an asset to your endeavour, I could just as well cause its downfall. But I am here and you will have to accept that fact.’
Holmes gave me a measuring stare. ‘You are aware of the danger,’ he said. Did I see a mix of relief and concern in his face? Or was it hope that I would soon abandon the idea?
‘Of course I am,’ I replied. ‘Find my father, but then we wait. When the danger for him is too great, or when you have everything you need to press charges on Moriarty and his men, you rescue my father. I know how to make my escape.’
‘As I already said, we will decide once I find him.’ Holmes’ hand curled around the sink’s edge, his knuckles whitened. ‘We need to communicate on a regular basis. I have searched this room for nooks to hide messages in and found that certain corners were unusually clean.’
‘This room has been searched?’
He nodded. ‘Regularly.’
‘Actually, I was thinking of something else. It is rather disgusting and only a one-way communication route, but it will be safe. Moriarty has water closets installed in his house—’
‘Brilliant!’ he interrupted. ‘Place your notes in a small glass vial, then seal it with red wax. It will float and strike the eye. We need to agree on a specific time. What would be most suitable for you?’
I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Sherlock Holmes happily crawling through the sewage system, trying to find a message in a bottle.
‘Between six and eight o’clock at night I would think. When I drop a glove, a handkerchief, or the like in the morning when getting out of the brougham, a message will be sent to you that same evening.’
He nodded, excitement shining in his eyes.
How odd. The disquietude our sudden interdependency seemed to have caused him was flicked away in an instant.
Then, his face hardened. ‘I read your will. I do understand your intentions, but why would you leave your cottage to me?’
‘My father wouldn’t want it,’ I said defiantly.
He gazed at the door as though Goff could march in any moment. With a nod he readied himself to depart while his face collapsed into a wrinkled landscape, his shoulders hunched, knees bent slightly. Within seconds, Holmes transformed himself back to the old and tired woman I had encountered upon entering the lavatory.
‘One more thing,’ I said before taking my leave. ‘The torso case last year; I remember you investigated it. Did you have any suspicions?’
‘No. Why would you ask?’
‘Just answer me, please. Tell me what you know.’
He replied in a quiet, machine-like rat tat tat , ‘It was a woman’s torso, a red-head judging from her pubic hair. Her skin was without blemishes and smelled faintly of patchouli. She had had intercourse. There was still sperm in her uterus, indicating that she had been murdered soon thereafter. I found one bite mark on her hip. It was a dog’s.’
Upon his words, the blood sang in my ears. I was glad my back was towards Holmes.
Once I had swallowed the nausea, left the lavatory, and walked through the corridors with Goff in my wake, I wondered whether I had just sold my father’s life. But for what? For the mere possibility of saving others with a great chance of saving no one at all?
Why was it that Holmes caused such an imbalance in me? His words and actions could hit my sorest spots. How would I deal with that weakness next time we met? By shutting him out completely? But hadn’t I already tried that for a year?
— day 57 —
T he brougham flew along the streets. The rattling of wheels was accompanied by the clacking and screeching of spiked horseshoes on ice-covered cobblestones. One week before Christmas, the winter had begun in earnest and sent snow and ice all over Britain. The woollen blanket covering my legs was of little help. The only warm part of me, too warm in fact, was my head inside a velvet bag.
Moriarty had announced the inspection of a warehouse he wanted rebuilt for my tests on the
Holmes gave me a measuring stare. ‘You are aware of the danger,’ he said. Did I see a mix of relief and concern in his face? Or was it hope that I would soon abandon the idea?
‘Of course I am,’ I replied. ‘Find my father, but then we wait. When the danger for him is too great, or when you have everything you need to press charges on Moriarty and his men, you rescue my father. I know how to make my escape.’
‘As I already said, we will decide once I find him.’ Holmes’ hand curled around the sink’s edge, his knuckles whitened. ‘We need to communicate on a regular basis. I have searched this room for nooks to hide messages in and found that certain corners were unusually clean.’
‘This room has been searched?’
He nodded. ‘Regularly.’
‘Actually, I was thinking of something else. It is rather disgusting and only a one-way communication route, but it will be safe. Moriarty has water closets installed in his house—’
‘Brilliant!’ he interrupted. ‘Place your notes in a small glass vial, then seal it with red wax. It will float and strike the eye. We need to agree on a specific time. What would be most suitable for you?’
I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Sherlock Holmes happily crawling through the sewage system, trying to find a message in a bottle.
‘Between six and eight o’clock at night I would think. When I drop a glove, a handkerchief, or the like in the morning when getting out of the brougham, a message will be sent to you that same evening.’
He nodded, excitement shining in his eyes.
How odd. The disquietude our sudden interdependency seemed to have caused him was flicked away in an instant.
Then, his face hardened. ‘I read your will. I do understand your intentions, but why would you leave your cottage to me?’
‘My father wouldn’t want it,’ I said defiantly.
He gazed at the door as though Goff could march in any moment. With a nod he readied himself to depart while his face collapsed into a wrinkled landscape, his shoulders hunched, knees bent slightly. Within seconds, Holmes transformed himself back to the old and tired woman I had encountered upon entering the lavatory.
‘One more thing,’ I said before taking my leave. ‘The torso case last year; I remember you investigated it. Did you have any suspicions?’
‘No. Why would you ask?’
‘Just answer me, please. Tell me what you know.’
He replied in a quiet, machine-like rat tat tat , ‘It was a woman’s torso, a red-head judging from her pubic hair. Her skin was without blemishes and smelled faintly of patchouli. She had had intercourse. There was still sperm in her uterus, indicating that she had been murdered soon thereafter. I found one bite mark on her hip. It was a dog’s.’
Upon his words, the blood sang in my ears. I was glad my back was towards Holmes.
Once I had swallowed the nausea, left the lavatory, and walked through the corridors with Goff in my wake, I wondered whether I had just sold my father’s life. But for what? For the mere possibility of saving others with a great chance of saving no one at all?
Why was it that Holmes caused such an imbalance in me? His words and actions could hit my sorest spots. How would I deal with that weakness next time we met? By shutting him out completely? But hadn’t I already tried that for a year?
— day 57 —
T he brougham flew along the streets. The rattling of wheels was accompanied by the clacking and screeching of spiked horseshoes on ice-covered cobblestones. One week before Christmas, the winter had begun in earnest and sent snow and ice all over Britain. The woollen blanket covering my legs was of little help. The only warm part of me, too warm in fact, was my head inside a velvet bag.
Moriarty had announced the inspection of a warehouse he wanted rebuilt for my tests on the
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