by Ian Wright
“I only wish to hypnotise you, Watson. This is something that I have studied, and I believe that it may help us catch Stephen Wood, if he is our killer.”
“This is preposterous. You can’t possibly believe that hypnotising me will help to catch the killer,” retorted Watson, angrily.
“As I have already stated, Watson, I suspect Arthur Smith to be none other than Stephen Wood.”
“Do you really think that it was Stephen Wood masquerading as Arthur?” asked Watson, in a considerably less angry voice.
“Yes, I do, Watson. If I can get you into a relaxed and receptive state, you may tell me some of the details that I believe you revealed when he drugged you.”
“I must confess that, when you suggested Arthur Smith was, in fact, Stephen Wood, I was more shocked than convinced, Holmes. I still don’t feel sure that Arthur could be Stephen Wood.”
Holmes walked over to the table, moved the lunch plates out of the way and grabbed a stack of files that he started to sort through. When he had found what he was looking for, he took it to Watson.
He held out a photograph for Watson and said, “This is a photograph of Stephen Wood, taken just before he was committed. Can you see the resemblance now?”
Watson shook his head and replied, hesitantly, “I do see the resemblance, but I can’t be sure.”
Holmes smiled, expecting Watson’s reply. He took a piece of tracing paper and placed it over the photograph and drew a beard and moustache, as well as some darkened glasses. He then showed the composite image to Watson.
“My God, Holmes! You are right. That looks exactly like Arthur Smith.”
“Another indication is that Stephen Wood was released from the asylum approximately six months ago, at about the same time we first made the acquaintance of Arthur Smith. In addition, we discovered that the meat cleaver used to kill Sir Charles Grey was purchased at a shop called Smiths. This may simply be a coincidence, but perhaps not.”
“Oh, I think that must be a coincidence, Holmes.”
“Possibly, Watson, but it could also be the reason that Stephen Wood chose ‘Smith’ as a pseudonym. I believe that he sees himself as extremely clever. He may have decided to provide subtle and intelligent clues about his identity, that he thought nobody would ever determine.”
Watson sat quietly for a moment, stroking his chin, as he considered what Holmes was proposing to him.
He then looked up and asked, “If I agree to your idea of hypnotising me, would I be in any danger? After all, you are not a trained hypnotist.”
Holmes laughed as he replied, “Of course there is no danger, old fellow. Hypnosis is not so powerful as to allow me to control, or alter, your mind. All I can do is help you relax into a peaceful and receptive state. Whilst in this state, your unconscious mind may be able to reveal details that your conscious mind has forgotten. My attempt may not have any effect at all, but I can guarantee that I can’t possibly do you any harm.”
“Do you really know what you are doing, Holmes?”
“Yes, I do, Watson. Perhaps, what I am about to say will convince you. As you may recall, Stanley Wood used to keep a body part from each of his victims. He went on to join these body parts together, by sewing them. He ended up constructing a complete composite body, made up of all the parts he had collected. Our new murderer has already severed a head, two arms and a right leg. He now requires a left leg and a torso to make a complete body, so I believe that he plans to commit at least two more murders.”
“Who do you think his next intended victims might be?”
“Since it was you and I that caught Stanley Wood, I believe that we are the next intended victims.”
Watson looked visibly shaken, as he answered, “Very well, Holmes, you can hypnotise me. If I can reveal any clue that might help catch this lunatic, it will be worth it.”
Under hypnosis, Watson revealed that Stephen Wood had asked a lot of questions about Holmes. Watson also confirmed that he had told Wood the names of the witnesses and the judge at his brother’s trial. He then mentioned the address ‘15 Lower Thames Street’, which he felt had some significance, although he could not recall why. When Holmes had finished the hypnosis, he snapped his fingers and Watson awoke.
“Come along, old fellow,” said Holmes, with a hint of excitement in his voice.
“Where are we going?”
“We are going to 15 Lower Thames Street. You mentioned this address whilst under hypnosis, but could not recall its significance.”
