Chapter 16: Nothing But Smoke!
After my brief talk with Doctor Alansby, I left him in silence to consider my words of encouragement. This level of darkness was all new to him, and like so many before him, he would now have to find a way to make his peace with the horror he was now seeing up close. It didn't take us long until we were back at Scotland Yard. We left further discussions and ruminations about the difficulties of criminal investigations behind, as we went inside to find any of our colleagues to report to. To my surprise Holmes and Lestrade were talking in the inspector's office. The sight of them cheered Alansby immediately. "Good evening, sirs," he said, with a note of excitement in his voice. "We have significant news to report!" Holmes took a closer look at Alansby' s face, and in his own way could tell that our report was not going to be trivial. A quick glance at me, and my answering nod, had him leaping up to find if Gregson and Sergeant Thomas were in the building. "If Mercer is around, we will need him too," I called after Holmes. This was a report that needed as many of the team members as Holmes could bring together.
Luck of sorts was still with us, as ten minutes later found Holmes, Lestrade, Gregson, Thomas, Radisson, Bradstreet, and Mercer ready to meet and eager for our news. Considering the size of our sudden meeting, Radisson commandeered a conference room, and a large pot of tea.
"We made some significant headway with our institutional outreach today. Dr. Sears and I made the rounds to most of the places we wanted to approach," said Holmes. "I was just updating Lestrade and feeling like I had a productive day. But one look at both of you tells us all that you may have caught bigger fish today. Tell us everything!"
And we did. I took the lead, describing our meeting with the Gartlones in detail. Alansby then reported the data he had recovered from his private conversation with Mr. Gartlone. Finally, I brought out the business card and the pills I had recovered. Holmes and Mercer immediately seized the pills and spread them out on a piece of writing paper for everyone to see. As a group we all leaned in closer to have a look.
"Well done, gentlemen! So well done!" said Lestrade, a wicked grin on his face. He straightened up and did a few dancing steps, full of glee. "At last, we have the bastard!"
"Not so fast there," cautioned Gregson. "We have to reel the fish in before we heat up the skillet. But still…" He grinned at Lestrade, the two onetime competitors sharing a rare moment of genuine warmth.
Bradstreet alone did not look happy, and I well knew why. "How many cases is this Martin Bay involved in. Three terrible deaths and now this! He presented as a historian, student, and a scholarly type to our three businessmen. Now he's a chemist. Who is this man?"
His outburst swept aside much of the elation in the room, as the consequences of what he said became clear to everyone. Gregson was right: we had a lead, but we urgently needed to bring this man to book – and soon.
As usual, it was Hollmes who took the lead. "Bradstreet, you are right, as is Gregson. We need this man in a cell within hours if possible." He smiled briefly. "I am leaving the capture of this whale up to you inspectors," said Holmes. Mercer and I have bigger fish to fry." He gave a short bark of laughter, which everyone in the room shared, relieving the tension.
"You did us proud, gentlemen," Holmes said, giving me a warm smile, and a handshake to Alansby. "We have a name, a connection between numerous cases, a location, and some actual medical evidence." He gave the pills, now back in their envelope, a little shake, not able to contain his excitement.
"Mrs. Kendell did a good job making those," said Radisson, a remark which produced a roar of laughter from everyone.
"Kendell's Chemist Shop," said Lestrade, prolonging the laughter.
I could only agree. "She did indeed! Her memory served her very well. She got them down exactly. We owe her a debt of gratitude."
"Speaking of whales and fishes, we owe the Gartlones a heap of... something. Our poor fish and chips man really came through for us. If we take this Martin Bay, it's on them," said Gregson. He turned to Lestrade and Radisson. "I don't want to wait on this. I say we go to this address right now. If it's just a place of business, let's put a close watch on it. I want Bay, his colleagues, customers, clients, the whole damned lot of them. I want his mother if he has one!"
"You'll get no argument from me," said Lestrade. He got up shook my hand, and clapped Alansby on the back. "You earned your shilling for the day both of you. We on our side have work to do. We'll round up some constables and set our plans in motion. Sergeant Thomas, are you coming?"
The young sergeant leapt to his feet. "Seriously inspector? I wouldn't miss this for a hat full of gold sovereigns! I will ask Constable Roberts to schedule an artist to visit Mr. Gartlone tomorrow morning, then I'll meet you in the lobby. May I suggest you collar Hobbs and Keller? They're good constable lads, still on duty."
