Sherlock Holmes: The Dark Reckoning (9 page)

They arrived at 28 Charing Cross Road and knocked on the
door, which was opened, shortly after, by Susan Spencer.  She looked anxious
upon seeing the two men, and felt an odd mixture of dread and hope.  She hoped
that her ambivalence would soon be over, as she asked, “Mr. Holmes!  Have you
any news of my sister?”

Holmes replied, ignoring the question, “May we come in, Miss
Spencer?”

“Yes, of course.  Please come in.  We shall adjourn to my
room.”

Holmes noticed that Susan Spencer was trembling, as she led
them up a flight of stairs and into a pleasantly decorated room.  He removed
his hat and coat and Watson followed suit.

“May I sit down, Miss Spencer?” asked Holmes, hoping that
his question would also prompt the girl to sit.

“Yes, please do,” she replied, pointing to a sofa.  She came
and sat next to Holmes and looked at him expectantly, but found that she was
too afraid to ask anything.

Holmes looked at Susan, and quietly said, “I have news of
your sister, Miss Spencer.  I’m afraid… I…”  He stared down at the floor,
unable to finish the sentence or look her in the eye.

“
Please
tell me, Mr. Holmes,” implored Miss Spencer,
shakily.

Holmes looked back up at the distraught girl as she grabbed
his forearm.

She looked deeply into the detective’s eyes and added, “I
fear I already know what you are going to say, Mr. Holmes, but I need to…  I
have to…”  Her voice became chocked with emotion.  She looked through the blur
of her tears at Mr. Holmes, and could see that he was trying so hard to find
the right words to say.

Suddenly, she felt a sadness so deep as, for the first time,
she realised that she would never see Sally again.  Her mind flooded with so
many fond memories of her sister, which contrasted so greatly with the
emptiness she envisioned for her future.  She could not conceive a life without
Sally and wanted a chance to be able to make more fond memories.  More than
anything, she wanted to see her again.  Instead, all she could imagine for her
future was an unfulfilled void of despair.

She sobbed her saddest tears, whilst still holding onto Holmes’
forearm.  She would have given anything to be able to see Sally again.

A thought flashed through Susan’s mind.  Perhaps Sally
was
alive.  Mr. Holmes had not told her anything yet.  Perhaps Sally had been badly
hurt, but would recover.  A faint glimmer of hope showed in her eyes as she
looked up at Holmes.

She forced her voice past her unwilling lips, and managed to
whisper, “Please, tell me, Mr. Holmes.”

Without realising, Holmes gently placed his hand on top of
Susan’s.  His voice was soft, as he said, “I am so sorry, Miss Spencer.  Your
sister is dead.”

Her crying became more insistent and her weeping voice
whispered, “Oh, God…  No… No.”

She saw the image of Sally’s face in her mind’s eye, the
vision, so vivid, was merely an illusion created by her broken heart.  The
image changed to that of a dead body, lying motionless on a table in a morgue. 
The vision of her dead sister, with open lifeless eyes and pale blue skin,
haunted Susan’s mind.

As she began to acquaint herself with the loneliness of life
without her sister, her weakened voice asked, “Why is she dead?”

Holmes looked into Susan’s saddened eyes and quietly
answered, “There is no good reason.  An act of murder is a violation that
cruelly robs the world of someone special.  Even though she has gone, she will
live on in your memories.  Nobody can take those from you.”

A fresh stream of tears ran down Susan’s face, but, at the
same time, she smiled.

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes.  You are right.  She meant so much
to me.  She was always so strong, and was always there when I needed her. 
Although I won’t be able to turn to her from now, I will always remember her. 
But now that she has gone, who will I be able to turn to?”

Holmes sat silently, unable to find words to console the
weeping girl at his side.

After a short pause, Susan continued, “I always took her for
granted.  I just expected that she would always be a part of my life.  I never
told her that I loved her, and now I will never be able to.  She died not
knowing how much I loved her.”

Watson came over with a glass of water he had poured for
Susan.

“She knew how much you loved her, Miss Spencer; in the same
way that you always knew how much she loved you,” said Watson, as he handed her
the water.

“Thank you, Dr. Watson,” acknowledged Susan.  She took a sip
and became aware of how much her hands were trembling as she held the glass. 
Holmes also noticed, so he took the glass from her and set it on a nearby
table.

She smiled at him and asked, “Why is it that I am able to
tell you, a perfect stranger, how much I cared for Sally, but I was never able
to tell her?  I could never say the words ‘I love you’ to her.”

“It is just the way people are, Miss Spencer,” responded
Holmes.  “We spend a great deal of time concealing our emotions, in part to
protect ourselves because they make us vulnerable.  I also believe that society
has conditioned us to hide our emotions to such an extent, that we are now
afraid to ever reveal them.  Perhaps, because we cannot control our emotions,
we have become too afraid to share them.”

