Chapter 9: The Blind Banker pt2
A/N: Meep.
….
Not long afterwards, Sherlock has flirted his way into the lucky Ms. Wintle's flat and balcony. John and Elise were left to stand idle on the pavement below. The two stood quiet for a few minutes. Neither of them were one for small talk and they were both pretty distracted with their own thoughts to care much for what the other had on their mind. The cold wind whistled past, successfully chilling Elise's ears. In that moment, she resented her choice of attire. A thin sweater and jeans weren't exactly cold weather friendly.
John grew impatient after a long couple of minutes. "Sherlock. Sherlock, are you okay?"
There was no answer.
He has to be inside already. There's no way he's not after all this time.
"Dad?" She tried experimentally. "Dad?"
John sighed, clearly exasperated. "Yeah, any time you feel like letting us in."
Elise shivered as another breeze blew past. "It's cold." She muttered ruefully. The teen slid her hands across her ears to generate heat. The relief, while small, was instantaneous. She blew out a relieved breath, creating a small fog cloud as she did.
The blonde doctor sat down on the stoop, tired of standing around in wait of his tall flat mate. Elise copied him, absently picking her nails. Seconds ticked past. They felt like hours. Minutes felt like days.
Elise deliberated whether or not she should break down the door and go in there herself. There many flaws in this plan though. First of all; she was quite small. An attempt to budge the door would result in a bruised shoulder and wasted energy, not to mention the fact that it was pretty stupid when she could just buzz Ms. Wintle again. Secondly; she was a bit scared to even go inside. God knows what lurked in Van Coon's apartment.
Just as she was trying to think of another course of action- Sherlock had been in there for a good ten minutes now- the door opened. Out came the curly haired detective himself.
John and Elise scrambled to their feet, eagerly awaiting the news.
Sherlock's face remained frighteningly passive as he spoke the next chilling words.
"It appears as if Mr. Van Coon is dead."
….
The flat was quite large. An elegantly decorated living room glittered with expensive white leather furniture and glossy black end tables, a testament to Van Coons wealth. The amount of clutter was so sparse that even Ms. Hudson would feel shameful at her housekeeping methods. The stack of books on the table didn't go unnoticed by the literature savvy teen. She would've been tempted to browse them had the situation been different. Alas, rifling through the book collection of a recently deceased rich guy wouldn't be the best route to go on. Besides, anything in this flat could now be considered evidence.
Best not get in trouble with the yarders.
The police had been called. Photographers took pictures of Van Coon's body lying on the bed. A forensics officer dusted for fingerprints on the nearby mirror. Elise could hear the distant chatter of officers elsewhere in the flat. Sherlock and John had vacated to the bedroom where the dead man lay. She decided that joining them wouldn't be the best idea. Just standing at the site of the incident was making her a bit queasy. Sticking to the living room would hopefully keep her from spilling the contents of her breakfast on the plush carpet.
It made her feel stupid. Weak. Inferior.
Elise was the same person who practically grew up in a morgue. Yet, ever since the serial 'suicides', she had been feeling strange. Scared even.
Too confusing. Keep calm breath deep. Just go in there. You don't even have to look at it too hard.
Elise willed her feet to move in the direction of the bedroom. If she was going to be a detective one day, she couldn't turn green at the sight of a dead body. It was in the job description.
"D'you think he'd lost a lot of money?" John was saying. "I mean, suicide is pretty common among City boys."
"We don't know that it was suicide."
"Come on. The door was locked from the inside; you had to climb down the balcony."
Sherlock squatted down by a suitcase on the floor near the bed and opened the lid. His eyes skimmed over the contents.
"He could've already been inside the flat." Elise offered, announcing her presence.
"Been away three days, judging by the laundry." He glanced at his daughter quickly. "You might be right." To John. "Look at the case. There was something tightly packed inside it."
"Thanks – I'll take your word for it."
"Problem?" Sherlock questioned.
"Yeah, I'm not desperate to root around some bloke's dirty underwear."
Elise snickered. "There's no telling where those things have been."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Van Coon was as far from a slob as you could get. In the literal sense at least." He walked to the foot of the bed, staring at the corpse. "Those symbols at the bank – the graffiti. Why were they put there?"
"Some kind of code?" John asked.
"Obviously."
"And you don't know what it says." Elise stated.
Having looked closely at Van Coon's legs – or possibly his shoes – he moved up and carefully opened the man's jacket to look at his inside pockets.
"Why were they painted? If you want to communicate, why not use e-mail?"
"Well, maybe he wasn't answering."
"Oh good. You follow."
John frowned. "No."
Sherlock shot him a look
"What kind of a message would everyone try to avoid?"
His frown deepened.
"What about this morning?" The detective asked. "– those letters you were looking at?"
"Bills."
Sherlock gently pried open Van Coon's mouth and pulls out a small black origami flower from inside. Air hisses out from the dead man's lungs. Elise tensed and looked away, willing herself to remain calm. The sight, while not particularly gory, wasn't pleasant.
"Yes. He was being threatened."
By who?
A man's voice filtered through the open door. "Bag this up will you?"
Her father retrieved a clear evidence bag. Then, he daintily picked the lotus up and slid it inside.
"... and see if you can get prints off this glass."
The flower was beautiful. Sharp angles of black origami paper formed the petals, swirling in a unique pattern across the leaves. It was small in size. This didn't detract from its eerie gorgeousness.
A young officer in plain dress sauntered into the room. He was younger than Sherlock by a couple years if his appearance anything to go on and his mouth was set in a firm line, unsmiling. His expression reminded her of her uncle, always so serious.
"Ah, Sergeant. We haven't met." Sherlock introduced.
He offered his hand to shake. The young man puts his hands on his hips.
"Yeah, I know who you are; and I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with any of the evidence."
Lowering his hand, Sherlock gives the evidence bag to the officer and turned his best stroppy look on him.
"I've phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way?"
"He's busy. I'm in charge. And it's not Sergeant; it's Detective Inspector. Dimmock."
Elise's eyebrows raised challengingly, all previous apprehension gone. "Someone's pissy."
His cold eyes snapped towards Elise, narrowing hatefully as he did so. "And who might you be."
Elise's gaze never wavered despite the tightness in her chest. "Elise Holmes. I specialize in sarcastic comments, pop culture references, and I don't think I'm going to like you very much."
Dimmock opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off with her next sentence. "You and Anderson would get along nicely. He's on forensics."
The DI turned toward Sherlock. "Why is there a child at this crime scene? Couldn't find a babysitter?"
"I'm almost fourteen!" Elise argued. "If anyone needs to be cared for it's you baby face."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I have no desire to argue with you Inspector. Lestrade already cleared her to come with me anytime we see fit. If you have a problem, I suggest you take it up with him. I am afraid to say that that is an argument you are most likely going to lose as my daughter has been an asset to cases since she was in primary school. Your decision though. Not mine."
Dimmock let this information soak in. Finally- but not without an annoyed sigh- he held his hand out for the evidence bag. The consulting detective plopped it in his hand. The group moved out of the room, Elise especially grateful to be free of the stench of flesh. The pressure in her chest had subsided, thankfully, while the nausea still lingered. It took all the strength she had not to spill the contents of her breakfast on Van Coon's carpet. She took in a shaky breath.
Case ongoing or not, she longed for the safety of 221b.
…..
A/N: Thank you to all of you who have reviewed! I'm sorry that this is a couple days late but I was celebrating my birthday and the time got away from me. This is very short but I am posting a longer one soon to make up for my absence. I have big plans for the next few chapters….
You'll just have to read to find out ;)
R & R please.
TheCurlyGal6218