The Impossible Murderer

  The Impossible Murderer

  The Third Holmes & Co. Mystery

  Allison Osborne

  Copyright © 2020 Allison Osborne

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN-13: 9781234567890

  ISBN-10: 1477123456

  Cover design by: Art Painter

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309

  Printed in the United States of America

  Holmes & Co. Stories

  Collection One:

  A Study in Victory Red

  The Circle Code Conundrum

  The Impossible Murderer

  Coming Soon:

  The Happy Family Facade

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  About The Author

  For those who care for animals in all capacities

  It is one of those cases where the art of the reasoner should be used rather for the sifting of details than for the acquiring of fresh evidence.

  -Sherlock Holmes, Silver Blaze

  Chapter I

  The Stable Boy's Story

  Irene Holmes sat quietly at her small secretary desk at 221B Baker Street. Her dark wavy hair was secured with a dozen pins, one stubborn curl hanging by her cheek, refusing to stay up. Her lips were dry and her balm was in her bedroom at least seven steps away. Too far, though, as she didn't want to leave her current experiment.

  Test tubes of blood from various animals lined the scuffed and stained wood of the desk, and five other tubes of yellowish liquid sat in a small wooden holder, a hole for each to keep them upright. Her hands were covered by thin gloves she’d stolen the last time she’d wandered through the university. She plucked the first test tube, tilting it from side to side. Satisfied with the consistency, she grabbed an empty tube from a scattered pile at the corner of her desk, a few vials threatening to roll off at any moment. Irene slowly poured half the contents of the first into the empty one, splitting it into two equal vials.

  She then realized she didn’t have any more holders for her extra test tubes. She scowled at the whole experiment, as if it was the equipment's fault that she was short a holder. She swept her gaze over her desk, as if more supplies would suddenly appear out of thin air.

  No such luck.

  As she contemplated her next move, a loud thud came from the upper bedroom. Joe had been agitated all morning, stomping back and forth inside his room. At one point he left the flat, strolling around the block several times, before returning in a huff.

  He thumped down the stairs and into the sitting room, breathing sharply out of his nose. Irene rolled her eyes. He could be so dramatic sometimes.

  Joe let out a frustrated sigh behind her.

  “Look at this mess, Irene,” he growled, northern accent rolling through his words. It grew thicker when he was in a foul mood, turning the usual light cadence in his voice into clipped syllables.

  Irene ignored his nagging, still trying to figure out what to do with her extra tube. Joe began to pace, so she held the tube out to him.

  “Hold this for a moment.”

  He grumbled and took the tube, raising it to the window so the light could illuminate its contents. “What’s in here?”

  “Snake venom,” she replied with a grin. “Eddy’s friend brought some fantastic samples back with him after the war.”

  “Snake venom?” Joe snapped, voice cracking in surprise. “Bloody hell, Irene. Is that what’s in those tubes on the counter?”

  “Yes. Different species found in Africa and India.”

  “Right next to our kettle.” His words oozed sarcasm as he glanced over at the nearby kitchenette. “Wonderful.”

  He kept the tube in his grasp, though, as he trudged to his armchair and sunk down into the cushions. Irene whirled around in her chair and folded her arms across her chest.

  Joe often grew flustered and agitated, but this was the first time she’d seen him simply fed up. His mind appeared to be overflowing with problems lately. His deep ginger hair was wild and stuck up all which ways and his clothes were wrinkled beyond belief. He hadn’t even bothered to tuck his short-sleeve shirt into his trousers and his socks were mismatched. One was black, the other a simple dark blue.

  “If I may make an observation–” she began, before Joe cut her off with a wave of the test tube in his hand.

  “Since when do you ask?” he scoffed

  “You are agitated and restless.” She tried to contain her annoyance at his rude demeanor toward her, but her words came out snappy nonetheless “Which are not your usual traits. You also have not made any progress in your current novel, though you are eager to read it. One would assume you are fraught with your panic-induced episodes, but that is not the case. Something is on your mind and I am stumped as to what the issue is. You have eaten, the weather, though dreary, has been on the favourable side lately, and that animal shelter around the corner has taken up entire afternoons while you watch the construction of it. So, what troubles you?”

  Joe tipped his test tube back and forth, watching the venom move. His cheeks reddened with embarrassment and he shook his head, speaking softer. “I apologize. It’s nothing.”

  “False.” Irene jabbed a finger at him. “It is something if it alters your attitude.”

  Joe let out a soft, tired chuckle, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “How do you know this isn’t my true personality emerging after three months of living together?”

  “I observe people for a living.” Irene returned to her desk and took a dropper from her tray of tools. She sucked up half a dozen drops of pig's blood from the first test tube in the holder before walking over to Joe and grabbing his wrist, holding his hand steady. She squeezed the dropper of blood into his tube. “And I know a lot about you, Doctor Joe. Your emotions show plain as day on your face and you wear your heart on your sleeve. Tell me why you are so restless–and keep that hand still. That concoction will eat at your skin should it touch you.”

