Chapter Eight : Two Years Before (2003- Part Two)


Before he went into the interrogation room, Lestrade took a look at the sheet. Sherlock had given a false name; oddly enough, it was Lars Sigurson, the same one that he had used on his fake UCL ID when he was sixteen. The doctor's medical examination had indicated cocaine usage might be an issue from the track marks, but he didn't seem to be high at the moment. In any case, the police request for a blood sample had been declined, as was his right. He had not had any drugs on his person when arrested. He'd declined legal representation and made no phone call since arriving at the station.

Lestrade took in two cups of black coffee. When he sat down, he pushed the other one toward Sherlock. "I assume you don't take milk now, any more than you did fifteen months ago. What have you been up to in the interval?" The question was delivered casually.

"What, apart from being bored and indulging my taste for cocaine?" This was delivered in a slightly offhand manner by the young man who was sitting relaxed, with one leg bent over the other knee. He took the coffee and had a deep pull at it. "I don't suppose you have a cigarette on you?"

"Gave it up last year; you were right that time at Montague Street- the wife's been on about me stopping for years. Of course, even if I did have one to offer, you can't smoke indoors these days, don't you know?"

"So a police station qualifies as a public place, does it?"

"Yeah, a bit like a bus station." Lestrade was now eyeing the younger man carefully. Thin, too thin; I would not have thought he had any excess weight to lose since I last saw him.

"So, did you catch the murder suspect?"

Greg nearly choked on his coffee. Once he'd recovered his breath from coughing, he wheezed out, "I suppose it was you then who called in the anonymous tip?"

Sherlock just smirked.

Lestrade stifled an impulse to thank him. Instead, he asked cautiously, "You know what he looks like then?"

Here Sherlock's left eyebrow lifted. "Does that mean you don't?" He made no effort to hide his incredulity.

"Nope. Well, I say that, but when Robson regains consciousness after being stitched up for the knife wound that the suspect gave him on his way past, then he'll be able to ID him."

"Robson was the PC on the back door, then? Don't bet on the suspect still being around to be identified when your man wakes up. His lawyer will have him sprung soon."

"Christ, Sherlock! Did you see him stab my PC?"

"Yes, of course." He looked a little puzzled at the DI. "But, it wasn't with intent to kill; he just wanted to slow him up. If he wanted to kill your man, he could have very easily, but he didn't."

"What the hell were you doing there?"

"I was the lookout; isn't that obvious?"

Greg just looked askance at the tall brunet. "No, it isn't obvious, not in the slightest."

Sherlock looked bemused. "Then why else do you think that no one at the place realised that an ambulance had come and gone, or that your men were crawling all over the place? I knew he was coming tonight, so called you and left the tip. I saw him bolt into the first building with you lot hot on his tail. While all that was going on, who do you think made sure that the rest of the guys at the back of my building didn't know anything about what was going on? The suspect bolted out the doorway from your building and went straight past me- he knew the set up well enough to use the word he needed to gain entrance, so I didn't stop him. Figured you would show up sooner or later and get him. After all, even you would have been smart enough to seal off any exit apart from the front gates."

"Well, thanks for that little vote of confidence. I am obliged for your help."

"So you should be, Detective Inspector."

"You made that call that even though you knew you'd be caught up in the arrests?"

"Well," here the lanky youth gave a cynical smile, "it seemed my civic duty, given what a mess you had made of the enquiry for the previous week. You people never do your homework on cases like these; just jump to the first predictable conclusion and don't see anything else. You think you understand this guy's motive, so call it murder when it's clear you haven't got a clue. It wasn't even murder- more a case of aggravated assault turned to accidental manslaughter."

The tall brunet pushed back in his chair and crossed his arms in front of this chest. "I got tired of waiting for you to put the pieces together so did something myself. Tonight I talked my way in through some contacts of mine and made myself useful by volunteering for lookout duty. When I knew the suspect was likely to show, I made the call to you. There was little risk to me from the police; you've got nothing to hold me on. I've declined a drugs test, you can't get me on possession. Of course, on my way out, I could do you the favour of identifying the guy…if you'd like me to, that is."