The room quickly emptied, leaving Mercer, Holmes, and Alansby behind with me. "I don't suppose I will see you at Baker Street for dinner, Holmes," I said.
"No, you won't!" This from Holmes and Mercer in unison. Alansby and I burst out laughing. "Lord, it's like Christmas and a new toy with these two!" exclaimed Alansby. "But I suppose their excitement is more than justified."
I clapped Holmes on the back. "Good luck with this. I will leave you both to play in the lab. I am heading home to Baker Street for Mrs. Hudson's dinner. Bob, you are welcome to join me. Don't want to see Martha Hudson's good food go to waste, do you? Alansby readily accepted, and after telling Holmes that I would have Mrs. Hudson leave him out a plate of sandwiches and some beer for later, assuming he got home before morning, Bob and I left for a congenial ride back to Baker Street.
Mrs. Hudson was all too happy to have an unexpected, appreciative substitute for Holmes, which was far better than having her culinary efforts go to waste. We had an excellent roasted chicken, mixed vegetables, and mashed potatoes, along with one of my favorite white wines, and a blueberry tart, which was one of Mrs. Hudson's best. I consoled myself with the thought that everyone would take a win tonight. Young Alansby with a wonderful meal, Mrs. Hudson with a chance to show off, Holmes with a satisfied landlady - and even a piece of the tart included with his sandwiches.
The following morning, I came down to breakfast to find Holmes finishing his breakfast and almost ready to head back to the lab. "Before you ask, Watson, it was an interesting evening, but I have no stunning breakthroughs to report yet, except to say that there appears to be very complex blend of vegetable alkaloids, with at least some similarity to the types found in the one pill that we looked at in the railway cases earlier in the year. That's a fact we find both reassuring and disturbing in equal measure. Also note that I haven't heard from anyone at the Yard yet. I've already told Mrs. Hudson to just leave me sandwiches again, as I expect a long day, stretching into the evening. If something significant happens, I'll have words sent to Barts - it is Barts today?" When I affirmed it was where I would be, he grabbed the last of his toast, stuffed two hardboiled eggs in his pocket, gulped the last of his coffee, and left.
As I was not so pressed, I enjoyed a far more leisurely breakfast, taking the time to properly pursue the Times. Try as I might, I found concentration difficult. If luck went our way, today would be a very significant day. We might even have a vast portion of this incredible series of cases wrapped up within the next twenty-four hours. I could not help but look back at the long and complex chain of events that started back in February – events that started considerably earlier than that, almost a year ago, if our understanding was correct. At least that was when several poor God forsaken young women had started meeting their deaths under trains or in railyards. As a medical man, I knew death all too well, yet even for me all these deaths filled me with unrelenting horror. More than once in the long months previously, I had woken in the middle of the night, desperately trying to prevent young women from meeting such a violent end. God willing, they would get some justice at last. How were they related to Martin Bay? We did not know, but some obscure connection seemed likely.
My day at Barts was largely uneventful, except for dealing with multiple injuries resulting from a warehouse accident down at the docks. At least I had a distraction, as otherwise the day would have felt unending. At any moment, I expected a message, telegram, or runner from the Yard: something, anything, telling me of progress, capture or at least the current status. I enjoyed my work as a physician, and I normally didn't envy the work Holmes did when I was otherwise engaged. Certainly, I never envied the rough daily slog that was the lot of a Scotland Yard inspector, even as I often participated in it, and shared their perils and difficulties. Today was different. My mind was on the investigation with Holmes in the lab, and with Lestrade, Gregson, Bradstreet, and Thomas as they worked to capture a man I already considered to be at least the equal of Moriarty in depravity. No message came. When my shift ended, I took a cab to Scotland Yard, determined to satisfy my curiosity.
Nobody actively associated with the case was available at the Yard. Rather than coming up empty, I cornered one of the senior sergeants, the type who always knew what was going on, perhaps even more than the inspectors. Sergeant Otis gave me a sigh and a mournful look. "Just as well they aren't here to talk to you, doctor. Lestrade, Radisson, Thomas, Bradstreet - the lot of them are in a right sour mood, sure enough. The crib they were watching came up empty with the birds all long flown and gone. Gregson sent for Holmes. He went over to give the place a close, hard look, in that way he does. As best I know, the place has been empty for several weeks. Meanwhile, the police artist got a good likeness of this Mr. Bay they're all looking for. Copies are being made and circulated. Everything that can be done is being done. No stone will be left uncovered, I assure you. However, it's not looking very good right now. I don't know what else to tell you. I suggest you leave a message. I'll make sure it's "sent on."
