Young Sherlock Holmes: Fire Storm

He took a breath, obviously having to force himself to continue. Sherlock found that he was holding his breath, waiting for what came next.

‘Bryce Scobell had a wife an’ child. Ah don’t believe he ever loved either of them. Ah don’t believe he’s capable of love. But ah think he came closer to real emotion with them than with anyone else. Maybe it was more like possessiveness – ah don’t know for sure. But the thing that happened was, we cornered Scobell an’ his bodyguards at a farmhouse in Phoenix. They started firin’ when they saw us, an’ we fired back. In the crossfire, two of mah people were killed, and so were Scobell’s wife an’ son. We’d had no idea they were there. Scobell escaped, like he always did, but he took an oath that day that he would make me pay for what ah’d done.’ He grimaced. ‘A month later a message arrived for me. It was from Scobell. He told me that he’d kill mah wife an’ mah child an’ he’d make me watch. He told me exactly what he’d do. It weren’t . . . the kind of thing that would occur to any normal, God-fearin’ person, but ah knew Scobell – ah knew that once he set his mind to a thing, then that thing would happen. With the permission of President Johnson ah took a leave of absence from mah duties an’ came here.’

‘And now he’s followed you,’ Sherlock said in the silence that followed Crowe’s admission.

‘As ah said, once he sets his mind to somethin’, that thing happens.’

‘You could have asked for help,’ Rufus Stone pointed out. ‘Mycroft Holmes would have provided guards for your cottage, I’m sure. If not, we could have recruited some people locally to help.’

‘For how long?’ Crowe asked. ‘Even if Mr Holmes provided us with round-the-clock bodyguards, he couldn’t keep them there forever. At some stage they would have been taken away an’ placed on more important duties.’ He shook his head. ‘Bryce Scobell is a patient man. Patient, and very, very clever. He would have waited until everyone had gotten bored an’ tired, an’ then he would have struck.’

‘But you’ve faced dangerous men before,’ Sherlock pointed out. He was confused. He didn’t understand why Amyus Crowe hadn’t stayed to fight. Crowe had always seemed to Sherlock to be a man who confronted difficulty rather than running away from it. Secretly he felt a bit disappointed. ‘I was there in the tunnels beneath Waterloo Station when you took on that man who wanted to kill me. You nearly broke his neck, and you didn’t seem the slightest bit frightened. What’s so different about Scobell?’

‘Ah have faced dangerous men before,’ Crowe agreed. ‘Ah’ve gone up against some of the toughest, hardest men in the world in mah time, but Bryce Scobell is a different bucket of catfish entirely.’ He sighed. ‘It’s difficult to describe, but there’s something . . . not human about him. Most people are wary of bein’ hurt, of bein’ damaged, an’ that gives you an advantage in a fight, but he ain’t. He just don’t care. Ah’m not sayin’ he don’t feel pain, cos he does, but he just shrugs it off. It don’t interest him. An’ he don’t remember the pain neither. If you punch a normal man in the face enough times he’ll stay back, not wantin’ to get hit again, but Scobell – hit him the first time an’ he’ll remember the fact that he was hit, but he don’t seem to learn from the pain. He don’t seek to avoid it next time. Knock him down an’ he just gets up again, an’ again, an’ again. He keeps comin’ back at you, like some kind of mechanical creation.’ He shook his head. ‘Ah’m not makin’ much sense, ah know, but facin’ Bryce Scobell is like facin’ some dark force of nature. He’s unstoppable. That would be bad enough if he was stupid, but he’s one of the cleverest men ah know. He thinks several moves ahead, like he’s playin’ chess, an’ he gathers people around him who are like him.’

‘I don’t understand about the names tattooed on his skin,’ Virginia said suddenly. She had been quiet up until that point. ‘Why would he do that? What does it mean?’

‘It’s a fixation with him,’ her father replied darkly. ‘Ah was told that when he joined the Confederate Army he only had three names, tattooed on his arm. Someone asked him what they were. He said they were the names of men he’d killed.’ He paused and shook his head sadly. ‘He was only eighteen. He’d had them indelibly inscribed on his skin, along with the dates. Said he wanted to make sure he never forgot them.’ He shrugged. ‘Course, in war you rarely know the names of the men you kill, so he’d leave a gap an’ do his best to find out who they were, where they were from, based on their regiment. After the end of the War Between the States he spent a considerable sum of money tryin’ to get the names of all the Union soldiers who died in particular places, at particular times. He even tried to find out the names of the Indians he killed. Had Black Kettle’s name tattooed right across the nape of his neck. He’s obsessed with the idea.’

‘What about the ones in red?’ Rufus Stone asked. ‘As if I didn’t know.’

Crowe eyed him darkly. Sherlock assumed he was tacitly warning Rufus not to mention Virginia’s name. ‘Those are the people he’s going to kill but hasn’t got around to yet,’ he said slowly. ