Sherlock Holmes: The Dark Reckoning (6 page)

Watson nodded his head in agreement, and sat back
comfortably in his chair.

“Come along now, Watson!  There isn’t time for you to relax.
 We need to get to Scotland Yard.”

Watson scowled at Holmes briefly, and stood up to get ready
to leave.

It was a bitterly cold morning, fog hanging in the air and
no hint of sunshine, made for a miserable atmosphere.  Frost lay thick on the
ground, as Holmes and Watson left 221b Baker Street and walked over to a
waiting Hansom cab on the opposite side of the road.

Holmes approached the driver and asked, “Would you be so
kind as to take us to Scotland Yard?”

“Yes, Sir, I’ll take ya wherever ya wanno go,” answered the
cab driver.  The two gentlemen climbed into the small carriage and the driver
shook the reins, instructing the horse to move along.

Holmes rubbed his gloved hands together and remarked, “My
word, Watson, it is bitingly cold this morning.  I believe this freezing fog
will be with us for the entire day.  It’s quite a contrast from yesterday
morning when the sun shone so brightly.”

“Yes, old fellow.  I shall not complain if we are to get
anymore mornings like yesterday during the course of the winter.”

The two men made small talk until the carriage pulled up in Whitehall, opposite the archway leading to Scotland Yard.  They noticed a crowd had
assembled outside of the police station, so quickly disembarked from the
carriage, after Holmes paid the driver.

Holmes turned to Watson and, with some urgency, beckoned,
“Come, Watson!” as he started to run towards the crowd.

Holmes and Watson struggled to fight their way to the front
of the crowd, where they found an area that had been cordoned off.  Several
police officers patrolled the area, preventing anyone from crossing the
barrier.

Holmes caught the attention of one of the officers and said,
“My name is Sherlock Holmes and it is
imperative
that I, and my associate,
speak to Inspector Lestrade.”

“Mr. Holmes, Sir!” exclaimed the officer, recognising the
great detective.  He lifted the tape and continued, “Step under, gentlemen. 
Inspector Lestrade is inside the station.”

“Thank you, Officer,” acknowledged Holmes, as the two men
stepped under the barrier.  As they left the crowd, both men saw a pool of
blood on the pavement under the archway.  Holmes did not stop to look at the
blood, which surprised Watson.  Instead, he made his way straight to the police
station.

As they approached the station, Holmes said, “I often find
myself loathing peoples’ fascination with death.  Look at that crowd, their
insatiable curiosity driving them to look at a pool of blood.”

“You can’t blame people for being curious, Holmes.”

“You are right, Watson.  I think my anger is directed more towards
the fact that such crowds unwittingly obliterate vital evidence from crime
scenes.”

The two men turned into Scotland Yard, climbed the few steps
to the entrance and went inside.  The desk clerk informed them that Inspector
Lestrade was in his office, and suggested that the two of them should go
straight in.  As they made their way to Lestrade’s office, they met him walking
towards them in a corridor.

“Mr. Holmes!  Dr. Watson.  Good morning to you both,” said
the Inspector.

Not acknowledging Lestrade’s greeting, Holmes asked,
“Lestrade, what happened under the archway?”

“We found the body of a young lady.  She has been taken to
the morgue.  I am on my way there now to find out more.  I saw her briefly
before she was taken, but there were too many people around.  As the crowd was
growing larger, and more curious, it was decided to move the body to the morgue
as soon as possible.  Would you gentlemen like to join me?”

“Very well,” replied Holmes.

The three men left the station and walked to the morgue.  On
the way, Holmes took the photograph of Sally Spencer from his pocket.

“Is this the dead girl you found this morning?” he asked,
showing the photograph to Lestrade.

Lestrade stopped, dead in his tracks, as he stared at the
photograph.

He took time before replying, “I think that
is
her. 
I can’t be completely sure though, as her face had been really smashed in.  How
did you know, or suspect, that she could be the victim?”

“I was visited by her sister this morning, who wished to
report her missing.  The police had referred her to me as it has been less than
a day since her sister was last seen.  Prior to her visit, Watson and I had
been discussing the case of Stanley Wood, who was hanged for murder.  The young
lady in that photograph was a witness at his trial, and I fear somebody may
have killed her in a revenge attack.”

