A Study in Victory Red Read online

  Irene crouched, examining.

  The victim was dressed in a brown suit, dark hair messed and roughly tousled. His face, long nose and small lips causing his features to resemble a rat, fell to the side, and there was significant bruising around his neck.

  Irene positioned her own fingers above the man's neck, hovering them above the skin.

  "Joe," she said, pointing at his notebook. He readied his pen as she dictated. "Large hands. Crushed larynx."

  "This man can't be more than five and a half feet in height," Joe said. "Too short to write that message in lipstick."

  "Precisely." Irene moved to the man's feet. Same boots with the prints that were at the first crime scene. She looked at the wood beneath the man's boots.

  "Scuffs in the wood," she said. "He struggled."

  Beside the man's shoulder was a small fissure in the floor. She motioned for Eddy to look.

  "Something or someone heavy fell here," she said.

  She stood and headed back to the door frame, while Eddy shifted the body.

  Joe followed her, scribbling in his book. She pointed to a splinter in the door frame, white thread stuck in the wood, and he took note.

  "Oh, dear," Eddy said. He'd rolled the man over and discovered something small, similar to a white marble, beneath him on the floor. Irene immediately crouched down to look.

  A molar, dislodged from its owner's mouth. A white capsule stuck in the cavity left by the molar.

  "What is that?" Eddy reached for the capsule, but Irene grabbed his wrist before he could touch it.

  "Deadly poison," Irene said. Eddy recoiled, stepping away, and Joe took his place.

  "Identical to the capsules I've seen," he said.

  Irene stood up to conjure the bigger picture.

  Large man, broken gate, strangulation, both had fallen, kicking and fighting, death. Then the large man stumbled out of the room, escaping the flat, and stealing into the night.

  "Lewis Carpenter," Thom said. "Looks just like his picture from his military file. Though, not as dead."

  Eddy peered down at the man. "I suppose you'll have to type out another report, Gregory.”

  Irene still had some minor details to work out about the case, but she did have a solid idea of what happened. She needed to go back to Baker Street, sip some tea, and collect her thoughts.

  "I assure you that our culprit will commit no more murders," she said. "As for this group with the pills, I am unsure who they are or what they are doing, and cannot account for their homicidal tendencies."

  Eddy and Thom exchanged confused looks.

  "Look, Irene," Thom said. "We get that you're a woman with above-average intelligence, but to withhold the answer, or what you believe is the answer, so smugly over our heads is cruel and insubordinate, and possibly even illegal."

  Irene laughed. "I'm not withholding anything from you, I am merely working out the facts as they come to me. Have your constables search for a dark red limousine, like the ones used for royalty. They'll notice scrapes along the paint on the left-hand side. Should they find it, do not engage. This is crucial. I don't want our man scared away, or we may never get him back. Find the car and inform me immediately."

  Eddy nodded, acknowledging her words, then sighed. "We still would like some sort of clue, Irene. Obviously, our theories were...misguided in some way."

  "Not at all, dear Eddy," she said. "Exceptional, given the evidence you saw. You managed to find out who our two Americans were. We had yet to do that."

  "I think she just complimented us, Lestrade," Thom said.

  "Gentleman," she said, addressing all three of them, eager to commence the search. "We are looking for a large widowed German man, grieving his daughter, and planning two murders, but only committing one. Come, Joe. Lunchtime."

  Joe bade Eddy and Thom a quick good-bye and followed Irene out of the house. As they left through the gate, something shiny caught Irene's attention. A long strand of blonde hair was snared in the wood. She plucked it and held it up for closer inspection. The only person she knew with this particular hair was the lady that claimed the pin.

  Curious.

  "Put this in your notebook," she said to Joe. "I'll collect it later."

  He took the hair and tucked it between two sheets of paper, then they both headed back home.

  * * * * *

  After lunch, Irene and Joe sat in the living room, waiting for Eddy's call. Irene stared at the space beside their desks, imagining the area furnished in her head.

