Sherlock Holmes and The Scarlet Thread of Murder (18 page)

***

Several hours had passed since we arrived in America, and we had taken little time to rest or even discard our luggage. By the time we arrived at 227 Lenox Avenue, the sun was setting, and my body was tired. We stood before the three-story brownstone. Holmes knocked firmly on the door, but received no answer. I noticed a dim light on the third floor. After a moment, Holmes opened his luggage and pulled out his leather pouch in which he stored his pins for picking locks. Then, with a great sweeping motion, the door was flung open; Holmes stumbled backwards, and I shot straight up. There, standing in the doorway, silhouetted by a light glowing from behind, was a woman. One hand remained on the door handle; in the other a small pistol pointed down at Holmes.

“Mrs Norton,” said Holmes as he picked himself up and straightened his collar.

“Adler, you can call me Miss Adler,” the woman replied. She smiled at us. It was infectious. She had remained as beautiful as ever.

“I trust you are not going to have us stand out here while we discuss our business,” Holmes said.

“Forgive me, Mr Holmes, Doctor. Come in,” said she, and we entered. The lodging itself felt similar to Baker Street. There was a certain English flair to its decor. We were shown into a large study, which led into a kitchen separated by a couple of French doors. The floors, though hardwood, were covered in thick fur carpets; a maroon coloured paper with square patterns dressed the walls; lace curtains draped in front of the windows; and in the centre of this warmly lit study, just in front of the fireplace, were a comfortable two seater sofa and an arm chair with a table beside it. “Don't think ill of me,” Miss Adler said, ”I would only have shot you if you were neither Holmes nor Dr Watson.“

“We have visited your house,” said Holmes.

“It was in disarray,” I added. “We thought we were too late, and that you had been taken or killed.”

“Yes, I am not surprised. Someone is playing a game but I do not know who,” Miss Adler said thoughtfully. ”That is why I left. I thought it best to hide, and therefore told the necessary people that I would be taking a holiday.”

“Do you know what was being sought after by the vandals at your house?” Holmes asked.

“I'm sorry,” I interjected, “but something does not make sense. Miss Adler, you believed your life was in danger so you hid, yet you must have been at your house to leave us the clue to find you here.”

“That is correct,” she replied. “I saw that Godfrey was quickly buried and mourned, and decided that after his funeral I would hide. I knew that his death was by no means self-inflicted, and suspected whoever came after him might also come after me. I did not wish to be a corpse when you and Mr Holmes turned up, so I made the arrangements to leave under the pretence that I would be vacationing. I left a reliable partner instructions to notify me if any suspicious characters showed up at my house. I was notified of this a few days ago. I knew, roughly, when you would arrive, so earlier today I took to a disguise and snuck into my house to leave you the message. When I saw what had been done to my home, for it was my first viewing of it since I took to hiding, I left Mr Holmes a clue. I knew he would notice the one untouched thing in the house. I returned here in case whoever pillaged my house returned.”

“I'm afraid you must forgive Dr Watson, Miss Adler. I may be able to function and keep up on an empty stomach, but he cannot,” said Holmes.

“Then let me get you something to drink and eat,” offered our host.

“That would be splendid, thank you,” said I.

A short while later, Miss Adler had provided us with some cold meat and a bottle of whiskey. Sitting comfortably on the sofa and feeling refreshed, Holmes began to question her.

“We shan't waste any more time,” Holmes began. „Tell me all that happened with Godfrey Norton, and leave nothing out.”

“I know your methods, Mr Holmes,” said Miss Adler with a crooked smile. She composed herself as she pondered the events which saw her smile quickly fade. “Godfrey and I, our marriage was good. I was happy. We have been successful since coming to New York. He was hired into a law firm, and I was welcomed back on stage, and performed regularly. All was well, he kept nothing from me.”

“Does his death have anything to do with the opium addiction?” Holmes suddenly asked. Miss Adler's eyes widened and I turned to Holmes in shock.

“Opium?” I questioned.