“That’s impossible!  It’s a ridiculous assumption to make,
Holmes.  What evidence do you have?” asked Lestrade in a cold tone, whilst shaking
his head.

“Would you still think it so ridiculous if you learned that
Sir Charles Grey was the judge that sentenced Stanley Wood?”

“Errrm.  I… errrm don’t know.  No!  That
still
doesn’t prove anything!” retorted the policeman.

Holmes smiled, as Watson retrieved the two notes from his
pocket and handed them to Lestrade, adding, “Look at these, Inspector.”

Lestrade looked at the notes, with a puzzled expression.  He
didn’t say anything, but looked up quizzically at Holmes.

Holmes took the notes from him and explained, “These were
delivered to me on separate occasions.  This note was delivered a few days ago,
and is how I happened to be near Hyde Park when Sir Charles Grey’s body was
there.  The other note was left last night.  I believe the two to be connected,
as the hand writing shows signs of being written by the same person.  The
reference in the note to the ‘
final curtain
’ could refer to someone in
the theatre.  If I am correct about the identity of the dead girl, she was the
actress, Sally Spencer.”

“Well, that does make sense,” said Lestrade, now beginning
to see how Holmes had arrived at his hypothesis.  “What about the other part of
the note, where it mentions something about the law being devoured?”

“There were three witnesses whose evidence resulted in
Wood’s execution.  One was the girl I have already spoken of, and the other two
were policemen.  Their names were P.C. Baxter and P.C. Roach.  If I am correct
about the meaning behind this note, these men are either in grave danger, or
already dead.”

“Let us pray that you are wrong, Holmes.  I know both of
them.  They are based at Scotland Yard.  P.C. Baxter is now a sergeant, having
been promoted a couple of years ago,” replied the Inspector.  He stood stroking
his chin for a moment and then asked, “If Stanley Wood was executed all those
years ago, why is someone avenging his death now?”

It was Watson that answered the question, “Stanley Wood had
a brother, called Stephen, who went mad and was committed to an asylum after
his brother was put to death.”

“So, you think he is the killer of this girl and Sir Charles
Grey?  How can he be, if he is locked up in an asylum?”

Holmes smiled briefly and said, “You have serendipitously
stumbled upon the reason for our visit, Lestrade.  We wanted to find out whether
Stephen Wood has escaped, or been released from the asylum.  With all the
commotion, I forgot to ask you, whilst we were at Scotland Yard.”

“We may as well go back to the station and find out before
we head off to the morgue, gentlemen” suggested Lestrade.  “Do you know the
name of the asylum that he was put in?”

“It was The Middlesex County Lunatic Asylum,” answered
Holmes.

The men returned to Scotland Yard.  Lestrade left Holmes and
Watson, and went to make enquires about Stephen Wood.  After a short while, he
returned with a case file.

“It looks like you might be onto something, Holmes.  Stephen
Wood was released from Middlesex County Lunatic Asylum six months ago.  An
entry was made in our case file, stating that the asylum considered him
completely sane.”  Lestrade showed Holmes the case file, which didn’t contain
very much information.

“Six months ago,” repeated Holmes, thoughtfully, as he
looked through the case file.

“Holmes, you described this man as evil.  It seems
implausible that such a character could ever be completely cured of his
insanity,” commented Watson.

“Indeed,” replied Holmes.  “I’ll venture that he managed to convince
staff at the asylum of his sanity.  I found him to be an
extremely
adept
liar, when I questioned him in the case of his brother.  I doubt whether he was
truly rehabilitated, at all.” Holmes handed the case file to Lestrade, who gave
it to the desk sergeant, asking him to file it away.

The three men left the police station, and started walking
to the morgue.

On the way, Holmes asked, “What can you tell me about the
girl at the morgue, Lestrade?”

“Well, as I said, her face has been smashed in very badly. 
One of her eyes has been pushed into her head.  Also, her hair was matted with
blood at the back, where she appears to have been hit with something.  The
worst thing though, is that her left arm has been cut off, and is missing.”

A young police constable left Scotland Yard and ran along
the road, calling after Inspector Lestrade.  The Inspector turned and asked,
“What is it, officer?”

