Chapter 10
On their way in the cab unusually accompanied by Lestrade, the Detective Inspector informed Sherlock about the owner. He had already made inquiries beforehand and whipped out his notepad. "The dojo is owned by a certain Thomas Harris, aged 38. He had started training as a plumber after school, but then his career in combat sports, mainly Jiu Jitsu and Tae Kwon Do, Judo and Karate, turned out very successful. He has won several national championships in the various disciplines, but after a serious injury to his left knee he opened his own dojo. He has learned his art with various senseis, ah yes here it is," Lestrade had refreshed his memory by using his notes. He flipped to a specific page. "Among other things, he has spent two years with interruptions in China."
Sherlock nodded and added, "And probably bought a beautiful and old set of Mah-jongg stones." He looked expectantly out of the window. "Well, yes, we will soon see whether he is missing a few stones." He turned to the stack of family photos he had ordered, flipping through them one after another. He smiled self-satisfied, as if he found his suspicions confirmed, but said nothing.
The gym was located on the third floor of a business and medical centre. A large sign had been fitted outside the building they were heading for. It showed directions to all inhabitants, the medical practitioners and the dojo. Sherlock studied it extensively before they entered the building.
They met Thomas Harris in his office. The man was lean and athletic, he wore a T-shirt and a pair of jeans. On his head was not a single hair, Thomas Harris had shaved his head to baldness. "I've done it out of practicality. There are always students who like to grab ones hair," the coach said hinting towards his head. The dojo was decorated with colourful Asian artifacts, but his office was simple and functional. On his desk stood a carved and polished wooden box about the size of a standard sheet of paper.
Of course all women, who had been burgled, he knew from his training. They had all attended the same self-defence classes and he had coached them all. He expressed his dismay over the death of Mrs. Kyle, but his grief was still in appropriate limits. Sherlock and Lestrade had taken seat in front of the desk. Sherlock knew that John was standing directly behind his chair. He did not have to turn around. He could feel his presence. It felt like he was sitting in front of a heater or a fireplace, the heat warming his body. It gave him a sense of belonging and security. After a deep breath, he shook his head inwardly to focus on Mr Harris' testimony, but the latter had not much further to tell about the murder victim. So Sherlock turned to the only item of interest on the desk.
"Mr Harris, may I ask, what is inside this wooden box?" Sherlock stretched out his hand, but stopped before touching the box to wait for permission. Mr Harris nodded and said simultaneously, "Therein you will find an old set of Mah-jongg stones. Do you know what Mah-jongg is? I bought the game on one of my many trips to China. The shop seller assured me that it was very old and very valuable, but I paid a reasonable price." Triumphantly Sherlock inspected the contents of the box. He could see at first glance that four stones were missing. He slammed it shut with an impact.
"Mr Harris, when did you last time cast a glance into this box? " Sherlock studied his opposite vigilantly. "Hm, I do not open the box each day and it's been a while since I've played ." Sherlock's lips twitched into a self-satisfied smile. He changed the subject. "And do all the doctors with a practice in this building come here to attend your courses?"
"Actually, I teach almost all of them," nodded Mr Harris. „They all come more or less regularly to their class. Only Mr Druitt, the alternative practitioner from the first floor I have not seen around for some time. The last time he had apologized himself with a strained ankle. That was three weeks ago." He shrugged his shoulders.
"Thank you, Mr Harris that you have sacrificed your time to see us. The information you have given just solved the case." Sherlock rose and turned to go. Lestrade, who was still sitting in his chair, looked stunned and blankly watched as Sherlock and John were leaving. Then he hurried after the two flatmates, who had already left the studio. He quickly said goodbye to the sensei and then joined Sherlock in the stairways.
"Stop! Stop! Sherlock! Stop! Why has Mr Harris's information solved the case? And why didn't we arrest him? Just several minutes ago in the cab you have said that who owns the Mah-jongg stones would be the murderer."
"Ah, why did actually nobody listen to me properly?" Sherlock remained still on the landing between the third and second floor. Short-Tempered, he whispered, "I said, if we find the rest of the game, it will lead us to the murderer. I have never claimed that the owner of the game is also the murderer." He turned around and wanted to continue his descent. Lestrade held him firmly on the sleeve of his coat. "But this explains nothing! Why do we have to hurry?"
