The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures (50 page)

The story at the school was similar. Miss Ridge had had a large birthmark on the back of her right hand, stretching up over her wrist to an undetermined point above. Her colleagues at the school had been unable to comment as to how far that might be, Miss Ridge never deeming to appear at school in anything less than a long-sleeved blouse or dress, and even then one with the most ornate ruffled cuffs.

Diana Wetherall and Jean Woodward, widows of, respectively, the deceased landlord and the Hampsthwaite farmer, said that their husbands had suffered similar markings, Terence Wetherall’s being a small circular stain about the size of a saucer, situated just to the left of centre of his chest, while Raymond Woodward’s disfigurement had stretched across the back of his neck and down between his shoulder blades.

It was I who, eventually, back at the police station, voiced what had been Holmes’s concern all along. “We now most probably know the reason for the killings,” I said, “but how on earth did the killer know of Wetherall’s and Woodward’s marks? They were covered at all times when they were not at home.”

Makinson frowned and considered this.

Holmes, meanwhile, said, “You say we know why the killer committed the acts, Watson. But do we
really
know?”

“Why, of course we do,” I ventured. “The chap is mortally offended by what are, in his eyes, such abominations and he feels it his rigorous duty to remove them from sight. He came up with the idea of removing hearts simply to mislead us hence, on one occasion, even forgetting to remove the young woman’s.”

Holmes nodded. “I think you are
almost
correct, old fellow,” he said, in a gentle tone that was anything but patronizing. “However, you have neglected to take into account the fact that the killer first stuns his victims and only then obliterates nature’s handiwork. My point is,” he continued, “the killer
needs
to stun his victim without interference with the mark.”

“Whatever for, Mr Holmes?” enquired Makinson.

Holmes looked across at the Inspector and gave a thin smile that was devoid of any sense of pleasure. “In order to remove them, Inspector.”

“Remove
them?” I said. The suggestion seemed preposterous.

“Indeed, Watson. Let us adapt the facts as we know them to my proposition.

“Wetherall, the landlord, was stunned or killed by a blow to the head. The killer then stripped his victim to the waist and skilfully removed the birthmark from his chest. Then, in order to conceal his action, he proceeded to open up the chest in such a heavy-handed manner that the disappearance of the piece of skin which once bore the mark would not be so noticeable. He concealed the opening of the chest with the removal of the heart.

“The farmer was next. Again, the blow to the head was the all-important immobilizing factor. Once that had been effected, the killer could concentrate on removing the mark from the victim’s neck and back before training a shotgun on the exposed area and destroying all signs. However, the blast failed to cover up all signs of his work, as you noticed, Watson. The removal of Woodward’s heart tied his murder into the first death quite neatly.”

Holmes cleared his throat.

“Then came the teacher. With her it was more complicated. The position of Miss Ridge’s mark – on her arm – was such that a blast to the affected area, once he had removed the skin bearing the mark, could not be the killing factor. Similarly, the removal of the heart would not conceal the removal of the mark. Thus he decided upon the method of removing her limbs, still tying the murder into the first two deaths by peripheral association, only later to discard the three limbs for which he had no use. The final limb, the young woman’s right arm, he discarded far from the scene of the crime and only then when he had removed the affected area. You mentioned earlier that he had forgotten to remove the heart: the fact was that he did not consider it necessary.

“With the banker he returns to the earlier method. A blow to the head, a common element throughout, then the careful removal of the facial skin bearing the mark, and then the shotgun blast to the face, destroying once again the evidence of his real reason for the murder. The removal of the heart ties the crime to the first two and, arguably, to the case of Miss Ridge.”

Holmes stretched towards the fire and warmed his hands. “I read the reports from your forensics people, Inspector,” Holmes continued. “I was interested to discover that, while there were traces of linen and wool fibre in the farmer’s wound, there were no traces of skin except at the very extremities of the blasted area, confirming that, perhaps, a portion had been removed prior to the blast. And as for the banker, Mr Crosby, the gun shot damage to the wall bore no traces of skin or tissue. This indicates that the killing shot and the invasion which preceded it were done at some other location, with a second shot being fired directly at the wall.”

