Life After Death - A Post-Reichenbach Trilogy

Part Three – Unfinished Business

Chapter Eleven

In the small hours of the night, William had awoken, needing to use the toilet. Their captor had not thought to provide any sanitation, so Molly scooted across the floor to the front of the shed, with William in her lap and encouraged him to take a pee in the corner. She could tell by the strong odour of his urine that her little boy was already a little dehydrated so, when they got back to their original position, she gave him the rest of the water to drink from the first bottle, just taking another small swig herself. After that, she put him back in the hold-all and sang him back to sleep.

She needed to warm herself. Scooting about the floor had helped, though the pain caused by the cable ties was almost unbearable, but as soon as she lay down again, the cold began to seep back into her bones. She lay on her side, in the foetal position and practised some dynamic tension, tensing and relaxing all her muscles, to try to generate some heat. It worked, to a degree, but it was physically tiring and it made her thirsty so, after a few minutes, she stopped, closed her eyes and, eventually, fell asleep from sheer mental exhaustion.

In the morning, Molly awoke, feeling cold and stiff, following a very uncomfortable night in the metal shed. She turned on the torch and looked at her watch. It was nine in the morning. She lay still, listening for any sounds from outside, but could hear nothing. She wondered if it was worthwhile banging on the walls of her jail, to try and attract someone's attention and decided she might make a game of this for William, once he was awake. She didn't want to start banging now, as she knew it would alarm him. She closed her eyes again and tried not to think about what Bernadette intended to do with them.

ooOoo

John and Sherlock walked into Lestrade's department at New Scotland Yard. All the officers on the Serious Crime team watched Sherlock as he went by. Some of the squad were new, posted during Sherlock's three year absence, so only knew him by reputation and, needless to say, he had received mixed reviews. He, for his part, seemed oblivious to the stares but John, feeling aggrieved on his behalf, returned some of them with warning glares. After exchanging brief greetings, Lestrade got down to business.

'Show me the message.'

Sherlock opened it up and handed his phone to the DI, who glanced at it, then called over an officer whom John did not recognise.

'See what you can do with this,' said Lestrade and passed the phone to the new man, who took it back to his work station.

'Right, let's bring you up to speed,' Greg began, gesturing to two chairs adjacent to his desk, inviting John and Sherlock to sit. John accepted. Sherlock walked over to the window and looked out at the building opposite, remembering three and a half years back and the message written there by the master criminal and well-known psychopath, his arch-Nemesis, James Moriarty. Who could have guessed that Jim would still come back to bite him, from beyond the grave, after all Sherlock had gone through to avoid this very scenario? Lestrade was talking. He needed to listen.

'We ran the finger prints – absolutely no form at all. Once we got the name from Mycroft, we contacted the Garda in Dublin and they ran a check. She is completely clean, not even a parking ticket. They gave us an address. She lives in a little village, just outside Dublin. Nice house in a nice area. Moriarty was clearly a good son in providing for his mum, who is a regular attendee at the local church, Women's Institute, you name it. She is Mrs Pillar of the Community.

However, she is clearly not as innocent as she appears because she managed to get her hands on a gun from somewhere and we are guessing she did not bring it through Customs, so she must have sourced it here. Similarly, with the jammer device – we just received this through from Mycroft's tech guys.'

Lestrade showed John a print out on the device that had blocked the Wi-Fi, radio and mobile phone signals in and around Molly's flat.

'It's similar in design and function to the kind of system used by factories, shops and schools to block the use of mobile and smart phones on their premises but this is clearly intended for illicit use. Not the sort of thing you can buy down at your local IT shop.'

'Then there are the false plates on the van. You can't just walk into any old scrap yard and buy old plates, or get them made up, without proof that you own the vehicle they are registered to. So, it leads me to suspect that Mr Moriarty was a bit of a chip off the old block.'

'She's been in the UK for a month. Have there been any sightings since the motorway services?' John asked.

'Nothing, so far. We've run those plates through traffic camera records but they haven't shown up, which makes me think she's changed them again. She is covering her tracks very well.'

At that juncture, Sgt Donovan arrived, carrying a tray of coffees. She put two on the desk for Lestrade and John then walked over to Sherlock and offered the last one to him. He gave her a look of surprise. She made a small grimace and a shrug and, as he took the proffered mug, she patted his arm. It would seem even Sally Donovan had a heart somewhere.

