So, no killing off Kline and Christine, huh? I was worried you guys wouldn't like them. I'm trying to keep them as undercurrents as much as I can, but they know the turf, see? Oh, and to answer Hank Riddle's question, I do live in Michigan. In a tiny town in Michigan... anyone recognize that? I've never seen England in my life, but I desperately want to go there when I'm older. My parent's want me to go to Scotland *sigh* because they used to live there. Anyway, sixth chapter. Yeah. Here's the deal. I lost the sheet with all my info on it (Dad wanted to clean the computer room, so he shoved my stuff under the bed), and so I have to make it up as I go along. Work with me. BTW, thanks for the info on Jack the Ripper. I appreciate it.
Chapter Six: The Fourth Murder
Holmes POV:
As soon as the first light came streaming through my window, I jumped out of my bed and threw on my robe. I dashed downstairs and managed to locate the living room with some assistance from Sophia. Finally, at 7:30, I flopped down on the couch.
"Why- WHY is there so many rooms in this blasted house!" I mumbled angrily. I feared that I had missed the news. I went scrambling for the remote and managed to find it (under the television) and flipped on the news.
"- man dead. His name was Jason DeRino. He was a hard working, forty one year old male. He was divorced. DeRino was last seen in company with a supposed woman, about five foot three in height. If you have any info-" I turned the television off and closed my eyes.
The reporter didn't give any information on how he was killed. For all I knew, he might of been suffocated. They didn't say if his heart was ripped out. Quite annoying, really.
I heard footsteps behind me and I turned to see Watson standing there, with a sad smile on her face.
"Dead?" she asked softly. I nodded. She climbed over the back of the couch and fell head first into the cushions.
"This sucks," her voice came. It was muffled from the cushions and I couldn't help but smile, even if it was a bit strained.
"I know. But we have to march on, like good little troops. If we don't, another person will die, and it will be our faults," I whispered gently. Watson pulled her head up from the couch and looked at me.
"Ick. Death. Gross. Hey, want a quarter? I found one!" she exclaimed, pulling the coin from in between the pillows. I grinned and took it from her. I heard another noise from behind me and spun around to see Christine behind the couch smiling.
"Did I miss something? Or was it one of those boyfriend/girlfriend moments?" she said sarcastically. I rolled my eyes and Watson groaned.
"You are such a romanticist, Christine. I found a quarter and offered it to him," she protested. Christine smiled lightly and flipped herself onto the couch.
"Me? A romanticist? I'm a confirmed spinster, Jenny. Never going to date, marry, have kids, and all that junk. Virgin in kissing, hugging, and the more intimate parts of a relationship. See, all that should tell you that I could never be a romanticist. Now, I tease sure, but-" she stopped suddenly and stared off into space. Watson raised her eyebrows expectantly.
"But? Christine? Hello..." Watson waved her hand in front of her face. After a minute, her eyes snapped back into focus.
"He's dead, isn't he? Oh God. Dear Lord, we could've prevented this. Please forgive us..." she had launched into a prayer all of a sudden, and Watson sighed heavily.
"Yeah, he's dead. Did the preppy anchorwoman tell how?" she asked, addressing me now. I cleared my throat to reiterate what I had heard.
"His name was Jason DeRino. He was the oldest of the victims yet, at forty one. He was divorced. Other than that, their was no helpful information. Such as the cause of death, where he was found, if he was drunk, and other such things," I told them. Christine frowned downward and pulled out her famous black notebook.
"The coroner's should be open right now. We can get in, I'm sure. Kline has... connections. If we call, we'll be sure to wake her and she can get her butt down here," offered Christine. I looked over her shoulder to see what she was looking at in her notebook.
"What is that?" I asked. She snapped it shut and tossed it into one of her pockets.
"That page tells me the times that the businesses in town are open. The funeral home and the coroner's are both open at the same times, and that is from 8:30 a.m. until 10:00 p.m. Do you want me to call Kline or not?" she asked impatiently. I nodded and she pulled out a cell phone from her pockets. She tapped a number and held it to her ear.
