The Silent Banker
The Silence of Mr Van Coon
As the cab pulled up, the three pairs of eyes spied the building they would be visiting. It was tall, very tall. And made out of a lot of glass. The phrase about glass houses and stones came to mind as Rose exited the cab after Sherlock had paid the fair for once.
Walking through the rotating glass doors, she found that she was glad she wore her coat here. Not that she wouldn't, but she was still thankful that the thick material covered the baggy, dark grey t-shirt with a cartoon rock saying "You rule" to a cartoon ruler, that was replying with "You rock." It was a funny shirt that she bought spur of the moment, but it was one of her favourites, and it reminded her of Ethel and Sid. It was the kind of thing they would find amusing. But in this international bank that just gave off an air of all work and no play, she thought it may be seen as a little immature.
As they approached the desk, Sherlock announced who he was, and they were herded into an office to the side.
Inside the office, sat a man, not big enough to be called large in size, but he certainly wasn't slim. He had a full head of hair, but Rose caught the beginnings of a receding hair line. He wore a suit, complete with business like tie, and an expression on his face that spoke volumes. He was the boss, he had a lot of money, was exactly where he wanted to be in life, and was better than the rest of them. His eyes were cold, his smile false, with a hint of smug arrogance.
Rose Spencer didn't like him.
"Sherlock Holmes!" He exclaimed, standing up and walking around his desk to meet them. He shook Sherlock's hand. "Who's this then?"
"This is Doctor John Watson and Miss Rose Spencer, friends of mine." John's eye brows rose a little at this, as did hers.
"Friends?" The business man however seemed very confused.
"Colleagues." Supplied John, which cleared up the confusion on the other mans face. He shook John's hand, but when she went to shake his hand in the same manner, he took hold of it and kissed her knuckles. She turned slightly pink at this, and resisted the urge to slap him. He smirked at this, and Sherlock watched with mild boredom.
"Sebastian Wilkes." He threw her a smile, which she didn't return. She had learnt over the years that being too nice to people seemed to make them think she liked them, when she really didn't and was just trying to be civil. So, instead of smiling politely at him, and letting the whole thing drop, she gave him an icy stare until he let go of her hand. Watching him go around to his chair again, she noted with a little pride that he had sat down and leaned away from her; he got the message. Taking her seat, she waited until the man was talking to Sherlock before wiping the back of her hand on her jeans.
"I see your doing well then." Started Sherlock. "Been abroad a lot." He said it like fact, though Rose couldn't see how he knew it.
"So?" So he was right, then, she thought.
"Round the world, twice in two months?" He seemed to be doing it to annoy the other man, and was only failing a little bit.
"Oh right, your doing that thing…"He turned to John and Rose. "We were at Uni together, he had this trick-"
"Not a trick." Said the man in question, looking bored still, but sounding a little annoyed.
"He'd know your whole life story just by looking at you. We all hated him for it!" He laughed, and Rose noticed herself become slightly more rigid, not liking how this man was talking about her flatmate, not that the talking man noticed. "You would come down in the morning, and this freak would know exactly who you would be shagging the night before!" He seemed to be mocking Sherlock, though tried to make it look like friendly teasing. She felt her jaw clench as her friend was called a freak. She knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of it, and though she shrugged it off every time, it still wasn't very nice.
"But you were quite right, I have been round the world twice in two months. Go then, tell us. Was there a type of ketchup on my tie that can only be found in Manhattan?"
"No, it was-"
"The mud on my shoes?" The man interrupted.
She noticed the Sherlock had a bit of mischief come into his eyes, an she wondered what he was up to. "No, you secretary told us on the way in."
Sebastian laughed. "Well, I'm glad you could come in to see me today Sherlock, it seems we have a bit of a problem."
"Not a big one though." Was the bored reply he got from the man.
"Depends how you look at it…" Sebastian countered.
"And how do you look at it?" John asked. It seemed he knew they wouldn't get anywhere soon, and wanted to move things along.
The man looked at him for a second, then answered with what had happened, getting the hint. "We've had a break in."
"What was taken?" Asked Rose, curiosity over coming the desire to ignore the man telling them about his problem. He smiled over to her.
"Nothing, but a nice little message was left."
A few minutes later, the three flatmates found themselves standing in the office of Sir Williams, who had founded the bank. On the wall, in yellow spray paint was a large squiggle, like a number eight, but the top half was more squared, and there was a gap at the very top. Next to the odd design was a straight line, crossing right over the eyes of a portrait of Sir Williams himself.
