CHAPTER 3. CRIME SCENE DEDUCTIONS
After a rather long uncomfortable car ride, a quick account of recent events which end with Donovan and Sherlock trading verbal barbs, of course at a mature adult level, where Donovan called Sherlock a freak and Sherlock countered with a long line of rather cruel but accurate, no less, observations based on the state of the women's wardrobe. Such words used made even John a seasoned soldier blush. "Children!" John finally growled stepping outside the cab, happy to be free of the toxic atmosphere.
Sherlock didn't wait he dashed towards the crime scene, the yellow tape still visible, and the lamps were dimming and flickering, "Why are those still here?" Sally knew she'd given the order for clean up, that was expensive equipment. She kept up with the detectives long strides, an impressive action in black heels.
John as usual paid the cab and asked the nervous man to stick around, informing him they were on official police business. Reluctantly the older man agreed, John always felt uneasy talking to cabbies after the Hope case.
"JOHN!" Sherlock shouted, John hurried towards the sound; his hand going to his waist pocket, dammit didn't bring the browning. The tone of Sherlock's voice sent a chill through the ex-soldier, images of an injured Lestrade, or worse a dead one started streaming through his head. John pushed it back before the idea could take hold, he needed to be here, and ready to supply aid, and the Doctor in him was the one to surge forward.
"Sherlock what is it?" Doctor Watson held his breath halting behind the crouching detective. Their breath visible in the cold air, like wisps of smoke, the lights of the lamps still flickering., Donovan was on her phone now, her voice shaking but still ringing with authority.
"Jesus-" John's voice held an edge of fear, and disbelief, expecting to see Greg there, but instead the two bodies were slumped over shoulder to shoulder, regular uniformed PCs. No wisps of smoke danced from their nostrils or closed mouths. His heart sank even more, when he recognized one as PC Howard, always a smile on his face no matter what the mood of the detectives on scene were in.
Sometimes John would stand off to the side as Sherlock and Lestrade went head to head, Howard always offered a bet on who would win. John recalled the man talking about his family, a wife and two daughters. The other PC he couldn't quiet place, was he new? John felt guilty for not knowing for certain. He took in the evidence before him, pushing his guilt away, allowing the doctor in him to pull in and take note of the facts, he could at least find those responsible for this terrible crime. In war, one could blame a faceless enemy for killing a fellow soldier, but this, this was life, the rules were different, laws were to be followed and senseless killing was to be punished.
"Shot in the back!" John swore, "Cowards." As for Smith, he'd been executed the burn marks there on his head from were the weapon had been pressed.
"We need more light!" Sherlock stood up now, he took his mobile out using it as a torch, John followed him needing to distance himself from the two dead men.
"Sherlock? You don't think Lestrade is-"
"I couldn't say John, but he was a smart man, well slightly smarter than the idiots he worked with. He would have left something, some kind of clue- THERE!" he pointed moving towards the middle of the tunnel, he could see muddy foot prints, judging by the size they were Lestrade's, he'd started steadily towards the middle of the tunnel than halted, hesitating he started to move back even turned to go, but something made him pause, his muddy foot prints moving towards the dead bodies. He hadn't seen them when he first arrived, how could he, it was dim he was there to meet someone but who?
He could see muddy foot prints, not the dead men, Howard, father of two, a PC for three years, twenty eight years old, 5'8 average build. Had a proclivity to laugh and place bets. Came from a big family raised by just a mother, father walked out-Sherlock pushed these deductions away, it wasn't relevant. He needed to find Lestrade and in the process he'd find the murderers of the two men. Smith a rookie, starred at Sherlock in awe, but always stuttered when Sherlock ordered him to move out of the way "I was invited."
"S-ssorry sir Mr. Holmes sir, but Sergeant Donovan said not to let anyone through especially-"
"We'll I'm not anyone." And he'd move right past the young man, fresh out of the academy just 22 years old, played football in uni but wasn't much of a competitor, liked to enjoy the game not be pressured into winning. Always drank his coffee black, dating a girl still in Uni-only child- stop.
Sherlock shook his head and like a movie the day's events started to play out before him. The two officers had been standing out by the yellow tape, waiting for the last of the detectives and PC's off duty to clear the scene, first Smith moved to collect the lanterns to the left of the tunnel, separating from Howard. He heard the shot, Howard first, he was the older and more experienced officer made sense, but who would know that certainly not by looking at him, both men looked remarkably around the same age. Clean-shaven, similar uniforms.
Why? Howard hadn't expected the attack, he was kneeling down to disconnect the battery operated lamp when a large man, weight on the right side more than the left, right handed put a gun to the unsuspecting PC's turnd back, and fired straight into his heart. Blood splattered onto the lamp just there, Sherlock kneeled, and the large light was shot out, and shattered by the weight of the dead man and the bullet most likely lodge inside.
PC Howard, no, Sherlock correct himself, the BODY, was then drug to the wall, there. He looked on, then back at the distinctive shoe prints of Smith, halting right in front of his friend. The damned rookie had run towards the sound of gunfire probably calling out to his partner. Nearing the far corner he would have found his friend. Someone stood behind him, easy to sneak up on a rookie more distressed by his unmoving partner. So the unknown attack ordered the rookie to turn, the young PC froze he did so, told to get on his knees, also complied.
Sherlock knew the type, most likely the young officer had started to say something to reason with his executioner, but never finished as the bullet fired and entered the young man of 22, into the forehead traveling through the soft gray matter of the brain and exploding out of the back of the skull, Sherlock took note of the blood splatter on the wall, some gray matter and bits of bone dirtied the other dead PC's uniform.