"Kline, listen. Code heart, death sweep. Quick. Bye," Christine spun. We stared at her as she flipped the cell phone closed and tossed it into a different pocket. She caught our stares and smiled.
"Code heart means another murder, death sweep means Coroner's. Quick means get here quick. Simple, efficient, and easy to decipher. Neither of us have a mind for codes. It works out this way," she explained. Watson frowned.
"How does she know where we are?" she asked.
"Star 69, duh. No, I'm just kidding. She traces it. We're both good with computers, her more than me," Christine laughed. She sat back down in a large armchair and pulled out a watch.
"She'll be here in ten minutes. I suggest you to get changed into suitable clothes," advised Christine. Watson and I both realized we were still dressed in our pajama's and ran upstairs to get changed.
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(Here's where it gets a little more complicated)
Christine's POV:
I leaned on the couch and realized how hard it was to quickly spin lies like that. I didn't like lying to Jenny or Sherlock, but we had to. Kline was, essentially, a hacker. She didn't use it for bad things, but it was still illegal. And as for my notebook...
Sherlock was getting too interested in it. I would have to keep it under wraps for a while, so they wouldn't find out. It wasn't anything bad, but they might want it. For all I knew, Sherlock might see the case as a competition. I highly doubted it, but that is what my friend said (Kline WAS a very suspicious girl), and if it were true, I wished to keep the points on our side. I was willing to give them out, but only when I was sure that I had them too.
I tapped my watch irritably and looked out the large window, waiting for Kline to show up. Knowing her, she'd be wearing her 'coroners' clothes, as she called them. It was a simple red ensemble, with a red shirt and red pants, with a pink ribbon in her hair. I found it ridiculous. She had 'interviewers clothes', 'coroners clothes', 'chasing-after-suspect clothes', and 'trap setting clothes'. I just wore my normal clothes.
Suddenly, a sparse figure came jogging up the sidewalk, wearing all red. I smiled grimly at my accurate thoughts, and motioned for her to come in.
Kline came through the door and landed in a pile on Jenny's green couch. She was sweating heavily, and smelled equally bad. I couldn't help but wrinkle my nose.
"Did you shower this morning, Kline? What is that smell?" I groaned. She sniffed the air delicately and then grinned.
"I fell in some sewer drainage. They really should clear the drains. What, don't you like the smell?" she asked, acting to be offended. I shook my head and raised my hands into the air as a mock prayer.
"Why me Lord? Why?" I whimpered. Kline laughed and shoved me. I quickly put on a serious face and looked into Kline's eyes.
"His name was Jason DeRino. We're going to see the coroner about the body. The stupid anchor woman didn't say anything, including if he was drunk or horribly mutilated," I told her. Kline nodded pulled out her laptop.
I hated the accursed thing. We had gotten into some trouble years back with it, and I wasn't eager to find out why she brought it.
"Kline..." I trailed off. Kline rolled her eyes.
"Once, and you don't trust me again. Get over it, will ya? I'm IM-ing Blaine with what we're going to want, ok? Not bad. And it was one time!" she shrieked. I sighed and sat next to her, pulling on my silver reading glasses.
Kline dictated what I was to type (I was the faster typist) and I tapped it out as fast as I possibly could. I heard the beep as it went through. After a minute, we got an answer.
KC- Glad to help. Bring your friends over, I'll have DR ready. Not good for weak hearts. Blaine.
"I suppose that mean's his heart is missing?" a soft voice came from behind us. I jumped up and raised my hands in self defense, and Kline caught the laptop. Sherlock laughed at my reaction and pushed my hands down.
"I am no evil attacker, I assure you Christine. So, what was the trouble with the police a while ago?" he asked nonchalantly. This time the laptop did drop. Kline's mouth fell open and stared at him. He smiled at our shocked reactions.
"The notebook, your hatred of the laptop, your hushed conversation. It all has to do with something you don't want people to find out about. What?" he asked again. I slowly lowered myself into a chair and Kline just sort of flopped to the ground.
"No time. We'll explain it later. Blaine is waiting," I said, slowly. Dumbly. I didn't understand how he knew. I credited myself for being quick, smart even. But how he had read my thoughts... it was simple enough to deduce, I decided, but how he knew that it was the police...