“Yes, his clothes were riddled with the smells of an opium den. Watson, you saw me examining them in their room. The scent was faint but it was there,” said the detective.

“I had no intention on keeping that information from you. But the truth is, I cannot give you an answer. If that has had some part to play, I am not yet aware of why or how. He was not addicted to the substance when we fell in love back in London. It happened when we came to America. Through work, at Morrison & James, he was asked to travel to Nevada and aid in some legal matters out there; it was when he returned that he picked up the taste for it. I didn't fight him over it, but told him that I wished not to be a part of it. That aside, we had no troubles.

“It was, if I recall, three days before his death that I noticed his queer behaviour. He was nervous and short in his replies. When I asked him what was wrong, he simply said, ‘Problems at work, Ren. I have much on my plate at the moment.' I was preparing for a weekend show and needed to stay in the city, so I let him alone and told him I'd see him Sunday night. I was able to leave early from the city and arrived back there sometime around five o'clock in the afternoon.

“I found a note from Godfrey saying he was going to be at the office for a couple of days. I found this to be incredibly strange, and without any care I trailed back to the city to speak with him. When I arrived at the firm, the doors were locked. I picked the door and when I went into his office he was there, shot dead. I immediately noticed that the scene was meant to look as if he had done it himself.

“The wound was on the left side of his head and the gun was just near his left hand, on the floor. Godfrey was right-handed; why would he kill himself using his left hand? It doesn't make sense. I then noticed the ash on his desk. He smokes, but never in his office, which implied to me that he was not alone. Lastly, upon his desk lay a gold doubloon with the year 1701 upon it. The doubloon was there for one reason only. It was a threat. The police tossed it all off as trifles and ignored my concerns. ‘Suicide, clearly,' they kept telling me over and over, but it's not, Mr Holmes. Someone murdered Godfrey, and I want you to help me find them so that justice can be brought upon them.”

“The ash, did you save it?” Holmes asked.

“I did,” Miss Adler replied, and walked over to a desk drawer and pulled out a sealed envelope.

Holmes took it from her and sniffed. “Curious,” he muttered under his breath.

“What is it?” I asked.

“A familiar scent. Miss Adler, what else can you tell me about the office? Was anything out of order?” Holmes questioned.

“His desk. The drawers, three on each side, were open but at various lengths,” she informed us.

“Was anything stolen?” Holmes asked.

“Nothing appeared to be taken. No other cabinet or anything had been touched; simply his desk and nothing inside was disturbed.”

“Fascinating,” said Holmes “Was there evidence of fresh opium use?”

“None at all,” she replied. I could see her eyes welling up, but she bit her lip to stop herself from shedding any tears. “I should never have dismissed his addiction, and I should have pressed harder when I knew something was wrong!”

“Did you ever follow him to find out where he partakes of the substance?” I asked.

“I loved him, Doctor,” said she sternly. “I was not the type of bride to hound is every step.”

“And they say that love is blind,” Holmes remarked. “Given the amount of time that has passed, I would assume Norton's office is no longer intact?”

“Actually, it is. I persuaded the firm to keep it as is until the day after tomorrow to give you enough time to get here and have a look.”

“Well done,“ said Holmes with a smile. “Then tomorrow, our first line of inquiry will be to look over his office!” After some persuasion by Miss Adler, Holmes and I agreed to stay at her brownstone for the night rather than venture out and find a hotel. Near ten o'clock, we dispersed into our separate chambers and rested before the next day's outings.

The Secret Life of Godfrey Norton

I woke around seven o'clock in the morning. I could smell the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee. In the study Adler was sitting with Holmes. She lounged upon the sofa in a lovely olive dress, with her hair gathered up, and several yellow lilies pinned around her left ear. Holmes, however, was sat with crossed legs in the armchair.

“Good morning, Doctor,” acknowledged Miss Adler.

I greeted them both.

“Have some toast, and some coffee. I wish to be out within the hour to Norton's office,” said Holmes.

“Very well. Are you accompanying us, Miss Adler?” I asked.

