• Sayan •

Drama Action Crime

4.4  

• Sayan •

Drama Action Crime

The York Street Murder

The York Street Murder

6 mins
304


It was a cold morning in December of 1883 when I suddenly called out to my friend and long time associate Mr. Sherlock Holmes. He received me jovially and as it was still very early, offered me Mrs. Hudson's excellent buttered toast and eggs. 

"You have time to spare, I hope. I'm waiting for a client and I wish you'd stay." Said Holmes.

"My dear Holmes, have I ever refused a request to one of your adventures? I'll be delighted to be of assistance."

"Mrs. Watson mustn't think of me as a recluse trying to keep you!" He said with a slight grin.

"Nothing of that sort. She would glad rather as she left for Manchester and intends to stay the week." 

The bell rang suddenly followed by a noisy creek and soft footsteps on the staircase. 

"This must be Mrs. Beatrice. Let's see what new devilry she appends to the cold and calculated criminals of London."

I opened the door and a short lady entered. She was wearing a black gown with a veil that failed to hide her bloodshot eyes and freckled face. She wasn't particularly good looking but one wouldn't call her unattractive either. In her middle thirties, I would have judged by her face that looked haggard and weary. She looked at me and then after noticing Holmes moved timidly forward and turned around. "Which of you is Mr. Homes?"

"That would be me. I apologize for the trouble you had finding the address. Pray, have a seat, and tell us why you wanted to consult me, Mrs. Beatrice."

She turned her head and looked at me and then back at Holmes and said "I did have trouble finding the place! How on earth did you..." 

"I deduced it. Your letter was sent from Oxford last night. If you left for London by the 6:30 AM express you must have reached by 8:00 AM. It takes half an hour from London station to baker street, you do not have any luggage and you sent away your cab. You are an hour late which means you are either new to London and the cabbie fooled you for a higher fare or you were unable to remember the address. Your attire suggests you lost a loved one, probably your husband, and the probability of a cabbie fooling you while driving you to my doorsteps seems too far fetched. You are distressed, travel rarely to London and hence couldn't recall the address."

The lady took a deep breath and said, "What you say is all so clever Mr. Holmes but oh! If you could only help me..." she started sobbing, pressing her face with a handkerchief clutched in her calloused hands. I rushed to comfort her much to Holme's dismay for he struggled with emotions. He had shown empathy before but it was a matter of his humor and today was not one of those days. A minute of solidarity passed in silence and then the lady continued, " My husband was murdered the night before yesterday by an unknown person. He was the chief of the labor unions at 'Roy and Son's' metal fabricators and molders at Oxford. These fiends at the London office, they called him here to negotiate and killed him."

"Who called him here to negotiate? What did they want to negotiate." Said Sherlock throwing his arms out and waving his fists, "I understand your grief but please be coherent!"

I gave Holmes a stern look and placed a hand on the lady. "Mrs. Beatrice, you are with friends. You can speak freely without the fear of repercussions. Client privacy is our utmost priority. Those strand magazine stories are censored methodically." The lady sniffed, wiped her eyes, and said, "My husband was against the company's new labor policy. Three of the four labor union members had joined the company's new management but he had not. To negotiate the terms of the Oxford factory, he had been invited to London by the management and was murdered. He was found yesterday evening at York street with stabs in his heart. One eyewitness, an employee and the labor union head of London's division saw two assassins stabbing him to death and disappearing in the night. The police has no clue and no arrest had been made. Jhonson Abraham, the eyewitness was under custody but was released yesterday morning against lack of evidence."

The matter was undoubtedly very painful for the lady. Holmes confided that there was not enough data to go forward. After an hour of questions and cross-questions, we relived the lady and went to interview this Jhonson. 

"I was walking down the street with when them two assassins all clad in black jumps forward, takes his name loudly and thrusts his knife deep into the heart to make sure to puncture the aorta, ya know!" Said Jhonson, a very dirty, tall, and ugly bloke in their early thirties with huge forearms and a curious lisp. 

"Where were you standing?" Asked Holmes. We had taken him with us to recreate the scene of the crime, under Inspector Lestrade's supervision. "I was standing right there" he walked up to a lamp post and pointed about ten feet behind the point where he was standing. 

"And the assassins, where did they come from?"

"That way" he pointed toward the main road. 

"You were behind the lamp post? Are you certain?"

"Yes"

And these two men, they came rushing in from the street?"

"Yes"

"Did they have anything in their hand?"

"Just a knife, I could see their faces, The inspector got a sketch" 

The lamp post was working?"

"Yes. There was enough light to make out their faces,"

"Thank you Jhonson, you have given me vital information."

"He has?" Said Lestrade. "He said nothing new I haven't already told you!". He muttered to me under his breath.

We dismissed the witness and ambled back to our quarters. 

Mrs. Beatrice had an evening train back to Oxford and we insisted she stayed with Mrs. Hudson till her return. 

As soon as we entered, Mrs. Beatrice looked up at us with a teary-eyed and tired look on her face. 

"Did you find anything, Mr. Holmes?"

"I found your husband killer, Mrs. Beatrice. All I need now is an hour before I present this man to the police."

"You solved it?" I asked, "surely we were at the same place throughout the day?"

"We were, physically. This whole case is an example of ignoring the obvious and not taking part in the process of the crime. It's a vital method. In acting, for example, a character trait is developed by the artist by role-playing the character's deepest emotions and his actions are directed by this core value. Real-life is no different." 

"You solve it by merely understanding what the victim felt while strolling through the night when he was to be murdered?"

"And the eye witness"

"And the eye witness?"

"Yes, and if I'm not mistaken this must be Lestrade with our killer."

The door opened and Lestrade stormed in. "How in the world could you ever guess this?" He was dangling a knife held with a handkerchief, stained with blood. 

Holmes rubbed his hands together.

"Where did you find it?"

"Exactly where you said it was. The street the assassins came from."

"No prints?"

"None"

"And the killer?"

"Jhonson confessed. I played it just the way you told me. But man I don't know how you solved it?"

"When Jhonson recreated the scene of crime, he confirmed he was standing behind the lamp when the victim was being stabbed. After night-fall in cold weather such as this, it is impossible to make out face under the brilliance of a street lamp, let alone recognizing specific facial features. I was also assisted by the fact that Jhonson knew that the victim's aorta was punctured fatally. Now weather Jhonson did it on his own accord or the management of the company hired him, I leave the investigation to you.
After the criminal was taken away and a sobbing Mrs Beatrice returned, Sherlock Holmes looked at me smiling. "Do not chronicle this Watson, this case is not up to my usual standards."
"It's a sensational crime albeit" I said with a grin.
"Let's go, Watson! William's rendition of Mozart's Don Giovvani is life at the Royal Albert Hall tonight and I do not wish to miss it."


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