A Study in Reason

Friday, November 7th, 2014

Yesterday was a long one. After heading back to Baker Street, Sherlock settled himself into his chair, closed his eyes and didn't say a word for half an hour. Figuring he was going to be a while, John and I went out for breakfast as it wasn't even nine o'clock yet. When we returned, Sherlock was pacing the living room.
"Cracked it, yet?" I asked as a way to announce our return. Sherlock just grunted so we left him alone.
With Sherlock doing his thing, John and I decided to do our own version.
"So, that hole opens onto a car park at the back of the building at ground level," John clarified. I nodded.
"So that will be how they did it." We paused as Sherlock's bedroom door slammed. He'd migrated there for the silence, obviously. "Now we just need to figure out who. You served in the Army, so you should know what sort of weapon was used and guess what sort of person used it?" I asked hopefully. John thought for a moment.
"The shooter would have been ten metres away from any of the victims and at an odd angle so... Unless they had training or were an excellent shot, I'd say that the weapon was a rifle or a firearm with a sight attached."
"Hmm..." I hummed. "Okay, let's think about motive. First of all, why were the victims in there in the first place?"
"A meeting?" John suggested.
"So what about? None of the reports done by the police or ourselves have indicated that the victims knew each other," I countered.
"That doesn't mean they didn't," John pointed out. "Maybe there was something shady going on at work - at Guillory Tower - and they were in on it."
"None of the victims actually worked at any of he firms that are residents of Guillory Tower," I sighed.
"So why were they there?" John asked. I was silent.
"They hired the room," Sherlock's voice yelled from down the hallway. John and I stifled a laugh.
"Okay, so why?" I asked, loud enough for Sherlock to hear but not actually directing the question at him.
"Maybe they stored something there?" John suggested.
"Did you see what was in those boxes?" I asked. John shook his head.
"Not really," he said. "But it felt like a boat load of paper.
"If they were into anything shady they wouldn't hire a basement room to store the records. If they were any sort of smart, they would keep as little records as possible."
"So..."
"A meeting is more likely," I finished. "So what was it about?" John thought but Sherlock had reappeared.
"Online dating," he said. John and I just looked uncomprehendingly up at him. "You know," Sherlock continued with a roll of his eyes when he saw we didn't get it. "You 'meet' online and after a while, you decide to meet up for real." John still wasn't getting it.
"So... It was a... Thr-"
"No, John. It was a scam. That's why Chapman or Koemans or whatever his name is, had the gun," I interrupted with a chuckle. "Is that right, Sherlock?" He didn't answer, he was staring at the smiley face on the wall.
"Sherlock?"
"I know, I know, it's a money laundering scam. I got that," he said dismissively. John and I looked at him.
"It is?" John asked.
"Well," said Sherlock, tuning back into the world around him. "Yeah, I mean, isn't it obvious?"
"No," John and I answered in unison.
"Think back to the crime scene. It was a small room with no chairs or a table or any kind of furniture and the boxes weren't there fourteen years ago, so it wasn't going to be a long meeting. Chapman brought a gun so he was either planning to murder the other two or it was in self defence because he had never met the other two before. You know, just in case it went wrong. The wives of the two married victims both separately described their husbands as business men and we know Alec Bardsley travelled a lot according to his wife before they married but he stopped afterwards. So, they had a lot of money, then. Combine those two facts, you have an CEO or a board member both are very influential and have access to high places. The same goes with Daniel Argyris. Chapman wasn't a business man - not yet - but he was ambitious. He changed his name, everything so he would have a better chance at going higher than a temp in the business world but to do that, he needed more money than was coming in. So, either Bardsley or Argyris or someone else involved in their scam finds Chapman and gets him to become a launderer in return for a few leg ups and pay rises."
"Why money laundering though. Why not something else?" I asked.
"I've been reading old newspapers from that year," Sherlock explained. "A couple or articles have described small thefts from accounts with large bank balances. Siphoning money from one account into another which would require someone in power to look the other way."
"And you think they're connected?" John asked.
"It makes sense," Sherlock replied.
"Why don't we get New Scotland Yard onto it?" I suggested. "They could track the movements of money from one account to the other and provide some sort of proof."
"From fourteen years ago?" John asked. "Can they really do that?"
"We could see at least," I tried.
