by Eva Chase
Jemma had offered to get me a rental in the same place she was staying, but I’d wanted to stay close to the main two in the trio in case this alliance went sour. The upside was it only took me five minutes to get from the apartment to Sherlock and John’s for our planned morning meeting.
John was the one who answered the door. He smiled at me like he seemed to smile at just about everybody, but the expression he aimed at me didn’t have quite the same warmth. The image flashed through my mind of his face in my dream, lip curled with disgust. I blinked it away, dipped my head to him, and came in without bothering with greetings.
Despite my close proximity, I was the last one to show up. The others were already sitting around the dining table, Jemma tucked in between Sherlock and Garrett, her hand brushing Garrett’s arm as the cop said something she chuckled at. For all her cool collectedness, she had plenty of warmth for all three men now. As if Detective Inspector Lestrade wouldn’t just have soon have seen all of the rest of us out of the picture so he could have her to himself.
The thought came with an uncomfortable prickling. As I took my seat, I exhaled, willing myself to focus.
Jemma flashed me a grin. “Right on time. Let’s get started.” She gave Garrett’s shoulder a light poke. “You’ve been following up on the local investigation in the aftermath of the raid on the Lake District commune, haven’t you?”
“Of course,” the slight man said, his chin coming up. “A lot of horrifying stuff, as we’d all have expected. There was one kid they found in a hollowed-out room under one of the cabins…” His mouth twisted. “Anyway, these people don’t seem to keep a whole lot of written records, but the local department turned up a few things that might point us in the right direction. At least I hope so, considering the hassle my own coworkers are giving me over my interest in the case.”
“Does it bother them that you’re following up?” Sherlock said with a frown. “Surely they can understand why you’d check in, what with my own involvement and your key role in directing the investigation?”
Garrett tossed up his hands in an unexpectedly violent motion. “I don’t know what goes through their heads. Most likely their heads are all full of rocks, the way they go around. More interested in gossip than actually getting any work done. They’re all bloody useless fuckers.”
There was a momentary silence around the table as we all hesitated. The cop had a temper, but he didn’t usually shoot off his mouth to that extent out of the blue. Jemma peered at Garrett, knitting her brow. “Did something particularly bad happen when you were at work yesterday?”
The man rubbed his mouth, his expression still tight, his posture defensive. “No. I just—I get sick of them. That’s all. Nothing so strange about that. You hear the way Sherlock talks about them.”
The explanation didn’t ring totally true to me, but I didn’t really give a shit what bee the cop had in his bonnet anyway. “What’s the useful evidence you got?” I said. “That’s the important part.” Not his petty grievances.
Garrett shot me a look as if he were going to snap at me too, but his voice came out even enough now. “They found some sort of order invoice with an address that just led to a farm down near Dover. They left it at that, but the data we got together earlier suggests there’s been other activity in that general area. This address completes a sort of ring that I’d expect a commune or similar is sitting in the middle of. Not a very large one, though, from the level of activity.”
“That’s a start,” John said briskly. He drummed his hands on the edge of the table. “We can pursue that.”
“Is that all?” Sherlock asked. “As enjoyable as your enthusiasm is, my dear Watson, I think we should hear all the possibilities before leaping ahead.”
Garrett shook his head. “On top of that, they found items they were able to determine came from a couple areas in the Scottish Highlands. Also near some points of activity we observed earlier—a little more there. Although it’s been harder to get clear data because the departments in Scotland aren’t always so keen on cooperating with London… I’m planning on doing some further digging as I can.”
“It sounds like there must be some association between the different communes here,” Jemma said with a cock of her head. “I don’t remember mine being in communication with other settlements, but then, at my age, they probably wouldn’t have shared that kind of information with me. It’d certainty help with ensuring all the nearby communes had enough supplies and support if they ran into trouble.”
“The Highlands location has shown evidence of being a larger target,” Sherlock said. “Why don’t we continue our own investigations from a distance and see what we come up with in a few days’ time before taking any more direct steps?”
John looked at him, his hand still shifting restlessly. “Can we really afford to wait? The crimes they’re committing on a regular basis…”
“We need to be fully prepared,” Sherlock said firmly. “We can’t afford to step wrong and throw the whole operation against this menace off.”
“The place in Dover isn’t that far from here,” Garrett said. “It wouldn’t be difficult to scout out more closely.”
“If we’re going to look more closely, I say we go straight to the bigger commune,” John said.
Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “We don’t even know for certain that it is larger. I’d say—”
A tension I hadn’t fully registered building inside me suddenly overflowed. I smacked my hands down on the table. “I say you all shut up and let’s get something done. What the hell is the point of all this arguing?”
Sherlock stiffened. “Determining the best course of action is an essential part of any—"
“Not when you’re going in circles. Here’s a simple plan: We investigate everything and every way we can investigate. That matters more than any of you being ‘right’ or whatever you’re trying to prove.”
