When inspector Lestrade arrived to Scotland Yard, Steve Mason was in the interrogation room, waiting for him already. He had given himself in voluntarily and, even though he was nervous, he had been sitting on the chair since they put him there, without any attempt to run and without saying any word. Lestrade thanked Donovan for getting the suspect ready for the interrogation and stopped before getting into the room, looking at Sherlock.
"This is our case. You are going to let me make the questions and I am going to let you listen through the mirror room. He will not be able to see you, as you know. I will allow you to make any questions but only when I finish and you will have to ask Agent Donovan for permission. She'll be there with you. Agree?"
"I don't have any choice, I assume." Sherlock said, putting his hands behind his back.
"No, you don't." Inspector Lestrade agreed. He then opened the door of the room, closing it on Sherlock's face. Agent Donovan was waiting for him, John and Dylan.
"Are you coming, then?" She asked.
She didn't wait for an answer. They followed her, without a word.
Through the mirrored glass they could see the man. Short brown hair. Dark eyes, almost black and was still wearing the waiter's outfit, bowtie and all. There was no sign of the gloves, though. He was very still, with the hands interlaced. He raised his head when he saw inspector Lestrade coming in. He was going to get up but the inspector ordered him to stay sit with the gesture of his hand. The man obeyed and waited. Lestrade sat as well, facing him, with a file on his hand.
"You came to the police to confess the murder of Mr. Mark Spencer. Do you confirm this?"
The man cleared his throat.
"Yes, I do."
"And you refused the presence of a lawyer."
"For now I did."
"May I ask you why? You know you have the right to a lawyer, one from the estate if you can't afford one."
"Yes, but I… I just want to take this out of me, okay? I know I will need one for my sentence, but for now I just need to talk to the police… I…"
The words didn't come out. You could see shame on his face, repulse even.
"I am a monster." He affirmed.
Inspector Lestrade did not comment to that. He proceeded.
"I will continue with the questions, since you refuse to have a lawyer by your side and you are aware of what you are asking for."
"I am." Was the man's ready answer.
"Why did you kill Mr. Spencer? I would like to hear the story from the beginning. When did you get to the party, everything. Your colleague saw you getting in to the party."
"Yes. He was at the entrance." He paused, trying to focus on his story. "I was feeling a little sick yesterday and today in the morning, but in the afternoon I felt better so I decided to go to work. I knew they needed me for a cocktail show and I could use the money as well."
Lestrade interrupted him.
"It says here on the file you are studying to be a doctor. Third year."
"Yes. But I am not rich, and I have to work, mostly on weekends, to pay for my studies. I've been working with the catering for almost two years now."
"Very well. You got to the party, what happened then?"
"I was fully dressed so I went to the back of the house to tell my boss I was there and to start serving right away. I had my uniform on already so that I didn't lose any time. I was walking by the side of the house when I looked through an open window and… and I saw him."
"Mr. Spencer?" Lestrade asked.
"Yes. Mark. He was in a room. With a woman. He was… they were kissing."
Lestrade's face hardened a little.
"By woman, you do not mean Camille Holmes, do you?"
"Of course I don't mean Camille, why would I mind if it was Camille?"
"Why would you mind if it wasn't?"
Sherlock, on the other room, rolled his eyes.
"Of course he would mind!" Sherlock said, more to himself than to anyone else. "They were lovers, for God's sake!"
"What?" John asked, looking at Sherlock. "What do you mean lovers?"
"There's only one way to be someone lover, John. You know what I mean."
"But, how do you…"
"I am trying to listen." Sherlock said and looked at the scene that was developing in front of his eyes.
The man resumed his story.
"You see… I and Mark… We were lovers."
The affirmation fell like a bomb on inspector Lestrade.
"Lovers? But Mark is not homosexual. He was going to marry Camille. He proposed."
"Well, he is not heterosexual either, but you don't think he would admit that to his parents, with the position he had, do you? They're all a bunch of prejudiced people, they would disinherit him. They would never understand. Their son was perfect; there was no time for this kind of nonsense. So, yes, we were lovers. He did love Camille in his own way, I guess. But it was mostly to keep appearances."
The man sighed, as if tired of that conversation. Lestrade waited and he continued.