"They left his office as a sort of memorial…" He trailed off.
Rose looked around the room as Sherlock took some pictures on his blackberry. She spotted a small camera in the corner of the room. Turning back to Sebastian she asked, "CCTV?"
"That's where it gets interesting." He stated, and caught Sherlock's attention.
"Show me."
The men went out of the room, but as Rose got to the doorway, she turned back to the graffiti, and looked out to the cubicles out side the room.
John, noticing the absence of his friend, looked back to see her looking quite puzzled. "Rose?" He called to her.
She looked up to him, smiled and called back, "I'll catch up!" When he didn't move she smirked and winked at him, walking back into the room, looking at the "message" again. Shaking his head at his friends antics, he turned to see Sherlock turn a corner, and ran to catch up to them.
Looking back into the room, she spotted a chair, and pulled it over to the picture. She then, very carefully, climbed onto the chair, so she eye on eye to eye level with the picture. Turning, she looked through the door way and out to the other offices outside the room. Directly in her line of view was another office, so she decided to check it out.
Moving quickly through the offices, dodging people when appropriate, she came to the office she had seen. Going over to the desk, she sat in the seat stationed at the desk. If she looked out of the open doorway, she could clearly see the message, and knew it was left for who ever occupied the office she was in. Getting up, she looked around for anything to identify the owner, and spotted a name plate on the door. Grinning, she walked over and removed it from its metal holder.
Turning around, name plate in hand, she saw Sherlock make his was over to the office, doing what looked like a very elaborate and weird dance. Once again though, he hadn't seen her. Walking backwards, he would have walked into her, had she not put an hand up and stopped him in his tracks.
As he felt something touch his back, he flinched away from the physical contact, whirling around to see the last person he expected stood there. Rose stood in front of him, looking as though she was trying to hold back laugher. He hadn't even noticed she had left their little group. She brought up her hand and showed him the name plate she had taken from the door. She had beaten him to it and he was not happy about it.
"Can't be many Van Coons in the phone book." She said smugly with a grin to match.
Not bothering to hide his annoyance with her, he said, "One last thing." And turned to go back to the original office.
She looked around to see John tucking something in his pocket, and walked toward the first office meeting him at the door.
"So what did CCTV show?" She asked him.
"New frame every sixty seconds, one frame nothing, the next one the paint is there. No one seen at all. And the door wasn't opened, according to the logs." This puzzled her. It sounded like the thing painted itself. "What were you up to, then?" He asked.
"I got the name of the guy the message was for."
"And we find him, we find the sender." He understood now, but as he glanced in the room, he didn't understand where Sherlock had gone. Frowning he stepped further into the room, and scanned around until his eyes came to the open window, and the man in question practically standing on the ledge. "Sherlock…" He said in a voice that conveyed his concerns, but at the same time wasn't loud enough to startle the man.
Sherlock looked down, and saw that ground outside was very far away. Frowning, he heard his name, and turned back to the room, seeing John look very worried, and Rose just poking her head through the door way. He stepped back into the room, and carried on walking, past both of his flatmates. "There was a phone booth just down the street. Should be a phone book there." Was all he said.
Sighing, they both followed him, Rose taking out a cigarette and lighting up. She thought she may as well, as she doubted she would have much spare time today; helping Sherlock with a case, according to John, meant "unexpected running and not a spare moment to do much more than breathe."
So, as John and Sherlock stood in the small phone booth, scanning through it to find Van Coon, she leant against the side of it, enjoying her minty cigarette, and remembering her first.
Just as she finished, putting it out on the sole of her steel toe cap boot, she saw the men come out of the booth, looking satisfied they had found something out. Sherlock hailed a cab, and she jumped in just before it drove off.
At the bottom of the apartment building, Sherlock pressed the buzzed repeatedly, and getting more annoyed every time there was no answer.
"No one is in Sherlock." Said John, exasperated by his friends stubbornness to get a reply.
"New label." Pointed out Rose.
Sherlock looked at her, a light glare on his face. Turning back to the closed door and panel of buttons he pressed the one next to the new label.
"I don't get it." Said John.
"The label is new, and so is the person who just moved into the apartment above." She explained.
"Maybe they just replaced it?" Asked John, though even to his own ears he sounded doubtful.
"No one does that." Was her answer.
"Just then a voice came on over the intercom. "Hello..?" Said a wary female voice.
Suddenly a completely different look appeared on Sherlock's face. It looked kind and friendly, and a little bit shameful. It made Rose do a double take.
