Welcome to Baker Street

77. Catch me if you can

When the three of them arrive at an embankment on the Thames, a Scotland Yard officer is waiting for them. By the scornful frown creasing his forehead, Giulia assumes he is the person whom she spoke to on the phone: Detective Inspector Dimmock.

"Mr Holmes, I thought you'd bring only one guest," he harshly welcomes them as Sherlock ducks to slip under the police tape sealing the scene.

"Then you have a terrible memory, Detective Inspector. This is Doctor Watson. You've met him before. We always work together." Sherlock briefly does the presentations before stepping onto a narrow stretch of rubble by the riverside.

"And I suppose you are Giulia Ferrini, the woman on the phone." The officer turns to Giulia. She gives him a silent nod, and he scrutinises Giulia from head to toe, narrowing his eyes at her. He spins around, pointing at a lifeless figure lying on the muddy soil.

"Then perhaps you can explain to me who that person is and why she's dead."

She? Giulia's head snaps up, and she squints at the body on the ground. As the D.I. escorts her closer, flanked by John and Sherlock, she distinguishes the appearance of a corpulent woman in her late sixties. Her jaw drops. This is all wrong: that isn't the person from the phone call. Wrong gender, wrong age.

Giulia stares at the corpse in complete shock, unable to utter a sound. After half a minute of stillness, she breathes out, "I have absolutely no idea who this is. I swear, I've never seen or talked to this woman in my life."

"We'll verify your statement later on." Dimmock gives her a leery look. "In the meantime, I would appreciate it if you didn't tamper with the corpse before we complete all the proper forensic procedures," he adds, speaking to Sherlock, who has knelt down to examine the body.

John crouches down next to his friend and shoots him a worried glance when he hears Sherlock wincing in pain at that sudden movement: his wound hasn't thoroughly healed yet.

Holmes lifts his head toward the police officer, feigning self-abasement.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Inspector, would you like to present your brilliant theories on this murder first?"

Dimmock remains unperturbed and clears his throat.

"First, we can't be sure that it is a murder. She might have killed herself by jumping off a bridge."

"If that were the case, how did she turn up right here? This is the River Thames, not the Pacific Ocean; I'd exclude the possibility that a gigantic tidal wave washed the body ashore." Sherlock strikes Dimmock's pride with irony. "The corpse is simply standing too far away from the water. Even you should be able to notice that."

"Alright, given the distance from the water, the victim couldn't end up right where she is standing without a little help," the police officer reluctantly concedes. "Still, it doesn't rule out the option of suicide. Maybe a passer-by saw her floating near the riverbank and dragged her body on the shore out of compassion, then alerted the police through the anonymous call that notified us of the discovery of the corpse. We can't exclude this scenario," Dimmock stubbornly insists.

"Actually, we can. I'll disregard the plainly clear absence of any traces going from the water up to this precise spot. And yet, someone dragging dead weight would leave deep prints in this quagmire. I will also overlook the tiny detail that neither her body nor her clothes appear to have been immersed in the water recently," Sherlock explains conceitedly. "To make it easily understandable, even for Scotland Yard's standards, I'll simply point out the obvious. As you proved when calling Giulia, the burner phone found on the body is fully functioning, whereas I really wouldn't hold much hope for the survival of any piece of technology in the Thames's waters," he concludes.