Hello Detective

The Great Game Part 6

After a little while my phone rang. I noticed it was Sherlock calling, which was strange because he usually prefers to text. I answered it and Sherlock immediately began talking.

"It's me. Have you found anything on the South Bank between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark Bridge?" He spoke fast.

"Um, let me check." I said, before asking Lestrade the same question. He flipped through some papers before answering.

"A body's just washed up." He said. Grabbing his things to leave, I followed. Sherlock must have heard Lestrade because he hung up.

Once I arrived to where the body was, Sherlock and John showed up no more than five minutes after.

"Do you reckon this is connected then, the bomber?" Lestrade asked Sherlock.

"Must be, odd though, he hasn't been in touch." Sherlock answered.

"Then we must assume that some poor bugger's primed to explode, yeah?" Lestrade asked again.

"Yes." Sherlock said.

"Any ideas?" Lestrade asked.

"Seven, so far." Sherlock smirked, bending down to examine the body.

"Seven?" Lestrade said, amazed. Sherlock finished looking around, stood back up and pulled out his phone. John then bent down to look at the body as well.

"He's dead about 24 hours. Maybe a bit longer. Did he drown?" He asked.

"Asphyxiated." I said.

"There's quite a bit of bruising around the nose and mouth. More bruises here and here." He pointed.

"Fingertips." Sherlock suddenly said.

"I'd say mid thirties, and he's not in the best condition." John continued.

"He's been in the river a long while. The water's destroyed most of the data." Sherlock spoke. He then suddenly smirked. "But I'll tell you one thing. That lost Vermeer painting's a fake."

"What?" Lestrade asked, lost.

"We need to identify the corpse find out about his friends and..." Sherlock said before Lestrade cut him off.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait. What painting? What are you on about?" Lestrade asked.

"It's all over the place, haven't you seen the posters? Dutch old master, supposed to be destroyed centuries ago. Now it's turned up, worth £30 million." Sherlock explained.

"Okay, so what has that got to do with the stiff?" Lestrade asked.

"Everything. Have you ever heard of the Golem?" Sherlock asked.

"The Jewish folk story or the assassin?" I asked.

"Oscar Dzundza, one of the deadliest assassins in the world. That is his trademark style." Sherlock said, pointing to the body.

"So this is a hit." Lestrade said.

"Definitely." Sherlock said.

"The Golem squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands." I explained.

"But what has this got to do with that painting?" Lestrade asked, still lost. Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked up to me, asking me to explain. I nodded slightly.

"The killers only left us with the shirt and pants. Cheap, and too big for him so standard-issue uniform. So he was going to work. There's a hook on his belt for a walkie-talkie." I began.

"Tube driver?" Lestrade asked.

"More likely a security guard." Sherlock said, urging me to continue.