"I didn't order a taxi." Sherlock quipped I unlocked my phone in my pocket, starting a voice recording.
"Doesn't mean you don't need one." The taxi driver said.
"You're the cabbie. The one who stopped outside Northumberland Street ." I realized.
I remembered the Californian man, and the driver.
"It was you, not your passenger." Sherlock pointed out.
"See? No-one ever thinks about the cabbie. It's like you're invisible. Just the back of an 'ead. Proper advantage for a serial killer." He boasted.
"Is this a confession?" Sherlock asked.
"Oh, yeah. An' I'll tell you what else: if you call the coppers now, I won't run. I'll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise."
There's a catch. I thought as Sherlock walked forward.
"Why?" I questioned.
"'Cause you're not gonna do that. Neither is he." He stated.
"Am I not?" Sherlock questioned.
"I didn't kill those four people, Mr 'olmes." He explained through his accent.
"I spoke to 'em ... and they killed themselves. An' if you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing." He said, leaning forward.
"I will never tell you what I said." He taunted.
We stared at him as he went back to his cab.
"No-one else will die, though, and I believe they call that a result." Sherlock commented.
The cabbie stopped, turning around.
"An' you won't ever understand how those people died. What kind of result do you care about?" He remarked.
He turned again and continued around to the driver's door. Getting in, he sat down and closed the door, settling into his seat and ignoring us. Biting his lip, Sherlock and I walked closer to the cab, as I took a look inside.
"If we wanted to understand, what would we do?" I asked.
"Let me take you for a ride." The cabbie announced.
"So you can kill us too?" Sherlock accused.
"I don't wanna kill you, Mr 'olmes. I'm gonna talk to yer ... and then you're gonna kill yourself."