The two men left Baker Street and took a cab to London Bridge. Having alighted, Holmes asked the cab driver to wait. Holmes noticed a small road, called Arthur Street, which was situated on the opposite side of the road from where he was standing. He wondered whether this could have any connection with the reason that Stephen Wood had chosen the name, Arthur.
Holmes and Watson walked along Lower Thames Street until they found number 15. It was a somewhat run down looking place. Although the buildings could not be considered slums, they all seemed quite grimy. Number 15 was no exception and looked dingy. Its windows were dirty and had old looking net curtains hanging inside, making it impossible to see what was within.
Holmes turned to Watson and said, “I shall wait here, whilst you take the cab to Scotland Yard and fetch Lestrade. Tell him that I should like him to bring a few officers with him.” Holmes looked around the area and then continued, “That small alley over the road shall afford me suitable cover and provide a good vantage point to observe number 15. I shall be there when you return.”
“Why do you wish to remain here, Holmes?”
“It is possible that this is the address Stephen Wood is using, whilst in London. I intend to observe whether there is any activity inside whilst waiting for you to return, with Lestrade and his men.”
“What leads you to believe that this may be where Wood is based?”
“It first struck me when you mentioned it, whilst under hypnosis. You seemed convinced that there was a connection, but were unable to say what it could be. It is possible that Wood revealed the address to you, without telling you anything about it. Furthermore, the name of a road near to where we left the cab is Arthur Street. Perhaps that is why Wood chose the pseudonym, ‘Arthur’.”
Watson stood thinking for a while, before responding, “Holmes, I don’t like the idea of you waiting here alone. If Wood and his accomplice are using number 15, you could be in danger.”
“Thank you for your concern, Watson. I will place myself out of sight, in the alley. I promise not to take any action until you return,” replied Holmes, with a smile on his face.
Watson left and made his way back to the waiting cab, whilst Holmes walked over to the alley and found a suitable spot, from where he could observe number 15. He glanced at his pocket watch to check the time, which was 4:05pm. Holmes thought, ‘It will soon be dark,’ as he noticed the light was already beginning to fade.
As he waited, the light became dimmer and mist started creeping up from the river. The coldness numbed Holmes’ feet, as he stood watching number 15. He saw no movement from within and nobody entered, or left, the building.
At 4:35pm, Holmes glanced at his watch again and had just placed it back in his pocket, when he heard footsteps behind him. As he turned to see who was approaching, two hands suddenly grabbed his arms. Holmes stared at the man who had grabbed him. Although it was starting to get dark, Holmes could see his adversary’s face was pitted and had a small scar on the right cheek. The man was much bigger, and stronger, than Holmes and easily pushed him out of the alley and into the street. Holmes turned to fight, but the man produced a knife. The knife was quickly placed against Holmes’ throat. The man stepped behind Holmes, still holding the knife against his throat. Holmes winced, as the larger man grabbed his left arm and forced it up against his back. The man then pushed Holmes over Lower Thames Street to the doorway of number 15.
The larger man forced Holmes’ arm higher behind his back, as he withdrew the knife and unlocked the door.
Once inside, Holmes was forced up a flight of stairs and into a room on the first floor.
Inside the room, a man sat facing the door. Upon seeing Holmes, a hideously smug smile broke out on his face.
“Mr. Holmes!” he exclaimed, in a strangely triumphant sounding voice.
“Stephen Wood! I knew I would find you here.”
“And, I knew you would come here. You have fallen into my trap, just as I knew you would.”
Holmes ignored the comment and asked, “Tell me, how is that scratch on the side of your face? I see that Miss Spencer managed to draw blood.”
The smile vanished from Wood’s face, as he retorted, “How do you know that bitch did this to me?” He pointed to the scratch on his face, whilst staring, coldly, at Holmes.
“I know a great deal about you, Wood. I know that, upon being released from the asylum, you put into action a plan you had conceived to avenge your brother’s execution. You set about murdering those you saw as responsible for Stanley’s conviction. You even chose to use his trade mark of removing body parts. May I enquire as to why you befriended me and Dr. Watson, under the pseudonym, Arthur Smith?”
