Chapter Four: The Dragon Rears its Head
Ron took a full hour before he returned with Inspector Lestrade. I had made myself comfortable next to the body, keeping my eyes sharp for any hapless traveler that might unwittingly stumble onto her. No one came for a long while. Holmes and I inspected the body as much as we could without infringing on the house of the law. I circled her incessantly, looking for minute clues.
"She has no defensive wounds," I muttered, looking at her exposed upper arms. "She may have been drugged, judging by the redness in her eyes and a needle-like entry wound on the inside of her left forearm."
'Very good,' Holmes interjected. 'We can save cause of death for a more appropriate time. How has our fairy-tale mistress appeared on our proverbial doorstep?' I stooped low to the ground, searching for any distinguishable footprints. I was able to isolate my own, those of Ron, and perhaps a dozen others.
"Nothing in particular stands out." I looked out across the river. "She could have been dropped off by just about anyone, judging from the varying prints..." I trailed off, and I knew that he was disappointed with my answer. He didn't make any comment or sound, but I knew by now that if I had any doubts in my answer, he had even more.
I rubbed my eyes and slumped down next to the body. I hadn't gotten enough sleep, in my opinion. Then again, with Holmes permanently lodging in my head, it was a miracle that I got any sleep at all. It was not that I was adverse to the man at all. Most of the time he was my only comfort. But when I genuinely needed rest...
"Mr. 'olmes!" I looked up sharply. Inspector Lestrade and Ron were cresting the banks and descending toward me. I stood to shake his hand. "Been a while since yew called for my 'elp, 'ey, detective?" I grinned and nodded.
"What, has it been a year since the Bradbury case?"
"An' then some, I thinks!" He chuckled, then removed his hat at the sight of the body. "Oh, that's a bloody shame, that is." Ron fell in beside me as Lestrade kneeled close to the girl.
"The Inspector said he's found another girl about her age on the bank of the Thames just about a week ago." He ran a nervous hand through his hair. I couldn't help but pull a smile.
"Was she dressed as Goldilocks, Inspector?" I asked. Lestrade looked up with a foul glare.
"No, sir. She were only 'bout 17, if I remember rightly." Couldn't find anything strange about 'er beside the fact she was dead, or why she'd showed up on the Thames at all." He scratched his thinning hair. "'Course we've only 'ad 'er for a week."
"Hold on," I interrupted. Lestrade froze as he held up the girl's head. The position of her head had shifted, and I saw something that I hadn't seen before. "Do you have any tweezers on you, Inspector?" He gave me a cynical look.
"Nah, lad, I left 'em in me other coat." He thought it was quite funny and laughed. I knelt next to the body and stuck my hand fingers into the girl's mouth. Lestrade nearly dropped her. "'Ey! What are you doin'!"
"Hold her still, Inspector!" I demanded. He shut his mouth, fuming. The tip of my fingers brushed what I had seen, and I gripped it firmly between my pointer and middle fingers. With a macabre flourish, I pulled a long silken handkerchief from the girl's throat.
"Cor blimey," Lestrade murmured.
"Wicked," was the only word I heard from Ron. I rocked back from the balls of my feet to sit back comfortably, where I had enough time to inspect the article.
"She didn't choke on it," I inferred. Her mouth was dry, and so is the kerchief, so there was no saliva in her mouth upon its insertion. It must have been shoved into her throat posthumously." I turned it over in my hands, and felt Ron leaning over my shoulder. We both noticed it at the same time.
"Hey, look at that, Jack," he said as his hand shot out to the bottom right hand corner. There was a tiny stitched motif on the corner in red thread. I reached into the pocket of my greatcoat and pulled out Joan's magnifying glass.
"It's a dragon," I said, raising one eyebrow. "A serpentine dragon swallowing its tail." I looked up at the inspector, and saw that two more officers had arrived to help transport the body. "Lestrade, I shall need a ride to the morgue."
"We matched her to a missing person's file," said Officer Dobson as I followed him into the morgue. "No one's come to claim her body, so we're waiting for someone to bring in money for a funeral. Otherwise, we were just going to cremate her." He opened the door for me, and I saw the poor girl lying on a table with a white sheet pulled over her face. She was taller than the girl I had found on the riverbank was, and her hair was long and flaxen. I pulled the sheet down to the girl's collarbone, then looked up at Officer Dobson.