  "A board," she said. "Of course. We need a large board to hang clues, notes, evidence, and other curiosities. Why hadn't I thought of that before? Joe, when this is all over, let's get a board."

  "Okay," Joe said, peering up from his novel.

  "Excellent," she said. "Then we'll-"

  The telephone rang, startling them both. Irene leapt from the couch and grabbed the receiver.

  "Eddy?" she said.

  "We found him," Eddy said. "I've instructed my men to keep back, and we're waiting at the end of the street for you."

  * * * * *

  They arrived two blocks away from their destination and decided to walk the remaining distance. The neighbourhood was on the fringes of the city, close to old buildings and stables. They soon found Eddy and Thom, leaning against a dilapidated fence.

  "So," Eddy said as they approached. "How shall we do this?"

  "I shall go to his door," Irene said. "I appear the least threatening, and he is less inclined to flee."

  Horses hooves sounded around the corner, and a man drove a lovely chestnut mare down the street. She pulled a Hansom cab, probably heading for one of the barns a few blocks away. Rare to see a horse-drawn anything in the city any more, this man probably did it for the extra bit of change from people seeking a novelty ride.

  The driver perked up when he saw the four of them, then gave a wave. Beside Irene, Joe waved back.

  "You know him?" Irene asked.

  "Ran into him the day before last," he said.

  The man drove the cab to them and halted.

  "Well, hello, good sir," he greeted Joe. "I was just thinking about you. I managed to find some of that turmeric you told me about, and I've switched her over to a grass mixture."

  "Excellent," Joe said, patting the horse's neck. "You should definitely see improvements."

  Irene pushed all her questions aside as an idea came to her.

  "Sir," she said to the driver. "May we borrow you and your horse for a police matter?"

  The man puffed out his chest in pride. "Well, of course."

  "I'd like you to drive us to a specific house," Irene said. "Then park your horse where I tell you to. We may have a suspect to pursue, and you may come in handy to block the suspect from running or allow us a quick chase, should he slip past us."

  "Hear that, old girl?" The driver said to the horse. "Back in action."

  Eddy went to step in the cab, but Irene stopped him. "You and Thom look like police. Joe and I do not look official in any way."

  She climbed into the cab, but Joe hesitated behind her. When she turned to question his reluctance, his face had paled and his breath quickened, as if nervous upon entering.

  “Come now, Joe.” She clutched his arm and gently tugged. “This cab is old, but well-restored. It shall hold our weight without worry.”

  Joe stuttered out a few words, but let her aid him into the seat. The driver started down the road and as they progressed, Joe's leg bounced up and down, nervous. He rubbed his hands on his trousers.

  "We are not pursuing a violent man," Irene said, in hopes of calming him down.

  "It's not that," Joe replied. "The last time I was in a horse-drawn cart wasn't a pleasant experience."

  "Why didn't you mention that?" Irene said. "I would've brought Eddy or gone alone."

  He raised an eyebrow at her. "I wouldn't have let you go yourself, and I would not put this case in jeopardy for the sake of my nervous misgivings, not when we are this close to
apprehending a possible murderer."

  She reached over and took his hand, palm moist from fear. "I appreciate that. We'll be out of the house within a minute."

  She kept her eye on Joe as the cab ambled down the street. She longed to know what happened to Joe to make him this reactive to the German language, and horse-drawn carts of all things. She almost asked, but tucked those questions away. This was not the time or place for such inquiries, and she felt a bit proud realizing that. A few years ago, she would've asked point-blank about such sensitive matters.

  Less than a minute later, she instructed the driver to pull over.

  "We'll step out as if stretching our legs," she said to Joe. "That'll give us a good look at the house and the person inside."

  They both exited the cab, and Irene feigned stretching. The driver hopped down to check the horse's hooves.

  Irene immediately spotted the dirty car tucked up beside the house, and she glanced at the tires. They were a match to all the tire tracks she'd seen around the city, and the red paint on the left side was scraped, what you'd expect from bumping into curb after curb. The house was ancient and missing its top two floors, but there was a light on inside. The street was deserted, which made things a bit easier, should they have to pursue.

