Heathrow Airport hummed with the orchestrated chaos of travelers darting through terminals, their lives intersecting momentarily in the vast space. Amidst the swarm, Elizabeth, now embarking on a new chapter at Scotland Yard, observed the bustling scene with keen eyes.
Near a coffee kiosk, a jittery man in a worn-out cap caught her attention. His furtive glances and nervous demeanor betrayed his covert intentions. As he clutched a seemingly innocent backpack, Elizabeth deduced him to be a man with extreme anxiety and a tendency to say yes to everything, desperately attempting to smuggle a small stash of weed – his misguided attempt probably fuelled by peer-pressure.
A pregnant woman, gently rubbing her belly, stood by the departure gate, accompanied by her partner. Elizabeth noticed the careful support he offered her, recognizing a touch of sadness in his eyes. The woman's glow hinted at the forthcoming joy of motherhood, while her partner's subtle limp and guarded gaze hinted at infertility struggles. Silent battles, carried in the midst of a bustling crowd.
At a nearby lounge, a suited man with disheveled hair and a defeated expression clutched a briefcase. His posture bespoke the weight of a recent loss, and Elizabeth surmised that he must be a lawyer grappling with the aftermath of a high-stakes case gone awry. The disappointment lingered in the air as he scanned through legal documents, navigating the complex landscape of defeat.
Exiting the airport, Elizabeth snatched a newspaper from a stand, the headlines blurring in her peripheral vision. A cab pulled up at the curb and she opened the boot, placing her suitcase in. She sat down and looked at cabbie. A black man in his mid forties. He just got a haircut, trim of beard and bought some new clothes. Hmm. She thought. Somebody's happy.
"Where to, Ma'am?"
"Bakers's Street, please."
~~
Seated in the taxi, Elizabeth unfolded the newspaper, her eyes scanning the disconcerting headlines about the apparent suicides. The article detailed the discovery of Beth Davenport's body, marking the third such incident. Amusement flickered across Elizabeth's face, finding it comical how they labeled them suicides when her instincts screamed murder.
As she delved into her silent analysis, the cabbie, glancing at the rearview mirror, struck up a conversation. "Unsettling news, isn't it? My daughter, Sally Donovan's, one of the detectives on that case. They're having a press conference right about now."
"Let me guess, Scotland Yard?"
"Yup."
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, feigning casual interest. "Really? Small world." She thought of the opportunity to make an appearance.
Upon reaching Baker Street, she paid the fare and entered her apartment building. A glance at the doorknob revealed that her mother, also the landlady, wasn't home. Swiftly, she ascended the stairs to her flat, dropped off her suitcase, and retrieved her phone. A quick search confirmed the press conference's location.
Hastening back downstairs, she headed to her mother's flat, where the familiar scent of lavender filled the air. With a sense of urgency, Elizabeth formulated a plan. Leaving a note for her mother, she informed her of the unexpected business at Scotland Yard and her imminent departure to the press conference.
Outside, she hailed another cab, instructing the driver to take her to the press conference venue. As the taxi merged into the city's flow, Elizabeth contemplated the intricacies of the case ahead and the layers of deception waiting to be unraveled. The echoes of her deductions raced through her mind, she embraced the thrill of the chase.
~~
The room hummed with tension as Detective Inspector Lestrade sat uncomfortably at the table, flanked by Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan. The police press conference was underway, and Donovan addressed the gathered press reporters with a grim expression. At the same time, Elizabeth had entered the room, spotting an officer from Scotland Yard leaning on a wall. She noticed his walkie-talkie on his waist and she sneakily snatched it from him, tucking it in her coat pocket before taking a seat in the far corner.
"The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Greater London. The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Greater London. Preliminary investigations suggest that this was suicide. We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore. In the light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now. " Donovan announced, her words hanging heavily in the air.
Detective Inspector Lestrade, looking uneasy, faced a barrage of questions from reporters.
"Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?"
Lestrade struggled to explain, "Well, they all took the same poison; um, they were all found in places they had no reason to be; none of them had shown any prior indication of ...".
He was suddenly interrupted when Elizabeth decided to chime in. "That sounds a-lot more like murder than suicide. I mean the likelihood of three individuals independently choosing the same poison at different times and places with no ties to each other is extremely low. The only other choice here is foul play."