“Bash,” Jemma said quietly, and my gaze jerked to her. She was watching me much the same way she’d looked at Garrett a few minutes ago, her forehead lightly furrowed, concern shining in her blue-gray eyes. As the prickle of frustration eased off, I realized I’d just said more in the space of a minute than I’d generally contributed to these discussions at all. I let the rest of them do their talking, and then I carried out what Jemma needed doing. That was my role.
They just were getting on my nerves today.
Jemma’s intervention cooled my jets, though. I let out a huff of breath. “Do what you want,” I said to the others. “But what I said stands.”
“I would like to take some actual action,” John said, glancing around the table. “I suppose Dover is closer… It couldn’t hurt to go out and take a careful scope around the area today, could it?”
Yes. Let’s get away from this table and their constant discussion and crack a few heads. “I’ll go with you,” I said. “Strength in numbers. And I know enough to make sure you don’t screw everything up.”
I looked to Jemma again, wondering if she’d insist on joining us, but she simply nodded. Maybe she was glad to see me outright offering to collaborate with one of her trio.
“Let me quickly go over all the information we already have on that spot and see if I have any pointers,” she said. “Then it’s all yours.”
“Not so much a ring as a semi-circle,” John said, studying the map. He’d made a similar comment earlier in the drive, but at least when he was talking he wasn’t moving about restlessly in the passenger seat. Maybe I’d let him drive on the way back. I’d preferred to have primary control over our route, but it might be worth the trade-off to have him fully occupied.
“That still makes it easy to narrow down where the place might be,” I said. The data the trio had gathered from their various sources pointed us to a section of the country’s southern coastline, high up on a cliff over the sea. Jemma’s cult did have a thing for elevation. “How much farther to that farm now?”
“Ten miles. How close do you think we
should go to the likely area?”
“Close enough to see where the edge of their surveillance is. That’s the most important factor if we’re going to crash their party.”
John nodded with a knowing expression. “Any facility’s security is only as good as the men on guard.” He paused. “Or women, I suppose. We didn’t have many of those in our unit in Iraq, so sometimes my phrasing is a little skewed.”
I glanced away from the road to briefly study his face. I’d known John had been in the field overseas from Jemma’s preliminary research on the Londoners, but there was so little military in his demeanor I hadn’t thought about it in a while. Beneath that apparently soft exterior was a man who’d endured a similar environment to the one I had. It could be that the only reason he wasn’t still out there was the blast that had left him needing that walking stick.
“Do you regret joining the service?” I asked abruptly. “If you hadn’t, you’d still be a surgeon, right?”
John blinked at me. He might not realize just how much intel Jemma had shared. “No,” he said after a moment, with what sounded like honest thoughtfulness. “And not just because I’m very happy with the career I have now. Going over there gave me a sense of a higher purpose on a broader level that I hadn’t really felt before. I’m glad I have that, however I’m going to apply it.” He smiled. “And it’s always good to test your limits and discover how much you can survive.”
I had to chuckle at that. “No kidding.”
I returned my focus to the road, but I felt him studying me in turn. “Where were you stationed?” he ventured.
Was he guessing or had Jemma mentioned my time in the army? I guessed it didn’t matter for him to know. “Afghanistan. Pretty brutal. I don’t regret going either, because of the things it taught me about myself and everyone else, but I sure as hell wouldn’t go back.”
“No. I think once is enough.”
The set of John’s mouth resonated with something inside me. As huge a distance as there was between me and the three of them, he and I at least had more common understanding than I’d considered. I didn’t want to be best pals with the guy, but the prickly sensation that had lingered since my dream eased with a touch of warmth.
He might have overly grandiose ideas about good and evil, but John Watson was okay. He’d gotten his hands dirty—he’d put in the work.
He shifted in his seat. “Here’s the farm. Take a right at the crossroad.”
I followed his directions, easing up on the gas with each passing mile, until the road turned into a dirt track and a metal gate came into view another half a mile up ahead. At the sight of it, I pulled the car over to the side of the road.
The track led on past the gate across a short stretch of field and then on into hilly woodland. The cult liked the cover of forests as much as they liked to be high above sea level. I scanned the area but didn’t see any sign of security other than that gate. There might not even be a commune beyond it—it could be another farm or country property for all we knew.
“Should we go on foot from here?” John asked.
“I think that makes the most sense.” I shoved open the door. “Better make it look like we’re wandering tourists in case anyone’s watching from the woods. If they don’t want us to get that close, they’ll turn us back quickly enough, and that’ll tell us something right there.”
I had to admit that John knew how to play a part well when he needed to. He got out of the car with that entitled vacationer air already in place, giving his walking stick a quick whirl. We approached the gate without incident. A padlock hung from the chain that held it closed, so I clambered over and helped John follow me.
We ambled along as if sightseeing until we reached the cover of the forest. No one stepped out to shoo us away. I started scanning our surroundings more warily, watching for any human movement or other sign of habitation. John shifted the branches of a shrub with his stick here, peered down at the dirt track there. The third time he knelt down, he stayed there.
