Chapter Fifty Three- Bomber– a five +1 (Part Three)


Greg's night was long and tedious. What kept him going was caffeine, adrenaline and a growing anxiety about just what the hell Sherlock had gotten himself into this time. Liaison with a police force as far away from London as Cornwall always had its challenging aspects, such as trying to explain the bombing scenario to a DI more used to domestic disputes and the odd burglary against a holidaymaker's empty second property. In the end, army staff from Plymouth had to cross the Tamar Bridge into Cornwall to ensure that the woman in the Tesco car park in Lostwithiel could be safely removed from the jacket of semtex she was wearing. That took half the night, and by the time it was done and the woman safely returned to her family, Lestrade decided it was easier just to stay at the Yard, rather than wake Louise up, yet again.

He texted John and Sherlock at 8am and asked them to come to the Yard for a debrief.

Now facing the two of them, Greg was in no mood to waste time on pleasantries. As soon as they got in his office, he let loose. "I need an explanation, Sherlock. Why and how would a bomber know about a kid murdered twenty three years ago, especially a case where you were involved?"

"I don't know how and I don't know why. Perhaps we should concentrate on questions we can answer." Sherlock's face as impassive. He then asked what the night's investigations had revealed about the woman's abduction and how she had been set up as a hostage.

John was seated opposite Greg, and listened intently to the DI's description of how the woman had been taken hostage by two masked men, who had forced her to drive to the car park, and then dressed her in "enough explosives to take down a house." During this description, Sherlock had stood with his back turned, gazing out of the glass window that separated his office from the team room. Greg carried on with his description that the hostage was told to "phone you. She had to read out from this pager..." He slid it across the desk to John, who picked it up to look at it.

The tall brunet just finished his sentence for him, "…and if she deviated by one word, the sniper would set her off."

John then completed the thought. "..or if you hadn't solved the case."

Greg frowned. "No, semtex can't be set off that way. The kit is being examined by the army counter-terrorism experts now, but their initial view is that the sniper was there to convince the woman that she was being watched, and that if she tried to get out of the jacket, he'd detonate it. It's a standard mobile phone detonator connection, apparently- and the phone was probably in the hands of the sniper- a belt and braces approach, according to the army."

Sherlock had moved back to the window into the office. "Oh…elegant."

That made John's head snap around; "Elegant?" His disbelief at the inappropriateness of the word was made abundantly clear.

Lestrade was more used to Sherlock's odd appreciation of criminal sophistication; he'd been on the receiving end of such comments on a number of occasions. Most criminals invoked sarcastic criticism about their unintelligent stupidity, but every once in a while, something would attract Sherlock's aesthetic appreciation.

That said, applying it to something like this irritated the DI. If the threat to an innocent hostage was not enough to get him wound up tight, he was also fuming about not knowing who was behind this. He guessed that Sherlock probably did know, but was keeping that knowledge to himself. His frustration boiled over, "But, what was the point. Why would anyone do this?"

If Lestrade was looking for reassurance, Sherlock's reply certainly did not qualify. "Oh, I can't be the only person in the world that gets bored." The DI's eyes widened and he was about to ask what the hell that meant, when the pink phone beeped a message alert. Both he and John watched Sherlock activate the phone and hit the speaker key: "You have one new message."

The phone then played the familiar Greenwich pips, but this time there were only three short and one long pip, which John commented on, and Sherlock confirmed. "First test passed, it would seem. Here's the second."

He turned and showed the phone to the others- a photo close-up of a car with the driver door open and the number plate clearly visible. As John and Greg took a closer look, Sherlock commented "It's abandoned, wouldn't you say?"

"I'll see if it's been reported." Greg picked up his phone to get onto the Met's connection with DVLA to get the car's owner identified by the license plate number.

Then Sally popped her head in the office door, to say that there was someone for Sherlock on the phone outside- it was where calls to Lestrade would be diverted if his line was engaged. Sherlock left the office and picked up the phone.