Unwillingly Sherlock shook off the hand of the Detective Inspector. His whisper grew impatiently. „Look Lestrade, we now need to act quickly. The practitioner has his practice on the first floor. If, and it's a big if, but nonetheless, if Mr. Harris will tell him of our visit and that I have asked about him and the Mah-jongg stones, he is forewarned. We have to prevent that. I explain everything to you later, but now we have to catch a murderer, who is not yet finished with his work. Come along!" Sherlock flew down the stairs until he stood in front of the door of Mr. Druitt practice. He tried the door handle and the door was not locked. He quickly sneaked into the practice, not paying attention whether John and Lestrade were following him.
The reception area of the practice was deserted and nobody was sitting in the waiting room. Working hours had probably already been over. But from one of the back rooms they could hear the soft tapping on a computer keyboard. Sherlock stayed close to the wall of the hallway, which lead further into the practice. On the right and left were doors which led to the treatment rooms. They were all closed. At the end of the hallway, a door stood slightly ajar and a little light illuminated the otherwise dark hallway. Sherlock felt that John and the Detective Inspector drew level with him. He took the few feet to the open room with supple, long steps silently. With a slam he opened the only half open door completely. A tall blond man in white doctor's clothes was sitting behind a desk. He typed on his computer and heard the intruders just as Sherlock entered the room.
"Mr. Druitt, I suppose." It was more of a statement than a question as Sherlock entered the room. The practitioner looked up from his work and rose slowly. "Yes, and you are?" He looked tense. Apparently he had not expected any visitors at this late hour. "My name is Sherlock Holmes and we are here to arrest you for the murder of Mrs Evelyn Kyle and also four burglaries. Also, it will be proven later that you have raped four women multiple times."
Sherlock was now standing in the middle of the room. Mr. Druitt came around slowly from behind his desk and moved towards the men in his way. "Oh, and how did you figure that out?" He hid his right hand behind his back while he stood next to his desk. "Your sticky fingers and your blond hair have led me to you. Unfortunately, you have been given away by genetics. All your children are blond, just like you are. The mothers, Mrs Thomas and Mrs Kyle, and the two other victims, as well as the alleged fathers do all have brown hair. You should have chosen your victims more carefully. It should have occurred to you that if all the brown haired couples produced only blond haired children, that they will become suspicious at one point. You should have known that they would talk to each other. And sooner or later one of them would make the connection. How did the women track you? Have they visited you one after another and all suspected what you did? I think it was something like that. And then they have cornered you. They all wanted to sue you. If this had gone public, it would have meant the ruin for your business. And so you decided to eliminate the witnesses. And your plan was so clever. Playing serial killer, but you were stupid enough to lose a blond hair at your first murder scene. You were so thorough, when you stabbed Evelyn Kyle. Cleaned the body. Left no evidence. You should have been as precise with your break-in when you left the Mah-jongg stone behind. It was rather sloppy of you. Then I would not have found the blond hair which has led us to you."
With Sherlock's last words Druitt jumped for the door. He saw his only salvation in flight. The hand that had been hidden behind his back swung forward. He was holding a scalpel in his hand and pointed it at Sherlock. The latter hesitated for a moment and then wanted to turn out of the danger zone, as a shadow darted past him. John had followed Sherlock into the room and as Druitt attacked him he jumped at him instantly. Druitt turned his attention to John and with a cry he threw himself onto him. Together, they fell to the ground. John held the murderer in a headlock using his right arm. After a few seconds, his eyelids began to flutter and then closed fully. With a sigh, his head tilted to one side and his right arm felt powerless to the ground.
"John!… John!"With a left hook Sherlock knocked out the struggling practitioner and knelt down in one fluid motion besides John. He touched his jacket and drew back his hand. It was red. John's jacket was getting wet with his own blood. "John! Stay awake! Stay with me! Do not leave me! If you leave me again I will kill you!" Next to him, he heard a metallic click. Lestrade had handcuffed the unconscious Druitt and had taken out his phone. Sherlock could hear him hastily call for an ambulance. He did not care. His attention focused on the man who lay before him on the floor. Frantically, he opened the jacket of his friend. The jumper was changing colour slowly from grey to red and the scalpel stuck in John's left side.