Fate Without Time

Chapter 30

After we had breakfast, the three of us went to St. Bart's to meet up with Lestrade, who was currently leading us into the room where the body of Connie Prince was being held. "Connie Prince, fifty-four. She had one of those make-over shows on the telly. Did you see it?" asked Lestrade. "No," said Sherlock and I. "Very popular. She was going places," said Lestrade. "Not anymore. So: dead two days. According to one of her staff, Raoul de Santos, she cut her hand on a rusty nail in the garden. Nasty wound," Sherlock paused as we examined the deep cut in the webbing between her right thumb and index finger. "Tetanus bacteria enters the bloodstream – good night Vienna," he said. "I suppose," said John. "Something's wrong with this picture," I said. "Eh?" asked Lestrade. "Can't be as simple as it seems, otherwise the bomber wouldn't be directing us towards it. Something's wrong," I said. Then, Sherlock handed me his magnifier from his pocket so that I could examine the body closely. I noticed that there were several scratches on her upper arm which resembled claw marks. As I moved up to her face, I saw tiny pinpricks on her forehead just above her nose. "John?" I asked. "Mmm," he said. "The cut on her hand: it's deep; would have bled a lot, right?" I asked. "Yeah," he said. "But the wound's clean – very clean, and fresh," I said as I stood up and handed the magnifier back to Sherlock. "How long would the bacteria have been incubating inside her?" asked Sherlock. "Eight, ten days," said John. Sherlock and I turned to John, waiting for him to figure it out. And it didn't take long. "The cut was made later," he said. "After she was dead?" asked Lestrade. "Must have been. The only question is, how did the tetanus enter the dead woman's system?" asked Sherlock. Then, I turned back to John. "You want to help, right?" I asked. "Of course," said John. "Connie Prince's background – family history, everything. Give me data," I said. "Right," said John as he left the room. And after Sherlock and I examined the body one last time, we headed towards the door. "There's something else that we haven't thought of," said Lestrade. "Is there?" I asked casually. "Yes. Why is he doing this, the bomber?" asked Lestrade. We stopped, both of us looking anxious but keeping our backs to the inspector. "If this woman's death was suspicious, why point it out?" he asked. "Good Samaritan," said Sherlock as we unsuccessfully tried to move away. "... who press-gangs suicide bombers?" asked Lestrade. "Bad Samaritan," I said. "I'm – I'm serious, you two. Listen: I'm cutting you slack here; I'm trusting you – but out there somewhere, some poor bastard's covered in Semtex and is just waiting for you to solve the puzzle. So just tell me: what are we dealing with?" he asked. We smiled. "Something new," said Sherlock.

With 8 hours to go, the three of us were back at the flat. Sherlock and I had made an investigation board out of the wall behind the couch, which was currently covered with maps, photographs of Connie Prince – both when she was alive and pictures taken in the morgue – photos of Carl Powers, press cuttings and various sheets of paper with notes scribbled on them. Pieces of string were pinned between some of the exhibits, indicating that they were linked. The two of us were pacing back and forth in front of the sofa, Lestrade standing nearby. "Connection, connection, connection. There must be a connection," said Sherlock. "Carl Powers, killed twenty years ago. The bomber knew him; admitted that he knew him. The bomber's iPhone was in stationery from the Czech Republic. First hostage from Cornwall; the second from London; the third from Yorkshire, judging by her accent. What's he doing – working his way round the world? Showing off?" I asked as I examined the board. Just then, the pink phone rang. Sherlock quickly got it out of his pocket and put it on speaker. "You're enjoying this, aren't you? Joining the ... dots," the old woman paused as she let out a sob. "Three hours: boom ... boom," she said. Then, the line went dead. "Well, that's just great! Now we've got even less time," I said as we looked back at the board.