“But what other place might that be, Mr Holmes?” Makinson enquired.

“Wherever Mr Crosby went after leaving the bank might give us a clue,” Holmes retorted. “I saw from your report, Inspector, that Crosby’s apartment showed no signs of anyone being there since the morning: the fire was burnt down and breakfast things were in the sink. It is my opinion that wherever Mr Crosby went early that evening is where he encountered his killer.”

“Good lord,” I said. I glanced across at Makinson and saw that he looked as queasy as I felt.

“But why would he want these … these marks in the first place? What does he do with them?”

Holmes turned to me. “Watson, perhaps you would be kind enough to explain the causation of a so-called birthmark?”

“Well,” I said, “nobody actually knows why they are caused.

“They are most common in newborn babies, often called the ‘stork’s beak’ mark because they occur on the forehead between the eyebrows and on the nape of the neck … as though a stork had had the child’s head in its beak. These are transient phenomena that disappear as the baby grows. A popular but incorrect theory is that they are caused by the caul, the inner membrane enclosing the foetus, adhering itself to the child and becoming enmeshed into the child’s own skin as it develops in the womb. Such marks are also sometimes referred to as ‘God’s fingerprints’, and to many they signify good fortune.”

Makinson snorted loudly. “Doesn’t seem much like good fortune to me,” he said, “carrying a big red mark on your face all your life.”

“As I said, Inspector, these marks usually disappear as the child grows older. The ones that stay are called port wine stains or strawberry naevi, due to their colouring. The technical name is cutaneous haemangiomata, which refers to an abnormally large collection of blood vessels in the skin … an over production, if you will. These are most commonly on the face – the case of Crosby the banker is typical – although they can occur anywhere on the body.

“The port wine stains stay throughout life, although they do lose some of the intense colouring in later years; the strawberry naevi do not usually persist.”

Holmes nodded. “Let us imagine that our killer believes the old tale that such signs
are
the harbingers of good fortune,” he said. “It might follow that such a fellow could conceivably feel that to own more of these would be to improve the quality of his life. Someone, perhaps, whose life has not been particularly fortunate.”

“You said ‘more’ of these,” I said.

“Yes, I did. I would expect the killer to be equally marked and to have been told, perhaps by his mother, that such a marking meant that he had been touched by God. The fact that his life did not reflect such fortune caused him to think that further marks were needed to change his luck.”

I looked across at Makinson. The Inspector seemed unconvinced. “That’s as well as maybe, Mr Holmes,” he said, “but how does the killer identify his victims? Apart from the teacher and the banker, these marks was covered over all the time they was on public show.”

“Perhaps not
all
the time, Inspector,” said Holmes, his eyes flashing wide. “Tell me, do you have a municipal swimming bath in the town?”

Makinson shook his head. “No, nearest swimming bath is in Leeds.

Holmes smiled, and this time the smile did have traces of pleasure. “Watson,” he said, unable to keep the excitement from his voice. “For what is Harrogate renowned?”

“Renowned? Harrogate?” I searched my brain for some clue as to what my friend had in mind. “Other than a cold wind that would not be out of place at the North Pole, I cannot imagine,” I said at last.

“The water, Watson!”

“Water?” I still failed to grasp the significance.

“Harrogate is a spa town, famed for the so-called medicinal and curative properties of its water, taken from natural springs. Is that right, Inspector?”

“Why, yes it is, Mr Holmes,” said the Inspector.

“And you have in the town a bath which enables people to bathe their bodies in these waters?”

“A Turkish bath and such, yes,” said Makinson. “I’ve never been, myself, of course, but I believe as how they’re popular with some people.” He paused. “Run by a queer sort of fellow, they are,” he added.

Holmes leapt to his feet. “Queer, you say? With a birth-mark?”

Makinson shook his head. “No, no birthmark – at least none as is visible.”

Holmes visibly shrank in size, the excitement evaporating almost as quickly as it had appeared. “Then why queer?”

“Well, he’s …” Makinson seemed to be having trouble describing the fellow and I was about to prompt him when he added, “he’s sort of big on one side and smaller on the other.”