"So, I saw him kissing this woman and I don't know what got over me. I just… he never told me, you see? One thing is Camille. I was with him before she was. And I understood that he had to marry her, and be with her. But to betray me with someone else? I just couldn't take it. So I walked in the house, I didn't know what to do, how to confront him. I passed the small kitchen and I saw the knife. I grabbed it. As I approached the door the woman was coming out of the room. She had a smile of pleasure on her face that made everything worse and she didn't see me, she just closed the door. I walked in the room as soon as she disappeared to the back of the house and Mark was next to the table, I just got next to him and I… stabbed him. I knew I needed strength with that blunt knife and I think that, unconsciously, I didn't want him to suffer much, so I just stabbed him straight in the heart. I think he died immediately."
"Did he scream?"
Sherlock's voice sounded in the room, startling both Steven and Inspector Lestrade. Steven looked at the inspector, unsure of what to do.
"You can answer." Lestrade allowed.
"No, he didn't scream."
"What was his reaction?" Sherlock proceeded.
"I don't think he had one." Steven thought for a moment. "He was just standing there and I got to him and I stabbed him. He didn't move. I was too quick."
"And he didn't scream at all when you stabbed him? Nor tried to jerk away?"
"No. He just fell on the floor." He looked at inspector Lestrade. "I panicked and I went out the window. I was wearing my gloves so I didn't even bother taking the knife with me. But then I got home and I realised what I had done and… I don't deserve to live. I am a monster."
"We can all agree on that."
Lestrade rolled his eyes again to the sound of Sherlock's voice and signalled Donovan to send Sherlock away but it was not necessary. Sherlock was already leaving the room, followed by Dylan and John.
"I need to go." He said to Dylan and to John, who looked at him.
"What do you mean you need to go? What about us?"
"You can do whatever you want. I have to see Molly. And the body. I need to go alone."
And he entered the taxi that had just stopped, not even leaving them a chance to get in as well. Dylan and John looked at each other.
"Would you like to hear the rest of the inquiry?"
"Sure."
They walked in the building again but Steven Mason was already being sent to a cell, handcuffs on his wrists.
"What's going to happen to him?" John asked Donovan.
"A long time in jail, I assume."
"Aren't you going to interrogate the woman? The one who was with Mark?"
"Yes, just formality. He confessed to the crime but we need to make sure all pieces are in place, we can't leave anything forgotten or the jury may create difficulties. Someone must be bringing her here right now."
"So, was her easy to recognise?"
"Yes. There was a case Mark was involved in two years ago. It was all kept in a very low key, he and his father, they know people. You know how these things work."
"What happened?"
"Mark and a partner had a company, a society, but his father found him something better. So, before leaving his own company Mark, somehow, made his partner sign a paper and the partner lost everything. He tried to sue Mark but, obviously, claiming he had been deceived, with no success. The woman Steven saw kissing Mark was his partner's wife."
"Well, this story is getting interesting. So Steven recognised her because he knew the case?"
"Yes. That's how he knew it was her and that's why he was so upset that Mark did what he did."
"Do you mind if we stay for her interrogation?" Dylan asked.
"You don't seem to have your brother's attitude. I think you can."
And John and Dylan waited, wondering what was Sherlock up to.
0
Sherlock walked into St. Bart's. Molly would be working on the body. She had left the engagement party with the forensic crew. He walked into the morgue without knocking, silently. She was there, around the body, focused.
"Hello, Molly."
She jumped a little, startled.
"Sherlock! You scared me."
"Afraid of the living?" He smirked.
"A lot more than I am of the dead." She smiled back at him. "You come to check the body."
"Yes. There are a few things that I still can't figure out." He looked at the body on the table. "Do you know if anybody found the rings?"
"The rings?" Molly asked, a quizzical look on her face.
"Yes, the rings. Camille mentioned at the party that they were going to exchange commitment rings. Mark had them, he showed them to me. They were inside a box. But I searched on his suit and I couldn't find anything."
"Well," Molly said, getting away from the body and returning with something in her hand. "Were they something like this?"
And she opened her hand. There, placed on her palm, two wedding rings, almost the same size.
"Where were they?"
Sherlock put some gloves on and examined the rings, one by one. Yes, they were exactly the same.
"Well, that's the funny thing. In his throat."
"In his throat?"
"Yes, stuck in his throat."
"So, someone must have put them there."
"Exactly. I don't believe he would try to eat the rings. Specially because there was something else there." She picked a little piece of paper. "I had just found them before you got in. This was inside the rings; it was what was holding them together, actually. It has to be opened carefully. It still has a bit of saliva on it."