Lestrade was put on hold, while the officer chased down the details on the database. He watched as John got up to join Sherlock outside. Something was going on, he could tell by the look on John's face. Then the officer started speaking, and Lestrade noted down some details on a scrap of paper. He then immediately dialled the Southwark police station where the car had been reported as being abandoned. After taking note of the details, he swept out and announced, "Right; found it; let's go."

There was an atmosphere in the car. Lestrade was in the left side of the passenger seat, John was in the middle looking at Sherlock with accusation in his eyes, but the consulting detective wouldn't meet his glance, preferring instead to look out the window. Sally was in the front seat. It wasn't until they were halfway across Blackfriars Bridge that Sherlock spoke again. "That call I took in your office was from the bomber, speaking again through a hostage. This one's a young man. He's outside somewhere, sounds like a city centre. I could hear cars, buses, pedestrians."

Lestrade just sat forward, turned his head and nailed Sherlock with a look. "That means lots of civilians at risk, not just the hostage."

Sherlock nodded. "I've been given eight hours to solve this one."

John's face betrayed the dismay that Greg felt. The DI lost it, and just growled, "What the hell is going on, Sherlock. Who is playing such deadly games?"

There was no answer.

oOo

As they drove into the crime scene, Sally added fuel to Greg's irritation. "Given the Freak's timetable, it's a good thing that the Southwark station team was already on site at the car. They found it late yesterday, abandoned on a construction site. They have been processing the car ever since, because they found blood. I hope they checked it for booby traps."

They passed a woman police officer interviewing another woman, as the four of them approached the car. Lestrade consulted his notes, taken down when he was on the phone. "The car was hired yesterday morning by an Ian Monkford; banker of some kind, City Boy, paid in cash."

Greg could hear Sally and John talking in the background; sounded like she was giving John a hard time about "hanging around" Sherlock. She never gives up; never been willing to see the value of having his help. Having Sherlock involved in a case always made her uncomfortable.

When Sherlock investigated the inside of the car with Lestrade looking over his shoulder, they both spotted the blood in the space between the two front seats. The DI grimaced at the quantity. "Before you ask, yes, it's Monkford's blood. The DNA checks out." The Forensic investigator had taken a sample last night, and the suspect's wife supplied some material to corroborate the findings.

"No body."

Sally was the one to reply. "Not yet." She crossed her arms and glowered. But Sherlock didn't even look at her. He just said to Lestrade, "Get a sample sent to the lab" and strode away. The DI just looked at Donovan, making sure she understood that he expected her to comply. She stomped off in exasperation to get an evidence kit. He decided to hang about the car just to make sure that the DS did take the sample. She'd been known in the past to wilfully misunderstand something that the consulting detective needed. He opened the back door to see if there were any clues there. When he moved onto the boot, he glanced over to see that Sherlock was talking to the woman who had been with the police constable earlier. He couldn't see his face, just that of the woman.

"Donovan, who's that over there, talking to Holmes?"

Sally peered through the car windows; she was on her knees scraping a sample of dried blood into an evidence tube. "The PC said it's Monkford's wife."

The next time Lestrade looked around, it was to see Sherlock and John striding away from the crime scene. He sighed as he watched them disappear. Side-lined, again. The Di's frustration boiled over yet again.

12.13pm Where are you? What's going on? You HAVE to keep me informed; this is a police investigation! GL

There was no reply from Sherlock, so Greg resent the same message to John.

12. 27pm On our way to car rental firm, Janus Cars. I'll keep you up to date. JW

Lestrade gathered more background information from the Southwark team. He spoke to Monkford's wife, who said that her husband had been depressed for some time, seemed he was about to be made redundant at the bank, or at least was afraid that it was coming. He noted the bank, and sent Donovan off to interview his co-workers to see if any insight could be offered. Could Monkford be the person that the bomber was using as his voice this time? Greg was struggling to understand how this could have any connection to the previous "puzzle piece" that the bomber had set. Could there be a link between Monkford and Carl Powers? They might have been contemporaries at school; they'd be more or less the right age. The wife was no help on that score- she knew he'd been to school in South London, but had no idea what the name of the school was. Greg realised that wasn't suspicious; after all, he had no idea the name of Louise's school, just that it had been in Barnet. He organised the move of the car to the police compound for further forensic examination. As the car was loaded onto the truck, he glanced at his watch and grimaced. Half way to the deadline.