Some time passed, because when Greg arrived his shoes were muddied, and his coat wet from the rain. Something made him pause he walked over to the bodies, turned to run again halted but why? Two men surprised him, the same that surprised the PC's obviously. They were waiting? Perhaps, but Sherlock needed more information to confirm this theory.
Lestrade's foot prints halted in the middle of the tunnel, he'd tried to run he'd caught wind of the trap, but to late he pulled his mobile out to call Sherlock at this point, Sherlock had sent him a text seconds before, "John is working late." But one of the men stopped this action, wrenching the DI's arm back, by the drag marks on the cement Sherlock knew this to be the more likely action. Then why did they let him make a call, something was off, pieces not connecting.
He moved up the tunnel his phone still bright, unaware of John right behind him. More foot prints, drag marks, and there, at the end of the tunnel, a car had parked. A car peeling out, "They threw him in the trunk, he was alive." Sherlock couldn't see any blood splatter well anything worth note, he knew under such circumstances the abductors slash murderers would have had to knock the DI out and the type from the bodies they already left behind, were cold career thugs. Sherlock deduced they would have pummeled the DI and even kicked him before tossing his limp body into the back of the mystery cars trunk.
Sherlock couldn't place the flash of emotion that surged forward visualizing this scenario. He shoved his fisted hands into his coat pocket, shaking from the cold, yes it was indeed cold.
"He's alive then." John muttered if he were convincing himself that this was ok, that Lestrade was in fact still alive.
"He was alive at this point, but who knows where they took him the water washes away any other tire marks out of the tunnel."
"I don't care who you have to wake up! Get them down here now! And for gods sakes bring more lamps!" Sherlock approached the hotheaded Sergeant she hung up on whomever was on the other line.
"The DI's house was broken into, maybe he was taken from there, and the house was ransacked nothing stolen but-"
"No, they were looking for something. He came here, thought he was meeting you."
"How do you even know that!?" Sally was at her breaking point.
"His message! Do you still think it a coincidence that his house was broken into? His address is protected its not made public. So someone who knows him would have to-" her eyes narrowed on Sherlock "Oh, come on Sergeant now is not the time to point fingers! DI Lestrade wasn't going home tonight. His message when he called, 'I won't be home for dinner' that means he's not going home. It's the other parts I'm trying to figure out, I know why he said 'tell little Molly I'll be seeing her soon.' He obviously knew-thought, he thought he was going to die." Sherlock could hear the tone; it was different from his usual warm gritty pitch. No he'd given up, resolved himself to the enviable.
"Have Anderson pull the bullets in the lamp and the wall, see if the match anything." Then to his pale flatmate "Come along John!" walking toward the cab, already several police cars where showing up. Good, perhaps they wouldn't be so slow to process the evidence, "Mobile phone." He grumbled to himself, "Sally I need his mobile phone."
"Where are you going?" she started towards him,
"To his house!"
"But you said he wasn't there!"
"Yes, but obviously someone was looking for something. His mobile call me straight away if you find it." Donovan was distracted now by her team arriving on scene.
"I don't think they'll find it Sherlock would career killers leave evidence behind like that?"
"No, they wouldn't John. But it will keep Anderson and Donovan out of our hair."
"What?"
"The last piece of Lestrade's message, as much as I hate to oblige it was a plea, a request from the DI.; Go ahead without me. Just remember to be polite. He wants us to investigate; he had alluded to coming back over tonight to ask for my expert opinion on something. But then he said he wasn't sure if it was anything just yet. He also said earlier on, before he received the text messages that he wanted me to stay out of the Yard especially now. He was on to something, but what? "
"Just be polite, that was definitely a message to you. What about the rest; the extra set of keys are in my desk.. Just get the keys and go ahead drive the
new car. I wanted to have dinner by the river as well. It is a popular spot after all-. Tell little Molly I'll be seeing her soon. Don't worry I'm just going out with
some of the guys from the Yard. Tell Johnny not to forget to keep an eye on the dogs keep them close. You know how irritable they get. Don't wait up, we'll be
out late. Then the goodbye. It's clear he thought he was going to die. But what dogs, and what keys? He doesn't own a car does he?" John felt a
headache brought on by exhaustion and worry, he rubbed his temples.
"No John you're not listening, he told us who his abductors are. And he excluded two people in which he wanted us to be sure were kept out of this and safe."
"Dogs, sniffer dogs." John held back an inappropriate chuckle "Anderson and Donovan? Wait, Sherlock you're not saying-?"
"I know Lestrade was picked up by colleagues, he was telling me. But they wont be close friends, he said some of the guys, they clearly didn't know him well enough to know he was going through a divorce, because they suspected nothing when he called me. That's all I managed to piece together. We need to get to his house and find out more."
"Sherlock, we will find him." Sherlock inside the cab now starred out the window ignoring the comment completely. Something in him refused to think any further than the task at hand. Lestrade where ever he was had placed his faith in Sherlock once more, he wanted him to figure it out. The DI didn't expect to live, possibly through the night. This fact is what made the consulting detective lean over to the cabbie window
"If you pick up the pace I'll double the fee." His phone buzzed he swore under his breath.
The cameras in that area caught the car leaving but not at a good enough angle for a license plate and the windows were tinted. I'll send the footage the car is seen turning left. And from there the car is lost in traffic.-MH