Murder with Lens: A Sherlock Holmes Case (221B Baker Street Series) by S.K. Lloyds Read Free Book Online

the smell will lessen in a minute or two,” John put a protective hand on her back. She honestly looked faint.
    Her pale eyes darted around. “Did frau Young come down?” she asked quietly.
    “Just me,” Lestrade told her. “You may not remember, but I’m Detective Inspector Lestrade.” He offered a hand which she reached out and shook.
    She said, “I remember.”
    “John, here – John Watson – is a military doctor. He’s Sherlock’s assistant, is how you can think of it, only a doctor. If you can’t hack the smell, I’ll take you back up for a breather.” It seemed Lestrade didn’t approve of notions like ‘leashes’ or ‘sitters’ any more than John did, and was trying his best to put her at ease.
    “Oh. Well… thanks for that.” She looked from Lestrade to John. “It’s not as bad now that I’ve habituated a bit. I should have known Agent Young wouldn’t come down here. She doesn’t like decomp, and the lipids get in your skin, you know. I don’t either, really, but I guess… I mean… what’s he doing?”
    “Examining the body,” John looked at where Sherlock crouched like a cat, half over a bloated corpse. It was dim, and hard to see what he was really doing. The Maglite flickered on and off in his hand. John nodded grimly. “I need to go help him. You want to stay back? You should stay with Lestrade, and he’ll look after you.”
    “Of course,” the Detective Inspector said.
    She edged over toward the body and explained behind John, “I work off pictures. They don’t let me come and see stuff like this, IRL.”
    “Because you started so young,” Sherlock said as he searched the body’s trouser pockets. “When? Ten? Twelve?”
    “Ten, I started the criminology program at ten. I didn’t see anyone dead until lucky thirteen.” As Reese drew closer to the body Sherlock buzzed around, she caught hold of Lestrade by the hand.
    It either surprised him, or it hurt, because he jumped. But then Lestrade’s free hand curled over the back of Reese’s. “Steady there. If you think you might be sick, we’ve got sick bags. You just say something.”
    “Okay, stop,” Sherlock said severely. “Stop talking. Lestrade, walk her around the room until her head clears. Do not make noise.”
    John squat beside the genius and got his first good look at the body. It was headless, and handless. There was, from what he could see in a quick inspection, no sign of a cause of death. Sherlock’s eyes darted over the sorry state of the corpse.
    Bloat.
    No or low insect activity.
    Pockets empty.
    No phone.
    No I.D.
    No wallet.
    No quid.
    Careful. Secretive.
    Wrist-watch in situ – expensive – RGM.
    American. Well to do.
    Clothing style – college student.
    Bled out here.
    Small burn pattern on shirt collar.
    Parts removed after blood flow stopped.
    Relatively clean cuts. Axe or hatchet.
    “Very dirty business,” John said, “cutting someone up. Serious people did this.”
    “But they didn’t burn the place down.” Sherlock added to the end of this.
    Flier for the meeting 9:00 PM last Friday.
    Now: Monday night.
    “Small powder burn on the shirt collar,” Sherlock said quietly. “So this boy was shot in the back of his head. He also fell. See the splatter on the back of his shirt? Impact spray from a catastrophic fall that would have killed him… had he been alive. Going in the wrong direction for the shot.” He looked around him in the dark room, and back to the body. “We’re on the tail end of bloat, getting into active decay. The staff would have smelled this from the front door.”
    “The hands and head – evidence was removed.” John agreed. “No easy way to identify him without those, unless he has tattoos.”
    “He doesn’t.” Sherlock said as surely as if he’d stripped the body himself and checked.
    John shook his head. “And they left him here over the weekend.”
    “Yes. Consistent with the body’s current condition. Good.” Sherlock said distractedly. He