Susan sat, feeling the warmth of Holmes’ hand on hers, as
she quietly cried and shook her head.  She sat in silence for a minute, or so,
her bloodshot eyes staring at the crackling fireplace.

Her gaze moved to Holmes as she said, “Sally had some good
news to tell me last night.  I already knew, but was still looking forward to
hearing her tell me.  She was going to be married.  I had even been practicing
how to act surprised when she told me.”  A faint smile appeared on Susan’s face
as she continued, “I remember when we were children.  Sally never wanted to get
married.  She used to say that boys were horrid.  Life was so simple back
then.”

Susan’s brief smile turned, once again, to an expression of
despair.

Her gaze returned to the fireplace and she added, “I don’t
know how I’ll manage without Sally.  I always depended on her and needed her in
my life.  Why did this have to happen, Mr. Holmes?”

She looked at Holmes and noticed an anguished expression on
his face.  She could see that he was averting his eyes, avoiding her gaze.  As
she continued to look, waiting for him to answer, she saw a tear run down his
cheek.  He opened his mouth slightly, as if to speak, but no words came.

After a pause, he looked at Susan and said, in a voice
barely above a whisper, “I am so sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Mr. Holmes,” replied Susan, sensing
that Holmes felt, somehow, responsible.

Holmes smiled at her and, wiping his eyes, asked, “Is there
anything that Dr. Watson and I can do for you, Miss Spencer?”

“No, thank you.  I think I would like to be left alone. 
You… You are going to catch her… her killer, aren’t you?”

Holmes looked at the girl and thought, ‘it will be a long
time before your sadness passes.’

He stood up to leave and replied, “You can be assured that Dr.
Watson and I will make every endeavour to catch this murderer, Miss Spencer. 
If you need us for anything, anything at all, please contact us.  We will leave
you now.”

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes and you too, Dr. Watson.” 

As the two men walked out of the front door, Holmes turned
to the girl and said, “You will receive a visit from the police soon, confirming
what I have already told you, Miss Spencer.  They will probably require you to
provide them with a positive identification of your sister.  If you would like
me and Dr. Watson to accompany you, we will be available.  Goodbye, Miss
Spencer.  I hope your grieving turns to fond memories soon.”

Out in the street, Watson turned to Holmes and asked, “Are
you alright, Holmes?”

“Yes, old fellow.  Let us return home as there is something
that I should like to try, after lunch.”

“Absolutely, out of the question!”

“Please try to understand, Watson.  This is our best
chance.”

“Be that as it may, Holmes, there is
no
way I can
condone such foolishness.”

“I only wish to hypnotise you, Watson.  This is something
that I have studied, and I believe that it may help us catch Stephen Wood, if
he is our killer.”

“This is preposterous.  You can’t possibly believe that
hypnotising me will help to catch the killer,” retorted Watson, angrily.

“As I have already stated, Watson, I suspect Arthur Smith to
be none other than Stephen Wood.”

“Do you really think that it was Stephen Wood masquerading as
Arthur?” asked Watson, in a considerably less angry voice.

“Yes, I do, Watson.  If I can get you into a relaxed and
receptive state, you may tell me some of the details that I believe you revealed
when he drugged you.”

“I must confess that, when you suggested Arthur Smith was,
in fact, Stephen Wood, I was more shocked than convinced, Holmes.  I still
don’t feel sure that Arthur could be Stephen Wood.”

Holmes walked over to the table, moved the lunch plates out
of the way and grabbed a stack of files that he started to sort through.  When
he had found what he was looking for, he took it to Watson.

He held out a photograph for Watson and said, “This is a
photograph of Stephen Wood, taken just before he was committed.  Can you see
the resemblance now?”

Watson shook his head and replied, hesitantly, “I do see the
resemblance, but I can’t be sure.”

Holmes smiled, expecting Watson’s reply.  He took a piece of
tracing paper and placed it over the photograph and drew a beard and moustache,
as well as some darkened glasses.  He then showed the composite image to
Watson.

“My God, Holmes!  You
are
right.  That looks
exactly
like Arthur Smith.”

“Another indication is that Stephen Wood was released from
the asylum approximately six months ago, at about the same time we first made
the acquaintance of Arthur Smith.  In addition, we discovered that the meat
cleaver used to kill Sir Charles Grey was purchased at a shop called Smiths. 
This may simply be a coincidence, but perhaps not.”

“Oh, I think that must be a coincidence, Holmes.”