  Before Irene had a chance to observe anything else about the house, the front door opened.

  A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out of the house. His shirt was torn at the arm, at the same height as the splinter in the door frame.

  He must've noticed Irene startle because he held out his hand in an apology.

  "Sorry," he said in a thick German accent. "I've not seen a Pferd und Wagen for many years. May I...uh...see?"

  The driver looked at Irene, and she nodded.

  "Of course," the driver said. "She's quite tame."

  As the man came closer, Irene read him as best she could. He walked softly, almost timidly, toward the horse, grinning as he stroked her neck. The man looked at Irene, presumably to offer an apology for interloping on their ride, but he spotted something behind her, and his grin disappeared.

  Irene turned and at the last second saw Thom pop back into a garden, hiding. He and Eddy must've evasively made their way down the block, hoping for a better view. Irene pivoted back around and saw the panic on the man's face.

  He bolted, fleeing down the street.

  "Get in that seat with the driver," she said to Joe. "And ride beside us."

  She took off after the man. He was slow due to his large size and she quickly caught up to him. She grabbed his arm and yanked him back. Her strength was not enough to bring him down, and he turned, swinging his fist. His knuckles crashed into her face, and she bit her tongue, tasting blood. His fist knocked her into a garden wall, scraping her arm badly. Using the force of her spin, she pushed herself off the brick and kicked with all her strength at him.

  Her ankle hooked the back of the man's knee. His leg buckled, and he collapsed on the pavement. He righted himself to his hands and knees, but she fell upon his back, forcing him flat to the pavement. She grabbed his wrist and yanked, pulling his arm back, applying tension to the shoulder joint.

  The man sputtered out incoherent German words, lip trembling, tears forming in his eyes.

  Joe crouched down beside her, hand on her shoulder. Behind her, Eddy and Thom had caught up. Eddy immediately took over for her, grabbing the man's arm and lifting him to his feet. The two detectives recited rights and other policing business as Joe herded Irene toward the cab.

  "Are you alright?" he asked. "I'm sorry, Irene. You caught him so quick, I just-"

  "I'm fine." She placed her hand on his chest. "I've taken much worse."

  A line of blood ran down her chin, and she wiped it away, the scrape on her arm hot with pain. Joe took her face gently, examining her cheek.

  "When we get back," he said, clutching her hand to his chest. "I'm taking care of that arm."

  She nodded, cheek pulsating from his touch. The man's fist didn't break the skin, but an angry bruise would soon add interesting colours to her face for the next week at least.

  Her palm still pressed into Joe's chest, his fingers wrapped tightly around hers. She tugged her hand gently away, and Joe released her, cheeks blushing. He cleared his throat and turned his attention to the detectives taking custody of the suspect.

  Irene watched the three men, all of them half the size and weight of the German. Eager to get back to the police station, she handed some coins to the Hansom cab driver.

  "Should you need some extra money," she said to him. "Come to Baker Street, and I can guarantee customers for you."

  He thanked her and urged his horse on.

  Irene wiped additional blood from her chin. Now to figure out how and why this large man managed the deaths of two, or perhaps more, American citizens.

  Chapter XII

  The Actual Account of what Happened

  Within an hour, the four of them sat in an interrogation room at the police station, staring at Horst Müller, the giant German suspect. Joe's leg bounced up and down, his nerves firing more than he would like. But this man didn't resemble most of the German men Joe came in contact with during the war. Horst was submissive and looked horribly sad and defeated.

  DI Gregory must not have seen him that way, though, for he tucked himself in the corner and shot glares at Horst every time he took a breath.

  Lestrade took the lead in the interview, while Joe and Irene sat off to the side. Beside Joe was a first aid kit. There was nothing he could do about Irene's bitten tongue, and she'd have to wait until she got home to apply ice to her bruising cheek, but he could attend to her scraped arm.