  Joe froze, mumbling a curse under his breath. A flicker of amusement passed across Irene's face.

  “I suppose,” he said, eyes glued to the mixture. “That I am unsure of what to do.”

  “There is nothing to do,” Irene said, taking the tube from his grasp and pushing a cork on. “We have no case at this moment. Gently shake this.”

  “You have no case.” Joe took the tube and flipping it back and forth in his fingers. “People seek you out, not me.”

  “Wrong, Joe,” she said. “They seek our services, even if it’s my name they know.”

  “But how long can this go on?” Joe demanded, refusing to meet her gaze. “This is not what my career was supposed to be. This is not what I was supposed to do after the war.”

  “What were you supposed to do?” Irene wandered back to her table to start on some more blood. “Go back into the medical field?”

  He cringed, loosening the collar of his shirt. “I don’t think I could. Not for a full-time profession, anyway. The thought alone makes me queasy, but I must do something. The money I’ve saved is quickly running out, and London is on
ly growing more expensive.”

  Irene moved to face him, full dropper in hand. A rogue drop of blood flew from it, splatting onto the floor.

  “Money is what’s troubling you?” she asked, exasperated at his explanation. “Oh, nonsense Joe! We have plenty of money. At least enough to get us by. This house is paid for, and the bills are covered by the earnings from our cases. When we need more, I have plenty tucked away that I can access. If there is one thing not to worry about, it is money.”

  Joe sighed. “I suppose, but what happens if no one seeks out our services? Now, I had a thought if you shall indulge me.”

  “Always.”

  “That bombed-out bakery next door,” he began. “The one they’ve just cleared away. Well, the base still stands and they are rebuilding the first floor. What if we took it over and opened it up?”

  Irene paused, her blood dropper hovering over a test tube. She sucked it back up and set the dropper down, then turned to him, fighting to keep the disbelief from her face. Joe absentmindedly flipped his test tube back and forth, keeping the blood-venom mixture moving.

  “Joe,” she said. “I have never seen you in a kitchen, nor have I heard you express any interest in cooking of any kind. You certainly have never seen me near Miss Hudson’s kitchen and I assure you that I have no plans of stepping foot in there other than to sneak a taste of a dessert she is baking.”

  Joe laughed, the sound warm and seeming to chase away the last of his agitation. “I should have worded that better. We convert the bakery to a legitimate private investigation business and have a place to advertise and welcome clients.”

  The mixture in Joe’s vile started to solidify, turning into squishy chunks inside his test tube. Irene concentrated on it, keeping the angry ball in her stomach at bay.

  Since being back at Baker Street, she'd had several ideas about how to turn a more profitable business. A new office, with storage and a filing system and a place for clients to lay down all their secrets, was vehemently temping. But whenever she weighed the pros and cons, her thoughts always drifted back to the comforts of 221B and how she did her best thinking in her housecoat in her own living room. She couldn’t very well walk around an office with big windows in her housecoat.

  Well, she could, but putting her mismatched pyjamas on display for all of Baker Street would leave poor Joe scrambling to find curtains to cover the windows and put Miss Hudson into flustered fits.

  She decided to ignore Joe’s suggestion altogether until a more appropriate time when she could counteract all his offers with reasons as to why they simply would not work.

  “Is it money you need at this moment?” she asked. “I can always give you some if–”

  “Goodness no,” Joe sighed. “I don’t need an allowance.”

  “It’s not an allowance,” she said. “It’s just something to make sure you have what you need.”

  A gentle knock came from the door and Miss Hudson popped her head in.

  “Tea for two!” She entered the flat with a tray and Irene blew out a breath. Miss Hudson’s white puffy hair was askew, and her shoes were splattered with mud. A succession of welts dotted her forearm, the skin red and irritated.

  “I told you to stay away from hive six,” Irene muttered, yanking her gloves off. “They produce good honey, but are aggressive and protective.”

  “Oh, I know,” Miss Hudson said with a well-meaning nod as she set the tray on a nearby table. “But your silly father left his pocket watch near the hives and the nurse was too nervous about retrieving it. She is the best nurse we’ve had for your father if only she would get over her fear of bees–”

  “Thank you for the tea.” Irene regretted mentioning anything to Miss Hudson at all, the knot in her stomach growing. “You may go now.”

  Without another word, she stood from her chair and herded Miss Hudson to the door.

  Miss Hudson scowled when she crossed the threshold. “You are more than welcome to come with me one day–”

  Irene shut the door behind her, nearly hitting the old woman’s heels. She felt Joe’s eyes on her as she poured them a cup each of steaming black tea.

  “Miss Hudson takes food out to my father,” she said, quelling any questions from Joe before he asked them “She makes him his favourite dishes and brings him the week’s papers, though I doubt he reads them. She also makes sure the nurse is doing her job.”

