The Reichenbach Plan

Chapter 6: Jumping Blood

It was one of the few times that John Watson had bested Sherlock Holmes in a verbal sparing, and Sherlock hated it. John was sitting so smugly he didn't have time to stop Sherlock from grabbing his laptop. Holmes stood, reading the article. The laptop teetered precariously each time his finger pounded the touchpad to scroll down. It stated the usual drivel, "Lucas found dead at...", "multiple stab wounds...", "suspect, Madame Henri Fournaye, arrested with murder weapon...." The comment "double life" earned a grunt of contempt from Holmes as he burst from his reading. The laptop's life was spared by the fast hands of Watson. "Watch it!" John bellowed. "Oh do be quiet," Holmes cried out, "I have to think. Now, here we have one of the players in this dangerous game found dead. Coincidence? The universe is rarely so lazy." Holmes pulled out his phone, typing the wife's name and a question mark. He sent it to two numbers, both heavily encrypted, and impossible to trace. A few seconds later, two chimes had sounded indicating their replies. Holmes chuckled for a second. As much as he loved to annoy John with Irene's orgasmic moan, the fact of her survival was still a closely guarded secret. Mycroft knew, much to Sherlock's annoyance, but no one else. Together his brother and The Woman were connected to every major, and most minor, players in the espionage game. Holmes scanned the messages, Mycroft had been simplistic: "Murder: yes; Espionage: No." Irene's message contained little more. Madame Fournaye was a small player in the French theatrical circle, She is someone that would kill out of jealousy.

Seeing a dead end, Holmes brought up the article on his phone, "be Lestrade, be Lestrade, Inspector Collins? Must be new." He threw himself down on the couch and reached for his patches, before throwing them back down. Grabbing his coat, he walked out the door with no other explanation. The only clues Watson had was by the chimes of his phone:

"Found a good Chinese Restaurant" a picture of the door handle followed.

"Looks hopeful, Anderson handling crime scene."

"ANDERSON IS SNEAKING A SMOKE. He is stuck on something, but he doesn't want to call me."

"Just got the call, please come" the address followed.

A short cab ride later, Watson joined Holmes and they walked up to the apartment. A portly man in a ill fitting suit came out. "Lestrade told me to give you a call, I don't know why. We had our best man examining the crime scene. Where are you going?" Anderson had stepped out. Anderson gave one look of contempt at Holmes, "Ten minutes." Turning to Collins, Anderson answered dryly, "Ask Lestrade. I'm heading down to the pub for a bite." Without another word, Anderson headed down the stairs. Collins shook his head and motioned for Holmes and Watson to follow him into a large study. "Here is what I wanted your opinion on." He pointed to where several novels were bound identically, filling a shelf. Across the spines was a line of blood that appeared disjointed. "The crime scene was secured fairly quickly," Collins said. "We had gotten a call about a domestic squabble. Officers arrived just as Madame Fournaye came bursting out of the door, knife in hand." Holmes took out his small magnifier and glanced at each book in turn. He brought out his phone's compass app, and swiped right. Setting it on the shelf he then pocketed his phone. He then stepped back and the books shifted in his head till the line again was straight. His mind started to move books, pulling one out and placing it back in until it formed the scene in front of him.

Stepping back, he motioned over to Inspector Collins.  "Are you a simpleton? You trust the word of every man that talks to you, every policeman's report." Collins started to stammer an explanation before being silenced by Holmes' hand. "Don't speak! Watson, do you remember that when Anderson speaks he lowers the IQ of the street? This man may singlehandedly lower the IQ of greater London." Holmes closed the gap between Collins and himself, "Go out there and do not come back until you have gotten the truth from that imbecile guarding the door! Why are you standing here? GO!"

Watson couldn't tell who moved faster, Collins out the door, or Holmes to the bookcase. Holmes extracted a volume and opened it to reveal a hidden compartment. "Not here, not here, why aren't you here? Small trace of red wax on the first document indicates it was here. What did she do with it?" "She?" Watson asked. Holmes nodded, "obviously the guard was beguiled by someone, someone who attracted him. Personal grooming indicates his affinity toward women, and he is a bachelor. Small smear of lipstick on the inside of his right thumb. Directionality indicates he wiped it from his lips. The scorch marks on his trousers indicate he is not use to taking care of his own laundry. He probably lived with his mother. Young, inexperienced with the fairer sex; and if you compare him to me, I'll throttle you. Unless I miss my guess, that is Collins now." Collins reappeared red faced followed by the guard at the door. He grabbed the shaking policeman by the shoulder and shoved him to the midst of the group. "Tell these men, what you just told me." Collins bellowed. The guard, visibly shaken, started, "She...she...didn't touch anything. She said she had never seen a real crime scene before. She became faint at the first sight of blood. She never made it into the room." Holmes shot Watson a warning look. Collins grabbed the shuddering policemen by his vest. "I have half a mind to have you brought up on charges." "You lack the half to give him, Inspector" Holmes said dryly. "This young man made a mistake, but if you report him, you will have to report your imbecility as well." Collins blanched for a second before mumbling, "we will let this matter slide this time." His voice resumed its' bellowing tone ordering the young man back downstairs.

Holmes turned to Watson, "I think we can go, not much for your blog or my website I'm afraid." Before Collins could speak, Holmes was out the study door. As he walked into the hallway he paused in front of a tapestry showing a Paris night scene. He wafted his fingers toward his nose before clapping his hands together, "Come Watson." As he descended the steps he typed in his phone. As the exited onto Gadolphan street, he showed his phone to the guard. The guard blanched for a second before nodding mutely. "The game is on, Watson." Holmes said defiantly.

The pair hired a cab, which took them to a more well to do part of London. They exited in front of one of a series of white marble flats. A sign announced them as the "Trelawney Hope" Holmes pointed, "the home of Lord and Lady Travers. The case is coming to a close." Holmes pressed one of the buttons. A quiet conversation over the intercom caused them to be ushered into a large vestibule. Walking from a side room was a young beauty. "Good afternoon gentlemen," she said in a voice that revealed her Australian heritage, "my husband will back for lunch soon. Is there anything I can help you with?" "We have come on a matter of some delicacy," Holmes said almost sheepishly, "is there anywhere we can wait? Somewhere where the help will not overhear? She motioned for them to follow her to a small study, "My husband has outfitted this room for his private meetings, you will be able to speak to him in here." Holmes demeanor changed from sheepish to bold. "Actually it is you we wish to speak to. Where is the document?"

Lady Travers' face took on a dangerous trapped animal quality, "I don't know what you are talking about." Holmes' face was one of amusement, "you were identified by the guard. I do not take you for a fool Lady Travers, your actions today have demonstrated that. I know that you visited my brother under the guise of a wife in concern for her husband. I might have traveled down that same path also if I had not visited Lucas' resident today. You pick out your husband's clothes for him as he usually rises late. When I met your husband yesterday, I noticed a particular scent on his coat. While the scent is complimentary to your husband, I do not take him as a man who would wear such a flowery fragrance. The same fragrance was also found on a tapestry hanging in the Lucas' residence. I can only assume the scent transferred from someone's clothes. Your husband is an imbecile who would not have pulled off the act he displayed before us if he was part of the crime. That leaves you. I believe that your husband should pay for his foolishness, but I will not jeopardize England. They keep my brother gainfully employed and out of my hair. I am going to ask you once more: where is the document you removed from you husband's dispatch box?"