I quickly regained my composure and looked around for Jenny.
"Where's Jen?" asked Kline, sensing my question. Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"Girls always must wear the right thing. I noticed earlier on, Kline, that you seem to reserve certain clothes for certain occasions, yes? Whereas Christine here wears whatever compels her?" he presumed. Kline grinned.
"You saw right through me. Yep. I need to wear the right clothes all right. I am extremely fashion sensitive. Only the best clothes will do. Christine on the other hand-" I cut her off.
"I wear black, gray, white, or dark blue. Nothing else. Sweaters and slacks for the winter, short sleeves and slacks for the summer. I dislike clothes, Sherlock. People base themselves on them to much. And they judge other's too," I cut off bitterly. Abruptly, Jenny came stampeding down the stairs, wearing a simple blue shirt and shorts.
"Perfect! Ok, let's go!" she heralded. I rolled my eyes, and we were off.
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Holmes' POV:
Christine and Kline led the way through the intersecting streets rapidly, appearing to know every twist and turn.
Ashling was a tiny town, it really was, but there were over 100 streets, and they all seemed to intersect. I couldn't even keep track of them all. The names all seemed the same: Fair, Fine, Freeway, Lathrop, Lane, Leeray, East Main, West Main, Main, Spencer, Sperco, and so the list went on. A man could easily get lost. Finally, we stopped at a horribly dismal building.
It was gray, as was to be expected. From inside you could see the shine of metal and steel, indicating that this was indeed the coroners office. Watson gulped beside me as Kline and Christine dashed in. We proceeded at a slower pace.
"We've been to crime scenes, creepy houses, and abandoned buildings Holmes. Never did I think we would see a coroners office," Watson shuddered. I smiled.
"Yes, but that is usually because we are nearby when the murder happens, or get there when the police are still looking at the scene of crime," I assured. Watson nodded and took a deep breath as we stepped inside.
Kline's voice came steadily from behind a closed door, which I left closed, for the time being.
"-drunk, Blaine? I'm not about to open his mouth and take a whiff," her voice cried. I heard a girls dry voice chuckle, which I took to be Christine's. Her laugh was usually muted, as Kline's was loud.
"Yes, he was. Their were some interesting pieces of evidence left on him, if you would care to take a look," came a soft, male voice. So this was Blaine. Ever dramatic, I opened the door right then.
"I would care to look," I announced boldly. I saw Christine crack a half smile and Kline stick out her tongue at me as she grinned.
"Wondering when you were going to show up. Sherlock, meet Blaine Kline, my uncle. Blaine, this is Sherlock Holmes," she introduced. I took the man's hand into my own and smiled at him.
"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kline," I said politely. The man laughed.
"You make me sound like my father. Call me Blaine. What should I call you?" he asked in return. I shrugged.
"Either Sherlock or Holmes. Watson calls me Holmes, they call me Sherlock. You have a choice," I told him. Blaine smiled and then turned back to his table.
"As you can see here, there is a bit of white left behind. A microscope clearly reveals it to be lace. The lace has an interesting smell, that of a strong perfume. Oh, we pose as a forensics office too, Mr. Holmes," Blaine suddenly provided. I nodded and gestured for him to continue.
"We here at the forensics lab think that this means Jane seduces her victims, and then murders them. We dug a little deeper, and found internal bleeding. This concludes our theory that Jane tortures before she murders. The bruises are from a long, pointed object, but not a knife. Possibly an umbrella, or something like that. But the most interesting piece of evidence is over here," Blaine said, pointing. We moved to another table and peered at two papers.
"We found fibers from gloves being worn. They obviously cover fingerprints. But the odd thing is that their are two different types. Jane doesn't seem the type to me that would wear to different gloves. It is to out of place. This suggests-"
"-two murderers? Jane and Jill?" Kline gasped. Watson and Christine's faces mirrored Kline's horror. Blaine nodded.