To say I was stunned at the turn of events would be an understatement. It seemed that we were on the verge of closing this case and bringing some long-delayed justice to the victims. I was crushed, angry, defeated, and felt like a fool for expecting too much. After years of working with Holmes, I knew better than to presume too much too early. Success, real success came with a confession, capture, conviction, a death or perhaps all the above. Yes, we made some progress yesterday but that didn't mean the case was coming to a close. I cursed my unfounded optimism, even as I left a note for the inspectors and another for Holmes, letting them know I had stopped by, and offering my help in any way they needed.
My cab ride back to baker Street was the worst cab ride since the day I buried my poor Mary. The city looked dark, bleak, and somehow shabby, filled with hidden, unexpected jagged edges, which most people completely ignored, but I could not. Dinner back at Baker Street was a lonely affair Mrs. Hudson gently asked about my day, as she could see I was deeply troubled. Since she knew about the case in some detail already, I filled her in on the latest details - warning her that Holmes would most likely not take this set back well.
My prediction proved to be accurate. Holmes came in shortly after 11:00 PM looking pale and exhausted. He climbed the stairs with a slow, heavy tread, as if he was carrying a large sack of coal up all seventeen steps. He murmured a few words to Mrs. Hudson at the front door: some light dinner perhaps? I couldn't hear. He didn't say anything at first - just giving me a long look and finally a slight negative shake of his head.
"You got my note," I said. It wasn't a question. "I heard, at least, the state of the affairs at the time I asked."
"Yes, thank you for that, Watson," he said at last. They were the first words he had spoken since he came in. By now, after so many years together such entrances had long since ceased to bother me, and he knew it. It wasn't even a point of pride anymore, but rather an established element of our close friendship. I knew he was feeling miserable - and he knew that his feelings were understood and shared. It was enough. He didn't need to attempt any polite niceties.
"Is Mrs. Hudson bringing up anything? Can I send down for something?" I asked. "She's bringing up some soup and bread, I think," said Holmes tiredly. I left the room and went downstairs to Mrs. Hudson. I told her I would help her bring up the food, and in a moment of inspiration told her to bring the setting for two. I knew Holmes was exhausted but likely would not eat much if left to eat alone, even if he was starving. Mrs. Hudson immediately understood and approved. A hearty chicken soup, bread, cheese, and some apples were soon ready, along with some sweet peppermint tea - something that Holmes and I had both come to appreciate in recent years. I wordlessly laid out the table settings, served up the food, and then sat down at the table with nothing more than a, "Come sit and eat." Holmes said nothing, but he came anyway without any reluctance. I would take this as a small victory, as in the past he would have refused to eat at all. We ate in silence.
"No need to read the evening papers, at least not for anything of importance," I said after Holmes was well along on his second bowl of soup. He had already eaten a fair portion of the bread and cheese. After a long pause, Holmes replied with a, "It's Just as well. I don't have the heart or energy."
"It wasn't until Holmes had pushed back his bowl and was focusing on alternating cheese and apple slices that I tentatively put forward a question. "Did the sketch artist from the Yard get anything we can use? I heard he met with Mr. Gartlone."
"It was a she, one Nancy Carrington. She's an up and comer, specially chosen because she has success with children and women who have been attacked, along with people who are somewhat fragile. Apparently, she outdid herself, and Gartlone did his damnedest to rise to the occasion. Copies are in the hands of people in the right places all over the city, although it's been months after all for some people who may have seen him. McAdams at The Pheasant and Quail gave us a positive confirmation…" Holmes trailed off and gave me a long hard stare. It took a moment before it hit me. It was further conformation.
"Blast and damn!" I exclaimed. "Damn that wretched bastard to hell!" I paused, momentarily overwhelmed. "We have not only got a villain, we now have direct linkage between two entirely different series of cases!" Holmes just studied my reaction, then nodded slowly, satisfied that nothing more need be explained. The silence hung heavily between us, no sound in the room except a pop from the coal in the grate.