"I'll think you'll find that we are the detectives here, and we can say for sure that these are definitely suicides." Lestrade retorted. He looked at Donovan, trying to find confirmation of what newspaper outlet this girl worked at, but Donovan just shook her head.
At that same moment, everyone's mobile phones trilled simultaneously, displaying a cryptic message:
"Wrong!"
Donovan looked down at her phone and said,
"If you've all got texts, please ignore them."
Attempting to downplay the interruption.
"Just says, 'Wrong'." A reporter said.
"Yeah, well, just ignore that. Okay, if there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade, I'm going to bring this session to an end." Donovan said, sternly.
Elizabeth, getting irritated at the stupidity of her new coworkers, tried to play along with their theory.
"If these are suicides, as you are so sure they are, what exactly are you investigating?" She had a condescending look on her face, trying not to laugh.
"As I say, these ... these suicides are clearly linked. Um, it's an ... it's an unusual situation. We've got our best people investigating ..." Lestrade stuttered.
Clearly you haven't. She thought.
Everybody's mobile trills another text alert and again each message reads:
"Wrong!"
"Says, 'Wrong' again." A reporter remarks.
"Yeah, no shit!" Elizabeth spat, clearly sick and tired of this back and forth. "We can all read!"
Well she wasn't getting any texts, she was reading them off the person next to her. Lestrade looks despairingly at Donovan.
Donovan began to speak again. "One more question."
Elizabeth whispered to the reporter next to her. "Ask about them being murder. I mean, wouldn't that be a great headline?" She thought how her mother would have scolded her for saying that, but she brushed that thought away. The reporter nodded quickly and raised their hand.
" Is there any chance that these are murders, and if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?"
Nice touch. She thought.
"I ... I know that you like writing about these, but these do appear to be suicides. We know the difference. The, um, the poison was clearly self-administered." Lestrade said.
"Yes, but if they are murders, how do people keep themselves safe?" A reporter at the front said.
" Well, don't commit suicide." Lestrade said bluntly. The reporter looks at him in shock and Elizabeth lets out a loud chuckle.
Dovovan covers her mouth and murmurs a warning. "Daily Mail."
Lestrade grimaces and looks at the reporters again. "Obviously this is a frightening time for people, but all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be."
Again the mobiles trill their text alerts, and once more each message reads:
"Wrong!"
But Lestrade's phone takes a moment longer to alert him to a text and when he looks at it, the message reads:
You know where
to find me.
-SH
Looking exasperated, he puts the phone into his pocket and looks at the reporters and addresses them as he stands up. "Thank you."
~~
Shortly afterwards, Lestrade and Donovan are walking through the offices of New Scotland Yard.
"You've got to stop him doing that. He's making us look like idiots." Donovan says looking over at Lestrade.
"Well, if you can tell me how he does it, I'll stop him." Lestrade joked.
They were greeted by an unexpected sight. Elizabeth sat casually on Lestrade's desk, legs crossed on the table, giving off an air of nonchalant confidence.
Lestrade and Donovan exchanged puzzled glances, and before they could react, Elizabeth flashed a friendly smile and spoke, "I'm surprised no one came to pick me up from the airport, or even had the courtesy to call. Are all British people this rude?"
The room fell silent for a moment as Lestrade and Donovan processed the surprise. Suspicion and confusion etched across their faces, they hesitated, glancing at each other.
Finally, Lestrade broke the silence, reaching for his phone. "We need to call security," he muttered, eyes fixed on Elizabeth.
Just as he dialed, a sudden realization struck Lestrade. His gaze shifted from the phone to Sarah, and a sheepish expression crept over his face. "Wait a minute. You're the new sergeant, right? The one I got a call about?"
Elizabeth nodded, still perched on the desk. "That's me. Sorry for the unconventional entrance. I heard about the press conference and thought I'd join you guys right away."
A mix of relief and embarrassment washed over Lestrade's features. He quickly canceled the security call and cleared his throat. "Apologies, Beth. Can I call you that? We thought you were a reporter. Please, join us."
As they settled into a more composed conversation, Lestrade explained the situation. "You'll be working with Donovan and me on this case. Follow us around, get a feel for how we operate at Scotland Yard. We're in the midst of a rather peculiar investigation, so it'll be a good learning experience."
Donovan, still processing the unexpected turn of events, extended a 'welcoming' gesture. "Welcome aboard, Elizabeth." There was a hint of sarcasm in her tone.
~~
unedited