"You do not mind if I inspect the body?"
Dobson shrugged. "Lestrade told me you had free range down here so long as you didn't try to do anything funny."
I went about poking and prodding in my methodic way. This girl, Rachel Hollensfield as Officer Dobson had informed me, had been found on the bank of the Thames a week previous. I found that she did not have a kerchief lodged in her throat as the younger girl had. Holmes was saying something, but I blocked him out. I wanted to solve something on my own. I ran my fingers down one of her arms, then found it.
"Officer Dobson," I asked without looking up, "who cleaned and prepared her body?" He stuttered for a moment, then flipped through his papers.
"Seems a Dr. Jones saw to her. Found some printed image on her upper right arm, no sign of defensive wounds, and a needle puncture in her right arm. Apparently, she's very well endowed"
"That's all I need to know, Officer Dobson," I interjected, my face flushing. I pulled the girl's skin taut around the image drawn in red ink on the inside of her right arm. It was a serpentine dragon swallowing its own tail. And this time, it was accompanied by lettering in a foreign language. Damn my lack of education! I turned on Dobson. "Quickly, does Dr. Jones have the photographs from his report?"
"Err..." Dobson flipped through his papers again, then shrugged his thin shoulders. "Doesn't say here, Mr. Holmes. I could call Dr. Jones-"
"Please do. Ask him if he has any detailed pictures of the strange image on the girl's right arm. I should like to see it and perhaps take it to a library or two." I took one final quick look at the girl, then pulled the sheet over her head. "I should like to see if Inspector Lestrade and my brother have had any luck identifying the newest victim. Could you...?"
"Ah, of course," Officer Dobson was quick to open the door, and we exited. "What do you mean by newest victim? You think the two are related?"
"They both have on their person that strange depiction of a dragon devouring its tail, and puncture wounds on their right arms. They could be strange coincidences, but I would rather think of them as connected until I find otherwise."
We navigated the hallways until we reached Lestrade's private office. It was small and cluttered, as well as stuffy, even for October. Just as I had imagined it. Lestrade was sitting at his desk, Ron beside him as they pored over papers. My brother looked up as we entered.
"Jack, we found out who that girl is! Er, was." He ran to me, holding out a paper. "Her mother and father dropped in just about a half-an-hour before we got here. Seems they all went to that costume party you were at, but the girl didn't come back with them." He looked to his paper, then up again. "Her name was Lucy Helton, and her parents left her at the party when she said she would get a lift back home by- get this! - Charlie Fulham!"
"I've called out a dispatch to pick 'im up if they find 'im," Lestrade said gruffly. He smiled crookedly and leaned across his desk. "I 'ear the bloke gave you a bit of an 'ard time at the party, 'olmes." He laughed, and I glared as I absent-mindedly touched the side of my face where the ruffian had punched me. I glanced disapprovingly at Ron, who shrugged innocently.
"Yes, we got into a bit of a row over a certain woman-"
"Women now, Mr. 'olmes?" Lestrade guffawed. I gritted my teeth.
"Officer Dobson and I have found a connection between the new victim and Rachel Hollensfield," I announced. Lestrade stopped his inane hee-hawing, and Ron perked up his ears. Dobson just seemed proud that I had used his name. "That dragon insignia on the girl's handkerchief was the same one inked on the inside of Ms. Hollensfield's arm. Seeing as I haven't run across it in my lifetime, nor has Officer Dobson, I suspect that it is fairly esoteric and will not be hard to hunt down." I tried to stifle a yawn. "While Scotland Yard's best do their fine work, I believe I shall be off back home to rest."
"You can't be serious!" Ron shouted, which was very unnecessary seeing as I was beside him. "Jack, this just begs to be thrown wide open! You've been begging for a case-"
"This isn't my case, Ron," I assured him. "Just because I stumbled-
"I stumbled," Ron corrected me.
"Just because you stumbled on the body doesn't mean we have any choice in the matter. I am a private detective, and this is Scotland Yard." I placed a comforting hand on my brother's shoulder while I looked up to meet Lestrade's gaze. "You know where I live if you need any consultation, Inspector."
