They were in a cab travelling back to the developer's office. City rain dribbled down the windows. Joan and Sherlock's bulky coats meant they were bunched up closely on the back seat. To an onlooker it would have seemed cosy, but the pair constantly fidgeted, trying to find space.
Joan's phone buzzed. She looked at it. Gregson.
-Thanks for last night, if you wanna share more fresh food some time just say the word. T.
She smiled.
Sherlock peered at the message. Joan waited for him to make a scathing remark, but after a moment he just snorted and sat back in his seat. A text came into his own phone, and he snatched it with, what -relief? She could not be sure.
"It's Gregson," Sherlock said. "He wants to talk to me about the Korean laundrette owner. Wants to know what I spoke to him about."
Joan called forward to ask the driver to change route and head to the precinct, but Sherlock stopped her and gave the address of the Korean. "We're going back to talk to him again?" Joan asked.
"Not really," said Sherlock. "He's dead."
xxxx
Gregson was unimpressed with Sherlock's description of his interview with the Korean. "All I see is, you quiz this guy about a suicide of two kids, then an hour later he shows up dead."
"I need to see the body," said Sherlock.
"No way," said Gregson. "You're a witness."
He glared at Sherlock, and Sherlock stared back.
Bell interrupted the standoff. "He left a note."
They all examined the note in its plastic bag. "It's in Korean," said Gregson.
Sherlock raised one eyebrow rather smugly. "Would you like me to call my translator?"
As they waited for Sherlock's scan of the note to be translated by his London friend, Joan tried to call the strip mall developer. "No luck," she said. "Why did you say they were shut?"
Sherlock was paging through the dead man's financial statements. "He was up to his eyes in debt," he said. "And does the name of this creditor look rather familiar to you?"
Joan peered at his phone's screen, her head close to his. "The bank! The bank next to the murder scene."
"Coincidence? I doubt it very much. No, the would be launderette manager and the bank are definitely linked - he was horribly in hock to them. Now he's dead."
"You think the bank had him killed because he couldn't pay?"
Sherlock shook his he'd. "If he's dead, he definitely wouldn't be able to pay them what he owed. No...he needed his new business to be a success. But his application was being blocked by the mysteriously unavailable strip mall developer."
His phone buzzed. "Ah, the translation." He frowned at it.
Joan read: "I'm sorry. It was the right car."
They looked at each other, Sherlock's eyes lingering on her face a little longer than she found comfortable. He was always so intense. "The right car,"she began.
"But the wrong people!" Sherlock clicked his fingers. "The car, the very thing I started with. Who is it registered to?"
Gregson came over. "I got the details here."
"Ha! The strip mall developer. The murder was meant for him."
"So," said Joan, "the Korean looked for his rival's car visiting the proposed site at the waste ground one evening, and sealed him inside, fed a tube back into the car from the exhaust-"
"Giving him carbon monoxide poisoning." Sherlock began pacing. "No sign of a struggle...the occupants must gave been asleep...or engrossed in their displays of affection."
He rubbed his hand over his chin. "But when the Korean came back in the early morning to remove the tape and tube, he looked into the car and saw two kids, not the guy he meant to kill." He nodded. "That explains the signals I picked up indicating that he was lying to me. I thought it was about his former gang life..."
"But what were they doing in the strip mall developer's car?" said Joan.
"Joy riding?" suggested Gregson.
"No...I examined that car and there was no indication that it had been stolen. They had the keys."
He swung round to Joan. "It's time to pay one more visit to the strip mall developer. I think I can help them out with something."
"They're shut," said Joan. "There's no point going all the way over there."
"We're not going there." Sherlock was dialling a number. "We are going to the church of our swim coach and voyeuristic friend, the priest."