"May I?" Sherlock asked.
Molly assented with her head and advised him.
"You better do it upstairs. There are tweezers and other material you may need. That's fragile and may be important."
"Okay. Thanks you." And he was about to leave but stopped. "Molly may I ask something of you?"
She nodded.
"Can you please do a scan for poison? Clostridium Botulinum."
"Why? He was stabbed with a knife; the cause of death is obvious."
"Can you do it, please?"
"You know those things take time, Sherlock. And they are not on the routine drug screen. I may get in trouble for doing this."
Sherlock got close to her, still with gloves on and with the paper on his hand. He grabbed Molly's hand, she had gloves as well.
"This is important Molly. And you are the only one that can help me. Please do this for me. Please."
Molly sighed. It was always that easy for him, wasn't it? She nodded.
"Okay. I will meet you upstairs in a minute; I just need to finish him."
Sherlock let go of her hand and left the room, a smile lingering on his lips.
He entered the laboratory and placed the paper on a clean surface. He grabbed two small tweezers. The paper was wet but not so much to make it impossible to open. Still, he would have to be careful. He picked each corner slowly, allowing the paper to open without tearing apart. There was ink on it, someone had written something. When he finally managed to open it all he saw the words written in red ink, a bit blurred due to the humid environment the paper had been in. He looked at the words, unable to look away. Molly entered the room.
"Okay, I am done downstairs, I will run the test. This better be important, Sherlock, or I swear that if I get in trouble because of you…"
Molly stopped talking, her eyes on Sherlock's worried face.
"What's wrong?" She asked.
Sherlock looked at her as if only now he had realised her presence in the room. He picked two pieces of plastic microscope slide and placed the thin paper in the middle of them. He then grabbed a small zip bag and put the piece inside it and all in his coat's pocket.
"I need to go. Please call me as soon as you have the results." That's all he said to Molly.
She stood there, looking at him leaving and shook her head. Might as well get to work, Sherlock seemed alarmed, so whatever he asked her to do must have been important and worthy getting into trouble.
0
Sherlock got out of the cab, at a fast pace. He hit someone who was passing on the street. It was Dylan.
"What are you doing here?" She asked, running her fingers through her hair to smooth it a little.
"I found out something. I knew there was something tricky about this case, it couldn't be just Steven stabbing him."
"What are you talking about, Sherlock?"
"The scream! How didn't he scream? If he was being stabbed he would scream. I hear it is painful."
"Mind you using sarcasm at this time."
Sherlock looked around and took the zip bag out of the pocket. He picked the paper still between the two pieces of microscope slide and showed them at Dylan. There, in capital red writing were three letters. I O U.
Dylan picked the piece, examining.
"Where did you find this?"
"Remember the rings that were missing?" Dylan nodded. "Molly found them on Mark's throat. This paper was holding them together. I knew there was something wrong from the beginning. I bet he was poisoned before he was stabbed. Clostridium Botulinum! It paralyses the muscles, starts in your head and goes down from there. Steven said that he entered the room as soon as the woman left. Mark was drinking whiskey before he died. If she had poisoned the drink and he had drank it right before Steven got in, there would be time enough for Mark to be paralysed but still alive, therefore Steven would not see that something was wrong, and the wound on his heart would still bleed, because the heart was still working. That's why he didn't scream!"
"How did you realise all this?"
"Two rings missing, the first time was a pink case. The poison, the same that killed Carl Powers. Now this paper. It's all the same again."
"It' a copycat." Dylan affirmed. There was a hint of fear on her voice.
"No." Sherlock looked at her. "It's not a copycat. It's him."
He paced around, looking at everything except at Dylan.
"We have to tell Lestrade, they just finished interrogating the woman. It was her, then. She has to know something. Even if she was used to make all this, she has to know."
"I am not yet sure about the poison, it's just a hint. Lestrade won't take a hint, he needs proof. Molly is doing the scan for it. It may take a few hours."
Dylan looked around and Sherlock questioned, noticing for the first time.
"Where's John."
"John!" Dylan said. "Yes! That's why I was asking why you were here. You called him."
"I didn't."
Dylan's eyes opened in horror.
"He received a call from you telling him to meet you alone at the old theatre. I was waiting for John to call me and tell me what that was all about."
They stared at each other, the same look of terror on their face.
"Damn it!" And Sherlock started sprinting in the direction of the old theatre, with Dylan right on his heels.