“I am not. Mr Holmes believes it best to remain ‘hidden',” she replied with slight distaste in her tone.

“Surely you are not much safer here than at home?” I asked.

“I had the same question, Watson,” admitted Holmes. ”However, it seems that Miss Adler has taken a tip from my handbook. This lodging is known only to her.”

“Are you that worried for your safety?” I asked her as I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat in the armchair opposite Holmes.

“I'm not worried for my safety. I just like my privacy. There is no harm in that,” she said.

I quickly ate and drank, so that within an hour Holmes and I were wandering the streets of Manhattan, making our way towards Norton's office at 82 Park Place Ave.

“Surely any useful evidence will have been taken by the local authorities?” I questioned.

“I'm not looking for anything that they found. If I feel the need to consult them after we have had a chance to look around, I will,” said Holmes.

“Ah, we're here,” said I as we turned the corner.

82 Park Place was an eleven-story building constructed from tan coloured bricks. We passed through an arched entrance and into the main lobby. It was a fine establishment, brightly lit with marble floors and fine wood trimmings. We made our way to the firm's floor, and were greeted by a tall man with a round face and thick white sideburns.

“Hello, there!” said the man with a southern draw as he offered us his hand. “I am Giles Penny.”

“I am Mr Sherlock Holmes of London, and this is my colleague Doctor John Watson,” said Holmes as we shook Mr Penny's hand. “We are here per request of Mrs Irene Norton to have a look through Mr Godfrey Norton's offices before they are cleared.”

“Oh my, yes. She was very keen for us to leave the office as it was until you got here. The police have already done their business, so there's not much left to see,” said Mr Penny. “Still she paid us handsomely for us to leave it.”

“Then let us not waste that penny. Where is Norton's office?” asked Holmes.

“Right this way,” and we followed the American.

“Did you know Mr Norton well?” I enquired.

“He was a good man and damn good lawyer. A sturdy fellow,” Penny replied. “Still, though, it's not uncommon for people to buckle under this job.”

“Was he working on any particularly high-pressure cases at the time?” Holmes asked.

“No, not really, a bunch of minor things. Still, it seems the stress got to him. I suppose looking back it was clear, but what can you do?” said Penny.

“You saw signs?” I asked.

“Quite right, little things they were. The week leading up to his death he'd been running late, getting sloppy with work, a bit forgetful, always looking like his mind was elsewhere. I thought he was having a bad week,” Mr Penny informed us.

“Interesting,” said Holmes.

Mr Penny pulled out a key and unlocked a door. “This is his office,” said he.

“Leave us to look around. We'll call for you if we need any more information,” commanded Holmes.

“Very well. I'll be at the end of the hall here.”

Penny gone, Holmes walked around the room with his hands behind his back. As I followed him, I noticed immediately to the right was a desk. It was large and made of oak. There were still markings on the floor from where the pistol had fallen and lain. Wrapping around the three other walls were cabinets filled with files. There was a window on the right wall that Holmes inspected carefully. I noticed that the floors in the offices were not marble but polished wood.

“The room looks clean,” I said glancing this way and that as Holmes began examining Norton's desk.

“It is far from clean, Watson,” said Holmes as he took a seat in Norton's chair.

“Care to explain?” I asked.

“Several things I've noticed. Do you see there, this cabinet which was hit by the bullet which pieced Norton's head?” said Holmes, and pointed out a chip in the wood.

“I see it,” said I.

“What does that tell you?” he asked.

“Other than the bullet passed through his skull and hit the wall–nothing,” I returned.

“You are wrong, Watson,” said Holmes. “You are missing the most vital about the bullet.”

“Which is?”

“Where it hit!” he cried. “Here, Watson, if I were to put a gun to my head and fire it with my left hand, the barrel of the gun would be pointed like so.” Holmes demonstrated. “If I fired said gun, the bullet would pass through my skull at an upward angle, therefore hitting the wall either level with my head or closer to the ceiling! The shot fired was angled down and hit closer to the floor.”

“What if he held the gun at the top of his head?”