“In part, it was to find out more about those responsible for my brother’s murder.”
Holmes shook his head upon hearing the misuse of the word ‘murder’ to describe a legal execution, but he chose to say nothing.
Wood smirked, as he continued, “My primary reason, however, was to find out more about you, Mr. Holmes.”
“To what end?”
“I needed to establish how I could arouse your interest, when I started to kill those people. After having known you for a while, I…”
“And after having drugged Watson,” interrupted Holmes. The comment caused a brief look of worry to appear on Wood’s face, which led Holmes to believe the murderer had underestimated him.
The worried expression was fleeting, as Wood continued, “Yes, I did drug Watson, and gained a lot of useful information. Anyhow, I decided that, by not damaging the clothing of my victims, you would soon become interested in pursuing the case. To ensure that you began to realise these killings were in revenge for the death of Stanley, I chose to adopt his trade mark of retaining a body part from each of my victims. I have even started to sew the pieces together, as it seemed such a fitting epitaph to my poor dead brother.”
Holmes felt exultant at having his suspicions proved correct, although he knew it would be foolish to underestimate Wood. He felt sure that Wood had also anticipated a lot of the steps that he had taken to discover the truth.
Holmes’ happiness was short lived, as Wood went on, “I’m sure you realize that I am going to kill both you and Dr. Watson. Then, I will have disposed of all six people responsible for my brother’s death. I intend to remove your head and limbs, so that I may use your trunk as part of my composite body. That will leave a left leg, which will be supplied by Dr. Watson.”
Wood got up from his chair and walked across the room, to a blood stained curtain that lay on the floor. He lifted it to unveil the body parts that he had sewn together.
Holmes turned his head away in disgust and said, “You will not get away with these crimes. The police are already on their way.”
“Shut up, you fool!” snapped the killer, “Nothing you can say will stop me killing you. I don’t care if the police catch me! I know that I am destined to be hanged for the people I have killed. I always knew it would be the price I would have to pay in order to avenge my poor brother.” The words were spoken with such venom that Holmes had no doubt that Wood really didn’t care about his own life. It was as though he was entirely consumed by a hateful need for, what he saw as, retribution.
Wood slowly paced around the room, all the while staring at Holmes. He said nothing, as he continued to pace. Holmes became more anxious as every minute passed, and wondered where Watson and the police were.
He tried to free himself from the large man, who now gripped both of his arms, but could not do so. The man was simply too strong.
Eventually, Wood stopped pacing. As he stared at Holmes, a twisted smile formed on his face. His eyes slowly looked towards his accomplice.
Holmes felt a sudden terror, as he heard Wood say, “You can kill him now, Jack.”
Chapter 9
Holmes crashed into a wall near the room’s entrance, as he was shoved, with immense ferocity, by the larger of the two men.
Having heard Wood mention the name, Jack, Holmes now knew who this man was. His name was Jack Roberts. He had been a fairly well known wrestler, until he seriously hurt an opponent in a fight that ended his career.
Jack grabbed Holmes by the collars and thrust him back into the wall once again. The force drove the breath from Holmes’ body and he was temporarily stunned. Before he could recompose himself, Jack repeated the movement causing the back of Holmes’ head to hit the wall. Holmes collapsed to the ground, completely dazed, as Jack released his grip.
In his semi-conscious state, Holmes observed the large man walk over to the other side of the room and pick up a shovel. Holmes desperately tried to pick himself up, but could not move. As the large man approached, Holmes became paralysed with terror. He felt his breath coming in short erratic bursts and his heart beating furiously.
Jack stood over Holmes, his eyes glaring madly and his teeth bared in an aggressive snarl. He raised the shovel above his head. Holmes saw the blur of the shovel as it hurtled down towards him, causing him to flinch sideways, but not far enough to avoid being hit. The shovel smashed into his left shoulder. A deadening pain rushed down his left arm, causing him to yell out loudly.