  “I’ve never heard her speak of this before,” Joe replied with a raised brow. “How often does she go?”

  Irene shrugged, keeping her focus on the water pouring from the kettle. “Every other week or so. I’ve told her not to speak of her visits unless something dramatic happens.”

  Joe stared at her for a long moment and he must have felt bold, because he leaned forward.

  “Don’t you want to know how your father is doing?”

  Irene bristled at his question as a tremor ran through her hand, shaking the teacup in her grasp.

  At first, she was going to ignore his words and deflect with some inquiry or command of her own, but she hesitated. She’d been slowly opening up to Joe about her father, and though some of her anecdotes still made her angry and queasy, sharing was more comfortable every time.

  She sighed and handed him his tea a little quicker than she meant to. The liquid tipped the rim of the cup before splashing down into itself. “I’ve instructed Miss Hudson to only inform me of his health should he take a drastic turn for the worst or make a miraculous recovery. Otherwise, I will just assume he is the same as he always was.”

  Irene set the teacup down and turned to her work, and away from any further inquiries. She felt Joe staring at her, probably trying to work out how to phrase his next question or two.

  A friendly rap came from the door, interrupting the conversation, much to Irene’s relief.

  Eddy Lestrade waltzed into the room. “Good day! How are my two favourite consultants on this lovely Wednesday?”

  Joe handed him the test tube and Eddy took it absentmindedly, his gaze sweeping over the messy state of the flat.

  “Quite alright, and yourself?” Joe refused to acknowledge the mess again and added a few lumps of sugar to his tea.

  Eddy finally eyed the tube, the blood-venom mixture still solid and grotesque, then threw them both a grin. “In need of–”

  “What is the case?” Irene questioned, eager to shift the conversation. “It must be a tricky one and you must be desperate, or else you would’ve dressed a little less wrinkled to step out of Scotland Yard.”

  While not near as fashionable as his fellow DI Thom, Eddy was usually wrinkle-free. Today, though, his lanky body was dressed in trousers that looked like they’d been sat in for two days straight, and the laces on his shoes were uneven, meaning he’d taken them off and on several times while sitting at his desk. Even his black hair, which was usually slicked back in the usual way men his age wore it, was drying and puffed up when he took his hat off. Today he looked a decade older than his thirty-five years.

  “It’s not tricky, per se.” Eddy let loose a nervous chuckle. “It’s just...odd, and I’ve spent the better part of today trying to figure out just how to solve it. I need your help because I’m not sure that the obvious suspect is the true murderer.”

  “Who is the suspect?” Joe asked, sipping his tea.

  “A horse. Some Spanish breed that were all taken to Austria during the war. Or was it Czechoslovakia?” He wrinkled his nose, as if trying to recall the details.

  “Both,” Joe said. “If you are speaking about the Lipizzaners.”

  Eddy shrugged. “If you say so.”

  “They’re magnificent,” Joe said. “But they definitely can’t be murderers.”

  “Why not?” Irene said, brows pulling together as she tried to recall if her father's cases ever had an animal as prime suspect.

  “Horses can’t be held accountable for murder,” Joe said. “Certainly not tried in our legal system. They’re animals, and even more, they are prey anima
ls. They react to situations, including threats. If this horse killed anyone, it was reacting to a situation it was put into.”

  “Reacting or not,” Eddy countered. “No one knew what to make of this case because no one has ever tried a horse before.”

  Irene couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her mouth. “Oh, Eddy. Please tell me you’re not actually asking me to clear a horse’s name?”

  “Give me some credit,” he said, fiddling with the test tube, rolling it between his fingers. “The blame is falling to the horse’s caretaker, Ronald. He has an alibi, but it’s shaky and may prove false. He is adamant, though, that this is the soundest horse in the world and would never kill anyone. I know nothing about horses, but it’s fallen to me to solve it, as my name has a reputation for solving quirky cases. If you two are willing, come to Scotland Yard and interview the caretaker.”

  Irene desperately wanted to finish her experiment, but this case was intriguing, and a simple interview to find out if she even wanted to take the case was something she could not pass up. Plus, Joe liked horses, and perhaps this case would be just what he needed to lift his spirits.

  “Certainly,” Irene agreed.

  “Wonderful,” Eddy said before eyeing the tube in his hand. “What is this I’m holding, anyway?”

  “Snake venom,” Joe replied.

  “Bloody hell, Irene.” Eddy held the test tube out to her, turning his head away as if the venom would jump out of the tube and latch onto him. “You remember what happened with the mushrooms? Get this away from me, please.”

  “I told you not to eat those mushrooms.” Irene took the tube back and set it on the table. “But you, being the emboldened teenager you were, shoved the lot of them in your mouth. Not my fault you were floating around the clouds with the birds.”

  Eddy wiped his hands on his trousers, then stuck his hat on. “See you both shortly.”