"'Ave a nice nap, Detective," Lestrade said with a toothy grin as I shut the door to his office. Ron glared sullenly at me as I guided him out into the London streets. We were nearly home when he decided to speak.
"You never take the chance for something really interesting, Jack," he mumbled. "Something genuinely wicked comes your way and you hand it off to the police!" A heavy sigh heaved through his thin, lanky frame. "You're miserable, Jack. Why can't you just solve the bloody case like I know you can?" He crossed his arms and refused to listen to anything I attempted to say. We walked home in silence.
I didn't have to open the door. Watson stood in the doorway, brown hair mussed and glasses askew.
"Thank God," he muttered. "Sara and I were just about to come looking for you." He smiled down at the sullen Ron. "You too. Ms. Joan was worried sick about the both of you-"
I had to prevent myself from slapping my hand across my face for my stupidity. I instead shut my eyes fast and groaned.
"Good Lord, Joan... I completely forgot." I sighed and leaned against the doorframe. "Ron, be a good lad and see if she's in the sitting room." Ron, a devilish grin on his impish features darted below Watson's arm and went inside. Watson gave me a quizzical look.
"What? I'm afraid I've completely missed something yet again." His friendly grin was enough to walk inside with him.
"Nothing, Watson. Ms. Joan and I... Well, she..." I rubbed the back of my neck, then looked up to see the red-faced Joan sitting on the sofa, just where I had left her. I was the first to break eye contact. That was Joan- never backing down. "I managed to involve myself with another affair at Scotland Yard, Watson," I said as I turned to him. "Two young girls washed up on the shore of the Thames, both with the same enigmatic symbol on their person."
"Really?" Watson seemed intrigued. We both sat at the table in the kitchen, and Sara handed Watson a cup of tea. She beamed down at me.
"Would you like some too, Holmes?" She asked. I shook my head.
"I need my sleep, but thank you." I stretched my arms above my head as I yawned again. "I'm hoping to get a call from an Officer Dobson tomorrow-" I corrected myself, "-or perhaps later today. My whole sense of time has been thrown off by this whole escapade. Anyway, he will hopefully have a picture of the strange symbol on the girl's arm and the letters that go with it."
"Letters? You mean a different language," Watson interjected between sips of tea. "Any idea what it might be?" I shook my head.
"Though I'm usually adept at deciphering code, this was a language I'm not familiar with." I stood quickly, and nodded to my two friends. "I'm sorry, but I haven't gotten much sleep at all-"
"No, Holmes, don't let me stop you," Watson said with a grin. "Really, who is the one to pop into your study to make sure you get your eyes shut?" I smiled.
"W. John Watson, alarm extraordinaire."
I left the kitchen, bypassed Ron, and fell to a slow halt as I passed Joan. She had her legs crossed and her hands folded in her lap. Her eyes were down. Against all greater judgment, I sat beside her. She didn't look up. I have to do this, I said to myself.
'Make amends,' Holmes said, mirroring my own thoughts. 'You do not have to love her, Jack. Repairing the friendship might mean as much to her now.'
I nodded, then leaned in closer to Joan. It took more nerves than I expected, but I closed my eyes and placed a soft kiss against her cheek.
"I'm sorry, Joan," I muttered, pulling back. Her eyes were on me now. There was sadness in them, but not tears. I expected tears from Sara, but not from Joan. "I'm sorry, but I can't." She inspected my face, then looked away to her hands again.
"I know," she answered, turning her hands over in her lap. "But it was worth a try." We sat in silence for another moment, then I reached out tentatively and squeezed her hand.
"Goodnight," I said. She smirked.
"It's good morning, Mr. Holmes."
"Jack," I corrected.
A soft laugh, and another smile. "Jack," she mirrored.
I lifted myself from the sofa and retreated into the darkened hallway to my room, where I fell onto my bed and slept for hours.
AN: I feel as if my writing was a little disjointed in this chapter, but... What can I do? Hope everyone still likes, even though I now realize that there's a distinct lack of Holmes in this chapter. I'll have to overcompensate (bwahahah). Input? Suggestions? The world is your apple pie! Thanks for reading, I love you all!