Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.
Here is the next part of The Blind Banker.
I own nothing, except Calliah
We ended up at the Scotland Yard, in the man from the crime scene’s office, who I found out was named Dimmock. I sit down in one of the seats. “Brian Lukis, freelance journalist. Murdered in his flat…” Sherlock says and turns his laptop around. “… doors locked from the inside.”
“You’ve gotta admit, it’s similar.” John says. Dimmock scowls at the computer. “Both men killed by someone who can …” John hesitates. “…walk through solid walls.”
“Inspector, do you seriously believe that Eddie Van Coon was just another City suicide?” Dimmock squirms in his seat. Sherlock sighs pointedly. “You have seen the ballistics report, I suppose?”
Dimmock nods. “Mmm.”
“And the shot that killed him: was it fired from his own gun?” Sherlock asks.
“No.” Dimmock asks reluctantly.
“No. So this investigation might move a bit quicker if you were to take my word as gospel.” Sherlock says. Dimmock looks back at Sherlock silently. Sherlock leans forward over the desk and speaks quietly but intensely into his face. “I’ve just handed you a murder enquiry. Five minutes in his flat.”
We get to Lukis’ flat as Sherlock ducks under the police tape at the bottom of the stairs inside the door of the flat. He goes upstairs and Dimmock, John, and me following. We go into the living room and I see an open empty suitcase on the floor. There are books everywhere on the desk and on bookshelves and scattered about on the floor. Several open newspapers are also lying on the floor. Sherlock walks over to the kitchen area and looks through the window at the nearby rooftops of lower buildings. Pushing the net curtain back for a better look, he smirks at us. “Four floors up. That’s why they think they’re safe. Put a chain across the door and bolt it shut; think they’re impregnable.” Sherlock walks into the middle of the room again. “They don’t reckon for one second that there’s another way in.” He turns towards the stairs. I look up and see a skylight.
“I don’t understand.” Dimmock says.
“That should be put onto a shirt.” I say.
John smirks at me.
Sherlock goes out onto the landing. “You’re dealing with a killer who can climb” He hops up on something to get a closer look at the skylight.
“What are you doing?” Dimmock asks.
“He clings to the walls like an insect.” Sherlock says. He unhooks the latch and pushes the window upwards. “That’s how he got in.” He says softly.
“What?!” Dimmock asks.
“Climbed up the side of the walls, ran along the roof, dropped in through the skylight.” Sherlock explains.
“You’re not serious! Like Spiderman?” Dimmock asks.
“He scaled six floors of a Docklands apartment building, jumped the balcony to kill Van Coon. “ Sherlock explains.
Dimmock laughs in disbelief. “Oh, ho-hold on!”
“And of course that’s how he got into the bank. He ran along the window ledge and onto the terrace.” Sherlock says. He steps down onto the landing and looks around. “We have to find out what connects these two men.” He looks at the books scattered up the side of the staircase. He jumps down a few stairs and picks up a book. He shuts it after a couple seconds and heads down the stair. I roll my eyes as John and I follow.
Sherlock gets us a cab to West Kensington Library. Sherlock leads us inside the library and down some aisle. “Date stamped on the book is the same day that he died.” Sherlock says. He goes to one of the shelves and starts to pull out books and examining them. John and I start to pull some books out on nearby shelves on the other side of the aisle. We see some yellow paint like from the office and smile at each other.
“Sherlock.” I say. Sherlock turns and see what we found. He steps over to us and pull out a handful of books with each hand. We see that spray painted on the back of the shelf are the same two symbols that were sprayed across the office.
We go back to 221B. Sherlock puts the photographs of the shelf on the mirror. I sit down on the couch as the boys stand by the fireplace and look at the pictures. I feel my phone go off and fish it out of my pocket. I open the text and smile.
Having fun with my brother dearest? MH
I laugh and reply.
Oh you know it. *insert eye roll* CM
I set my phone down on my lap and look up at the boys.
“Why did they die, Sherlock?” John asks.
Sherlock runs his fingers over the line painted across Sir William’s face. “Only the cipher can tell us.” Sherlock says. He taps his finger against the photo. He stops for a moment and then rushes out of the room and down the stairs. I sigh as I get up and pocket my phone. I follow John and Sherlock out of our flat.
Sherlock leads us to Trafalgar Square. We walk through the center of the square, heading towards the National Gallery.
“The world’s run on codes and ciphers, John. From the million-pound security system at the bank, to the PIN machine you took exception to, cryptography inhabits our every waking moment.” Sherlock says.
“Yes, okay, but ...” John says to get him to continue.
“... but it’s all computer-generated: electronic codes, electronic ciphering methods. This is different. It’s an ancient device. Modern code-breaking methods won’t unravel it.” Sherlock finishes.
“Where are we headed?” John asks.
“I need to ask some advice.” Sherlock says.
John and I stop and stare at Sherlock “What?! Sorry?!” I say and laugh out loud. Mycroft would get a kick out of this.
Sherlock throws a look back as John and I smile in disbelief.
“You heard me perfectly. I’m not saying it again.” Sherlock says.
“Of come on. One more time. I want that as my ring tone.” I joke and smile.
“You need advice?” John asks.
