Chapter Five

"So, this is the data I got… I plug in what I know, and it narrows down the list of possible suspects," I explained, my fingers flying across the keyboard. "So, Holmes, what about the fabric?"

"Well, I am not familiar with the type of fabric, but the jacket is new- the shooter had just bought the jacket before he shot your friend-"Holmes broke off as I winced.

"Never mind, continue," I said.

"Well, he just acquired the jacket because the fabric has never been washed. Is it possible that you could get a list of customers from this store? It appears to be called "The Gap."

I doubled over in laughter. Just hearing the last two words coming out of Holmes' mouth was hilarious.

"Yes, I can," I said, trying to keep a straight face. "Luckily I'm a Police Officer, otherwise that would be awkward." As Holmes got up to leave to my car I added with a mischievous grin, "And you two need more modern clothes, anyway." Holmes just groaned.

"Well, this is the last Gap store I know of in the area," I announced. The others had not had any navy blue windbreakers in stock all week. We had retired for the night, seeing as the Gap was not open at two in the morning, but Holmes had made sure we were there as soon as the store opened. "Hopefully this will not turn out to be a dead end, eh?"

"Hello, how may I help you?" a clerk asked, eyeing my uniform with unease. Seriously, we only try to help! Why are people so nervous around us?

"These two are just looking," I said, pointing my thumb over my shoulder to Holmes and Watson, who had come in behind me. That gesture, along with the corresponding words, earned me a death glare from the detective. "I'm here on official business. Did a male, about five-eight, buy a navy blue windbreaker? I have reason to suspect he shot somebody."

"What- If I had know- yes, he did. I'm sorry, I had no idea, I-" The clerk stammered.

"You couldn't have known; you're not in trouble. But could you pull up his receipt and give me his description? He probably used a stolen credit card, but we might be able to track him using a description."

"Yes, I can. Usually it's against policy, but since you're an officer… Hold on, one second," she muttered, going to the desk. A while later, I had a copy of a receipt, and was asking her for a description; my sketchpad was out.

"Well… The man was Caucasian, had an angular face, and a Roman nose… …let me think… he had dark eyes, and Black hair- it was a Mohawk. He had a tattoo on his left- wait, not left, right arm- of a green snake that was surrounded by red fire… I think the snake was coiled… …That's all I can remember, sorry," the clerk said.

"Don't be. You've been extremely helpful. Does this look like the man?" I asked, showing her the sketch.

"The likeness is creepy, actually," she replied. "I think your two friends are done, by the way. Good timing, huh?"

Holmes had picked out a white shirt, a tan coat, and brown pants. The coat was the most Victorian-looking coat in the store. "H- Travis," I had almost used his real name, "this isn't England. You'll boil to death in that coat." Holmes reluctantly put the coat back. Watson, meanwhile, had tried to not stand out; he was holding a much more temperature-appropriate grey shirt and tan pants.

Five minutes later, Watson and I were trying to convince an incredulous Holmes to at least attempt to look modern. The ride home had never seemed longer.

"Holmes, just think of it as another bloody disguise!" Watson finally snapped. I was a bit startled. The doctor seemed to have an infinite amount of patience, and I had doubted that he even had a breaking point. But Watson's seemed to be landing in the beginning of the 21st century. Not that I blamed him; the insufferable detective, frankly, had had it coming to him for quite some time.

"Yes, you need to be disguised as Travis Price, Holmes. To do that, you need the clothes," I quickly added before Holmes could do something to the doctor. Holmes glared first at Watson, and then at me, as if unsure of who to scowl at. Changing the topic, I added, "When we get to my house you can meet me in my study; we have enough of a lead to identify our man, I think."

Holmes and Watson watched as I typed in the description and scanned the image I had drawn into the program. "Hold on," I told them, "This might take awhile…"

A short wait later, a profile had pulled up on the screen.

XAVIER AKASTRA

"Wanted for murder of Ashley Easton in Arkansas… Rumored to have escaped to Texas… wanted fugitive… dangerous…" Watson read from the screen.

"What are we waiting for?" Holmes asked.

"A strategy," Watson and I said at the same time.

Just then, my cell phone rang. "Yes… We'll be right there, sir," I said. I put the phone down.

"What is it?" Holmes asked.

"Spencer. He's fully conscious. And he has some things to tell us."

A/N- sorry if any real names are used. They are not intended to be real at all.