Lestrade just looked at those grey green eyes, and then he realised that Sherlock was amused. He looked down at the coffee in front of him, took a sip quietly, and started smiling. "Yeah, why don't you do that? You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

The young man's smile crept out and broadened, "Yes, actually, I am; this is the most fun I've had since…I don't know, maybe fifteen months ago when the Pountney Club case kept us both occupied. That's why I set this little exercise up, so you could catch him. I meant what I said back then, Detective Inspector Lestrade; you need me. We need to find a way to make this work."

Greg laughed out loud. "Yes, I do need you for this case, but, unfortunately, the Met doesn't work with junkies, not unless they are informants- and that's another division. You'd have to work with the drugs squad, not homicide."

Sherlock sniffed. "Boring."

"If it's so boring, why do you do drugs then?"

The smile faded a bit. "Nothing better to do, I guess."

Lestrade just looked at him. "That's one of the stupidest excuses I've ever heard."

Sherlock scowled at him. "You have no idea, detective inspector, and it is irrelevant to this discussion. You know I can be counted on for giving you information useful to your job, so let's just cut the sanctimonious stuff and get back to the case at hand." He took a deep breath and gave Lestrade a smile.

"What does your brother make of it?"

The smile disappeared instantly. "Just leave him out of it."

"I wish I could. But, somehow I get the feeling that his security clearance is a lot higher than mine. And his interest in your future is probably just as strong as it was when he first dragged you out of the station eight and a half years ago. I presume he knew that you were working with us on the Poutney Club cases?"

"We're not on speaking terms, not now and not then. And, if you don't mind, I'd like to get out of here before the nosey git gets informed about my whereabouts now, and decides to make himself a nuisance to us both. I'll ID your suspect and tell you how to get him to confess in exchange for letting me go within the next twenty minutes."

Now it was Greg's turn to smile. "Is it really that simple?"

"Yes, so let's get a move on, Detective Inspector."

And Sherlock delivered as he promised. He took one look at the holding cell with the older men, and just laughed. "Really, are you all so utterly predictable? I thought that profiling according to stereotypes was something out of the ark, but seems you lot are still doing it."

"He wasn't in my line-out, so I assume you've got the other seven in a holding cell somewhere. Pick out the ginger-haired geeky one and pop him in an interrogation room. His name is Rafe Stevens. Your medical examination should have picked up a bandaged forearm where his partner managed to fight back with the guy's own knife. You should fire your forensics team by the way- simple enough to have noticed that fact that there were two sources of blood at the so called murder scene, and that the man killed had wounded his killer. Rafe's not the brightest candle in the box, by the way, still using the same knife on your PC, so you can make the forensic connection as yet another piece to secure a conviction. He ditched the knife- probably on his way out the window when you busted into the room. Check it out in daylight- look for it hidden in one of the open sash windows along the left wall. That's where he was likely to have been."

This puzzled Lestrade. "Actually, that raises an interesting point; if you were the look-out, then presumably you weren't in the room. So, where were you? And how can you know where he stashed the weapon?"

"I was at the door, let him in through it, spotted you coming over five minutes later, and hid while you and the other two PCs made enough noise to wake the dead. Luckily for you, that back room where they were was far enough away and the primus stoves and the oil barrel fire make enough racket, fortunately, that they didn't hear you coming. And I don't need to be in a room to know where the murderer would go- he smuggles cocaine, so he headed over to the two who were dealing, on the left side of the room by the back wall. Deduction tells me where he'd hide the weapon."

Lestrade tried not to look too impressed. "OK, how are we going to get this guy to confess? At the moment, it's your word against his, and if he toughs us out, he'll get released, because the sheet says he has no previous record, isn't under the influence, nor was he carrying any drugs, so we're going to have to release him according to his brief, who showed up here a half hour ago."