“That’s it, Holmes!” I shouted. “Is one half of his body visibly larger than the other, Inspector? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes, his head is mis-shaped and one arm is longer than the other. His leg is longer on that side, too, and he walks with a limp because of it.” The Inspector shook his head at the thought. “Strange fellow and no denying.”

I turned to Holmes. “Hemi hypertrophy,” I said. “Caused by an underlying brain haemangioma, beneath a port wine stain; it means an increased blood flow through the mark results in a disproportionate growth on one side of the body. He’s our man,” I said, “I’d bet my pension on it!”

“What is the name of this fellow?” Holmes enquired of the Inspector.

“His name is Garnett, as I recall, Frank Garnett. The spa baths stay open until ten o’clock in the evening,” the Inspector said. He removed his watch from his waistcoat pocket and flipped open the casing. “Five and twenty to nine,” he said.

Holmes sprang for the door, grabbing his hat, scarf and coat on the way. “Come, Watson, Inspector … there’s no time to lose.”

Minutes later we were on our way by carriage, driven by a hard-faced Sergeant Hewitt through a blustery, moonless night.

The Pump Rooms in Harrogate are situated down Parliament Street and on the left towards the Valley Gardens, a scenic spot favoured in the daylight and early summer evenings by young couples and nannies walking their charges. When we arrived, Holmes leapt from the carriage and burst through the doors.

A matronly woman wearing a pince-nez and seated behind a desk in the foyer got to her feet, her hand to her throat.

“My apologies for our entrance, madam,” Holmes began, “but I am with Inspector Makinson, here, and Sergeant Hewitt of the Harrogate police, and my colleague Doctor Watson, and we are on a matter of grave importance. Tell me, if you can,” he said, “the whereabouts of your colleague, Mr Frank Garnett.”

“Why, Frank’s in the shower room,” she said. “Whatever do you need
him
for?”

“No time to explain,” said the Inspector. “Which way’s the shower room?”

The woman pointed towards a double door to the right of the foyer. “Is it about his accident?”

“Accident?” I said.

“He’s hurt himself. Bandages all over the place.”

Makinson frowned and led the way.

Through the doors we were on a long corridor from the end of which we could hear the unmistakable sound of water running.

“You and Mr Watson stay back, Mr Holmes,” Makinson barked. “Jim, you stick with me. But go gently now,” he added, “we don’t want this fellow to get away.”

Holmes reluctantly stepped back to allow Sergeant Hewitt to take the lead with the Inspector. We reached the end of the corridor and stood before a door bearing the sign Showers. Makinson leaned his head against the door and listened. A faint whistling could be heard with the running water.

Makinson took hold of the handle. “Right, Jim?”

Sergeant Hewitt nodded.

“Right, gentlemen?”

Holmes nodded.

The Inspector turned the handle and rushed into the room.

Some fifty yards away from us was what seemed to be a tall man, standing in profile, brandishing a broom which he was using to sweep water across the floor and into an empty communal bath beside him. At the sound of our entrance, he turned to face us and I saw immediately that the other side of his body was noticeably smaller. His right wrist was tightly bandaged and one side of his face was covered in gauze, held in place by sticky tape. A further bandage was wrapped about his neck like a scarf.

“We need to talk to you, Mr Garnett,” Inspector Makinson said.

Garnett hefted the broom and threw it in our direction. Then he glanced across to the wall for an instant, as though considering something, before turning quickly and heading towards a door at the rear of the room. He moved awkwardly and within but two or three steps he listed to one side, like a ship encountering stormy seas, and plunged head first into the empty bath. There was a single strangulated cry followed by a crash.

We ran across to the bath-side and looked over.

Garnett lay some seven or eight feet directly beneath us, on his back, one leg doubled up beneath him and his arms spread-eagled as though he were relaxing on his bed. A pool of blood was spreading beneath his head.

Without a second thought, I sat on the edge of the bath and lowered myself down until I was standing alongside Garnett. He had lifted one hand and was pulling back the bandage on his wrist. With a gasp of horror, I watched a piece of shrivelled flesh fall from beneath the bandage onto the bath floor. His eyelids flickering, Garnett then proceeded to undo the buttons of his shirt, beneath which I could see a further bandage.