From sirensbane: The Scotland Yarders are actually much smarter than they're letting on.
Directly follows Smoke #17: Shocking Developments and Useful Information and will make a lot more sense if you read those first
The cab lurched away from the sidewalk, navigating the crowds at a much faster pace than Lestrade could manage on foot, but his thoughts remained on that quiet sitting room. If only Doctor Watson had not gotten himself injured last night. Lestrade would have much preferred to pass this case off to Mr. Holmes.
Not that Lestrade's personal preferences would affect his work. He would do his best on every assignment no matter how much—or little—he enjoyed it, but the doctor's injury and subsequent bedrest meant that instead of conversing with the doctor and trading barbs with Mr. Holmes, Lestrade would have to tackle his least favorite type of case alone.
And this murder case became even more tiresome when he factored in the man's identity. No one could deny that Miles Stevenson had brought this on himself. That malicious old man had targeted scores—perhaps hundreds—of men, women, and even children across the city and the surrounding areas. His blackmail had destroyed families and cost people livelihoods and sometimes their lives, but he did so in a manner that prevented the Yard from proving anything. Last night's murder would prevent an uncountable number of crimes in the coming years.
But his killer had committed a crime as well, and one that Lestrade could prove. He would have to follow the trail and search for possible suspects just as with any other case, all while fully aware that he personally did not want to solve the mystery any more than Mr. Holmes did.
"So you investigate the murder of a known blackmailer, whose attacker destroyed papers the blackmailer kept even from his most trusted servant? I am not taking this case."
If only he could say the same thing, could simply refuse to investigate solely because he knew the victim's actions had probably inspired the intruder's. No officer in London would regret Stevenson's death. No one would care if his murderer went uncaptured.
Except to neglect a case was to neglect his duties—and break his oath. He sighed, pushing the silent griping for another time. Wishing he did not have this assignment did not remove the work from his plate, so he might as well throw his everything at it, solve it—or not. Whichever—and move on that much faster. One hand dug his notes from his pocket to contemplate on the ride. What did he know?
Several gunshots had woken the house. The butler had found his master, already dead, just before the stable hand had spotted the fleeing intruders. The subsequent foot chase had seen one person escape completely and the other two lose the dogs at the creek. None had caught enough of a glimpse to offer a description.
Which left him with only the scene for clues. Three people had broken in well after sundown, picking the lock on the garden door and immediately splitting up. The first two—one tall, one slightly shorter—had gone straight for the safe. Judging by the charred ash covering the hearth, their primary goal had been to stop Stevenson's blackmail, but the third—mid height with a strange gait—had trod atop the other trails on his way to Stevenson's bedroom doorway. Stevenson's position near his bed confirmed the third intruder the murderer. The other two had never approached the bedroom, and they could not have seen Stevenson from anywhere along their path.
In or out of the house. The safecrackers' strides had lengthened on leaving. Rather than the silent exit that would have matched their entrance, they had sprinted away to avoid the men roused by the murderer's gunshots. They had also been on the wrong side of the room to facilitate escape. Pure luck had seen them out the door before the butler arrived.
The observation made him pause, then consciously change his perspective. Either the murderer had acted early and endangered his companions, or the other two had not expected a third. So if Lestrade investigated two crimes by two parties, rather than a team of three working together, what did he have to identify them separately?
The third intruder's footprints had been more than a little unusual, he remembered. The track belonged to a man's boot, but the many smudges resembled the prints the Irregulars left when they "borrowed" the doctor's shoes. Could they be a child pretending to be an adult? Or a man pretending to be much larger than he was?
Possibly. That would explain the strange gait—not to mention the way the trail abruptly vanished out of sight of the house—but he had no way of proving the notion. Lestrade had never been able to deduce the way Mr. Holmes could. What else could he gather?
A partial print beside the door made the taller of the pair the lockpick. Uneven prints gave the shorter of the pair a limp. The third person could also be a woman pretending to be a man, based on the stride length, though the idea of a woman committing such a crime he could hardly fathom. The taller of the pair had fallen in step with the shorter at least once on their hurried exit—helping his partner run faster, according to the footprints. The third person had probably been on the grounds before, unlike the pair. He had unhesitatingly darted through trees, over a garden bench, and around several large plants, all in near darkness. Only a prior knowledge of the grounds could have produced such a pace.
Which itself could make him—yes, or her—one of Stevenson's victims. That provided another lead toward self-defense, though still nothing Lestrade could prove.
The lockpick had likely also cracked the safe—and that without damage. Stevenson would not have realized their actions until he looked for his papers. One of the shorter intruder's partial prints had shared the rug with a small circle. That could be a tool briefly set down, a cane, or something entirely unrelated, but it was something, and it could become a clue. Their flight had slowed slightly on the other side of the fence, which suggested the bullet had found them atop the fence. One of the pair would be moving slowly for a day or two due to his injury.
Wait a minute.
He skimmed back through his notes. A duo, the taller a locksmith, the other with a limp, who knew Stevenson's actions…
"I managed to cut myself in a bad spot, and blood loss caught up with me before Holmes realized the problem."
He recoiled, nearly dropping his journal in his effort to shove the thought away. No. No, that could not be accurate. Mr. Holmes might occasionally use extra-legal means to solve a puzzle, but the doctor would never have let him break into a known blackmailer's home. Lestrade could not prove that.
They might know the killer, though.
No. Not if they had not expected the third person. Anyone that took the time to wear ill-fitting shoes would also have altered their appearance in other ways. Even if they had broken in, Mr. Holmes did not know who had shot Stevenson, nor did Lestrade need Mr. Holmes' deducing to know why they would have burned Stevenson's papers. In the absence of help from the Yard, only destroying Stevenson's information would do anything to aid Holmes' endangered client. Such a loss would have ruined the blackguard's ability to target anyone for a long while.
Which meant Lestrade had even less of a case than he had thought. Mr. Holmes' client had regained her safety the moment those papers caught fire. Lestrade had no defining characteristics for the murderer. Mr. Holmes might have witnessed the shooting, but Lestrade could not approach the topic without being legally obligated to follow through, nor could he use that information to prove anything in court. Moreover, as he could easily prove the two by the safe had not shot Stevenson, any true investigation would lead to Mr. Holmes and the doctor well before it found the true murderer. Did he have any other information that he could—should—follow?
"Good morning, Lestrade. Was Mr. Holmes not in?"
The superintendent's half-awake greeting met him at the manor door, the mug in one hand probably holding a large percentage of the first pot of coffee. Lestrade made a snap decision.
"He was in, sir, but he won't be able to take the case."
"Shame." He sipped loudly, already refocusing on two rookies using the entrance as a training exercise. "Do keep me updated on any progress."
A quiet noise implied agreement, but while Lestrade slipped past them to continue inspecting Stevenson's bedroom and study, he did so fully intending to do his best to not identify either of the first two intruders—and the shooter, if necessary. An excess of information would muddle the trail quite well, as Mr. Holmes had chided them many times, and all in the name of being "thorough."
After all, when the solution would do more harm than good, his "best" did not always result in a trial.
Hope you enjoyed, and thanks to I'm Nova and mrspencil for your reviews last chapter :)