Author's note: a second day for EditorFrog. Ever wonder where Greg was during the Blind Banker case? here's your answer
Chapter Fifty Eight A Couple of Days Off (Day Two)
Louise was downstairs. After a family breakfast, her mother had insisted that she help with the dishes. Greg watched her roll her eyes and mutter "here it comes," but she gave a resigned laugh and joined her mother in the kitchen. Greg went upstairs and pulled his phone out of his wife's handbag. He needed to send contact Dimmock. He'd spent a good two hours lying awake last night thinking about the texts that Sherlock had sent him, while Louise slept like a baby beside him. Well, it was her bed after all, so she was used to it. Just a bit too soft for his taste.
You have six missed calls.
He checked the numbers- all six were from Sherlock. Naturally, no voice mail messages. He never did that. "If you can't be bothered to pick up, then I can't be bothered to talk to you." He could hear the sarcastic baritone as if Sherlock were in the bedroom with him.
You have three new text messages.
Yesterday:
6.10pm Dimmer Switch still says suicide. He's more of an idiot than you are. SH
Today:
10.06am Brian Lukis, Freelance journalist, murdered last night while you were on holiday. Same MO. SH
10.07am Dimwit still being awkward, but at least ballistics can't lie. Come home. Families are boring when there is a serial killer loose. SH
Greg took the phone into the loo, then hit the speed-dial for the office. Donovan answered.
"Hello, Guv. You're on leave. That means you leave and don't need to phone in. Everything's under control."
"Sergeant Donovan, do us a favour and transfer me to DI Dimmock, please."
He could hear the sigh. "Do I really have to, sir? I mean just once can't the division manage to solve a case without the Freak interfering?"
He growled his reply- "Now, Donovan. I don't have time for this." Without a word she punched in Dimmock's extension number and slammed the phone down.
The phone wasn't picked up after five rings and switched to voice mail. "You have reached the phone of Detective Inspector Andrew Dimmock. Please leave your name and number after the tone and I will get back to you." Greg thought he sounded older than he looked in person. The beep went.
"Hi there- this is Greg Lestrade. Try not to hit him, please. I'm sure he's being an obnoxious pest, but Sherlock Holmes is actually right. Whatever he said to you, just delete the rude stuff and think of the content. You'll see he's right. Give him what he wants."
He switched the phone off and put it back in her bag.
When he went back down stairs, Louise's dad, Brian, was in the sitting room, reading the paper. He looked in, realised that Louise must be still in the kitchen with her mum, and made as if to join them.
"Wouldn't do that, if I were you." It was said from behind the newspaper, but there was enough caution in the tone to stop Greg in his tracks. He backed up and returned to the sitting room.
"Why not?"
"They're at each other's throats at the moment, and there will be tears shortly."
Greg looked towards the kitchen, slightly alarmed. "Whose?"
He heard a snort, as Brian put the paper down. "Either, or both. It's happened often enough. Just sit down and just wait it out, like me."
So he did, picking up the sports section and opening it. But he kept looking at the door into the kitchen as he could hear the two women's voices getting louder and louder.
Brian just sniffed and Greg looked over at him to see a smile that just couldn't be contained.
"What? You think this is funny?"
"Look, let me give you some advice, Greg. I've lived with four women in this house for over thirty years; you don't want to interfere. Our Lou can hold her own against her mum. She's the only one who really can. Don't know why, but the others just seem to care too much."
He couldn't shed his own frown though. Greg and his sister got on well with their parents when they were alive. Their mum died …almost twenty years ago. Odd, it doesn't feel that long ago. And their dad had passed away a decade later.
Something metallic clattered in the kitchen, and he could hear Louise yelling, "You just don't understand it; get out of my life and go live you own, mum!"
Brian smirked. "This is tame, believe me. Usually they are bawling the house down by now. Must be because you're here. They take no notice of me. When Louise was still living at home, I got an allotment just to have somewhere to escape for some peace and quiet." He chuckled.
"I always thought that Louise took after her mum, but now I'm not so sure. Have they really been fighting like this all along?"