“Sir,” panted the young policeman.  “We just received a
report that two police officers were murdered last night!”

“Are their identities known?” asked Holmes.

“Yes Sir.  They were P.C Roach and Sergeant Baxter.  They
worked in Scotland Yard.  Everyone knew them!” exclaimed the young officer, the
shock of hearing the news clearly evident on his face.

Lestrade looked visibly staggered.  It took him some time,
before he answered the young officer.  “I have to go to the morgue now, but I
want to hear everything about these murders when I return.  Go back to the
station and tell the Chief Inspector that I will come and see him, as soon as I
return from the morgue.  Do you understand, Officer?”

“Of course, Sir,” answered the young officer, turning to go
back to Scotland Yard.

Holmes called after the young policeman, “Do you know where
their bodies are, Officer?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Holmes,” replied the young policeman, suggesting,
“They may already be at the morgue.”

Lestrade turned to Holmes.  He shook his head, in disbelief,
as he said, “Holmes, it really is beginning to look like Stephen Wood may be
our killer.  Do you agree?”

“I concur, up to a point, Lestrade.  All we have, at this
point in time, is circumstantial evidence.  It is possible that someone else is
carrying out the murders, with the intention of using Wood as a scapegoat.”

The men entered the morgue and, after exchanging
pleasantries, Dr. Death confirmed that the two policemen had been delivered
earlier that morning.  He showed the men all three corpses.  A horrified
expression appeared on Lestrade’s face, as he recognised the dead bodies of the
two policemen.  He stumbled slightly and steadied himself against the wall.

“Lestrade, are you alright?” asked Watson, going to the
Inspector’s assistance.

“I’m sorry,” replied Lestrade.  “These two are Sergeant
Baxter and P.C Roach.  I wasn’t expecting to see anything like this.”

“Would you like to sit down for a moment, Inspector?” asked
Dr. Death.

“No, I’m alright.  I’ve seen enough dead bodies.  It’s just
a shock when you see people that you know.”

Holmes looked at Dr. Death and asked, “May I examine the
girl’s body, Doctor?”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes, of course you may.”

Of the three corpses, the girl had been mutilated the most. 
Her face was smashed in and she had a long bruise that ran from her forehead,
down across her chest and stomach and ending on the top of her thigh.  Her left
arm was missing.  The point at which it had been cut appeared slightly rough
and very straight, leading Holmes to suspect that it had been cut off with a
saw.

Holmes looked at where the girl’s eye had been pushed in.  Immediately
below her left eye was a deep round puncture, approximately a half-inch in diameter. 
This appeared to be one of two blows, as the same circular puncture was visible
in her eye socket.

Watson stood next to Holmes, looking at the girl’s face. 
“What do you think did that to her face?  Her nose and the bottom half of her
jaw have been pushed so far to the left.  What could
do
such a thing?”

Holmes turned to Watson, and replied, “Judging by the damage
to her face, as well as the long bruise running down the upper half of her
body, I think she may have hit the edge of a roadside kerb when she fell.  If
so, the force of the impact may have misaligned her nose and jaw to such an
extent.”

“There is more evidence that supports that theory, Mr.
Holmes,” added Dr. Death.  “She was hit twice on the head, from behind.”  The
doctor turned the girl’s head to reveal an area that he had shaved.  “As you
can see from the shape of these wounds, it appears that she was hit with
something like a hammer.  The force of each blow was extreme, as I can feel
that her parietal bone has been broken.”

“Did these blows kill her, Dr. Death?” asked Holmes.

“It is possible, but I’m not convinced that they did.”

Holmes lifted the girl’s right hand and, taking a magnifying
glass from his pocket, began to examine it closely.  “There is some skin under
three of her fingernails.  I believe she may have scratched one of her
attackers.”

“How many attackers were there?” asked Lestrade, with a
slight hint of sarcasm, as he felt that Holmes could not possibly know the
answer to that question.

Holmes smiled wryly at the inspector, and explained, “It is
my suspicion that two men were involved, the same two men the tramp described
to me following the murder of Sir Charles Grey.  Based on his description, one
of these men is large.  This man must also be especially strong if he cut the
head of Sir Charles Grey off.  As we know, it took but a few blows of the
cleaver to cut through to the spine before the head was snapped off.”