It was Holmes who broke the silence. "Watson, I am glad you are here for this," he said quietly. "This is truly a case I would not care to go through alone. I thought I had seen evil, plumbed the depths of the hearts of men, seen it all with Moriarty. It's humbling even a bit heartbreaking to learn how utterly wrong I was. This is something far beyond what the professor would do or even conceive of. There are certain barriers that even the worst of men will not go beyond. This is… new and unexplored territory. For me, you, the Yard, for all of us. Even the Ripper in his madness, for all his hideous violence, whoever he is or was, acted out of madness, a broken mind, a shattered soul as it were. This is, this is organized, calculated, intelligent, and ever so well planned and executed. Almost certainly we are looking at a substantial team or teams of men behind all of this. Watson, think of it! Teams of men sat down over tea, coffee, brandy, and likely some fine food, and methodically planned all of this. All of this." Holmes stopped, and finally broke his locked gaze with me, turning to stare into the fire. After a long pause, he said softly, "I am sorry Watson. Sorry that you too are burdened with this unfathomable horror."
"This isn't your doing, Holmes. We wouldn't be here, so far along, if it wasn't for your persistence. Who else would be driving the investigation of this entire monstrosity forward if you weren't leaning on it so hard? I am only happy I can help you in this noble effort. Lord knows it had to be done – has to be done. Must continue until the culprit or culprits are caught. Violent death, multiple deaths, and unimaginable suffering: they all demand no less!"
"Can you truly help me, Watson?" Holmes gave a short bitter laugh. "I have done little in all this time to cover myself in glory. You don't see it my friend, noble soul that you are, but most of the key clues and breakthroughs so far have been far more your doing than mine. You, guiding and marshaling your contacts, your esteemed medical colleagues, pulled this out of the darkness of the asylums and finally gave voice to the helpless and neglected. Your Mrs. Kendell and Mr. Gartlone have done far more than I have done so far. They also provided the clues that led to a likely connection to the three dead business associates. It pains me to say it, but I have been little more than a blind mole, providing little but the rallying cry to move forward. My personal history and success here so far is, 'a day late and a shilling short.' I appear to constantly arrive on the scene too late to impact the outcome, unable to do much beyond gathering the facts long after the deed was done."
"We have a name. We have a face, Holmes," I said gently. "We are still playing catch up it's true, but we know considerably more than we did. We have become something more than observers - we are now the hunters!"
"Hunters, yes. Good old Watson!" Said Holmes with a tired smile. "You are forever the voice of hope and optimism. You may not know the value of that, but I assure you that it's not just me who takes strength from that. Our good friends on the force have leaned on you in the past. Some people cast a long shadow, but you shine a bright light, my friend!"
I hardly knew what to say to such unexpected praise. I stammered out a few words of thanks, ultimately deciding to deal with my awkwardness by pouring us both a scotch from the sideboard. After providing us both a generous measure, I sat back down and accepted some cut apple and cheese from Holmes. "It's a dark night now Holmes, but we will get through this case eventually. We have real leads at last, and we have our reliable competent team. I also notice, and I know that you do too, that there's been no other recent deaths, railway happenings, or strange unexplainable events at the local asylums. It's possible that our actions have driven this evil fiend to ground, but people have stopped dying or entering the hospitals suffering from unknown horrors!"
"That's true, Watson, and yes, it's a positive outcome of sorts. But it also means that a considerable backlog of crimes has gone unsolved and unaccounted for, with a criminal or criminals now hiding underground. Besides, it's also possible, likely even, that our criminals hurt or even killed others we know nothing of. Or perhaps they have just pulled up stakes and moved on looking for fresher opportunities. We must find them Watson, starting with Bay!"
"Tomorrow is another day, Holmes. Scotland Yard has many people out looking for Martin Bay. If he's in London, he won't stay hidden for long." I paused, thinking for a moment. "What about the irregulars Holmes? They have often found even the most carefully hidden miscreants in the past."
Holmes gave me a tight smile. "I'm already on it, Watson. The Yard will have a constable drop off a pile of Martin Bay sketches in the morning. I am going to turn out every single one of the irregulars. This time I won't even be paying for it. The inspectors have already assured me that whatever relatively small cost involved will be paid without complaint." He smiled thinly. "I am knocked down my friend, but I am not out of the fight yet!"
We finished our drinks, and gathered up our dishes bringing them down to Mrs. Hudson. Somewhat recovered in both body and mind, we bid each other good night and agreed that tomorrow would be a new and possibly better day when luck could turn our way.
The next morning saw us both up early, with Holmes already well along in his breakfast, and the morning papers. "I expect it will be a long day again, Watson. Mrs. Hudson has agreed to provide a similar late-night meal for me tonight, and has even made me a lunch - two beef sandwiches, which are waiting for me on the hall table. I don't know what you told that good woman, but she's jumping out of her skin to be helpful. She's a treasure Watson!"