"No, we shouldn't bother," Sherlock insisted. "The case is closed. They wouldn't bother reopening it without proper evidence and if they did find something, they'd take it over and that would be the last we see until they mess it up again."
"Okay, so how do we find out if we are right?" I asked.
"I wonder..."
"What? What is it Sherlock?"
"Does Niklaas Koemans like hunting?"
*
When Sherlock ran off again, we followed him into a taxi which took us to Niklaas Koemans' cottage. He opened the door as soon as we knocked.
"Hello?" He asked. His Dutch accent seemed more apparent than last time.
"Hi, Mr Koemans, can we come in?" I asked. He nodded and let us step through. We entered the kitchen. At the table sat a mousy haired youth that I assumed was Niklaas' brother Sven.
"Mr Holmes!" Sven exclaimed, jumping to his feet and jostling the table. "Have you found out who killed my brother yet?" Sherlock neither confirmed nor denied the question.
"I have a few more questions for you," he told them.
"Ask away, Mr Holmes," said Niklaas.
"Mr Koemans, do you have any livestock on the property?" Sherlock asked.
"Yes, a goat and six chickens," Niklaas answered.
"Do you send any for slaughter?" Sherlock questioned. Niklaas shook his head.
"None. The chickens lay eggs and the goat provides milk. I would not kill them." Sherlock frowned.
"Do you do any hunting?" He asked. Niklaas shook his head.
"I am a vegetarian."
"Do you have any firearms on the property?" Sherlock asked, sounding disappointed. Niklaas shook his head.
"Mr Holmes, sir!" Sven exclaimed. "You cannot think my brother has anything to do with my brother's death!"
"No," Sherlock replied. "I was just ruling out possibilities." He swept out the door, coat flapping behind him.
"Thank you very much, for your time," John said before we both followed Sherlock out of the cottage.
Sherlock was in a bad mood.
"But... It made sense!" He was growling.
"Sherlock, what is going on?" I asked, running to catch up with his long strides.
"I saw something that made me think he was a hunter. I know he did!"
"Where? Are you sure you're not getting your suspects confused?" John asked.
"Vegetarian," Sherlock was now muttering. "How did I not see that?"
"Sherlock, stop," I ordered, grabbing his arm so he spun to face John and I. His brow was furrowed and his eyes were fiery, it didn't take himself to see he'd gotten worked up and frustrated about the case. "Listen," I told him. "Think. What was it that made you think 'hunting'?" Sherlock closed his eyes.
"Skin. There was a bear skin rug," he said.
"You can buy those," I pointed out. "You know that, why did you think 'hunting'?"
"Photos. Photos of a man hunting!"
"One of the victims?" John asked. Sherlock shook his head.
"Who?" Sherlock didn't answer.
"Where?" I asked. "Where did you see the photos?"
"Uh..." Sherlock screwed his eyes closed even tighter.
"Were they framed?" I asked. He nodded. I closed my eyes too and tried to sift through my memory, trying to find any recent pictures I'd seen that matched Sherlock's description.
"OH!" Sherlock and I shouted at the same time, making John jump.
"It's creepy how you do that," he mumbled. I smiled and Sherlock hailed a taxi.
For half an hour we didn't say a word. I tried to tell Sherlock that it was useless trying to visit anyone at home as everyone would be at work but he had insisted. I knocked on the door when we arrived.
"Sherlock," John said. "Let's try later. No one's home." Sherlock shushed him. To The surprise of John and I, at that moment the door was opened.
"Mrs Webb," I greeted, smiling sweetly. "May we come in?"
Once we had been let in to the house Sherlock went into battle mode.
"Call your husband," he demanded. "Now."
"Why?" She asked, suspiciously.
"Because if you don't, I will call the police." Tara Webb's eyes widened and she dropped the cup she was holding into the sink with a clatter. Fumbling, she reached for the phone. Sherlock smiled. It was the sort of smile that marred his handsome features. The smile of a predator. "Tell him to take the day off and come home early. Tell him it's a matter of life or death," he ordered. Tara obeyed. Twenty minutes later the door to the house opened and he husband entered the house.
"Tara?" He called. "Are you okay?"
"Malcolm, honey," said Tara shakily. "This is Clara Lane, Dr John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. They er... They've come about Daniel." Malcolm Webb swore.