  He doused some gauze squares in alcohol as Horst began his story.

  "I am not a bad one," Horst said, his accent giving Joe goosebumps. But the man's voice was soft in timbre and he'd been nothing but compliant thus far.

  "I was carpenter," Horst continued. "I make stühle for people. My village was small. We thought we were hiding from them, but they found us. We did not bow to Hitler when his soldiers came, and they left with half of our people."

  Irene flinched, and Joe realised he'd held the gauze in one spot for longer than he'd intended. He dropped it and grabbed a bandage to wrap the wound.

  "My little girl," Horst said. "Well, she was almost a woman, then. She was good at the mathematik. The best. When we thought everything was ending, a small group came. Three of them. They came for my daughter."

  His chest heaved, and Lestrade looked to Gregory, motioning for the detective to get a glass of water. Gregory obeyed and left the room, returning a moment later with some. The man gulped it down.

  "Danke," he said. "The group said they needed people like my daughter. People with skills to help their cause. They promised riches and a good, safe life for my daughter. I refused to let her go, but she took their offer. They handed me some money and my daughter left with them, but as soon as they left our farm, they were rough with her. They threw her in a cart with a few others, and I heard her cry for help as they drove away. I chased them, but they fired at me, stopping me.”

  He started getting worked up again. Joe knew the rest of the story. He'd lived the story. He stared at Irene's arm, focusing on his task, keeping the memories at bay. His stomach turned, and he prayed he wouldn't have to leave the room. That would just end in questions he didn't want to answer.

  Irene leaned forward, completely intrigued with the story. “Describe the three people that took your daughter.”

  “They were not from Germany,” Horst said. “They were American, at least the two men who spoke were. There was a tall woman with a sharp face with them. I will never forget her look. She had a spot, just on her cheek, and long hair. She said nothing, but looked to be in charge of everything this group did."

  Irene glanced sideways at Joe. Horst had described the lady who had retrieved the pin from them yesterday.

  "I found out later," Horst said. "That my daughter fought them, tr
ied to escape, and refused them. Her body... Her body was found on the road."

  He bowed his head and silently sobbed into his hands.

  Lestrade craned his neck, looking at Gregory. "You know anything about this group collecting people?"

  "There were rumours," Gregory said. "That a group of German soldiers were recruiting POWs into their small unit, and using those turned men to recruit others. We only took it as a rumour because we couldn't imagine treachery against our own country. I'd dismissed it, but this tall woman you speak of just jogged my memory. I ran into a young lance corporal from another company one evening who claimed that a tall, beautiful woman found him and tried to convince him to leave his company. He worked exceptionally well with radio communications, and apparently, she told him his talents could be put to better use. Whether that was serving Germany, her group, or if it was just a ruse to collect more POW's, I had no clue. I'd written it off as nonsense, just a story for a foxhole."

  Joe heard these rumours about the POW's too and wished that capture by the enemy was that easy. It wasn't. There were no beautiful women, no recruitment from a camp.

  At least not for him.

  Fingers wrapped around Joe's wrist. Irene halted his dressing, and he realised he'd triple wrapped a section of her arm. She lowered his wrist to his lap and intertwined her fingers with his.

  Horst continued, exhausted. "When they took her, they spoke of London. They said she would have a life here, and perhaps even take her to America. When they took her, I swore to never forget their faces. The one with the scar, and the short, thin man that looked like a rat. I swore I would get..."

  He drifted off, searching for the word.

  "Rache," Joe mumbled. "Revenge."

  He squeezed Irene's hand, focusing on her touch, like he'd focused on her the other day in the alley, in the middle of his episode.

  Horst nodded. "I could not get to America, so I started here. I arrived and got a car."

  "The largest one with the biggest petrol tank," Irene said. "So you could drive for as long as possible without stopping. One with a distinct twelve-foot tire length separation, which you bumped into the curb several times because you aren't accustomed to driving on our side of the road."