Ch 7 - The Colleague
Sally Donovan glanced sideways at the man. This was the fourth or fifth time he had followed the Freak to a crime scene. Presently, he was standing off to the side, out of the way, unlike the Freak who was center-stage, as always. Lestrade said he was some sort of former army doctor. She could buy that. He reminded Sally of a soldier, the way he usually stood at parade rest. He also wasn't shocked or put-off by the sight of the victims. He wasn't cold or callous about it like the Freak. No, this guy had compassion but he also had a thoroughly developed professional detachment. As she watched him out of the corner of her eye, Sally had a strong feeling he had seen worse, which was saying something given tonight's gory mess.
John Watson was his name. Lestrade acted friendly toward him and called him John. More remarkably the Freak called him John. And the Freak talked to him. Not just the berating verbal abuse he threw at everyone, he actually talked to him and listened to what he said, almost like a ... conversation! Sally had even seen the Freak laugh at something he had said. She hadn't talked to him much since that night in Brixton although he usually offered her a polite, professional greeting when he saw her.
"Sergeant Donovan," he'd say, usually with a slight nod.
"Yeah. Hi," she'd reply curtly.
She never called him John or anything else, for that matter, and she wasn't quite sure why. It probably had to do with the fact that she thought the Freak had no right to be here, therefore the Freak's "colleague" had even less right. Still, she didn't dislike the man. She had no reason to. If anything he tended to keep the Freak in line a bit. Like right now. Anderson was trying (and failing) to have a go Holmes. In front of Lestrade, no less. Not the brightest sod, our Philip. They were going on about the relevance of some smudged foot prints. It was starting to get nasty. Sally was considering joining the fray but Watson cleared his throat and the Freak stopped mid-insult and changed tack.
"John," the Freak commanded after a beat, turning his back to Anderson and sweeping a hand toward the corpse.
Watson looked first at Sherlock then made an inquiring gesture to Lestrade, silently asking permission to examine the victim. Sally was impressed that he did this. At least he acknowledged that the DI was in charge here, not Holmes. He then moved in to squat next to the body, donning latex gloves as did so. Anderson scoffed.
"Really, you need an expert medical opinion,"Anderson air quoted the expert part, "on this one?" Sally saw John look up briefly at the sneer then return his attention to the body. Anderson went on,
"Can't you deduce the cause of death?" The Freak was ignoring him focusing his laser-like gaze on the doctor who was continuing his examination.
"Well?" Holmes prompted in a tone of impatient interest rather than his usual one of utter condescension.
"Hmm..." was the only answer as the other man continued to work, brow furrowed. The body was a gruesome sight. A young woman with her face badly beaten and her throat cut, a large puddle of blood around her head and shoulders. The doctor, however, was studying her methodically and had lifted her jacket and shirt to palpate her abdomen.
"Oh for God's sake, isn't the fact that her throat's been slashed and her trachea exposed a clue here?" Anderson ranted and Donovan had to give him the point. John seemed oblivious to Anderson his attention locked on the body.
"Can I ... roll her on her side for a moment?" he asked Lestrade. His tone was polite and cordial as if he were asking to borrow a pen.
"Whatever you need," Lestrade replied with a shrug. Anderson shook his head in disbelief. The Freak looked fascinated.
John rolled the body and discretely lifted her jacket and blouse then rolled her back.
"Um, yeah. Female, mid-twenties. Cause of death was massive hemorrhage ... "
"You think?" Anderson broke in sarcastically gesturing with both hands at the pool of blood. John faltered for a moment.
"Do shut up!" Sherlock barked sharply before nodding for John to continue.
"Massive hemorrhage in the abdominal cavity caused by single blunt force trauma." John lifted the jacket to show a large but fairly innocuous looking bruise under her rib cage. However, the abdomen did look slightly distended.
"Laceration of the neck was secondary probably made several minutes after the abdominal trauma either just after or shortly before death." John looked up from his crouch. The Freak actually gave him a sort of smile.
"Blunt force trauma, huh? Really? What makes you say that?" Lestrade asked obviously impressed and genuinely curious. "I mean I don't see a likely weapon," he cast his eyes about the scene. Sally was interested, too, but the Freak just rolled his eyes. God, Sally wanted to punch him.
"There was no weapon, Detective Inspector, save the commando-style knife that the killer used to cut her throat and then took with him. Ms. Trenhope," he indicated the corpse with a sweep of his hand,, "was first battered about the face and knocked to the ground. She was then murdered by an upward blow to her abdomen by an unshod foot delivered with sufficient force to rupture either her spleen or her abdominal aorta or both. Cutting her throat was merely window dressing. A final release of rage. You are looking for a male acquaintance, probably a jilted lover, with advanced martial arts training and both anger management and self-esteem issues."