The new young officer returned with the phone and Lestrade looked at him, inquiringly.

'We have a number but it is an unregistered PAYG, with an Irish international code. We can get a fix on where it was last used, though it will take time. Obviously, if she texts again, we can try to trace it but it would be more likely to succeed, if she called.' He completed his report.

'OK, do what you can,' Lestrade instructed. The officer turned and offered Sherlock his phone. He took it, with a nod of thanks.

'She probably won't use that phone again,' Sherlock said, from his place by the window. 'She'll have anticipated our actions. She's planned this very carefully and isn't likely to make such a basic error.'

'What's next, then?' asked John.

Lestrade summed up.

'The photo and the name are still circulating around hotels, guest houses and letting agencies, also car hire companies in Liverpool, especially round the docks, and shops and public places in Poplar and the Isle of Dogs, as well as in the vicinity of Molly's flat, to see if anyone recognises her or van. The likelihood is, she's using a false name.

We haven't involved the media yet. We don't want to panic her into doing something stupid. Other than that, we just have to wait for her to make contact again. Traffic cameras are still on alert for the number plate, just in case it's still in use.'

There seemed little more that could be done. John looked at his watch, got up and walked over to Sherlock.

'Look, I'm sorry, mate, but I really have to go to work.' Sherlock nodded, in reply. 'I'll keep my phone on silent in my pocket. If anything happens, call, OK?' Sherlock nodded again. John clapped him on the shoulder, nodded to Lestrade and left.

Sherlock stood by the window a little longer, sipping his coffee and wracking his brains. In the old days, he would have been straight on to the Homeless Network but, after being 'dead' for three years or more, he wondered if there still was a Homeless Network.

Only one way to find out, he thought, turning and putting down his mug on Lestrade's desk. He would go to some of the old haunts and see whether any of the old faces were still around. He walked out of the office, without a word of farewell. Lestrade watched him go and didn't even bother to ask where he was going. He probably wouldn't give a straight answer.

ooOoo

William woke up and climbed out of the bag, feeling around in the dark and calling for his mummy. Molly awoke from her light sleep, found the torch on the blanket and switched on the beam. It was still quite bright, so no need to wind it again, yet. She fed William another banana and some chocolate for breakfast.

If she was going to ration the water, it would be best to do it methodically, to keep tabs on how much was being consumed. So, cracking open a second bottle of water, Molly managed to pour half the contents into the empty bottle from the night before without spilling too much, despite having her hands tied together. She gave William one half-bottle to drink and, resealing the other, put it back in the plastic bag.

William was getting fractious. He was very dependent on routine and this was anything but. He was finding the darkness distressing, too, as it was limiting his sensory stimulation. The lack of occupation was telling on his mood, also. Molly sat him in her lap and tried to engage him with finger rhymes and other nursery games but there were only so many times one could go 'round and round the garden, like a teddy bear,' before it lost its appeal.

She sang to him, rocking him, as she had when he was a colicky baby and in need of the physical comfort and warmth of her body to ease the vicious cramps in his tiny tummy. William responded by putting a thumb in his mouth, grasping his ear lobe with thumb and forefinger of his other hand and cuddling into her, regressing right back to those earlier days of his short life.

ooOoo

Sherlock exited New Scotland Yard and walked along Vitoria Street, across Westminster Bridge and along the South Bank, past County Hall and the London Eye, to Waterloo Bridge. He scrutinised the faces of all the homeless people he spotted along the way but recognised none of them. Significantly, they did not seem to recognise him, either.

On reaching the British Film Institute, he took a seat at an outside table at the riverside restaurant and ordered a double espresso. As he sat, inhaling the aroma of his coffee and scanning the passing crowds for a familiar face, he spotted a girl standing by the parapet which bounded separated the promenade from the river. He knew her and he could see that she knew him.

Sherlock finished his coffee, left the money on the table and strolled, nonchalantly, across to lean on the parapet and look down onto the foreshore – stranded now, as it was low water on this tidal river. The girl sidled up to him, leaving a person-sized gap between them, so as not to appear too obvious.

'Bloody hell, Mr 'Olmes, we all thought you was dead,' she muttered, gazing up river, ''til we saw the newspapers, the other week, o' course.'

