a perfectly sound explanation to all of this."
"There is also a man named Reginald Morris on the loose who is involved with the murder as well," said Sherlock. "Your men should canvas the area, he shouldn't be too hard to find."
"All right, everyone outside so we can take your statements," she said.
—Ɵ—
Reggie disgustedly shoved the phone back in his pocket. Now what? He couldn't think. Get away. Hide. His thoughts were fuzzy and confused. He began to stagger towards the end of the alley and stumbled against a dust bin, knocking its contents on the ground. Cans, bottles, paper, moldy rotting food scattered everywhere. He slipped and fell in the mess. What was going on? Why was he so disoriented? He struggled back to his feet and noticed his mouth felt dry. The tips of his thumbs began to tingle. He squeezed his eyes shut as he finally realized what was happening. God, why now? He tugged at his tie to get some air and staggered towards the end of the alley. The lights of an all-night petrol station were just across the street.
—Ɵ—
Abul sat on a stool behind the cash register reading a new paperback by his favorite author. He enjoyed working the night shift; the pay wasn't great, but there were very few customers to deal with and it left plenty of time to sit and read.
A bell tinkled as the door opened and a man lurched drunkenly to the counter. Smelling like garbage, his tie askew, covered in filth, he grabbed a candy bar from the rack, stripped off the paper and shoved it in his mouth.
"Donut!" the man said with his mouth full. His eyes were open wide as he stared at Abdul.
Abul dropped his book, slid off the stool and stepped back from the counter.
"DONUT!" the man repeated frantically and slammed his hands on the countertop.
Abul raised his arm and nervously pointed in the general direction of the pastry section of the store.
The man turned and hesitated for a moment, trying to maintain his balance, then teetered off in that direction, opening a cooler and pulling out a bottle of orange juice on his way.
Abul grabbed the phone and dialed 999.
Reaching the pastry section, Reginald grabbed a jelly filled pie from the rack and pulled off the wrapper. He took a large bite and washed it down with orange juice. He stepped back and leaned against a cooler, then heaving a big sigh he slowly slid to a sitting position on the floor. He took another bite of the pie before he tilted over on his side and passed out.
—Ɵ—
Author's note: Sorry for the long delay in posting this one, a death in the immediate family and an unexpected major surgery put me out of commission for a while. I'm still recuperating slowly under the care of my loving wife but not really able to spend a lot of time in front of the computer as yet. I plan on wrapping things up in the next week or so, looking at just one more chapter unless I get hit with some sort of fantastic inspiration. Thanks to all who have tagged my story or done reviews; that's what fuels this author's creative engine.