Ch 2~ The Science of Deduction

Chapter 2~ The Science of Deduction

I looked out the cab window at the rain. Rain in London was different than in New Orleans.

“So, um, Sherlock, have you ever been to England before?” Jeff asked. I turned my head towards him.

“No, but I’ve read about it. It seems like an interesting place to live. Have you ever been to America?”

He shook his head. I smiled out of the corner of my mouth as my phone buzzed.

“Hey, Em.’ I said, holding the cellular to my ear.

“Is he cute?” Emily asked excitedly.

I glanced over at Jeff, who was looking out the window. “Eh, kinda.”

“So how’s London? Is it as cool as they make it seem in the movies?”

“It’s definitely not New Orleans, but it’ll do.” I answered, smirking.

“Does…does he, like, know?” Emily asked, almost shyly.

“No. It’s not important.”

“Yeah, Locky, it kinda is!”

“Don’t call me that. And no, it’s not. I can handle it myself.”

“But you said he’s a doctor.”

“Yes?”

“So maybe he can find a-”

“No. He can’t. I’m fine, Em. I don’t need a-”

“Listen, Sherlock. You have a rare and serious disease. He needs to know if he’s going to be taking care of you.”

“He’s not. I am.”

“But you’re staying in his apartment.”

“Flat, actually.”

“What. Ever. He at least has a right to know.”

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“So, it’s in Central London, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Where in Central London? I’m trying to look it up online and it’s really confusing.”

“Houndsditch.”

There was a pause.

“In City of London.”

Another pause.

“Which is in London.”

“Whaaaaaaaat?”

I sighed. I loved Emily, but she was dense at times. “Think of it like New Orleans and how we have parishes. The French Quarter is at the heart of the city because that’s where it was originally settled.”

“Okay?”

“The City of London is like the French Quarter in that that’s where it was originally settled. It’s a small part of Central London, basically like downtown.”

“Rrrrriiiiiiight.”

“Houndsditch is a street by Jubilee Garden, which is in the City of London.”

“Ooooookay, I think I get it now.”

“Listen, I’ll talk to you later. I need to go.”

“Ugh, alright. Send me a picture of Mr. Cutie.”

“He has a girlfriend.”

“Ugh! Send one anyway!”

I chuckled. “Alright. Bye, Em.”

“Bye, Locky! Good luck, love you!”

I pressed “call end” and slipped the IPhone back into my pocket.

“Friend from home?” Jeff asked. He was actually a bit cute, I suppose, now looking at him. He had hair the color of dirty dish water, nice and neat. He was only slightly tan and had kind blue eyes. He wore black slacks and a white button down, rolled up to his elbows. His shoes were new, with only one scuff on the right toe, and he had dimples that only showed when he smiled.

“Like a sister. I spent more time at her house than I did at my own.” I laughed. “She wants me to take pictures of everything. She even gave me a list of all the things I have to do.”

“Such as?”

“Going on the Eye of London, visiting Hyde Park, going to Harrods, Tiffany’s, Tower of London, taking the Underground. It was the same list we made for Art when he first came over four years ago.” I swallowed a lump in my throat.

“I remember that. I took all the pictures.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, he said that his crazy sister and her friend had made a list of things he had to do while in London and send proof or you guys would shave his head while he was sleeping next time he visited home.” he said, laughing.

“I remember that! I never even thought about who was taking the stupid pictures!” I said, barely containing my own insane laughter. “I still have them, too. They’re packed up in one of my suitcases.”

Jeff’s laughter faded as we pulled up to an intersection roped off with police tape. A short woman with unruly blonde hair tucked up under a cap greeted us as we stepped out of the car. At a glance I knew those square-toed shoes she was wearing her not originally hers and that she’d taken the plaid cap from one of her male coworkers.

“Who’s the kid?” she asked as I joined Jeff beside her.

“My name is Sherlock Molyneux and I am not a child.” I said, sticking out my chin. I was taller than her, for Pete’s sake!

“No unauthorized personal on a crime scene, Miss.” the woman said, holding up her hand to me. Jeff looked at me, not sure what to do.