'It's good to see a friendly face,' he replied, looking across the water, towards the Savoy Pier. 'I need your help.'

'Always 'appy to oblige', she replied.

He reached into his pocket and removed the folded bank note he had prepared earlier, which concealed a copy of the full face image of Bernadette Jamieson.

'I need to find this woman, urgently,' he said. 'Two people's lives depend on it.' He turned to look directly at the girl.

'Got any spare change, sir?' she asked.

'Sure,' he replied and pressed the folded note into her out-stretched hand.

'God bless you, guvnor,' she smiled.

Sherlock pushed off the wall and strolled away, towards the steps which led up onto the bridge, where he hailed a cab to take him home.

As he let himself in to 221 Baker Street, Mrs Hudson met him in the hall way.

'Any news, dear?' she asked, full of concern.

'You'd be the first to know,' he replied.

'I've left some sandwiches in your fridge. You make sure you eat them,' she urged then reached out and caught him in a tight hug. Until that moment, he hadn't even realised just how much he needed a hug. He put his arms around her and hugged her back, feeling like a small child.

Upstairs, he stood at the window, chewing the sandwiches, out of loyalty to the lady who had thought to make them, and reflecting on the current situation. He rarely questioned his own judgement but this was one occasion when he wished he had been wrong about something. He had always believed that love was a dangerous emotion and parental love, it would seem, was the most dangerous of all, effectively paralysing his logic function at the very time he needed to be at his most incisive. He could only hope that everyone else involved in the hunt was on top of their game.

ooOoo

Molly was facing a second night in her blacked out prison. The day had been bad enough. The hours had dragged on and on. She had scooted on her backside to the front of the box and listened at the door for any sound of human activity, but to no avail. Wherever this place was, it was not a well-populated area.

On the off-chance, she had taken off her shoes, given one to William and banged on the side of the box, encouraging him to join in. But the metal box had amplified the sound around them, like being inside a drum, and had made William scream, drop his shoe and hold his hands over his ears. It had taken a long time to calm him and almost as long to find her missing shoe, in the pitch dark.

It was getting more difficult to persuade William to eat the banana and chocolate diet. He kept pushing it away and crying. In the end, she gave up and ate it herself. She was feeling light headed from lack of food but eating made her feel nauseous because of the tension in her stomach. The thing they both wanted most was water but that was the one thing she had to withhold.

William had already drunk half of their supply of water and they had only been here for one day. He kept asking for more, and cried piteously when she had to deny him. When she eventually managed to get him to sleep, she curled up on her now soiled blanket and shook with sobs, as quietly as she could.

She was beginning to feel the effects of dehydration. Her skin felt dry and papery, her mouth and lips were parched, she had pains in the region of her kidneys and her bladder was beginning to burn. And although she sobbed, her eyes were dry and sore. She felt weak, lethargic and light-headed. She knew her blood pressure was dropping due to loss of fluid content. She had to drink but she dared not take more than a few sips of water. William needed the water.

Even as she had this thought, she could see the flaw in her logic. If she became incapacitated due to dehydration, William would not be able to look after himself so she owed it to him to keep as healthy as possible but she feared running out of water, so she stuck to her resolve, even knowing it could be a serious error of judgement.

The persistent cold and her inability to move around were taking their toll too. The chill was unrelenting. Her joints and muscles ached and she felt so frigid she couldn't even shiver. Lying on the blanket, which felt damp and clammy and no longer seemed to offer any insulation from the heat-sapping metal floor, Molly was beginning to succumb to hypothermia. She began to believe that the Moriarty woman had no intension of ever coming back for them, that she was going to leave them here to die.

ooOoo

John finished his shift at St. Mary's and speed dialled Sherlock's iPhone. He answered immediately.

'Any news?' John asked.

'They found the shoes,' Sherlock reported. 'They fished them up out of the silt this afternoon. They're being checked for trace but I'm pretty sure anything that might have been there will be degraded after 24 hours in the water. And the phone was last used in South Ockenden so they are concentrating their attentions there, showing the photo and asking about the name, but nothing yet.' He sounded very despondent. He sounded like a danger night.

Oh, shit, thought John. He could only imagine what a state of nervous anxiety Sherlock might be in, after a day of such frustration and inactivity.