"Yes. We wouldn't be surprised if their were even more than that. Minions, perhaps, henchmen. People who blindly attack. If you insist on going on with this investigation, then be careful, Amanda," warned Blaine. Kline winced as he said her first name and then nodded.
"Can-can we see the body now?" Kline asked. It was obvious she wasn't really happy about seeing a heartless body.
"Of course," Blaine said. He guided us down the hall, talking as we went. "The other injuries didn't have time to bruise completely because the heart has ripped out before then. The blood supply stopped, and the obviously painful cuts she had made on him couldn't bleed. That was neglected from the reports, I'm sorry to say. Jane and Jill are obviously smart women. Insane, yes. But very smart in their insanity."
We passed a window where a young woman sat sniffing at a white hand kerchief. Blaine stopped suddenly and entered the room.
"Miss Winston, what are you doing here?" Blaine asked impatiently to the young woman. Her head raised, and it was shocking to see her features.
Even I, as callous as I am, could not help but see her beauty. She had a small, delicate looking face, that looked as though it might be porcelain. The woman's eyes were huge, with bright blue orbs shining out from them. Her lips were as dark as blood, and when she spoke you could see gleaming white teeth sticking out. Her hair was golden in color, and fell in waves across her shoulders. She was a classic beauty.
"I'm sorry Mr. Kline. You know that Jason was a good friend of mine. I-oh!" the wretched woman cut off with a sob and dabbed at her hands with the white piece of cloth. I stared at her as Blaine tried to console her.
"Sarah Winston?" I asked suddenly. That was the name of one of the suspects. The woman's head snapped up as I said her name, and for a brief moment I saw anger in her beautiful eyes. It faded quickly, however, and was replaced by puzzlement.
"Why, yes. I don't believe I've had the pleasure of your name, young man," Miss Winston said softly, her tears stopping. I offered my hand.
"Sherlock Holmes. Mr. DeRino was a friend of yours?" I asked. Miss Winston smiled sadly.
"Not really. I knew him quite well, however. He was always in my bookstore, looking at books or me. I think he had a crush on me!" laughed Miss Winston. I nodded.
"I hope you can get over your mourning, Miss Winston. Good day."
The woman stepped forward and clasped her gloved hands on my bare ones.
"Thank you young man. It is so nice to see such manners in one so young," she gushed. I shook my hands free and then Blaine continued to lead us down the corridors.
We finally stopped outside of one. The sign on the front said 'Restricted. Do not enter'. So, of course, we went in.
After Blaine turned on the lights, you could see many instruments. Scissors, microscopes, needles, and many other grotesque things. Blaine walked over to the corner and pulled a long bed-like thing out. A cover was laid across it. Watson wrinkled her nose.
"Am I to assume Mr. DeRino is under that sheet?" she asked quietly. Blaine nodded. He gently pulled down the white sheet just past his rib cage. Watson stifled a cry, and Christine turned away.
DeRino lay on the table, his face deadly white, and his heart missing. You could see far into his body, see where the heart had been, see everything. I felt a bit nauseous as I adverted my gaze to his face. It was untouched. I carefully pulled open his mouth and sniffed it. Alcohol. I nodded and quickly covered the man again. I had no desire to see a dead man, unless they were... intact. Kline stared on.
"Drunk?" she asked, carefully masking her voice to not betray emotions. I sighed.
"Indeed. And perhaps the most drunk, if I am not mistaken. You could smell sherry, booze, beer, and a highly alcoholic wine. Am I correct Blaine?" I said, turning to the man. He turned his gaze to a computer that sat beeping quietly in the deathly silent room.
"Yes. Sherry, booze, Labatt Blue for the beer, and a Scottish wine," he quickly confirmed. I smiled grimly.
"He was most definitely a guest of Wolves Tavern. Come along, girls. We have a much needed discussion to attend to."
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Christine's POV:
Sherlock was obviously disturbed by what he had seen. Then again, who wouldn't? A dead man, tortured, and then brutally murdered. I shuddered.
Kline noticed my movement and we fell a couple of steps behind Sherlock and Jenny.
"Gross, huh? Never thought I'd see that in all my life," Kline agreed. I nodded and focused my attention to the mud that lay on the sizzling sidewalk.