"She's all that right enough, old man. If you need me just send a note along to Doctor Clemens, care of Doctor Watson. It will find me. Otherwise, I will come here tonight right after work, standing by. Count on me here sometime after 7:00 PM. I'm your man, Holmes. Just call!"
"Good old fellow!" Said Holmes with feeling. "As soon as my Martin Bay prints arrive from the Yard, I'll be off to hunt up the boys. This time I am going to bring the work to… there's the bell, Watson. One last bite of toast, Mrs. Hudson's coffee, my sandwiches, and I'm off! Once more unto the breach, dear friend, once more!"
"Beware of French tennis balls!" I called after him. I was forever astonished at how fast Holmes could pick up and leave in the morning, or anytime. I just hoped he left a few prints behind, for both our records. I started in on juice and coffee, even as Mrs. Hudson came back with refills on everything, including the eggs and bacon. I pursued the morning Times determined to see if any story at all matched the odd, unusual elements of our current cases. Holmes might not have the time to look, but I did…
My day at Barts was somewhat busier than normal, which suited me very well indeed. I needed the distraction to keep me from wondering what type of progress the team was making. I came straight back to Baker Street that evening, and upon hearing that there was no news to report, determined to eat lightly, to more readily share a light late evening meal when Holmes walked in tired cold and hungry. It was a long dreary night sitting idly waiting for news, and it weighed poorly on me, especially as 11:00 PM and then 11:30 PM came and went, along with a heavy rainstorm. It wasn't until 11:45 PM that I heard a lone cab pull up outside our door - followed by the front door opening and closing. I could hear the soft voices of Mrs. Hudson asking Holmes a question, likely about his supper, then his slow, weary tread on the stairs. I didn't need Holmes' deductive skills to know it had been a day of failure and frustration. A wet, weary Holmes came in still wet even after leaving his overcoat on the rack downstairs.
"Holmes?"
"Before you ask Watson: Not a damn thing! We're no closer to finding Martin Bay than we were when we had no photo or sketch. We chased him down everywhere. The few places that knew of him couldn't tell us where he was, except he had left with no forwarding address. It would seem he did so right after his three drinking friends met their deaths, or soon thereafter. We did find that he wasn't alone. He had three regular compatriots, and occasionally a fourth. The three companions (two men and one woman) seemed to live and work together, at least some of the time, with the woman posing as the wife of one of the men, who passed himself off as a doctor while the third man was a chemist. It confirms our worst fears: that this was a well organized conspiracy involving a team of criminals. Chasing down all possible addresses as leads got us nowhere but a merry chase all day. Some of the addresses were false from the start. Others were legitimate in some way, either as possible lab space, consulting space, living quarters - or all of the above. After hours of chasing ourselves, we got a forwarding address in northwest Edinburgh. A telegram to the local police force shows the designated location is a music store! Needless to say, they never heard of Martin Bay! Our bird, all the birds, have flown!"
"So, we seem to have no real leads at all Holmes?" I asked.
"Leads, Watson? We currently have nothing - nothing but smoke! We are but late travelers, never able to keep up, never able to catch the train on time! By the time we arrive, out of breath, heavy travel bags in hand, the platform is empty, our train is long gone, and all we have is a rising, fast dissipating plume of smoke and steam. If it wasn't for the few wisps remaining, we would hardly have any evidence at all that our train had ever come and gone!"
"What's to be done, Holmes? Do we have any hope for leads at all?"
"Very few worth pursuing, I'm afraid, Watson. The irregulars are working hard, and they haven't exhausted all the local options. Still, because we have no timely recent leads, I expect we will ultimately determine that Martin Bay and his three to four nameless companions have long ago fled London. Lord knows if they're even to be found in Great Britain by now!"
Mrs. Hudson brought Holmes a lamb stew, with cheese, bread, and late season grapes. I sat with him and ate lightly of the bread and cheese. We followed the pattern of the night before: quietly reviewing the case, sifting the little data we had for meaning, and working hard to keep each other optimistic.
The next few days followed the same daily pattern; early starts, late nights, failure, light food quietly eaten, while hoping for better results tomorrow. The better tomorrows never came.
Eventually, life intervened. As expected, several serious unrelated cases came forward, which not only took Holmes' time, but mine as well. We had to reluctantly accept that life, and work, including other cases and issues, would have to take precedence. We were no less committed to the solution, but we knew it wasn't going to solve itself without a grueling almost endless commitment. The search would continue, but it was going to be a long, lonely quest at best.
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