Rebecca drove them to Torbay Hospital so that they could investigate the body, which was being held in the morgue. The drive took about half an hour, with most of the time spent trying to get through the endless one-way road systems. Lestrade and Rebecca chattered away happily in the front of the car while an uncomfortable silence persisted between Sherlock and John in the back. Once they arrived, they got out of the car and followed Rebecca into the hospital. An attendant led them down to the morgue and wheeled the body out for them. Once the attendant had gone, Rebecca spoke.
"One of the main reasons we wanted you down here is because of the nature of the case." She indicated the cadaver. "Adriano De Luca. Real name: Amato Dicello."
"What?" said John.
"Dicello was an Italian police officer who was working undercover in Dartmouth Naval College. Now we know that he was investigating something, but we don't know what."
"Have you spoken the Italian police?" Lestrade asked.
Rebecca nodded. "They're being extremely uncooperative at the moment. She sighed, and then continued explaining. "His body was found in the sea at Dartmouth by a trawler man who spotted something unusual from his boat. The last time Dicello was seen was during naval college training on a boat in Paignton harbour. There's absolutely no way that the tide could have moved him from there to Dartmouth."
Sherlock began to lean over the body, peering intently and making a mental list of everything he saw. Olive-skinned, dark hair, definitely Italian, then. Toned body, visible arm and stomach muscles, so he kept himself fit. Calloused fingers and grazed knuckles; consistent with his cover story. Indentations on his left wrist, very similar to those which arose from wearing a watch. Yes, it had to be a watch. Sherlock had often observed the same marks on John's wrist after a long day of wearing a watch that was slightly too tight.
"He was wearing a watch. Where is it?" Sherlock asked, straightening up.
Rebecca looked startled. "I beg your pardon?"
"A watch," he repeated. "He has marks on his wrist from wearing a watch."
"He wasn't wearing one when he was found," she replied. "But I'll go and call some people." She turned on her black, patent heels and left them in the morgue.
"What else do you see, Sherlock?" Lestrade asked as resumed inspecting Dicello's body.
"Bruises on the ribs and a few on the legs…" he said, more to himself than to Lestrade. "Gives the impression that he's been dragged or knocked against something… John, what would you say the cause of death was?"
John moved over to the body, as always, in awe of Sherlock's deductions. He examined it, pressing gently on the dead man's chest, checking the colour of his skin, checking his neck for any marks before he was absolutely sure of his diagnosis.
"Well," he began tentatively. "There's water in his lungs, but he didn't drown."
Sherlock had drawn away from the body and was watching John with measured interest. "So, what's the cause of death?"
"Asphyxiation. Not strangulation because there are no tell-tale marks on his neck, so I'd probably go for smothering or something similar."
Sherlock smiled smugly to himself as Rebecca re-entered the room.
"What have you got?" she asked.
"He didn't drown; he was killed by smothering beforehand then thrown in the water to dispose of the body," replied Sherlock, approaching the door.
"Most people seem to think that it was an accident," Rebecca said cautiously.
Sherlock turned to face her, one hand still resting on the door handle. John saw the familiar gleam of self-assured arrogance flash in his eyes. "Most people are usually wrong. Call it an accident if you want, but you wouldn't have summoned me here if you really believed that. I am telling you that this is murder, which means that there is more to this case than you previously thought. Now, what about his watch?"
Rebecca looked absolutely astonished. "Oh, umm, there was one handed in to Dartmouth police station on the day that Dicello's body was found."
"Brilliant!" Sherlock exclaimed, enthusiasm leaking onto his normally sombre face. "We have to go and look at it immediately."
Lestrade opened his mouth to speak, but Sherlock was already gone. John shrugged at Lestrade before following after him eagerly.
"Yeah," Lestrade said to Rebecca. "He does that."