"Why are you here?" He walked forwards. He was a large man, and looked like he would beat both Sherlock and John hands down if it came to a fight. He wore a suit but was bald. If I had to guess, I'd've said he was a security guard for somewhere important.
"I want to know what happened to Daniel Argyris and the two men he was with when he was murdered," Sherlock answered, stepping forwards as well.
"That bloke copped him and then copped himself. That's what happened, Mr Holmes," Malcolm's voice dripped with authority and the conviction of a man who was hiding something.
Sherlock didn't seem perturbed. On the contrary, he matched Malcolm's tone perfectly when he replied, "are you threatening me, Mr Webb?" Malcolm sneered.
"Do you feel threatened?" He asked maliciously. With lightening speed, Sherlock had kicked Malcolm in the chest and stabbed the tips of his fingers under the chin where Malcolm's head met his neck. Tara screamed and Sherlock wrenched Malcolm's arm behind his back. For a moment Sherlock's face betrayed the relish he felt and the enjoyment he was obviously feeling at the larger man's discomfort.
"Are you?" He asked Malcolm Webb, getting the final word.
"Sherlock," John warned. Sherlock just sent him a 'really?' Look so I assumed this wasn't a totally rare performance. John shrugged and I swore I saw a tiny grin appear on his face before an impassive mask slipped back on.
"Let him up! Please?" Tara begged. Sherlock sighed and let Malcolm off the floor.
"Your children arrive home from school in little under two and a half hours," he told the Webbs. "You'll want to get this over with well before then."
"What do you want?" Tara asked.
"The truth Mrs Webb, that's it really. Although I'm sure my two friends here will want to call the police once we're done talking. Sorry, can't do anything about that, I'm afraid. Just too busy," Sherlock said, dusting off his coat and tugging at it so it was flat again and the collar stood up like he always has it. I pulled a notebook out of my bag and started taking notes.
"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked, completely caught off guard.
"Taking notes," I told him. "Isn't it obvious?"
"You've never done it before," said Sherlock.
"Yeah, well. If someone's about to confess something I want it done properly. It's not really official unless it's taken down right now. Editors just don't accept anything that quotes from memory. Don't trust it, see?"
"So why have you only started now?"
"Oh, I have an eidetic memory. Well, almost." Sherlock's brows furrowed but he shook his head, a bemused look on his face before turning back to the irate married couple.
"Mrs Webb," Sherlock said, businesslike one again. "Tell me, when did you meet... Malcolm?" He said the name like it tasted bad on his tongue.
"Six-sixteen years ago." Sherlock's eyebrows rose.
"So he met your first husband?" Tara's eyes lowered and she shook her head. Sherlock turned to Mr Webb. "Did you?" he asked. The other man shrugged.
"I might've once or twice, Mr Holmes, but it was a long time ago."
"Tara, how much did you know about what Daniel Argyris did?" Sherlock asked.
"Not-not much, as it turned out," she replied bitterly.
"Oh?" Asked Sherlock with raised brows. "So you didn't know he was in the middle of a money laundering scam?"
Tara fired up, eyes suddenly blazing with anger. "I did actually, I had to know about it! I was a PA for a man named Mycroft Holmes so I was good with accounts. I helped him when he was away on trips but when we married, he told me he stopped!"
"You knew Mycroft?" John asked, taken aback.
"And then?" Sherlock prompted.
"Tara, shush!" Malcolm ordered.
"Oh, but they know anyway! There's no point is there? No point in pretending," she sniffed and addressed Sherlock, John and I. "After two years, I met Malcolm. We connected instantly. Dan and I... We didn't get along."
"So why did you marry him?" I blurted. Sherlock gave me a Shut-the-Hell-up look.
"He was rich. He was powerful. He could talk you into things... I came from a good family. We had money but we didn't have his influence. When he... Offered to marry me, it was in my family's best interests. Two years later I meet Malcolm and we hit it off. So after two years of sneaking around, one day I'm looking at the accounts and something doesn't add up. Daniel had taken money from our shared account and put it in one that only he could access in some overseas bank somewhere. I was mad - furious. So I confront him about it. He tells me everything... Eventually, but that only made it worse. I told Malcolm what he'd done and we... Decided to take care of it. I wanted to be rid of him and that life. It was false and I was so unhappy. Malcolm made it worthwhile." She'd walked up to her husband and put her arm around his waist. He gave her a soft smile.