I looked the woman up and down as he said “Jen, it’s okay. She’s with me. I-”

“Jen?” I asked. “I would assume it’s short for Jennifer. And so, Jennifer, since you think I’m a child I see I must prove myself worthy of this case. Double murder, eh? I can handle that. Is it bloody? Gutsy, gorey? I can handle that as well. My brother was a forensic scientist, perhaps you knew him. His name was Arthur a Molyneux, good friend of Jeff’s here. But enough about me. What about you? I can see that you were not the original owner of those horrid shoes of yours. But why, love, would such a sophisticated woman as yourself be doing wearing hand-me-down shoes? Simple. Because of the mud on them, I would assume you’ve been out here for quite some time, seeing as the rain was only slight, but it was a very long rain, wasn‘t it? I would say that you didn’t expect to be called out of the office on a double murder case and had worn less comfortable shoes to work- heals, perhaps?- and borrowed some, possibly a pair stashed in your car, because you knew you’d be on your feet. The cap also isn’t yours. I surmise you pilfered it from a male friend to hide that frizzy hair, probably from the humidity from the rain. You’re a pretty girl with an ample pay check, surely- you’d be able to afford to fix frizzy hair, but this darn English weather can be so unpredictable, can’t it?- So you opted to cover it up. However, your mascara is water-proof, which undoubtedly you’re very thankful for with this blasted rain. I would be, too, if I were in your position. Alas, I’m just a kid. I could never be as smart or as quick-witted as you.” My voice dripped with sarcasm. “But, although it’s water-proof, the mascara is a bit old, judging by the clumps at the tips of the lashes. You’re in a squick of a tight spot, financially. Trouble with the hubby, perhaps? There’s an area of pale skin around your left ring finger, where your ring went, but you’re arguing or worse, judging by the dark circles under your eyes. I do hope that works out for you, love. Now, may I proceed? I’d like to stay with my companion here.”

Jeff smiled and Jennifer just looked at me. She glanced at Jeff, who shrugged.

“And judging by the urgency in the inspector’s voice, Mr. Parker is needed immediately, so I will thank you kindly for letting us pass.” I added and stepped by her, Jeffery trailing behind. He ran a few steps to catch up with me and chuckled.

“How did you know about the shoes?” he asked.

“It’s the science of deduction, Parker, you really should research it. It’s the method my namesake used. I suppose it’s in my blood, then.” I smiled up at him.

“That was…brilliant, Sherlock. Absolutely brilliant.”

I wasn’t used to praise like that. I pressed my lips together and looked down at my hands, slightly uncomfortable.

Jeff led me into a tall, thin building and up a set of stairs, where a serious looking man with salt and pepper hair caught him by the elbow and hissed something in his ear, jerking his chin towards me. Jeff whispered something back and the man, the inspector, I guessed, let him go and threw his hands up, muttering something in Gaelic that sounded like a cross between a curse and a prayer. An Irishman, then? He looked at me and said “Come on, then.” in a gruff voice and I followed after Jeff, to the third floor. A body of a young man, about thirty, lay face up in the center of the room. There wasn’t any furniture in the room, just the body.

“We need you to determine cause of death.” the man said and Jeff nodded, kneeling beside the body.

As I looked at the man, I saw his hand was thrown over his head in an odd way. His legs were almost straight and his other arm, the left one, was out to his side. His eyes were open and his mouth agape in a silent scream that he probably never uttered. A trail of blood led from the right hand to the far wall, the darkest part of the room.

Keeping close to the walls as I could, and as far away from the body, I made my way over to the far wall and followed the blood trail with my finger, leading up the wall, where something was written, but I couldn’t see in the dim light.

“May I have a flashlight, please?” I asked over my shoulder.

“A what?” the inspector asked.

“She means a torch, Inspector McDaniel.” Parker said from his spot on the floor. He was currently examining the face, pulling back the eyelids and shinning a little flashlight down the man’s throat.

McDaniel handed me a cold, plain, silver “torch,” which I shinned on the spot on the wall.

“Rache.” I read aloud.

“What?” McDaniel asked, standing behind me.

“It says rache, Inspector. Are you familiar with German at all?” I asked, turning to face him. He shook his head. “I thought not. No, you’re more of a Gaelic type of man. Irish heritage, maybe? Not the point. Anyway, R-A-C-H-E spells rache, which means ‘revenge.’ And, look, it was-”

“It was written in blood.” interrupted McDaniel. Jeff stood up and came to stand beside me.