"Hi, sorry, I'm in the apartment below, I don't think we've met…" He said, sounding completely natural. Damn, he's a good actor, she thought.
"Yeah, I've just moved in…." She said in the same voice. Rose threw John a triumphant look. Told you so, she mouthed. He just smiled, rolled his eyes and shook is head at his friends childish ways.
"Well, this is embarrassing," Muttered Sherlock, though still loud enough that the woman on the other rend of the line could hear him. "I seem to have locked myself out, left my keys in there…" He said, hinting at what he needed.
"Oh, do you want me to buzz you in?" she replied.
"Yeah," He said smiling. "And can I use your balcony?" This last question threw her a bit, and she looked up the building to the balconies, as though they may give her an answer. Looking back to Sherlock for some for of answer, he only gave her a small half smile, happy that he had confused her.
The next few minutes were compiled of running up the stairs to get to the woman's place, explaining again that they left the keys in the lower apartment, and running to the balcony, climbing over, and landing on the balcony underneath. Opening the glass door, Sherlock and Rose found themselves in the apartment of the man who received the message left on the wall of the bank. John had stayed at the door to the flat because, psychosomatic or not, his leg couldn't handle the jump.
Looking around they found that he had a lot of books, as well as a lot of pen space. Also, they found it empty.
That was, until Sherlock found a locked door. Hearing a loud bang from the other room, Rose darted towards it to find that Sherlock had knocked down the locked door, and found a man lying on his bed, face up, with a bloody gun shot wound in the right of his head. Rose felt her eyes go wide and swallowed reflexively, though the was nothing to push down.
Hearing John shouting through the door, she made her way to let him in.
"Finally!" Said John in a joking tone, but on seeing his friends face, he put all joking aside, and asked her if she was alright.
"We found Van Coon." She said in a flat voice.
John knew what she meant immediately, and went to see if he could help Sherlock in anyway, telling her to call the Yard, and ask for Lestrade. Nodding she went to the living room and did just that.
It wasn't long before she was letting in the police and showing them to the room with the dead man in it. Just as she walked in, Sherlock was pulling something out of the dead guys mouth, and putting it in a plastic evidence bag, muttering about the man being threatened. Upon seeing them enter the room, he moved forward to shake hands with the new man.
"Ah, Sergeant. I don't think we've met-"
He was promptly cut off though. "Yeah, I know who you are, and I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with the evidence." Sherlock stared at him for a minute, lowered his offered hand, then gave him the evidence bag.
"We phoned Lestrade, is he on his way?"
"He's busy, I'm in charge." The man said, seeming to not have much patience with small talk, or details. "And it's not sergeant, its Detective Inspector. Dimmock." Sherlock looked at him again, as though shocked he wasn't Lestrade. The younger DI walked through to the living room, the consulting detective, the doctor, and the young woman following him.
"Well, we're obviously looking at a suicide." Dimmock said, giving the evidence back to a forensic worker.
"That does seem the only explanation of all the facts." Said John, though knowing Sherlock would tell him he was wrong.
"Wrong," There it is, thought John. "It's one possible explanation of some of the facts. You've got a situation you like and are choosing to ignore anything that doesn't comply with it."
"So what else?" Rose said.
"The wounds on the right side of his head," Explained Sherlock, as though it was obvious, and he was getting bored with the subject.
"And?" Said Dimmock.
"Van Coon was left handed. Requires a bit of contortion." Replied Sherlock, moving his left hand to the right side of his head in different awkward positions, just to prove his point.
"Left handed?" Said Dimmock again. He really did seem to be quite lost.
"I'm amazed you didn't notice, all you have to do is look around this flat." Said Sherlock, still sounding very bored and not at all amazed. Pointing to the coffee table he continued. "Coffee table on the left hand side, coffee mug with handle on the left side of the cup." He pointed around the room, in seemingly random directions, though she soon saw what he was pointing to. "Power sockets, habitually used the ones on the left side. Pen and paper on the left hand side of the phone, because he picked it up with his right, and took messages with his left. Do you want me to go on?" He asked Dimmock.
But John cut in, sounding equally bored, and as though he had heard all of these deductions before. "No, I don't think you need to."
"Oh, I might as well," Sherlock said anyway. "Almost at the bottom of the list. There's a knife, on the left side of the cutting board with butter on the right side of the blade, because he used it with his left." He made a spreading motion with his left hand, again demonstrating his point. "It's highly unlikely that a left handed man shot himself in the right side of the head. Conclusion? Someone broke into his flat and murdered him. Only possible explanation, of all of the facts. "He finished, mimicking John's earlier works.