"Wait. That's preposterous! Just look at her. It's obvious ... " Anderson was sputtering again. The Freak rounded on him.
"What's obvious, Anderson, is your ineptitude. Unlike you, some people are able to avoid a rush to judgement and take the time to examine all the data before forming a conclusion. Dr. Watson allowed for the possibility of ..." Lestrade broke in shouting over top of them.
"Shut it, the pair of you! I wasn't talking to you!" Then he turned to the doctor,
"Enlighten us, please," he said encouragingly. John straightened glancing first at the Freak, then at Lestrade, then back at the body.
"Well, it's just that her throat couldn't have been cut first," he said somewhat uncomfortable with the attention.
"But why not?" the DI asked earnestly still curious. Sherlock sighed and the DI sent him a withering look, or at least a look that should have caused withering of a normal person. John stiffened further almost coming to attention. Sally noticed that, by this point, everyone at the scene had stopped what they were doing and were waiting to hear what this guy had to say. The doctor glanced around at the expectant faces turned his way then back at Lestrade again. He nodded once before continuing in a voice that was eerily calm and even.
"Right. When a person suffers a deep laceration to the throat like this it take them several minutes to die. It's rather ... messy. Blood squirts and sprays everywhere, over everything. It doesn't pool like this until the blood pressure is very low, near death. Also, um, this isn't nearly enough blood," he pointed to the large puddle. "There must have been another bleed."
Silence. Everyone was silent. Lestrade, Anderson, McAdams and Toft, who were supposed to be talking photographs, Mercer, Blake, the Freak, everyone. John shifted, clearing his throat, and looked at his shoes. Sherlock finally broke the spell but even he looked almost surprised by the detailed explanation.
"Well, Lestrade, as I'm sure the post-mortem will support Dr. Watson's findings, I stand by the deductions provided. Call me when you've located the ex-boyfriend. Coming, John?"
With that, the Freak flipped up his coat collar, whirled on the spot and headed off under the blue and white tape. John self-consciously glanced around the scene once more and followed. Sally watched him as he went.
/-/-/-/-/-/
Two days later, Donovan knocked on Lestrade office door before entering to deliver the pathology report on Amy Trenhope.
"Cause of death massive internal bleeding from a ruptured abdominal aorta the result of blunt force trauma," she said as she handed the report over. Lestrade took the file and began thumbing through it.
"Anything on her friends, boyfriends?" the DI asked without looking up.
"Ah, no. Nothing, really. Not yet. She was new to London, only lived here about a year. No friends that we've found so far," Sally answered. She stood in place.
"What?" Lestrade asked looking up at his DS.
"I was just thinking, about the other night. He's seen it before, hasn't he? First hand. That's how he knew."
"You mean John and the ... ?" Lestrade waved a hand in front of his throat. Donovan nodded. The DI huffed out a breath and tossed his pen on to the desk and thought of the service record he had read.
"Yeah ..." he said slowly. "I gotta imagine he has." Donovan shook her head and turned toward the door.
"Jesus," she said quietly.
/-/-/-/-/-/
Amy Trenhope had been a soldier. That was one of the few things Donovan had been able to determine about the woman in four days of digging. She had enlisted after secondary school and served four years. She had been trained as a logistics and supply specialist. She had been stationed mostly at home except for 6 months in Africa and another 6 months in Canada. After an honourable discharge and two months of working for shipping company in her home town of Otley, she suddenly moved to London a year ago visiting home only once at Christmas. The 450 sq. ft. attic flat in the East End that she lived in at the time of her death was her third residence since coming to the city. Her neighbours barely recognized her photo when Donovan showed it to them and they hadn't even known her name. She had been working as a temp at a lorry hire company but none of the employees there knew anything about her never mind any male acquaintances.
Sally had just read through Amy's service record and was adding it to the thin file she had compiled when she saw the Freak and his shadow enter Lestrade's office. Shit. Two minutes later Lestrade was calling her into his office along with Anderson and Mercer.
"No boyfriends," Donovan said sharply as she handed Lestrade the file. She then briefed her boss on her findings concluding by saying that as far as she could tell Amy Trenhope had no friends, close or otherwise, in London. Lestrade leafed through the folder as she spoke then handed it to Sherlock
"So much for the jilted, angry ninja theory," Anderson snarked. Holmes ignored him scanning the file before handing it to Watson.
"Well, Sherlock? Any ideas?" Lestrade asked.
"Come now, Detective Inspector, it's rather obvious. It's staring you and our diligent Sally here right in the face," the Freak drawled and Sally clenched her teeth so hard they hurt.
"What is?" asked Lestrade in frustration.
