We arrived by cab at a bridge that straddled a small river on the northeastern part of town. Lestrade greeted us and led us down the steep hill to the underside of the bridge. A few officers were milling around, conversing with one another. A young woman's body lay near the river, partially covered by a sheet.
"This is Elisabeth Godber," Lestrade said, motioning toward the body. "She went missing three days ago, on her way home from confession. She was found this morning, hung from the bridge."
"Suicide?" I asked, quietly.
"Don't look to be that way," said Lestrade with a frown. Holmes was kneeling beside the body, uncovering her from the sheet and examining her condition. "We can't find a single clue to point us in any direction," Lestrade fumed, obviously frustrated. "Nothing on her disappearance, and nothing to tell us why or by whom she was murdered."
"She's missing a finger," said Holmes, holding up the lifeless hand.
"Yes, Mr. Holmes, we noticed that," Lestrade quipped, barely concealing sarcasm.
"Ah, then you have clearly discovered a great piece of evidence, contrary to what you were saying, eh?"
Lestrade blinked a couple of times. "Well, it obviously tells us that her murderer was deranged. But, then, most murderers are, Mr. Holmes."
Gently and in a solemn manner, Holmes rolled the poor girl onto her side. He stretched the back of her dress down, to reveal several long, thin lesions that looked to have only recently ceased bleeding. The lesions seemed to go down farther than the dress would allow us to see. I studied the woman. She only looked to be around thirty years old. She had short and wavy brown hair and a pretty face. She wore a sully white, lacy gown, which could have been a wedding dress for all I could tell. There were abrasions around her neck from the noose she had worn, but aside from the lashes on her back and the missing finger, she appeared to be completely unharmed otherwise. She hadn't a single bruise on her showing flesh, nor a scratch, which was very odd considering the torment she must have gone through, given her other injuries.
"So, her attacker flogged her 'cross the back, then," Lestrade was saying. He put a hand to his chin, thoughtfully. "What do you make of it, Holmes?"
Holmes stood up and said, "Ms. Godber has obviously been the victim of a ritual cult killing. A Satanist cult, to be specific."
"How can you be so certain?" asked Lestrade.
"I needed only two shreds of evidence to be completely certain, but in fact I have found several more that lead to the same conclusion," Holmes said. "My first two clues were the dress she's wearing and the missing ring finger. The dress obviously does not belong to her, as it is made of very inexpensive fabric. The London Godbers are considerably wealthy and this is a very cheaply-made wedding gown, which she would not have worn to a confessional. Clearly, her aggressors dressed her in this way. The wedding dress and severed ring finger are symbolic of a marriage to Satan, which is the ritual the cult was playing out. There is also biblical symbolism in the three day period between her disappearance and her being found dead. The lashes across her back represent the suffering of Christ. She has also been raped, but I shall decline to reveal how I deduced that fact."
A chill passed over me upon hearing Holmes' explanation. I did not like to believe that persons so disturbed and cruel lived such a short distance from Holmes and myself.
"Well, gentlemen," said Holmes, "I will look more closely at this matter and will alert you if I should need your assistance. Good day." At this, he turned and traipsed back up the steep hill, presumably on his way into town to consult his information sources and look about for clues.
His air of confidence put me at ease. Had I known that this investigation would end with my friend in a coffin, I would have been shaking in my boots as I watched him leave.