“Someone drove through here recently?”
I crouched across from him. “How can you tell?”
He motioned to a tiny blotch in the dirt. “Oil. Still on the surface, not quite dry yet. Sherlock probably could have given you an accurate estimate to the hour—the best I can say is I think it couldn’t have been more than a day ago they went through. It doesn’t tell us a lot, but there’s obviously someone who’s been active out this way.”
I straightened up. “Let’s see if we can find out what they’ve been up to.”
John spotted a few more specks of oil as we walked on. Birds chattered in the trees, and the warm summer breeze erased any coolness the shadows might have provided. We’d been on the trail maybe an hour without encountering anyone or anything human-made when a hint of a scent reached my nose. I stopped in my tracks.
“Do you smell that?” I said quietly.
John had come to a halt when I had. He took a breath, and his eyebrows rose. “Smoke,” he said. “Not just ordinary wood smoke either. Something’s been burning that wasn’t meant to be burnt.”
Yes, I’d caught the chemical flavor to the smoke too. My nerves on edge, I set off again a little faster than before. Something about this whole situation didn’t feel right.
The smell thickened as we hurried on. The track came to an abrupt end—and we found ourselves looking at what I assumed had once been a garage, now nothing more than a few pieces of charred walls and a heap of burnt rubble.
“What the hell happened here?” John said under his breath. “Do these people have enemies other than Jemma?”
“Not that she’s ever mentioned to me. And I’m sure she would have made use of them if they existed.” I peered between the trees and thought I made out a dark shape up ahead that wasn’t a tree. “Come on.”
We crept along cautiously at first and then with more confidence as it became clear no one at all was left in this godforsaken place. Eight cabins scattered the woods about a mile from the garage, but all of them had been burned, roofs crumbled, innards hollowed out, what remained of the wooden walls little more than cinders. Many of the trees near them were charred as well. I wouldn’t be surprised if the only reason there hadn’t been a huge forest fire was the recent rains.
The smoky stench hung thick in the air here. A huge pile of ash with no sign of walls or anything to mark it as a building lay in the approximate middle of the settlement. I walked up to it and poked it with a broken branch I picked up, sifting through fragments of blackened paper and melted bits of plastic. Understanding rose up inside me.
“This wasn’t something some enemy did to them. They did it to themselves. They were getting rid of evidence. This must have been the stuff they particularly wanted to destroy.”
John let out a low whistle. “Do you think they heard about the raid and figured they might be next?”
“Who knows? These people are insane, and I’m not sure the creatures that direct them are any less crazy.” I dug deeper into the pile of ash, hoping I might find some shred of evidence to bring back to Jemma, but they’d done a thorough job. The chemical smell was at least partly kerosene, I recognized now. The stuff had been doused to make sure it burned. Probably the buildings had been too.
“We check all the cabins,” I said. “Grab anything that’s got any kind of identifying mark on it, any text, anything we might be able to get information out of. Jemma won’t be happy if we lose this bunch completely.”
Chapter Ten
Jemma
The woman behind the reception desk gave the four of us a bemused look. “What are you here about again?”
“The parent company hired us to take a look at your computer security systems,” Sherlock said in a clipped voice that didn’t sound at all like his own. “All we need is a station with internet capability, ideally in an office we can have to ourselves for the hour or so the testing will take. I have the work order right here.”
He produced a paper I’d had o
ne of my many contacts in the forging business put together for us. The receptionist glanced at it and then at us again.
We’d gone for the most clear computer-geek stereotypes, all of us in one sort of glasses or another, slacks and plain button-up shirts, my bright hair hidden under a much dowdier wig. The only one who stuck out a bit was Sherlock’s Irregular addition to our crew—a girl named Marissa who couldn’t have been more than eighteen but who apparently could hack circles around just about anyone. But she mustn’t have looked ridiculously young, because the receptionist picked up her phone.
“Let me see what I can do,” she said, and five minutes later one of the staff escorted us into a small but private room with a few desks and a couple of laptops.
“Is there anything else you need?” the guy said.
“I think we’re good to go,” John replied, keeping his own voice flatter than usual. None of us wanted to be recognized if we had to make another appearance here in a more official capacity. Not that I expected that would be very likely.
The guy left, I locked the door behind him, and Marissa dropped into a chair in front of one of the computers with a crack of her knuckles. “Give me five, maybe ten minutes,” she said, her gaze already intent on the screen. “I’ll have it all laid out for you by then.”
“We’ll leave you to it,” Sherlock said in his usual dry tone.
The three of us wandered through the room while Marissa’s fingers clattered over the keys. The florescent light overhead gave off a faint buzzing, and the air had a lemony waxy smell as if someone had recently polished the floor, but I’d been in worse spots.
John leaned against the far end of the table. He lowered his voice so as not to disturb Marissa’s work. “We’re only looking for the details of a theft, right?”