"Amy Trenhope didn't move to London to find her future. Temp jobs, three flats in 11 and a half months. No, she's been hiding here. The question is from who? You're looking for a past boyfriend or male acquaintance whose advances were rebuffed. Someone who's been stalking her ever since. Looks like Sergeant Donovan will need to be digging deeper in her background investigations. I here Otley is nice ..."
"Huh, I'll be damned," John said quietly to himself still looking at the folder. Sally had almost forgotten he was in the room.
"Something you wished to add, John?" the Freak turned to face the other man. John looked up, his ear tips flushing red.
"Ah, no, no. It's just ..." he pointed to the file.
"Anything you have to add will certainly exceed all the other contributions currently coming from the room," the detective huffed.
"It's just," John laid Amy Trenhope's case file on Lestrade's desk and pointed to a name. "Alexander Finch-Bancroft, the commanding office of Amy's old unit. I know him."
"You know him? Really?" Lestrade started. "Do you know him well enough to get us access? Maybe to talk with the people she served with?" John blew out a breath.
"I don't know. Maybe. I haven't seen him in a few years but we we're at Sandhurst together, he'd probably help us out," he offered.
Sandhurst, really? Sally guessed it only made sense given what Lestrade had said about him but she was still impressed.
"You? Passed out of Sandhurt?" Anderson scoffed derisively. The Freak rounded but John answered first.
"I was an officer in the Queen's Army, of course I was at Sandhurst," he shot back in a dangerously even, steel-backed voice. Anderson nearly quailed in response. The Freak smiled.
Lestrade jumped back in, "Well, John, if you're willing to give him a call it'd probably be a big help."
The doctor nodded his assent.
/-/-/-/-/-/
The next morning found Sally Donovan driving to the headquarters of the 21st Engineers in the company of John Watson. She had initially thought that the hour-long car ride would past in awkward silence and was surprised to discover that John Watson was good company. He started by playing navigator with a paper map.
"I've never been to this base. Actually, I rarely get out that way at all but it looks like it's not far off the M3."
Sally just shot him a sideways glance and pushed the button that turned on the GPS in the center console of the unmarked police car.
"Well, that works, too." he said with a good-natured smile.
They chatted about the victim and some of the other cases that Lestrade's team was working on. John noted an advert for the new Iron Man 2 movie and commented that he'd like to see it. Sally had already seen it and gave him a spoiler-free review. They got stuck in traffic for a while and John passed the time by making outrageous, Freak-style deductions about their fellow motorist. Sally nearly snorted coffee out her nose at the one about burly tattoo-covered lorry driver. Impotent, mama's boy with a fetish for painted toe nails.
/-/-/-/-/-/
Major Alexander Finch-Bancroft came out to meet them personally when they finally arrived at the reception desk.
"Watson! How the devil are you?" he boomed in greeting shaking John's hand and clapping him on the shoulder.
"Good, Xander. I'm good," John answered with a smile.
"Well, I'm glad. Delighted, actually. You sure know how to put us all through the wringer, don't you?" Finch-Bancroft said, smile flickering.
"Yeah." John's smile faded altogether and he looked down.
"So, how can we help you here today?" the major pressed on rather too brightly.
"Ah, right. I'd like to introduce Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan of New Scotland Yard. Sally, this Major Alexander Finch-Bancroft, Commander, Bravo Company, 21st Engineers."
"Pleasure to meet you," Sally offered shaking the major's hand.
"As I said on the phone, the Met is investigating the death of one of your former enlisted soldiers, Amy Trenhope," John continued.
"Dreadful, that. We hadn't heard," the Major said shaking his head and looking genuinely distressed.
"Yes. Well, Sergeant Donovan would like to talk to anyone who might have known her. Is that something that could be arranged?" John had slipped into parade rest.
"Certainly." Finch-Bancroft turned to address a young Lieutenant sitting at a desk behind him.
"Blakely." The young man quickly stood and joined their group.
"Blakely, escort Captain Watson and Sergeant Donovan to the conference room. See that they have whatever they need. Use Farrell and Spinney if needed"
"Yes sir," the lieutenant answered crisply and eyed John. "If you'd follow me, sir," he added talking to John.
The major was true to his word. Lt. Blakely set them up in the medium-sized conference room down the hall from reception. He and Sergeant Farrell supplied them with a list of all members of Trenhope's unit who were still serving and on-base. They also helped prioritize the list as to who was likely to have known her best. The short list consisted of nine names. Blakely summoned each in turn and Sally and John interviewed them.
None of the nine soldiers matched the expected profile but they did provide names of additional friends and acquaintances both in and out of the army. Three of them mentioned the same possible boyfriend. Apparently, Amy had become involved with a Canadian soldier, named McKay, while she was stationed in Vancouver. One of the female soldiers described the man as "handsome and very fit but a bit creepy, if you know what I mean". Blakely didn't have any information on the man but Farrell was able to chase down the contact information for the commanding officer of the Canadian unit to which Amy had been attached. It was a long shot but this McKay and the other names were a lot more than Sally had had yesterday.