'Look, man, I need to go home, change my clothes, and check in with Mary. Why don't you meet me there, have some supper? We can put our heads together, see if we've over-looked something.'

'I won't be good company, John.'

'Nobody's expecting you to be. It's got to be better than sitting in that flat, all on your own. Just meet me there.'

John hung up before Sherlock could argue and rang Mary to tell her to expect an extra guest for dinner.

Sherlock exited 221 and was standing on the doorstep, looking up and down the street for a cab, when he saw the girl from the South Bank walking along the pavement towards him. He walked up to meet her and she reached out, putting the bank note he had given her that morning into his hand.

'What's this?' he asked. 'I'm sorry, Mr 'Olmes, but nobody has seen 'ide nor 'air of 'er. The woman must be invisible. I can't take your money,' she explained. Sherlock pressed the note back into her hand.

'I don't do payment by results, only by effort,' he replied. 'Please keep looking.'

She nodded and walked on.

ooOoo

Sherlock, John and Mary spent the evening brainstorming possible lines of enquiry but could not come up with anything new. John was convinced the kidnapper was stalling deliberately, to ramp up the tension.

'She'll make contact again,' he insisted.

Having demolished two bottles of wine between them, during the course of the evening, it was agreed that Sherlock should stay the night in the spare room and they all retired around midnight. At about six, the next morning, Sherlock was awoken from a disturbed night of little sleep by the text alert on his phone. It was her again.

'Not sleeping so well then, Mr Holmes,' it read.

The number was blocked, as before. He got up, redressed and slipped out of the flat without disturbing his hosts. He would have time to go home, shower and change before returning to the Yard to have the text traced.

ooOoo

William was awake and crying but Molly could not find the strength to sit up. She called his name in a feeble croak and he climbed out of the bag and came to her.

'Get the food bag, baby,' she whispered, weakly. She felt the torch under her ribs and, pulling it out, switched it on. The beam was not bright but strong enough to show William where the grocery bag was. He brought the bag to her, much lighter now that half the water and food were gone. Molly felt inside the bag and pulled out a bottle, cracked it open and gave it to William. She pulled out and opened the last bottle, too, and sucked at the spout, taking three big mouthfuls. It barely seemed to scratch the surface of her thirst.

She didn't stop William drinking – she didn't have the strength – so he polished off nearly all the contents of his bottle without even pausing for breath. Having slaked his thirst, he was far more amenable to eating and felt in the bag until he found the last banana. He held it towards Molly, saying,

'Openit, Mummy, p'eade.'

Molly took the banana from him and broke open the peel, then he took it back and ate it, slowly.

Molly picked up the torch and, holding it between both palms, wound up the mechanism, as she had before. The beam grew in strength and provided at least some illumination, enough for her to see her son's face. It was covered in dirt and streaked with tear tracks, like a little urchin from a Dickens novel.

Nothing that had ever happened in his short life could have prepared him for this nightmare. She wondered what long-lasting effects all this might have on him but then she wondered whether there would be any long-lasting anything and she had to cut off that line of thought before it over-whelmed her.

William reached inside the bag and took out a bar of chocolate. Picking off the outer wrapper, he bit a chunk off, then took it out of his mouth and pushed it at Molly's chin.

'Mummy, eatitup,' he coaxed.

She opened her lips and took the chocolate into her mouth, where it melted slowly and trickled back out, pooling on the blanket. Her mouth was too dry to swallow and the chocolate felt thick and glutinous, sticking to her palate. But, a greater problem then the lack of hydration was the state of her core temperature, which was dangerously low. Molly drifted out of consciousness whilst William ate his chocolate and sat beside her, like a faithful puppy.

ooOoo

Sherlock handed his phone to the young officer and sat down to wait for him to perform his technological wizardry. A young PC brought the coffee today and Sherlock drank it gratefully, having had no breakfast and slept very badly. Lestrade was busy on another case but took the time out to appraise Sherlock on the report they had received, that morning, about the shoes fished from the basin.

'There were lots of fibres stuck in the tread.'

'What sort of fibres?' Sherlock asked.

'All sorts – wool, cotton, acrylic, you name it,' Lestrade replied.

'Carpet fibres?' Sherlock enquired.

