CHAPTER FOUR
"You could have ridden over with me, you know," Lestrade said as Sherlock paid his cab fare and joined him.
"I had to stop somewhere on the way," he answered vaguely.
They climbed the steps and Sherlock knocked on the door. A minutes later, a dark haired woman in her forties answered the door.
"Miss Morris?"
"Yes," she replied uncertainly.
"We're from Scotland Yard. Could we ask you a few questions?"
She opened the door slowly.
After being led to the sitting room, they all sat in an uncomfortable silence long enough Lestrade figured he better start coming up with some questions to ask, because apparently Sherlock was leaving the leadership role he'd taken so far on the investigation.
"Could I get you anything – coffee, tea?" she finally offered, tired of the uneasy silence.
"Coffee please. Black, two sugars."
She quickly disappeared, and Lestrade turned to his companion inquisitively. "Should I be questioning her, or -"
"I've got everything I need," Sherlock responded, "but I suppose that would be the simplest way."
"Got everything? You haven't said a word."
"Miss Morris."
"Yes?" A head popped out from around the corner.
"Did you kill Victoria Evans?"
Her gaze fell and she stepped fully into view.
"It was an accident."
Always is, he thought skeptically.
"Sara and I often didn't see eye to eye, but I'd never intentionally kill her," she explained. "The main problem was that she was so clumsy. After the museum closed, she cleaned up a bit, but she was always bumping things or knocking them over. I'm sure she didn't mean to, but it's easy to lose your temper when someone ruins a project you've spent weeks on.
"Is that what happened – you lost your temper?"
"She quit about two months ago. I didn't expect to see her again. The other day, she showed up out of the blue, demanding to know why I was always so mean to her. I tried to explain it was nothing personal, but she got pushy. She shoved me and I fell into some hardening wax, a project I had been working on for some time." Sara was in tears now, her sobbing making it difficult to understand her.
"I-I pushed her back. Victoria hit her head and cut herself pretty badly, but she got up. She kept fighting. I forgot until it was too late. Everything happened so fast."
"Forgot what?"
"She was taking blood thinners for some other condition she had. She bled out right in front of me," Sara sobbed.
"So instead of calling the police, you decided to hack apart her body and hide her in wax mannequins?" Sherlock suggested, unimpressed by her whimpering.
"I know it looks bad, but it's not like I went in there planning to kill her. I was scared and didn't know what to do. I couldn't drag her out, and it was the only way I knew to get rid of the body. I should have called the police then," she admitted, but once I had started I couldn't very well call – it would look even worse."
Ӂ
Sherlock had solved the case, he made the arrest, and somewhere along the way Sherlock had disappeared again. It was almost too easy.
He had to give him credit, whoever this Sherlock Holmes fellow really was, he was good, and efficient. It was startling to see how unaffected he was though. He boasted no military or police training, yet seemed un-phased by Sara's tears and unaffected by Victoria's murder. All he seemed interested in was solving the puzzle. While useful, he found that fact somewhat disconcerting. He had no idea whether he would see him again or if this was a one time thing, but Lestrade found himself wanting to know more about the mysterious man who intruded on his crime scene.