His phone chirped, an incoming text alert.

13.37pm At Bart's Lab now. He's testing that blood sample. JW

Ten minutes later, another text asked Lestrade whether the car had been moved yet. He agreed to meet them at the police vehicle compound.

First thing Greg said when they were shown in was "Sherlock, you don't go off on your own without telling me what the hell is going on. There are innocent lives at stake. We've only got three hours left."

"How much blood was on that seat, would you say?"

When Greg answered about a pint of so, Sherlock's reply was rapid fire- "Not 'about'. Exactly a pint. That was their first mistake. The blood's definitely Ian Monkford's, but it's been frozen."

The DI's incredulity was clear. "Frozen?"

"There are clear signs. I think Ian Monkford gave a pint of his blood some time ago and that's what they spread on the seats.

Lestrade took some comfort in the fact that John seemed just as confused as he was. "Who did?"

The consulting detective's smirk as in place as he answered, "Janus cars. The clue's in the name."

An inveterate crossword addict, John knew this one. "The god with two faces."

Sherlock's smirk broadened. "Exactly."

Then he turned to Lestrade and let rip. "They provide a very special service. If you've got any kind of a problem- money troubles, bad marriage, whatever- Janus Cars will help you disappear. Ian Monkford was us to his eyes in some kind of trouble- financial at a guess; he's a banker. Couldn't see a way out. But if he were to vanish, if the car he hired was found abandoned with his blood all over the driver's seat…"

John butted in. "So where is he?"

Sherlock closed the car door. "Columbia."

Whatever Lestrade was expecting, it wasn't a South American country best known for its drug trade. He couldn't keep the incredulous question out of his voice. "Columbia?!"

"Mr Ewert of Janus Cars had a twenty thousand Columbian peso note in his wallet, quite a bit of change, too. He told us he hadn't been abroad recently, but when I asked him about his cars, I could see his tan line clearly. No one wears a shirt on a sunbed. That, plus his arm."

Greg was starting to feel like a bloody parrot, but he couldn't help it as the question popped out, "His arm?!"

Sherlock carried on, "Kept scratching it. Obviously irritating him, and bleeding. Why? Because he'd recently had a booster jab. Hep-B, probably. Difficult to tell at that distance. Conclusion: he'd just come back from settling Ian Monkford into his new life in Columbia. Mrs Monkford cashes in the life insurance and she splits it with Janus Cars."

John beat Greg to the next question, "Mrs Monkford?"

"Oh, yes, she's in on it, too."

Lestrade just looked down at the floor, a look of amazement on his face.

"Now go and arrest them, Inspector. That's what you do best." He turned to John and said, "We need to let our friendly bomber know that the case is solved." He strode away, with John by his side, leaving Greg reeling. He watched as Sherlock pump his fist, and the triumphant "I am on fire!"

That both amazed and scared Greg. Sherlock was enjoying this far too much. The deadly timetable was pushing his deductive skills to the limit, but he was not horrified by the idea of a bomber setting up these bizarre challenges. It's all just a game to him. Greg was getting increasingly worried about where this might end. But, he didn't have time to think about that now- he had people to arrest.

oOo

An hour later, Greg was on the phone to the Columbian authorities, armed with an arrest warrant for the Monkfords. The owner of Janus Cars was in custody and speaking to Sergeant Donovan, providing details of how it had been done, and where to find them. His mobile then went, and when he pulled it out of his pocket, he read the text:

5.32pm Pick up the second hostage at Piccadilly Circus. Be careful; he's still wired, but the sniper's gone. SH

Greg pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. It had been one hell of a day, but he picked up the phone and got started.