'No, too fine. Clothing, we think,' the DI concluded.

'Clothing – like in the suitcase?' Sherlock mused. He felt more than ever that the suitcase was a clue but he still couldn't work out its significance.

The young officer was back with the phone again.

'It's a different number to yesterday but again, unregistered PAYG with a Republic of Ireland international dialling code. We are working on the location, sir,' he explained, apologetically, and handed Sherlock back his phone.

'She's good at this hide and seek business, I'll say that, for the old bitch,' Lestrade spat, venting his frustration.

'Well, if she's trying to wind me up, it's working,' Sherlock muttered.

ooOoo

Molly was roused from her stupor by the loud, metallic, grinding sound of the doors to her prison opening. The light that flooded in was painful, even through closed lids. William turned away from the daylight glare and buried his face in her shoulder.

'Well, Miss Hooper, you're not looking too good, if you don't mind my saying,' Bernadette observed, in a mocking tone. 'Ah, don't tell me, let me guess. You've been depriving yourself in favour of the wee man, so you have. Well, I might have known. I must commend you on your mothering instincts. That's something you and I have in common, isn't it? Wouldn't we both do anything for our children?'

Molly could hear her words but they were not making much sense. She heard footsteps approaching, amplified by the bones of her skull, in contact with the metal floor. She tried to open her eyes and raise her head but she was just too cold, too weak.

'Well, you'll be pleased to hear that your little man is going on another adventure with his Auntie Bernadette,' the woman advised her, reaching down to catch hold of William by his upper arm.

He reacted, instantly. He went stiff and screamed at the top of his lungs. As the woman tried to pull him away from his mother, he clung on to her coat lapels, with a fierce tenacity, screaming,

'No! No! Mummy! No!'

Molly tried to muster enough energy to lift her arms and fend the woman off but she was pinned to the floor by the weight of William's frantic little body.

Bernadette tried to peel William's fingers off his mother's coat but he just gripped tighter, with a surprising strength, enhanced by desperation and terror. Losing patience, the woman grabbed him by his dressing gown collar and shook him violently.

William was shocked into paralysis by this unprecedented assault on his person. He stopped screaming abruptly and went completely limp. The woman picked him up and carried him out of the shed, oblivious to Molly's frail attempts to reach out towards him. Having secured William in the front seat of the van, Bernadette returned to stand by Molly's side.

'Well, Miss Hooper, it has been a pleasure meeting you,' she said. 'I only wish it could have been in different circumstances but, sadly, that was not to be. I don't think you will be needing these, any more,' she said, picking up the grocery bag, 'or these,' picking up the hold-all, and she left, again, to stow the two items in the back of the van.

When she returned this time, she was carrying a smart phone. She squatted down on the floor and took a couple of photographs of Molly and it was then that she noticed the filthy blanket, lying underneath her.

'Oh, Miss Hooper, now that's cheating!' she said, in a parody of mirth.

She grabbed the end of blanket and yanked it out from under Molly's recumbent body. It took a couple of tugs but, eventually, it was free, leaving Molly sprawled directly on the cold metal floor. As the blanket came free, the wind-up torch, propelled by the force of the release, flew across the shed and hit the side wall,

'Goodbye, Miss Hooper,' the woman said, as she walked out of the shed, retrieving the torch as she went. The doors clanged shut, leaving Molly alone and barely conscious.

ooOoo

Sherlock, in a cab on his way back to Baker Street, heard his text alert sound. Tasking out his phone, he opened the text - a single image of Molly, lying curled on her side, on a bare floor. The resolution was poor and the image grainy but it was most definitely Molly and she looked in a very poor state.

The caption read,

Do you love your woman, Mr Holmes?

Sherlock barked at the cabby to turn around and take him back to the Yard, then he rang John's number, which was answered almost straight away.

'She's sent me a photo of Molly,' Sherlock said, his voice staccato and clipped, as though he was having trouble breathing.

'Where are you now?' John asked.

'In a cab, going back to Lestrade,' answered Sherlock.

'I'll meet you there,' John declared and broke the connection.

Half an hour later, all three men sat in Lestrade's office, in a heightened state of readiness. It was obvious to everyone that things were about to kick off. They were just waiting for the starting gun to fire.

ooOoo