“Possibly, Watson, but it could also be the reason that
Stephen Wood chose ‘Smith’ as a pseudonym.  I believe that he sees himself as
extremely clever.  He may have decided to provide subtle and intelligent clues about
his identity, that he thought nobody would ever determine.”

Watson sat quietly for a moment, stroking his chin, as he
considered what Holmes was proposing to him.

He then looked up and asked, “If I agree to your idea of
hypnotising me, would I be in any danger?  After all, you are not a trained
hypnotist.”

Holmes laughed as he replied, “Of course there is no danger,
old fellow.  Hypnosis is not so powerful as to allow me to control, or alter,
your mind.  All I can do is help you relax into a peaceful and receptive
state.  Whilst in this state, your unconscious mind may be able to reveal
details that your conscious mind has forgotten.  My attempt may not have any
effect at all, but I can guarantee that I can’t possibly do you any harm.”

“Do you
really
know what you are doing, Holmes?”

“Yes, I do, Watson.  Perhaps, what I am about to say will
convince you.  As you may recall, Stanley Wood used to keep a body part from
each of his victims.  He went on to join these body parts together, by sewing
them.  He ended up constructing a complete composite body, made up of all the
parts he had collected.  Our new murderer has already severed a head, two arms
and a right leg.  He now requires a left leg and a torso to make a complete
body, so I believe that he plans to commit at least two more murders.”

“Who do you think his next intended victims might be?”

“Since it was you and I that caught Stanley Wood, I believe
that we are the next intended victims.”

Watson looked visibly shaken, as he answered, “Very well,
Holmes, you can hypnotise me.  If I can reveal any clue that might help catch
this lunatic, it will be worth it.”

Under hypnosis, Watson revealed that Stephen Wood had asked
a lot of questions about Holmes.  Watson also confirmed that he had told Wood
the names of the witnesses and the judge at his brother’s trial.  He then mentioned
the address ‘15 Lower Thames Street’, which he felt had some significance,
although he could not recall why.  When Holmes had finished the hypnosis, he
snapped his fingers and Watson awoke.

“Come along, old fellow,” said Holmes, with a hint of
excitement in his voice.

“Where are we going?”

“We are going to 15 Lower Thames Street.  You mentioned this
address whilst under hypnosis, but could not recall its significance.”

The two men left Baker Street and took a cab to London Bridge.  Having alighted, Holmes asked the cab driver to wait.  Holmes noticed a
small road, called Arthur Street, which was situated on the opposite side of
the road from where he was standing.  He wondered whether this could have any
connection with the reason that Stephen Wood had chosen the name, Arthur.

Holmes and Watson walked along Lower Thames Street until
they found number 15.  It was a somewhat run down looking place.  Although the
buildings could not be considered slums, they all seemed quite grimy.  Number
15 was no exception and looked dingy.  Its windows were dirty and had old
looking net curtains hanging inside, making it impossible to see what was
within.

Holmes turned to Watson and said, “I shall wait here, whilst
you take the cab to Scotland Yard and fetch Lestrade.  Tell him that I should
like him to bring a few officers with him.”  Holmes looked around the area and
then continued, “That small alley over the road shall afford me suitable cover
and provide a good vantage point to observe number 15.  I shall be there when
you return.”

“Why do you wish to remain here, Holmes?”

“It is possible that this is the address Stephen Wood is
using, whilst in London.  I intend to observe whether there is any activity
inside whilst waiting for you to return, with Lestrade and his men.”

“What leads you to believe that this may be where Wood is
based?”

“It first struck me when you mentioned it, whilst under
hypnosis.  You seemed convinced that there was a connection, but were unable to
say what it could be.  It is possible that Wood revealed the address to you,
without telling you anything about it.  Furthermore, the name of a road near to
where we left the cab is Arthur Street.  Perhaps that is why Wood chose the
pseudonym, ‘Arthur’.”

Watson stood thinking for a while, before responding,
“Holmes, I don’t like the idea of you waiting here alone.  If Wood and his
accomplice are using number 15, you could be in danger.”

“Thank you for your concern, Watson.  I will place myself
out of sight, in the alley.  I promise not to take any action until you
return,” replied Holmes, with a smile on his face.

Watson left and made his way back to the waiting cab, whilst
Holmes walked over to the alley and found a suitable spot, from where he could
observe number 15.  He glanced at his pocket watch to check the time, which was
4:05pm.  Holmes thought, ‘It will soon be dark,’ as he noticed the light was already
beginning to fade.

As he waited, the light became dimmer and mist started
creeping up from the river.  The coldness numbed Holmes’ feet, as he stood
watching number 15.  He saw no movement from within and nobody entered, or left,
the building.

