The Liquid Murderer
One spring day, Holmes sat quietly in his arm chair while he and I were visiting over tea, when the detective dropped his saucer on the floor. Holmes leapt up and left the room, hardly regarding the piece of china sitting on the carpet beside me. Quickly, he began putting his coat on and straightening his trousers. Puzzled, I stood up and gathered up the tray on the coffee table and the wayward plate, and went to replace them in the kitchen. While I was cleaning the teapot and putting it back in the cabinet, I heard the creak and close of the front door. As usual, my dear friend Sherlock had anticipated the arrival of another helpless client at his residence, by logical means unknown to me.
Upon rejoining Holmes in the foyer, I discovered him to be conversing with two rather short, nervous men.
"We are in great need of your service, sir," uttered the shorter one, who introduced himself as George, who was shakily wiping his brow with a handkerchief.
"Indeed," added the other, Adam, "we are in need of assistance, so that you may inform us the means by which our father died last night a simple family gathering."
"Certainly, certainly," muttered Holmes, pipe now hanging from the corner of his lips. He, still muttering to himself, pulled open the door as we all filed out behind him. Once outside, we proceeded down the walkway to the end of Baker Street, hired ourselves a hansom, and made our way to the residence in question. Much pleasant conversation went on as we went, but none is of importance, except that the father's name was William, and that his wife had already passed, afflicted by consumption.
Within the hour, we arrived at the house, which was moderate in size, yet was sporting an elegantly detailed façade.
"What was the occupation of Sir William, may I inquire?" I asked of George as we gathered in front of the house.
"Alas, he was a wealthy businessman, sir, which opens possibilities numerous for the identity of the murderer, for he certainly had enemies." Replied George wistfully. George pulled open the large front doors as Adam paid our driver, as we all collected into a small library just off the elegant entryway. Once we were all seated in the room, Homes removed his pipe from his coat for a smoke, as he often did before preparing to question.
"Would you have a light?" he inquired to all the company. One of two women in the room, the one holding a young child, rose politely and began to leave the room.
"Quite alright," Holmes said, with a wave of his hand, "just ask a butler to do so, please."
"But Martha is not here, she's with her husband in his welding shop. It's her day off."
"Of course," Holmes replied, somewhat annoyed with himself, "I suppose I may find some in this drawer." Holmes turned to open the side table and gently pulled open the drawer. He removed some matches, his eyes lingering on the open drawer for a moment, possibly on the detailed letter-opener inside, and then proceeded to light his pipe. He settled back into the chair, bumping his shin in the process, for the coffee table in front of his chair was so abnormally close to the chair in which he sat.
"Tell me now," Holmes said as he puffed rings of smoke into the air, "the way you all remember the night of the death unfolding."
Through tears, awkward, anxious glances and pauses, the information was unearthed that nothing unusual went on the night of the murder. After a long silence, the mother of the child somewhat burst out with one more tidbit of event.
"I do remember now, that my daughter, Louisa, was playing with a small container of arsenic rat poison in the kitchen while Martha was preparing dinner. You don't suppose..."
"Holmes, an autopsy? We must know if this was arsenic immediately so the case can move forward. This will be our answer I am sure."
"Do not be so hasty, Watson. I would like to examine the body myself first."
After inspecting the body and allowing for an autopsy to occur, Holmes retired to our guest room for the night, and placed on the chest of drawers a bag containing the letter opener from the library and a cloth bandage spattered with blood. He then produced from his suit pocket a card of matches and with metal forceps to hold the bandage, he set the cloth ablaze. I watched as the flame burned orange, then green for several moments, before none of it was left but charred fibers. He then set fire to the metal opener, which burned a slight green as the flame passed over portions of it. Puzzled, I wished my partner would explain his actions, but since he is a man of few words, I dismissed my curiosity and went to bed.
The next morning, Holmes requested that we assemble once again in the library. We were all seated and were waiting nervously for our esteemed detective to join us. As I looked around the room, I noticed the presence of two new members to our little group. The first was Inspector Lastrade, and the second, a woman whom I had not met before. I assumed that the latter was Martha the house keeper, who was twiddling her thumbs furiously and seemed very uncomfortable. A sigh could almost be heard coming from each soul in the room as Holmes finally entered, and all eyes contently watched him glide over to his same chair. He pushed the chair slightly backwards, and then sat down. As soon as he had begun to smoke, he asked Lastrade to report the results of the autopsy.
"The cause of death was found to be not of internal arsenic poisoning, but are supposed to be still poisoning through the blood stream, by some type of unidentified metal."
The maid coughed slightly and shifted and recrossed her legs.
Holmes now spoke again.
"Martha, I would like to ask you a few questions now."
Martha slowly stood and crossed the room to stand in front of Sherlock and myself.
"Madam, where were you on the night of the presumed murder?" Sherlock began.
"Why, here at the house. I cooked dinner and did cleaning that night. That is all, sir."
"Is that for sure all?"
"I believe so." Martha's face flushed and her voice wavered.
"Could you be of any help in telling us why many of the family heard faint screams coming from this part of the house during the night?"
"Oh, yes! Forgive me! I was still up doing housework when I heard William yelp in the library. I rushed to him and found that in his fatigue, he had dropped the letter opener on his knee, and, wearing a robe, it had slit his bare skin. I ran to get a bandage and such from the cabinet above the stove, and cleaned up his wound."
"Are you aware, that the autopsy has allowed that the cause of death was internal poisoning?"
"Yes, sir, I beg that you re-examine the body, for I think I may be of more help. I know that Louisa had been handling a container of arsenic and that she may have touched the cake I served to William that night."
"My appreciations for your cooperation, Martha, you all may go rest before dinner."
Around six o'clock that evening, Holmes waltzed into the kitchen, tripped on absolutely nothing, and accidentally ran into Martha as she was chopping carrots for soup. Her knife slipped in mid slice, deeply slitting her finger. Holmes regained his balance, exclaiming, "My deepest apologies, miss, allow me to clean and bandage that wound which I have so clumsily created." He hurried over to the cabinet she had earlier described as the one holding the antiseptic, and removed a small bottle labeled accordingly. He approached her with the bottle open, handkerchief in hand, ready to rinse the cut. At this precise moment, however, Martha jumped in mortal terror and screamed.
"No!" she yelped, sounding far more disturbed than she should have, given the basis of the situation. "I mean, I'll do it my self, thank you kindly," she said, quickly regaining composure, yet with tremor still present in her voice.
"Really I insist," replied Holmes, as he moved in once more, snatching up the bottle and drenching the cut before she could do anything to prevent him from doing so.
"I'll die! No! Please, God, no!" Martha screamed, and sank to the floor in desperate sobs. "Poison! Copper, not antiseptic! Poison!"
"In the name of the law, you are under arrest, Miss Martha Fredric, but let me tell you that you are mistaken about the liquid that is now circulating in your blood stream." At this, he produced a bottle from his coat identical to the one in his other hand, and set them both on the floor. Martha sighed, and then fainted.