"Yup. Like two peas in a pod, they are. And that's the problem. Both have got ideas they don't mind foisting on others, and neither gives an inch. Why do you think Lou puts more than a hundred and fifty miles between her and her mum? At one point, before she met you, she wanted to emigrate to either America or Australia." He put the paper down.
"Don't get me wrong, son. I love 'em both to bits. Married the one, so I must have. After the other three little sweethearts were born, I thought I was never going to see her genes come through. Lou put that straight out of my head. She was giving her mum grief the moment she was born –and hasn't stopped since."
Greg tilted his head to look at the calm older man. "Does Margaret yell like that with you?"
"No, does Louise yell like that with you?"
Greg shook his head. "She's pretty wicked with sarcasm when I do something that irritates her, but she's never shouted."
"Margaret's like that, too, with me. Wicked tongue, but not angry if you know what I mean. Just knows what she wants and heaven help the man that stands in her way. Lucky for me, her definition of what she wanted included three kids and a nice house, with a husband who wasn't underfoot all the time." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Lou's got modern ambitions, though- career, status, money -all the trappings." Then he looked at Greg thoughtfully. "Want to know something? I always hoped you'd be the one to tame her a bit. Make her think that there were other things worth caring about. You're a solid sort of bloke; I just hope she appreciates you enough."
Greg looked a little surprised at the compliment. He looked towards the kitchen door again, where things seemed to have gone quiet. "Yeah, so do I, because I do love her, you know."
There was another shout, again from Lou. "Right, mum, if that's the way you feel, then I'm out of here."
Brian just said quietly, "Yes, Greg, I know. Take care of her, will you? I'll look after mine, and maybe we can get them through dinner tonight without them killing each other."
She came back into the room and glared at the two men. "What are you looking at, Greg?" He could see her eyes were wet, but she had not cried. He just said mildly, "Fancy a drive, then? I'd like to see some of the countryside."
"Yeah, that suits me just fine. Can I borrow the car, dad?"
He didn't look up from the paper. "Keys are where they've always been, Lou."
She stomped off into the hall to pick up her coat, and Greg shot a conspiratorial smile at Brian.
OoO
He drove. She was in too much of a temper, and she knew it. "Thanks for getting me out of there. Just drive south east for a while, Follow the signs to Wilmslow then Macclesfield. Let me just calm down." After a half hour, she told him to turn off to Bollington, and then into the Peak District National Park. "Let's have lunch at the Cat and Fiddle."
Greg had learned to keep quiet when Louise was in a mood. She would calm down. If he tried to talk to her, she'd just transfer her anger onto him. So, they both kept silent and let the countryside entertain them. Greg loved the Peak District. It had been a surprise to him. "It's not all dark satanic mills, Greg." Yes, well – he was a Londoner born and bred, so to him anything north of Watford would be "flat cap and whippet" territory. Manchester had not disappointed him- it fit the stereotype. But, when she had taken him home to meet her parents, after he had proposed, she took him up here to realise that it wasn't all industrial squalor. The Cat and Fiddle Inn had become their favourite bolt hole over the years.
As he bought a pint and ordered their food at the bar, he caught sight of her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. She was looking out of the window. He was 47, she ten years younger. And as his hair turned silver, hers was defiantly blonde. He still thought it a miracle that he could have managed to marry someone so attractive. On the drive up into the Peak District, he'd been wondering about how he could sneak a look at his phone again, but looking at her, he decided to leave it, and just enjoy the afternoon.
oOo
But after they got back from their lunch, and the walk to burn a few of the calories off, and then the drive home. Greg started thinking again about the phone. No sooner had they walked in, Brian told Louise that her mum was over at her neighbour's, and that she hoped she'd come over "and visit." Louise smiled. She'd spent hours over at Mrs Thompson's house, when sulking away from her mother. The dear woman was now in her 80's and pretty much house-bound with arthritis. She looked at Greg. "Would you mind?"
"Not at all. Sounds like a good idea."