“On painting, yes. I need to talk to an expert.” Sherlock says. He leads us towards the entrance of the National Gallery and straight around it to the rear of the building where a young man has spray-stenciled onto a solid grey metal door the image of a policeman holding a rifle in his hands. The image has a pig’s snout in place of a human nose. A large canvas bag is at the man’s feet and he is holding spray cans in both hands. With one of the cans he has sprayed his tag, “RAZ”, below the image and he is now adding the finishing touches to his ‘artwork’. He continues spraying, unperturbed, as we approach.
“Part of a new exhibition.” The man, who I assumes name is Raz, says.
“Interesting.” Sherlock says, disinterestedly.
“I call it Urban Bloodlust Frenzy.” Raz says and chuckles.
“Catchy.” John says.
“I’ve got two minutes before a Community Support Officer comes round that corner.” Raz explains and looks at us. “Can we do this while I’m workin’?” He asks.
Sherlock brings out his phone and holds it out towards Raz. Raz turns around and tosses one of the spray cans at John. John catches it and looks at Sherlock and Raz in bewilderment. Raz takes Sherlock’s phone and scrolls through the photos. “Know the author?” Sherlock asks.
“Recognize the paint. It’s like Michigan; hardcore propellant. I’d say zinc.” Raz tells us.
“What about the symbols: d’you recognize them?” Sherlock asks.
Raz squints at the pictures. “Not even sure it’s a proper language.”
“Two men have been murdered, Raz. Deciphering this is the key to finding out who killed them.” Sherlock says.
“What, and this is all you’ve got to go on? It’s hardly much, now, is it?” Raz asks.
“Are you gonna help us or not?” I ask.
“I’ll ask around.” Raz nods and says.
“Somebody must know something about it.” Sherlock says more to himself then anyone.
“Oi!” I hear and we all look round and see two Community Support Officers hurrying towards us. Sherlock grabs his phone and my hand. He runs the opposite way and drags me behind.
We run quite a distance and stop. I take my hand back and catch my breath. “You left John!” I yell.
“Hmm? Oh he will fine.” Sherlock says and looks around.
“He will not! He will be taken to the police office!” I yell. Sherlock shrugs and starts walking. “Where are you going?” I ask,
“Home.” He says and doesn’t stop. I groan and follow. I would have to talk to Mycroft to get John off the hook.
Sherlock is standing at the fireplace. The mirror is almost covered with some more sheets of paper with various ciphers and pictograms on them. He was reading a book. I was laying on the couch waiting for John to return. The door in the kitchen door slams close and I look up to see John coming into the living room.
“You’ve been a while.” Sherlock says, without turn round or looking up from the book.
John walks a few paces into the room, and I notice his shoulders rigid and his fist clenched. He was not happy. He stops and turns to Sherlock. “Yeah, well, you know how it is. Custody sergeants don’t really like to be hurried, do they?” John say tightly. He starts pacing with an angry half-smile half-grimace on his face. “Just formalities: fingerprints, charge sheet; and I’ve gotta be in Magistrates Court on Tuesday.”
“What?” Sherlock asks.
“Me, Sherlock, in court on Tuesday. They’re givin’ me an ASBO!” John yells agrily.
“I will get Mycroft to drop it.” I say but the boys ignore me. I frown and stand up.
“Good. Fine.” Sherlock says, not paying attention.
“You wanna tell your little pal he’s welcome to go and own up any time.” John says tightly.
Sherlock slams his book shut. “This symbol: I still can’t place it.” Sherlock says and turns and puts the book down. He walks over to John who has just started to take his jacket off, and pulls the jacket back onto his shoulders. “No, I need you to go to the police station with Calliah.” Sherlock turns him around and steers him towards the door.
“Oh no. I have work tonight.” I grab my coat and look at my watch. I still had two hours till my shift, but I knew whatever Sherlock was planning would take too long.
Sherlock growls at me and rolls his eyes. “Ask about the journalist.” He tells John.
“Oh, Jesus!” John says exasperated.
Sherlock grabs his own coat from the back of the door. “His personal effects will have been impounded. Get hold of his diary, or something that will tell us his movements.” Sherlock says. We all go downstairs and out onto the street. I button my jacket and smile at the boys.
“Bye boys. See you tomorrow.” I say and start walking. If they heard me, I don’t know and I don’t care. I needed a break.
I get off later that night and text John to see where they were. I knew Sherlock wouldn’t answer. I get a reply:
At the National Antiquities Museum. JW
I get there and meet up with John and Sherlock. “Miss anything?” I ask.
“Too much to explain.” Sherlock says and frowns at me. Was he mad that I went to work or something?
He leads us to the restoration room, where a women was doing something I couldn’t see. Sherlock steps up beside her. “Fancy a biscuit with that?” He asks. Before he finishes the sentence she gasps in fright and turns towards him, the teapot dropping from her terrified fingers. Sherlock reacts instantly and bends his knees to reach down and catches the teapot before it hits the floor. He looks up at him. “Centuries old. Don’t wanna break that.” He slowly straightens up and hands the teapot back to her. As she takes it, he reaches out and flicks a switch on the desk, turning on the light underneath the surface. He smiles slightly at her. “Hello.”