Sally had noticed throughout the day that everyone treated John not only with the respect that his rank was due but also with additional deference. From the moment they had arrived on base John had slipped effortlessly into his military persona. He didn't wear a uniform or give any orders but he didn't have to. He was in his element here and there was no mistaking it. She thought of how he was treated, how she treated him, at crime scenes, usually shunted to the side or ignored until the Freak called on him. She looked across the room. He was talking with Finch-Bancroft, Blakely and two other officers, smiling and laughing. The way he fit so well here made her wonder, even more, what the hell he was doing with the Freak.
/-/-/-/-/-/
It was nearly 6 pm by the time they returned to New Scotland Yard and briefed Lestrade. Thankfully the Freak wasn't there. Lestrade was impressed and thanked John again. John gave them a warm, slightly self-conscious smile before heading back to Baker St. Despite the hour Sally launched herself into following up on the Canadian soldier. It was only 10 am in Vancouver, after all. By midnight Donovan had her chief suspect. Garth McKay was a master corporal with the Canadian Special Operational Forces Command who was currently listed as AWOL. A member of an elite SOF team, he had been demoted from sergeant last year because of an incident during a hand-to-hand combat exercise where he put another soldier in hospital. Martial arts training and anger management issues. God, she hated it when the Freak was right.
The next morning Lestrade authorized Sally to conduct a facial recognition search on flights from Vancouver. The following afternoon they had a hit. Garth McKay had arrived at Heathrow seven weeks ago. He was traveling under the name Seth McMann. Although they had a name, a face, an entry date, and a dead girlfriend they had nothing on his current whereabouts. Enter the Freak. Within an afternoon he had deduced five possible bolt holes. McKay was found in the four, a grimy 3rd floor walk-up at the end of a warren of alleys in Edmonton. He did not come quietly. The stand-off lasted three hours and ended when a Met SFO team stormed the flat taking McKay out with a glue gun and a taser.
/-/-/-/-/-/
"So how long were you in for?" Sally asked John casually as they stood waiting while additional officers arrived to help mop up the area.
"Almost 18 years," John replied.
"Really?" Sally was surprised.
"Mm, hmm. Enlisted after secondary school. How about you? How long have you been with the Met?" John asked with an interested smile.
"Me? Eleven and a half years. Started right after school, too. " John nodded.
"You're a doctor, though. You went to medical school?" Sally asked the tenacious bull dog in her starting to come out.
"And you made detective sergeant from constable," John said deflecting good-naturedly before relenting. "The army sent me to Bart's. How'd it work for you?"
"I went to uni part-time on the side," Donovan answered undistracted.
"The army sent you? You mean a cadetship?"
"Yup." John nodded again.
Lestrade and the Freak had now joined them but Sally and John continued their conversation as they all made their way out toward the main street.
"Then Sandhurst? When did you get your commission?"
"August 25th, 2000." John said idly and Sally nodded. Sherlock smiled to himself. He was right. He'd deduced that John had been commissioned in 2000.
"So were you stationed here or overseas or what?" Sally continued.
"A mix but I've done seven tours overseas and plus a NATO exchange to America."
Sally was genuinely impressed. She shook her head and smiled as they approached the entrance to the alley. Her next question was born of innocent curiosity like all the others. It was never meant to be cutting but that did not dull its bite.
"So why'd you give it up?"
The effect was immediate. Lestrade froze mid-step quickly casting glances between her and John. If his non-verbal message was unclear, the Freak's was not. His translucent blue-green eyes shot daggers at her. It was John, who looked like he had just been punched, who spoke first.
"Um. Ready?" he said quietly to the Freak hooking a thumb toward the street.
"More than," Holmes said coldly, his eyes still boring into her. He turned and swept toward the street. John followed.
"Call me, Lestrade," the Freak called over his shoulder as a cab slowed in front of them allowing John to enter the cab first. When the cab had disappeared around the corner, Sally turned to Lestrade,
"What the bloody hell was that about, then?" she asked sharply but Lestrade could see her confusion and concern under the bluster. Lestrade looked at his DS and then around at the other officers who were still working the scene. He then looked back in the direction of the corner for several seconds before he spoke.
"Take a walk with me, Sally."
/-/-/-/-/-/
A/N – OK, this was really hard to write. I felt the case had to be in there but writing the case was really tough. I hope it works and Sally stayed in character. As you've probably noticed the chapter's are not strictly chronological. The some of them kind of overlap. I hope it's not too confusing.
Please read and review ...
Not beta'd or Brit picked.
I own nothing.