At 4:35pm, Holmes glanced at his watch again and had just
placed it back in his pocket, when he heard footsteps behind him.  As he turned
to see who was approaching, two hands suddenly grabbed his arms.  Holmes stared
at the man who had grabbed him.  Although it was starting to get dark, Holmes
could see his adversary’s face was pitted and had a small scar on the right
cheek.  The man was much bigger, and stronger, than Holmes and easily pushed him
out of the alley and into the street.  Holmes turned to fight, but the man
produced a knife.  The knife was quickly placed against Holmes’ throat. The man
stepped behind Holmes, still holding the knife against his throat.  Holmes
winced, as the larger man grabbed his left arm and forced it up against his
back.  The man then pushed Holmes over Lower Thames Street to the doorway of
number 15.

The larger man forced Holmes’ arm higher behind his back, as
he withdrew the knife and unlocked the door.  Once inside, Holmes was forced up
a flight of stairs and into a room on the first floor.

Inside the room, a man sat facing the door.  Upon seeing
Holmes, a hideously smug smile broke out on his face.

“Mr. Holmes!” he exclaimed, in a strangely triumphant
sounding voice.

“Stephen Wood!  I
knew
I would find you here.”

“And, I knew you would come here.  You have fallen into my
trap, just as I knew you would.”

Holmes ignored the comment and asked, “Tell me, how is that
scratch on the side of your face?  I see that Miss Spencer managed to draw
blood.”

The smile vanished from Wood’s face, as he retorted, “How do
you know that
bitch
did this to me?”  He pointed to the scratch on his
face, whilst staring, coldly, at Holmes.

“I know a great deal about you, Wood.  I know that, upon
being released from the asylum, you put into action a plan you had conceived to
avenge your brother’s execution.  You set about murdering those you saw as
responsible for Stanley’s conviction.  You even chose to use his trade mark of
removing body parts.  May I enquire as to why you befriended me and Dr. Watson,
under the pseudonym, Arthur Smith?”

“In part, it was to find out more about those responsible
for my brother’s murder.”

Holmes shook his head upon hearing the misuse of the word
‘murder’ to describe a legal execution, but he chose to say nothing.

Wood smirked, as he continued, “My primary reason, however,
was to find out more about you, Mr. Holmes.”

“To what end?”

“I needed to establish how I could arouse your interest,
when I started to kill those people.  After having known you for a while, I…”

“And after having drugged Watson,” interrupted Holmes.  The
comment caused a brief look of worry to appear on Wood’s face, which led Holmes
to believe the murderer had underestimated him.

The worried expression was fleeting, as Wood continued,
“Yes, I did drug Watson, and gained a lot of useful information.  Anyhow, I
decided that, by not damaging the clothing of my victims, you would soon become
interested in pursuing the case.  To ensure that you began to realise these
killings were in revenge for the death of Stanley, I chose to adopt his trade
mark of retaining a body part from each of my victims.  I have even started to
sew the pieces together, as it seemed such a fitting epitaph to my poor dead
brother.”

Holmes felt exultant at having his suspicions proved
correct, although he knew it would be foolish to underestimate Wood.  He felt
sure that Wood had also anticipated a lot of the steps that he had taken to
discover the truth.

Holmes’ happiness was short lived, as Wood went on, “I’m
sure you realize that I am going to kill both you and Dr. Watson.  Then, I will
have disposed of all six people responsible for my brother’s death.  I intend
to remove your head and limbs, so that I may use your trunk as part of my
composite body.  That will leave a left leg, which will be supplied by Dr.
Watson.”

Wood got up from his chair and walked across the room, to a
blood stained curtain that lay on the floor.  He lifted it to unveil the body
parts that he had sewn together.

Holmes turned his head away in disgust and said, “You will
not get away with these crimes.  The police are already on their way.”

“Shut up, you fool!” snapped the killer, “Nothing you can
say will stop me killing you.  I don’t
care
if the police catch me!  I
know that I am destined to be hanged for the people I have killed.  I always
knew it would be the price I would have to pay in order to avenge my poor
brother.”  The words were spoken with such venom that Holmes had no doubt that
Wood really didn’t care about his own life.  It was as though he was entirely consumed
by a hateful need for, what he saw as, retribution.

Wood slowly paced around the room, all the while staring at
Holmes.  He said nothing, as he continued to pace.  Holmes became more anxious
as every minute passed, and wondered where Watson and the police were.

He tried to free himself from the large man, who now gripped
both of his arms, but could not do so.  The man was simply too strong.

Eventually, Wood stopped pacing.  As he stared at Holmes, a
twisted smile formed on his face.  His eyes slowly looked towards his
accomplice.

Holmes felt a sudden terror, as he heard Wood say, “You can
kill him now, Jack.”