Thanks so much for the reviews, follows and favorites. You guys make my day! I hope you like this second installment. I don't own any rights to the characters in Elementary, but I do appreciate borrowing them to have some fun.
It was nearing dawn by the time Sherlock and Watson left the crime scene. They had found nothing of added significance in their search of the brownstone. The body, along with the sheets and pieces of the mattress had been taken away to the morgue. The intensity of the rain had increased to a downpour as a cab drove them back home.
Joan broke their silence. "Hey, do you want to try that new café near the synagogue on Roosevelt? There's a line every time I pass it, but the rain might be to our advantage. I heard they've got great breakfasts, really unique stuff."
"Minced doves assholes perhaps?" whispered Sherlock slyly as he stared out at the rain.
Joan rolled her eyes at the comment. She knew Sherlock was distressed by how few answers he'd found at the scene. It was as if a forensics crew had come through Alex Ashcroft's brownstone and wiped the crime scene clean before the police got there. "Sometimes cereal and peanut butter toast gets a little old," said Joan lightly.
"I've been re-reading Charles Bukowski, forgive my attitude. I'll be happy to try the new café once we make some headway with this case. Until then, I feel guilty wasting an hour and a half in line to eat breakfast when I could serve it up myself in five minutes. I could then use the remaining hour and twenty-five minutes to research Alex Ashcroft's case." As if on cue, Sherlock's phone buzzed, signifying an incoming text. After reading it, he turned the phone to Watson, nudging her lightly with his elbow.
Watson turned her head to look at the screen. The text said:
Alex Ashcroft's cause of death will not be discovered through the autopsy, Mr. Holmes. Don't expect much movement in this case through conventional channels. If you want to know what happened to him, come see me – Artemis M.
"Does this mean we can go to the café?" asked Joan.
"Why not?" said Holmes, with some irritation in his voice, "it would seem we'll be wasting our time until this evening when Artemis Merrill provides us a guided tour at the morgue." Joan gave the cab driver the new address.
A moment later, another text arrived:
Even if you don't care about Alex's death, it's important that we meet. Are you available for consultation this evening? I fear your lives may depend on it. – Artemis.
Holmes and Watson read the text together. Watson turned to Holmes and saw the irritation that had been present moments before bleed out of him as he sighed deeply.
"I hate this business – this vampire nonsense." Holmes practically spit the words out. Although they had spoken about the earlier case they "resolved" for Artemis Merrill, the subject of whether she was truly a vampire (and the gruesome consequences related to said case) had never been mentioned. But a belief in the truth of that claim had been hinted at in many ways with the biggest source of proof sitting in the middle a collage that adorned their living room. And there was research on the topic: books, websites, and newspaper articles; there was a proverbial web of content that Holmes and Watson had made their way through in the following months. But the belief that such a secret stayed hidden in human society for so many centuries did not sit well with the modern detective or his companion. So other solutions were sought, not just by Holmes and Watson, but by others who were touched by things they could not understand or explain. Today was the first time that Holmes had ever hinted at his conclusions from that research.
"I think I've lost my appetite," said Joan as the cab slid into the curb.
Holmes gently placed a hand over hers and gave it a squeeze. "Do not fear Watson, daylight brings us a measure of safety. And we'll need sustenance to think this through." Holmes paid for the cab, and they quickly made their way from the warmth of the interior, through the chilled raindrops and into the café.
About the time they finished breakfast, Sherlock got a text from Gregson requesting they come to the station to go over autopsy results. Despite having been in the café for about an hour, the weather had not improved at all as their cab wove through the now busy streets of daytime New York City. On the way to Gregson's office, Sherlock stopped at the machine on the second floor to get a paper cup of the lukewarm jet fuel that passed as coffee for visitors to police headquarters. Joan rolled her eyes but said nothing. "Don't judge me," said Sherlock as he picked up the cup and took a shuddering swig of the bitter stuff.
"I just thought the Skittles encrusted Granola squares, or whatever that was, would be enough to keep you going," said Watson.
"No, but at least I tried something new Watson. Unlike some people and their plate of peanut butter French toast."
