A Study in Charlotte

And his partner had still followed his directions exactly.

I thought about the piped-in interrogation in the police station. About the little notebook that still lay open between us on the table. About how my own doubts about Holmes’s innocence ran alongside my doubt that she could get us out of this mess.

She had just gotten us out of this mess. And no matter what my head wanted to tell me, I knew in my bones that she wasn’t a killer.

“I’m sorry I didn’t trust you,” I said to my Holmes, in a low voice.

She shook her head. “I needed your shock to be genuine for me to sell it.”

“I don’t mean about the details. I don’t need to hear the details.” I reached across the table to put my hand on hers. “I meant to say that I won’t doubt you again.”

I watched her catalog me. The planes of my face, the tilt of my head, how I sat in my chair, my fingers’ heat and the ruck of my hair: she took it all in, deduced from what she saw, and came up, in the end, with something she hadn’t expected.

“You won’t,” she said with flat surprise. “You really won’t, will you?”

Next to me, my father cleared his throat. I didn’t spare him a glance.

When Shepard returned from speaking to his team, we gave him the background on the Culverton Smith story. And he told us what we already knew. They had, in fact, found a spring loaded into the ivory box, poised to strike when it was slid open. That spring was coated in an infectious tropical disease; the police lab weren’t sure of its exact origin, but they guessed it to be Asia. Samples of this kind were tightly controlled, and so far, their search into local scientists who had requested access to them had ended in an absolute null.

(I asked Holmes, much later, how she got her hands on the sample. She said something about Milo, an ex-girlfriend at the CDC, and “catching as catch can.”)

“This blows my list of suspects wide open,” Shepard said. “So we’re back to option one. Someone trying their damnedest to frame you two. We’ll need to talk about who out there in the world wants to get you. And I’ll have to notify the station that I won’t be needing a pair of cells. At least not tonight.”

So his plan had been to arrest us.

“Let us help you,” Holmes said. “I’m an official informant for Scotland Yard, and between Watson and me”—I was gratified to be back on a last-name basis—“we’re experts on the killer’s MO. Sherlock Holmes stories? We’re the obvious choice. Not to mention that we can informally question anyone at Sherringford without arousing suspicion, or that you’re getting an excellent chemist and a relatively fearless pugilist in the bargain. We’re not a bargain. We’re luxury goods.”

“No,” he said. “Absolutely not.”

Holmes shrugged; she’d anticipated this response. “Then I’ll conduct my own investigation, and deal with the culprit, after I catch him or her, as I see fit.”

“You actually think that threatening vigilante justice will make me want to take you two on?” Shepard demanded. “You’re a child. I don’t know how desperate the police are across the pond, but we play it by the book here. Isn’t it enough that you’re not suspects anymore? I don’t see any reason to put you and Jamie in the line of fire.”

“Really. Then perhaps call Scotland Yard again and ask them about what transpired after I sat through this exact conversation with DI Green. If she’s reluctant to speak to you, tell her you know all about the deep freezer, the meat hook, and how I found her two minutes before the killer returned. Honestly, I might’ve gotten myself there sooner if she hadn’t been such a cow about it. Just the year before I’d recovered three million pounds’ worth of jewels and given her all the credit.” She yawned. “Do it in the morning, though. I’m knackered.”

“But—”

“Mr. Watson, this was a lovely dinner. Would you mind taking us home now?” Without waiting for a response, Holmes disappeared into the garage, her gown trailing after her.

In her flair for the dramatic, she’d left behind my jacket and her phone. I collected them, trying not to feel like her valet.

“That girl is a piece of work,” Shepard said, somewhere between admiration and despair.

“Holmeses.” My father laughed, and reached for his car keys. “Would you know she’s one of the nicer ones?”

seven

IT TOOK SHEPARD LESS THAN A DAY TO AGREE TO HOLMES’S terms.

“You have until Thanksgiving break,” he said to us; I had him on speakerphone. He’d spent all that morning sleuthing in Holmes’s and Lena’s room, and come up empty-handed. I wasn’t surprised. Holmes, of course, had been thorough. “That’s a little less than a month. We’ll share information. Share it, do you understand me? DI Green warned me about how you like to play the magician so you can do the big reveal at the end. That won’t fly here.” A long, scratchy pause. “The only reason I’m allowing this Encyclopedia Brown business is because I don’t want any more hurt kids. You two are included in that. So, Jamie, I need you to keep an eye out for her. I’ve heard you’re a brawler. I’m okay with that.”

“Do you honestly think I can’t take care of myself?” Holmes asked, draped over the love seat like a boneless cat. “I’ll have you know I’m an expert at singlestick and baritsu.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">