A Study in Miscommunication

Chapter 18

—-Sherlock's POV—-

The cabbie stopped at our destination. He pulled between the two buildings, turned off the engine and put on the parking brake.

He got out of the car but I sat in the cab and waited. The cabbie had taken a circuitous route to get here and I was trying to pinpoint why. Had it been to alert the mystery man that he'd gotten me? I drew the map in my mind but needed more information before I could draw a conclusion.

The cabbie opened the door and waited.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"You know every street in London. You know exactly where we are," the cabbie responded.

If he knew I knew every street in London then he wasn't driving about to try and disguise his final destination. "Roland Kerr further education college," I said. And now we had a link. The boy the cabbie had killed had attended this institution, working nights at a garage to finance his education according to the repetitive newspaper article. "Why here?"

"It's open. Cleaners are in," the cabbie explained.

How had he known? Had he stalked the boy prior to picking him up? If so then it wasn't chance that he'd been killed. Each person had been selected with care. What was the link between them? The route made a bit more sense now; he'd been waiting for the building to be clear. He'd come after me with a plan.

He continued, "One thing about being a cabbie, you always know a nice quiet spot for a murder."

But that didn't follow. Cabbies might notice that lights are on in buildings when they drove by and learn a pattern but that would make this building choice a coincidence.

"I'm surprised more of us don't branch out," the cabbie finished.

We stared at each other for a moment. I was forced to ask, "And you just walk your victims in? How?"

The cabbie pulled an obviously fake handgun and pointed it at me; finger on the trigger, hand shaking.

I sighed. "Oh, dull."

"Don't worry, it gets betta."

"You can't make people take their own lives at gunpoint," I pointed out. Especially with such a fake gun. It was remarkably realistic, for a fake, but it was still fake.

"I don't. It's much betta than that." He pulled the "gun" away. "Don't need this wiv you. 'cus you'll follow me." He started walking toward one of the buildings.

He wasn't going to come back and I still didn't know exactly how he was convincing people to poison themselves. I was forced to exit the cab and go into the right building after him. I followed the cabbie through the dark hallways and we entered an unlit classroom.

He flicked on one set of lights. "Well, whaddya think?"

I wandered around the classroom, inspecting it.

"It's up to you. You're the one who's gonna die here."

I nearly laughed but managed to keep it contained and said, "No I'm not."

"That's what they all say."

We faced each other across the illumination of the lights. He moved first, pointing to a table. "Should we talk?" He pulled out a chair, waiting for me to move to sit before he took a seat.

I pulled a chair from the row ahead and turned it around. I leaned back in my seat and sighed. The cabbie was surprisingly tight-lipped and it was irritating that he was dragging this out. I was coming down, I just wanted to go and take a nap. This was dull and I was regretting even coming. But I was here so I might as well see it though. "Bit risky, wasn't it? You took me away under the eye of about half a dozen policemen." I removed my gloves and put them in my pocket. "You're not that stupid. And Mrs Hudson will remember you." My landlady was sharp as a tack. She didn't miss much.