"It was nothing like regular peanut butter on toast," said Watson, but her deadpan look was lost on Sherlock who was already charging down the hall.
Dr. Jim Hildebrandt was sitting in Captain Gregson's office, sipping from a cup of the same vending machine coffee. Gregson indicated to close his office door. Watson obliged and sat down next to Sherlock.
"I wish I had better news," stated Dr. Hildebrandt, the man bear in charge of the local morgue. The big man looked genuinely puzzled as he began to step through the autopsy of the body found at Alexander Ashcroft's brownstone that morning. Apparently, the body had continued to deteriorate after removal from the brownstone and was now in "a liquid state". This was despite their best efforts to preserve the body, which was literally breaking down at the cellular level, falling apart in the test tube and under the slide. The video he showed them of the autopsy, even on a desktop, was disturbing. The last bits of solid material seemed to melt away on camera.
Once the video stopped, Dr. Hildebrandt continued, "We have determined the remains are those of a human male. We have not been able to confirm whether the remains belong to Alexander Ashcroft. We've got our best person trying to tease results out of a sample from the body. But for comparison to a known sample from Alexander Ashcroft, so far, we have nothing. There were no hairs or other DNA samples found in the home, period. It's almost as if no one lived at the house, or someone went to a great deal of trouble to clean out Ashcroft's brownstone before we got there. Frankly, I've never seen anything like it. We now have a team at Ashcroft's office to look for a DNA sample for him there."
"Do you know whether the process that caused the remains to break down in that way started at the scene or somewhere else?" asked Watson.
"Given the circumstances and our understanding of existing technology, our best guess is that a process started somewhere else and the body placed at the brownstone where it continued to break down. But we can't prove that theory because we can't find any trace of the chemicals used to break down the body. We've ruled out any process that's natural to human bodies breaking down. We're not seeing toxins produced by massive bacterial growth. We have also been assured by outside experts that the rapid decay has not likely been caused by a super virus…good news there," Dr. Hildebrandt raised his thick eyebrows or emphasis.
Captain Gregson continued, "So Ashcroft's secretary states she spoke with him about two hours before the body was found. Is two hours enough time to make that happen with his body, if someone killed him immediately after that phone call?"
"Even if Alexander Ashcroft got off that phone and immediately fell into a heated, chemical bath with the intention of melting him down, my answer would be no. There simply wouldn't be enough time, and there should be traces of the chemicals used. But again, we're talking about known technology. Chemistry is a universe; there's always a chance someone has discovered some new, cool way to get rid of a body more efficiently."
Watson's eyes met Sherlock's and she raised her eyebrows for emphasis, but said nothing .
Sherlock added, "Who would likely fund the type of research that could advance that technology? It's a small group, I'd imagine; we'd be talking about drug cartels, terrorists, and maybe despots...people who would benefit on a large-scale from this process, correct?"
"My wife might want to argue that point," said Dr. Hildebrandt, chuckling at his own morbid joke. "However, there are places in the world where burial ground is at a premium and legitimate sources might be interested in the research to find an alternative way to handle the body."
Sherlock turned his attention to Gregson, "So given that list of likely suspects, do we know if Alexander Ashcroft has a connection with criminals?"
Gregson responded, "Hard to say; Bell has looked into a list of known business associates but so far, nothing's surfacing, at least not anything that stands out. The company seems clean, but they haven't been particularly cooperative. We're working on getting a list of clients and employees."
Sherlock stood up; he rolled his shoulders and shook his arms, as if to discard the tension in the room. "Is there anything else Dr. Hildebrandt?"
"When there is, you'll be the first to know. We're sending samples to the FBI labs; maybe we'll get a hit on the process. If we do, it could narrow down the suspects very quickly. Good to see you again Mr. Holmes…Ms. Watson."
"Thank you, good to see you too," said Sherlock as he and Watson exited.
"So it seems Artemis was correct," said Watson once they were far enough from Gregson's office to not be heard.
"Yes, but whether she can answer our questions remains to be seen," said Sherlock.