From Stutley Constable: Inspector Wiggins is on the case.
"Evenin', Inspector," the officer at the scene called out to him, doffing his cap. "It's a right gory one, tonight. Only mercy is the cold keeping the stench away. "
Inspector Wiggins nodded in return. "With any luck, all the gore should make it an easy case. That's what Mr Holmes used to say, anyway – the special ones are easy, it's the dime a dozen ones that are the real hard cases."
"Yes sir," the officer replied, obviously more out of respect than any real comprehension. He held up the tape for Wiggins to come through.
Wiggins ducked under and made his way into the house, holding back a sigh. Time was when every policeman in London had known the name of Sherlock Holmes. Now, there were so few left who had known the man personally, and for the rest he was a legend at best, only known from the doctor's stories. Some, like the officer outside, had never even heard of him at all.
"What have we got?" Wiggins asked, stepping into the room with the body. He took a glance around, soaking in information the way he remembered from his years watching Mr Holmes.
His sergeant stepped forward, notebook in hand. "Looks like murder, sir, a simple brawl gone wrong. Pretty gory, but more likely heat of the moment than anything." He indicated a blood-encrusted poker lying by the hearth. "Must have had an argument, other man grabs the poker, beats our victim, gets the blood everywhere, then realises what he's done and scarpers. Clear-cut case."
Wiggins crouched down beside the poker, examining it carefully. "Not quite, Tolston. This poker doesn't belong here. It's much better quality than anything you'd find in this house. More likely the murderer brought it with him." He stood up, walking around the room. "Brought his own weapon, so this was planned, but this is messier than you'd think a planned murder would be. Lots of gore, lots of blood."
"Maybe it's an example? One of the gangs showing what happens if you don't pay up?" Tolston suggested.
Wiggins shook his head. "Still would have been clearer than this. All this mess, that's someone who's angry. More likely they came to threaten, but something made them furious."
He scanned the room, waiting for something to jump out at him. It was times like this he wished Mr Holmes was still around, or even Doctor Watson. They would have spotted something by now. But they were both long gone, the doc never having made it back from the war, and Mr Holmes following shortly after. Neither could help him now.
The door slammed open as a constable rushed in, before being hurried back out again by Tolston. Still, the gust of wind brought in from outside caused a flickering from the grate, catching Wiggins' eye. He knelt down, brushing off the ashes of the letter. Quickly, he scanned the page, and the dark stains splattered across one corner, before turning to Tolston and handing it over. "Get men to this address immediately, and bring in the husband of Anna Canavry. And while you're there, check for a poker. Actually," he snatched the letter back, striding towards the door. "I'll come with you."
As he stepped outside and hailed for a carriage, he let a smile drift over his face. Mr Holmes may have been gone, but his legacy lived on.