"But the gun…" Started Dimmock, only to be cut off.
"He was waiting for the killer." Said Sherlock.
Rose remembered his earlier words. "He was being threatened." She repeated.
"Yes." Confirmed the consulting detective.
"What?"
"Today, at the bank, someone left a warning." Supplied John.
"He fired a shot when his attacker came in." Sherlock was putting his scarf and coat on now, so she assumed they would be leaving soon.
"And the bullet?" said Dimmock, who looked sceptical.
"Went through the open window." Continued Sherlock
"Oh, come on! What are the chances of that?" Still sceptical, she thought, even though it didn't quite make sense to her, but she knew Sherlock would be right. Always is, she thought dryly.
"Wait until you get the ballistics report, bullet in his brain wasn't fired from his gun, I guarantee it."
"But if the door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?" Asked the DI.
"Good." He drawled. "Your finally asking the right questions." And with that he pulled on his final glove and took his leave.
John and Rose looked toward each other, sighed and followed their friend out of the dead mans flat.
Out on the street they saw Sherlock getting in a cab, and hurried their pace so that they didn't get left behind.
Sat in the back of the cab rose spoke up. "So, where are we off to now?"
"To have a little chat with Sebastian, he needs an update and this is the perfect opportunity to annoy him." Sherlock said with distaste. He may have known the man at university, but that didn't mean he liked him.
"Well, you can drop me off at the flat on the way then." She replied.
"Why?" He seemed genuinely confused for a moment, and then he covered it.
She smiled. "Because I don't like the man, and while annoying the hell out of him would be entertaining, I'm sure he will annoy me more." She turned to the driver as he came up to the end of Baker Street. "Can you stop here a minute? Thanks." Getting out of the cab, she turned back to the guys in the back. "Have fun, see you when you get back." Waving to them, she closed the door, and walked the rest of the way to the flat.
But as she approached the door to 221B, she spied a sleek black car parked a few spaces down, and wondered if she was being paranoid to expect something other than an empty flat.
Closing the door behind her as gently as she could, holding the lock then letting it go slowly so it didn't snap loudly into place, she held her breath, noting a slower heart rate as she listened to the building she occupied. There was nothing for a few beats, then a soft noise, as though something were being pushed, ever so gently across a surface. It came from the living room.
A few years ago, she had gotten very bored, and had picked up a new hobby: moving as silently as she could. This meant that she experimented on the stairs of her old home on where the most and least creakiest place to walk were, and how to walk silently on a flat surface. She had found it fun and entertaining, though at the time, had no really use for it, and thought she never would. After all, who needs to creep around their own flat? She thought sarcastically.
Getting to the top of the landing with out making so much as a whisper of a sound, she peeked into her living room, only to see Not-Anthea reaching up by the book case, to the opposite side of the shelf to where she found the little camera.
Still being as quiet as she could, she crept into the room, going right up to the house breaking woman, and said, in the calmest, friendliest voice she could, "Hello." She smiled inwardly at the reaction she got.
The woman let out a small squeak, and whirled around so fast she almost lost her footing, which would have landed her in the arm chair next to her. But not expecting Rose to be so close, she leapt back in surprise, and ended falling into the chair anyway.
Taking advantage of the other woman's momentary disorientation, Rose reached up to where the woman was reaching only moments before, and found a small plastic object brushed her fingers. Taking it down, she found it was, as expected, another camera. Sighing, she looked back to the seated woman, who had not bothered to get back up. "Care to explain?" Rose started.
"You and I both know I don't need to do that." Replied the nameless woman, smiling a knowing smile.
Crossing her arms in what she knew was a defensive position, she gave the other woman a message. "Tell Mycroft I want to see him. Soon." With that she turned away walking towards the kitchen, but as she walked, Mycroft's assistant saw her drop the camera in front of her, and proceed to step on it with a steel toe capped boot. When she lifted her foot again, not breaking her stride, the assistant figured that they must have steel lining in the sole as well, for the camera was completely destroyed.
From the kitchen, as she reached to put the kettle on, she heard the woman in the other room sigh, and get up from the chair. By the time Rose had taken out a mug, put a tea bag and two spoons of sugar in it, she heard the front door close. Still waiting for the kettle, she walked over to the window, not pulling back the netting but still seeing through it to see the woman cross the street and get into the car she had spotted earlier.
Today it seemed, was not her day.