He was very glad that she left her handbag, and she was out of the door for less than three minutes before he was fishing in it for his phone. When he pulled it out, he stuck his head into the living room, and just said. "Don't tell her, please? I need to call the office, but I promise I won't be long."
Brian just smiled and returned to watching the rugby match. "You've got at least twenty minutes before they can escape the old lady's clutches. She looked after Lou for so many years when her mother and she had a fight; best peacemaker I know."
Greg headed for the dining room and turned the phone on.
You have one new message.
He didn't recognise the extension, but knew it was the Met, so assumed it was Dimmock. He hit the play key.
"Got your message. With respect, Lestrade, this guy's a bit of a loony. I mean, I concede he was right about the murder, and there are some tentative similarities in the deaths of the journalist and the banker. So I did let him look at the flat for five minutes- then he went tearing out carrying a library book. Then a few minutes ago, the other guy- the short one shows up and asks for the journalist's diary. I gave it to him, but …give me a call, will you? We need to talk." There was a sigh and then the message ended.
He smiled. Yeah, well I can understand how strange it must seem. He rang the number.
"Dimmock."
"Lestrade here, got your message. Look, I'm sorry that I didn't get a chance to talk to you before he got involved. What's the story so far?"
Dimmock recounted the details of the death of the banker, Eddie Van Coon, and then the murder of the journalist, Brian Lukis. "What I don't get is how he thinks the two are connected. I mean apart from the fact that both happened inside locked rooms. He thinks that someone climbed in. But…"
"YOU don't think it's possible."
"Well, come on- the first one was six floors up and the second one was four. And that one had no ledges, no footholds. I mean the guy would have to be bloody spider-man to pull it off. But, Holmes doesn't even listen when I question his theories; he's an arrogant sod."
"What's he doing now?"
"Well, the short one- the doctor, can't remember his name. Actually, I'm not sure he ever introduced himself, and Holmes, ah, well…he's a little short on the social front."
Greg snorted. "Yeah, you could say that.., just let Sherlock do his thing. The other guy is his flatmate, a doctor named John Watson. He's…okay; Sherlock's involves him in a case occasionally. Actually, he's easier to get on with, so if you can, try to get him to tell you what Holmes is getting up to."
"Is it safe to trust them with evidence?" Dimmock sounded a little uncertain. "I handed over the journalist's diary to Watson, but, will it come back contaminated or compromised? It could be important in a trial and I don't feel comfortable breaking the rules this way."
"Yeah, well, just don't let Forensics in on it, okay? And keep Holmes away from the CS Examiner Anderson- they really don't get on."
"Uh, could you hang on a minute?" There was a muffled conversation. "Your Sergeant just showed up and wants a word." He could hear the phone being handed over.
"Guv, you won't believe this. We've just been told that Watson got arrested earlier this afternoon for damaging public property. He was caught by some CPOs doing spray paint graffiti. He was processed at Charing Cross Police Station who say he's likely to get an ASBO for it."
Greg swallowed. "Sally, hand the phone back to Dimmock, please." She sniffed, but he would hear her handing it back.
"Yeah?" Now Dimmock sounded annoyed.
"Look, I know it sounds weird, but I'm going to tell you to just ignore anything my Sergeant says on the subject of Sherlock Holmes. I have no idea why Watson would do that, but no doubt, Sherlock will be somewhere behind it. His methods are highly unorthodox, but they work. So, I'll make this simple. Trust him, do what he says and TRY to get him to keep you in the picture. That means going to him- that's at 221b Baker Street. He won't bother keeping you in the loop unless you get in his face. He'll just demand stuff and leave you in the dark until he's solved it otherwise. You've got to keep an eye on him."
There was silence on the other end, and Greg could just imagine his scepticism. He gave it one last shot. "There is a reason my team has the best clear up rate in the Division, and that reason is Sherlock Holmes. I know he's …not what you would expect. But, just be patient; it will pay off in the end."
Greg heard the front door. "I've got to go; good luck, Dimmock." He ended the call, and slipped the phone into his pocket. He'd have to find an opportunity to get it back in her handbag before she noticed it was missing, but at least he'd done his duty.