Once again, Jack raised the shovel above his head. This time, however, Holmes was able to move, having regained control of his senses. He raised his right leg and thrust his foot into Jack’s left kneecap. The force of the kick caused the large man to shriek, as he fell backwards, dropping the shovel as he did so. Holmes saw his opportunity and immediately jumped to his feet. He grabbed the shovel and rushed towards Jack, with the intention of knocking him out.
As he approached Jack, he saw Wood pick up a bottle and throw it at him. The bottle struck him on the left shoulder, already injured by the blow from the shovel. This caused Holmes to stop and wince in pain. As he recomposed himself, Wood threw another bottle, which hit him on the back of the head and made him fall forwards to the floor. As he was falling, Holmes realised how close he was to Jack. He bunched his right fist and managed to punch Jack on the side of his jaw. Holmes was beginning to think that he might be able to win this fight and started to stand, when Jack suddenly punched him in the stomach.
Holmes immediately collapsed on the floor, clutching at his stomach as his lungs fought to take in air. Jack stood and shoved Holmes with his foot, so that he rolled onto his back. The large man then sat astride Holmes’ stomach and grabbed him by the collar with his left hand. He threw a punch with his right hand, aimed at Holmes’ face. Somehow, Holmes jerked his head to the right, so that the punch skimmed his left ear and crashed into the wooden floor boards.
The unexpected pain sent Jack into such a furious rage, that he started to growl and wrapped both hands around Holmes’ throat. He began to squeeze, choking Holmes, who tried to think of a way to stop this madman. He instinctively grabbed at Jack’s wrists, and tried to pull them away from his throat, but to no avail. He then realised that he could easily reach Jack’s chin, so he moved his hands in front of his own chin and then punched upwards with both hands at once.
The grip around his throat was instantly released, as his fists hit Jack’s chin, and he gasped in air. Wood came to Jack’s assistance and grabbed both of Holmes’ hands so that the larger man could continue to strangle him. The large man smirked triumphantly, as he gripped Holmes’ throat once more. As he started to squeeze, Holmes, unable to breath, began to panic. His heart started to pound in his chest and his lungs seemed to be frantically screaming for air. He desperately tried to free his arms from Wood’s grip, but could not do so. As h
e struggled, he could feel his arms becoming weaker. His head started to pound with the agonising beat of his straining heart.
Holmes tried to shout, ‘help me!’ but all that emerged was a pitiful gurgle. He looked up at Jack, but all he could see was a blur. All the pain he felt started to fade away and he was aware that his heart beat was beginning to fail. He lost his ability to concentrate and began to feel a wonderful calmness. Somewhere in the distance, he thought he heard a loud bang and the pressure around his throat disappeared.
v
Holmes slowly opened his eyes and mumbled, “I thought I was dead.” He heard a voice reply, but could not understand any of the words being spoken. His vision was blurred and took some time before it started to clear. As it did so, he felt a great relief, as he saw his friend, Dr. Watson looking over him.
“Watson,” coughed Holmes, “What happened? Where is Jack?”
“Jack? Oh, you must mean the man who was strangling you. He is dead. I shot him in the back of the head. How are you, Holmes?” Watson’s voice revealed his deep concern for Holmes.
“I think I am alright, thank you, Watson. Help me up, please, old chap,” said Holmes, as he sat up.
“Of course. Are you certain that you are ready to stand?”
“Yes, I am certain,” replied Holmes, smiling.
Watson helped Holmes to his feet. When he was standing, Holmes looked down at the crumpled body of Jack Roberts. Although he was dead, his eyes were still open and his mouth still bore a menacing grimace. Blood flowed from a large hole in his forehead, forming a growing pool on the floor.
“Where is Wood?” asked Holmes, with a sense of great urgency.
“As we entered the room, he ran and climbed out of the window onto the fire escape,” answered Watson. “Lestrade and two of his men gave chase. I think he might have decided to go onto the roof, as Lestrade had deployed four officers in the street.”
For the first time, Holmes observed that two policemen were also in the room. Not paying them any heed, he rushed across the room to the window, his desire for pursuit helping him forget the pain he was suffering.