"Mr Webb," Sherlock said, turning to him, completely unmoved by the couple's show of affection. "How many times a year do you go hunting?"
"A couple," the man answered, his face hardening as he returned to the present.
"Where's your rifle?" Sherlock asked.
"Why do you want to know?"
"I don't. You just told me everything I need to know," Sherlock smirked. At that moment, there was a loud banging on the front door. John moved subtly to the the back, blocking the couples's escape route from there.
"POLICE! Open up!" Tara squealed.
"You said you hadn't called the police!" Sherlock smirked.
"I didn't. John did when we arrived." John nodded. I grinned. Good on you, John. I opened the door for the police. The DI looked at me suspiciously.
"Mrs. Webb?" He asked I pointed down the hall. The DI's brows furrowed but he didn't comment.
"What is going on, Sherlock?" The DI asked.
"Lestrade, I hoped you'd get here for the explanation," Sherlock said pleasantly.
"What?"
"Just listen," Sherlock ordered and the policeman fell silent. "Fourteen years ago, Daniel Argyris, Alec Bardsley and Andrew Chapman were murdered. In the police report, it was deemed a murder/suicide but that didn't fit with all the facts. What really happened was a third party was involved in the murder of all three. Mrs Webb, known then as Mrs Argyris, had had enough of her marriage and wanted out so she could be with her lover, Malcolm Webb. If she did however, she would be left disgraced and penniless. Not to mention if Daniel went down publicly he would take Tara with him as she had been involved in his scam and she would go to jail. So, Malcolm - It was Malcolm, wasn't it?" Malcolm nodded. "Thought so. So Malcolm came up with the solution. Tara found a date when he was going to meet with two gentlemen he was working with on his money laundering scam and where they were meeting. They had scouted out the place earlier that day, and found the perfect opportunity: a ventilation hole that opened up a few inches at ground level. Malcolm visited that meeting between the three men, looking down on the scene from an almost Birdseye view. Unnoticed by his victims. But your first shot missed, didn't it and hit Alec Bardsley instead. On your second shot, you got the right man but by then Chapman had seen you and drawn his handgun. Despite your earlier mess up, you're a very good shot, aren't you, Malcolm? So when Chapman screamed for help, you managed to shoot him in the mouth. It was perfect. The handgun fired as he fell and the police had their answer. Murder/suicide. You were free to marry Tara who was now a very wealthy widow and the police were none the wiser. What did I get wrong?" For a second, neither of the Webbs moved. They had been standing in silent horror for the duration of Sherlock's explanation. Lestrade, the DI, didn't seem to need anything else as he stepped forwards and handcuffed Malcolm. Tara sobbed.
"Malcolm Webb, you are under arrest for the murder of Daniel Argyris, Alec Bardsley and Andrew Chapman." The procedure was over in seconds. "Tara Webb, you are under arrest for accessory to murder and accessory to monetary fraud."
As the couple was lead away, Sherlock and John introduced me to the DI.
"Ah, Clara Lane, this is DI George Lestrade."
"Greg," John and the DI corrected at the same time. I rolled my eyes.
"Hi, I'm Clara."
"I have to admit, it does seem rather odd to see another human being hanging around with Sherlock and John. How did you meet?"
"Oh, I'm a client. I was looking through old records and found this file. It was a closed case but I saw some things that didn't add up. So I gave the case to Sherlock and John with the condition that I came along."
"Well that's... New... Why did you want to come along on a case?" Lestrade seemed confused at my motives. I laughed.
"I'm a journalist. I wasn't planning on doing a story on this but... Now it's gotten interesting, I think I'm going to talk to my editor. I wanted to go with John and Sherlock because I was bored, really, and it sounded like fun."
"Oh, god," said the DI. "Not another one? You're just like him!" John and I spoke at the same time:
"-I'm really not-"
"-she really is-" I glared at John.
"Anyway. The case is closed. Thank you, both of you for your help. It's been fun." I turned and left the house, catching a taxi back to my hotel.

Mr and Mrs Webb were tried in court and convicted. During their jail sentence, their children were cared for by their grandmother and visited their parents every other weekend.

Case closed