The tall brunet just smiled. "Oh, that's a piece of cake, Detective Inspector. Here's what you should do…"

oOo

And, once again, Sherlock was right. The initial questioning was predictable; the solicitor was giving the suspect the courage to stone-wall. "You've got nowt on me, so get away with this." The Yorkshire accent and bluff manner seemed incongruous given the skinny grubby youth in front of him who was spouting it, but then Lestrade sprang his surprise.

"We know, by the way, about your connection to Charlie, and why you killed him. It's convenient, isn't it, that you were working together on the Belarus smuggling operation. So, I'm sure it helped your reputation as a tough guy to spread the story about it being over the money. Too bad it was actually over Charlie's sister that you were fighting. She'd agreed to keep quiet, but he was suspicious. Meant to scare him off, did you? Things got out of hand when he grabbed your knife and cut your arm? Now it would be really difficult for you if the truth got out on the street that you killed your partner after raping his sister."

Lestrade leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. He beamed. "So, go on, walk out the door of this station, and we'll let his family know. They'll get the truth out of her and then come after you with everything they've got. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes, once they know."

"Shit. How the chuffing heck do you know this stuff?"

"Doesn't matter how. Only thing that matters is that I do. So, what are you going to do about it?"

The ginger youth paled. He stuttered… "it was just a fr…fra…fratch; the maungey sis- we was both kaylied, but it got out a hand." Both Lestrade and the solicitor looked confused.

"Aw, you daft lot- ok- for southern wankers- Charlie and I got into a quarrel, cause his spoilt lil sis cried rape when it wasn't. She's a right looker, we'd both got rat-faced drunk and hit it off, but she got scared of him, so said it was forced on her. He took it the wrong ways, I got the knife out to protect myself and he sliced me up. Then we tussled and he fell on it."

"You stashed the knife in the window sash, didn't you?"

This made the young man's eyes nearly pop. "You couldn't ha seen tha' s'not possible" he whispered.

Lestrade just smirked, and then decided to take pity on the youth. "Well, you were looking at a murder charge, but if you were to confess to manslaughter and a knife assault on my constable, it might do. I could talk to the CPS and see if that's on." He decided to drop the other piece of evidence that Sherlock had handed him. "Of course, I'd be more willing to do that if you'd tell the truth about the whole drug smuggling operation, which I understand was Charlie's idea in the first place. If you could give us a few names, and if those names could lead to some convictions, I'm sure that would go down well in mitigation."

The youth looked at his brief, nodding vigorously. "I'm up for it. Just, please, don't tell her folks about the other thing, anything but that!"

oOo

"Robson's come round in the hospital. Should I take the photos around? "

Sally handed her DI the fourth cup of coffee in as many hours, as the dawn came up, casting a weak light into the office. It had been a crazy night. But she was amazed to see him looking so cheerful, when he came out of the interrogation room.

"No need; let the poor guy rest. We've got our man and the evidence to convict."

Her eyes widened. "Did that tall skinny guy have anything to do with cracking this?"

Lestrade just beamed at her. "Everything. It's all sorted, thanks to him. The list of the dealers' names is on my desk and you can release the rest of them with a warning to stay away from drugs. Pass the dealers' files onto the Drugs Squad when they get in this morning. You and I have got paperwork to do on Rafe Stevens, who will cop to a manslaughter charge in exchange for evidence about the Belarus smuggling connection. It's a real result."

She frowned. "So the guy who you picked out from the line out is one of your informants?"

"Nope. Just someone who's helped out in the past, and I hope will be able to do so again in the future."

She looked sceptical. "A junkie? How can a junkie be helpful if he isn't an informant."

Lestrade frowned at her. "Not everyone who looks the part is one, Donovan. You should be more open-minded. That young man has proved amazingly helpful on three occasions in my career, and I have every intention that he will do so again in the future."