“Actually, it was scratched into the wood.” I shinned the flashlight on the R. “See? The cut is jagged on the down stroke. It was carved with the nail on the pointer finger.” I moved to the A. “It’s not until the end of the R we see the blood. Whoever scratched it in was doing so very quickly and messily, so the fingernail was beginning to bleed.” I looked down at the floorboard and shinned the light down at my feet. A red, ripped and torn fingernail lay in a small pool of blood.

McDaniel picked it up with a pair of tweezers he produced from the inside pocket of his jacket and put it in an evidence bag.

I stepped between the two of them, shinning the light on the blood trail, following it to the victim’s right hand. I looked up at Jeff.

“Look at his right hand for me, would you?” I asked and he knelt down, picking up the hand by the wrist. The rubber of his gloves squeaked as his fingers rubbed together, tightening around the hand.

“It’s bruised.” he said, turning the hand over to look at the knuckles. “And he’s missing a pointer finger nail.” I looked over his shoulder, at the bloody forefinger and grimaced at the thought of how much that probably hurt. I’d had toenails been ripped off from Pointe, but never a fingernail and never like that. “And there’s bruises on his other hand, too.” Jeff added, looking up at me, then at the inspector.

“So, it would seem that our poor fellow here was forced to scribble the word into the wood of the wall and then stumbled here, where he collapsed and died.” I said, flicking off the flashlight.

“His feet are pointed in that direction.” agreed McDaniel, taking the device from me.

“So what’s the cause of death? We couldn’t find any bullet or knife wound.”

“Poison. Just like the others.” said Jeff, rising.

“There were others? Wait, where’s the other body?” I asked.

“Around back.” McDaniel said. “There have been three others over a period of about three weeks. This is the first time there’s been two together.”

“I’ll need to see the other body, though, I suspect it’ll be the same.” Parker said to no one in particular.

The Inspector nodded, and waved for him to follow and I trailed after out of the building around the back to a thin, long alley, where a flood light shone on the body of a woman. Her clothes were bloody and her legs were twisted together, her skull cracked open, a halo of blood around her face. The skin on her hands was raw and broken, her knuckles and wrists bruised.

“She was pushed.” I said, stepping under the flood light.

“Obviously.” McDaniel snorted. I glared at him.

“She was pushed from no higher than a fourth story window. See how the skull is only cracked in the back? If she were pushed from a higher distance from the ground, it would have shattered the skull and brains would be everywhere.” I elaborated sarcastically.

“Gross.” muttered Parker, kneeling down next to her.

“Quite.” I agreed, smirking. “But she was quite dead by the time she was pushed over.”

“There’s ligature marks on her throat. So she was strangled, then pushed?” Jeff asked, turning her face to the side to look at the marks on her skin.

“You have been paying attention.” I said quietly. Jeff smirked.

“So now we need to find out who she is and where she was pushed from.” he said, standing. He looked up the side of the building and pointed to a third story window. “There. The window’s open and the curtains are hanging funny. The rod must be broken.”

“Which would have meant the killer tried to push her out the window first, but she struggled.” I narrowed my eyes, looking at the ligature marks. “He strangled her with the cord that pulls up the blinds.”

“And how could you possibly know that?” McDaniel asked, almost mockingly.

I pointed to the poor girl’s neck. “There are two lines. Two things used to strangle her. Two cords.”

“But why two?” Jeff asked, leaning against the wall.

“It’s elementary. Once she realized the man upstairs had been poisoned, she fought against the killer. He tried to get rid of her so she couldn’t contact police. So he killed her and disposed of the body.” I answered, joining him.

“Okay, who are you and what are you doing on my crime scene?” McDaniel asked curtly.

“My name is Sherlock Molyneux. I’m from New Orleans, Louisiana, America.” I replied.

“And what are you doing here?” he almost shouted.

“Why, it would appear I’m solving your case for you, Inspector.” I answered.

Author's Note

And so the plot thickens!
So, obviously by now, you guys know it's based on Sherlock Holmes. I went to see the movie today and it was AMAZING and I'm reading the books, which are equally fantastic. I highly recomend them and suggest reading them for better knowledge of the stuff soon to happen in my little story here :)
Thanks for reading and please review!

Reviews

[Rose of Gondor]

READ!! I love Sherlock Holmes!!!