Disclaimer: The characters you recognize are not mine. They belong to…lots of other people.
Chapter Seven – The Search
Watson was fidgeting impatiently in the cab, annoyed at how slow the public transport seemed when you were in a hurry to get anywhere. They were heading from the train station to the Wellses house, warrant in hand ready to search for the missing girls...and Mr Sherlock Holmes.
"We're nearly there, doctor," Lestrade said, trying to calm him down, but Watson could feel the tension in the inspector too. So they were both relieved when they pulled up outside the huge manor house and they practically ran up to the front door.
When the butler opened the door he was shocked to find them standing there, and even more shocked when he saw five police constables approaching the house as well.
"Can I help you?" he asked as calmly as he could manage.
"Is Sir Edward or Lady Wells here?" Lestrade asked as he pushed past the butler and stepped into the vast, echoing hallway.
Watson joined him and was just in time to see Lady Wells descending the stairs. She was the most beautiful woman that Watson had ever seen, but she was also the most terrifying, especially with her face contorted with anger at having the police turn up at her house.
"What is the meaning of this?" she asked in outrage as the crowd of uniformed policemen pushed their way into the house, spreading out for their search.
"I have a warrant to search your house and grounds," Lestrade said, brandishing the official form. She snatched it from him and read it intently.
"You really think we had something to do with the disappearance of Anna Harris?" she asked with a convincing air of incredulity.
"And with the disappearance of Miss Carr and Miss Everidge and with the murder of Miss Parkinson," Lestrade clarified in a clear, confident voice.
"That is ridiculous," she announced, still looking about in horror as the constables buzzed about. "I didn't even know those girls."
"No," Watson piped up, "but your friend Mary knew them." Lady Wells regarded him coolly for a moment with sharp blue eyes. Watson felt uncomfortable under such scrutiny but he kept eye contact with her without flinching.
"Mary who?" she asked.
"Mary Sanderson, you should remember her," Watson replied, "she left India with you and she gives you her allowance every year."
"Oh, Mary," Lady Wells said with a fond smile. "She left suddenly. Moved all her things out and left. We haven't seen her for a year. Only my husband and I live here now...and our staff of course."
Two constables approached Watson and Lestrade. One of them was a large, well built man with a neatly trimmed beard; the other was a thinner, younger man with a pale smooth face and wide brown eyes. The younger constable had been brought down from London with them, the others were local. The inspector turned to them expectantly but they just shrugged.
"There's no one in the upstairs rooms, sir," the older constable said in a booming voice that matched his robust physique. "Only one of the bedrooms is made up, the others are empty."
"All right Laughton, thank you," Lestrade said with a sigh. "You and Simpson search the grounds."
Watson noticed that Lady Wells was wearing a smirk, something that served to make her seem even more unattractive.
"Is your husband at home, Lady Wells," Lestrade asked.
"No. Sir Edward is in London on important and confidential business," Lady Wells answered condescendingly. "I'm sure you understand, Mr Lestrade."
Watson felt outraged but Lestrade just smiled politely and nodded in understanding. When Lady Wells turned away the smile dropped from his face and his gaze hardened into a look of contempt. Watson thought that he would hate to receive such a look.
The search of the house proved fruitless. It took them an hour to make a thorough search of every room, including the servants' quarters and the empty stables outside. Watson and Lestrade stepped out into the front garden and both of them looked utterly defeated.
"I don't understand," Watson said, throwing his hands up in frustration. "They have to be involved. It's too big a coincidence."
"I agree," Lestrade replied matching the doctor's exasperation, "but you saw, there's nothing there."
The two of them made their way to the cab, which was waiting to take them back to the station. They stood there in silence, watching as a few of the constables searched the grounds in a rather lacklustre manner. Young Simpson was closest to them, trampling through a patch of foxgloves, scanning the ground with his eyes.
"He's new," Lestrade announced as they both watched him in a mixture of fascination and disbelief. "Gregson won't have anything to do with him, says he's an idiot." The young constable tripped over his own boot and crashed to the floor, disappearing behind the foxgloves. "He's right of course," he admitted with a sigh, "but he's very keen."
"Taken him under your wing, have you?" Watson asked, seeing humour in the situation even though he felt utterly despondent.
"I'll make a copper out of him if it kills me," he said. He watched as Simpson pulled himself up, his uniform covered in dust and his helmet askew on his head. "And it probably will kill me." He waited until Simpson recovered himself then decided to put the poor lad out of his misery. "All right Simpson!" he called over to him. "Round up the others, we're leaving."
"That's it then?" Watson asked.
"There's nothing here, doctor," the inspector replied. "There's no evidence that anyone was ever here."
Before they climbed into their cab they saw a distraught young man running up the path. Lestrade seemed to recognise him because he ran up to stop his progress towards the house.
"Mr Smith," Lestrade said as he stood in front of the young man. "What are you doing here?"
"I heard you were searching here!" he shouted, trying to push past the inspector, but by this time the constables had gathered to back him up. "They did it, didn't they?"
"Please, Mr Smith, calm down," Lestrade tried to placate him.
"They killed her, didn't they? Ethel, they killed her." He collapsed to his knees, his shoulders trembling as he sobbed.
"Mr Smith," Lestrade said, kneeling next him, "there's no one there. We have no evidence."
Carl Smith looked up at the inspector with bloodshot eyes. Watson felt his heart sink as he saw the grief etched out on the young man's handsome face.
"They killed her," he said. "I know they did."