"He'll ask us when we get to Jenny's about our crime," I whispered. Kline stiffened and then sighed.
"Well, it wasn't major. And it helped with a case. And it was just a warning! We never actually went to jail!" Kline exclaimed. I bobbed my head in agreement.
"But Kline- hacking. That could be really bad in his book. And then their is my little book..." I trailed off. Kline rolled her eyes.
"You consider swearing a crime. You spy! You might as well spy for a living! You keep info on various people, that is all," Kline yelped. I laughed.
"And I know about their sins, Kline. I know who they sleep with at night. I know who hires the whores of this town. I know... it's disturbing," I finished. Kline smiled at me.
"You also give a fancy right hook. And you're a good fighter when the need comes down to it. What about me? I have landed a man in a hospital! I look at dead bodies all the time! I love fighting, and like it when a fight breaks out! Plus, I know bank records and security codes of almost everyone in this town. We can't go around acting perfect. They were bound to find out," Kline reiterated. I grinned in spite of my dismay.
"Gotta admit though, Kline, that man deserved it. And you are a genius, yourself. Who comes up with all the plans, with the mathematical parts, anyway? You. All right, I give. We suck," I laughed. A laugh came in front of us from Sherlock.
"So that is what you two are always whispering about! I don't much care about hacking, if it was for a case. And for landing people in the hospital... I've landed Watson in the hospital. Not a villain. Watson. It's good that you recognize your shortcomings, however. Very good," Sherlock reminded us. Kline smiled mischievously.
"And yours?"
"Well-uh- I wasn't talking about mine," Sherlock stammered. Jenny smiled.
"He's cold, callous, crude, crass, and isn't gentle to the suspects. He will push, pry, pound, and pull out information. He isn't much fun to work with, and he's exceedingly jealous," Jenny called back. Sherlock mock gasped.
"How DARE you!" he cried. Jenny smiled. Sherlock whirled around.
"She is amazingly dense! She couldn't follow a criminal if her life depended on it! And she is more jealous than me!" he told us teasingly. Jenny screamed in fury.
"Jerk!"
"Fool!"
"Meanie!"
"That isn't a real word! Obtuse!"
"Obtuse and fool are the same thing! Stupid git!"
"Louse!"
"Uh-uh-" Jenny stammered. She seemed to have run out of insults.
"Hah! You are an unintelligible oaf, who couldn't keep still or silent unless stricken down by some mighty force!" Sherlock declared. I couldn't help. I burst into laughter, Kline not far behind me. Sherlock raised an eyebrow questionably.
"You!- Jenny!- You fight like kindergarteners!" I giggled. Jenny began laughing, and finally Sherlock.
Once we had finally calmed down, Sherlock turned to Jenny.
"You realize I meant none of that, correct?" he asked. Jenny nodded.
"Me either." Kline and I smiled at each other.
"Now kiss and make up..." trilled Kline. Jenny started spluttering.
"That is highly unorthodox. In public? Never!" Holmes explained. Jenny nodded in agreement.
"You're not in public. You are with us. Please?" I asked, using the sweetest voice I could. Sherlock rolled his eyes, leaned down, and pecked Jenny on the lips. Kline groaned.
"Can't you give us more? Come on, Kelsey and Rachel will want something juicy," complained Kline. I shook my head.
"Any more and I'll make myself sick. I think that is quite all right," I replied. Kline rolled her eyes. Sherlock's demeanor turned serious all of a sudden.
"We will get together tomorrow to discuss the clues, all right?" he said. It seemed more like a demand than anything, but Kline and I quickly consented.
"But of course. Thank you for a... splendid afternoon. Perhaps tomorrow evening we can go to the violin concert that is going to play in town for a while. Spend a quick evening of relaxation?" I asked. Jenny shrugged.
"I don't see what it would hurt. Holmes?" She turned to Sherlock. He sighed sadly.
"Very well. One night won't hurt," he agreed. Kline squealed in delight.
"Superb! See you tomorrow!" she cried, and then turned toward her house, leaving me to accompany Sherlock and Jenny home once more.
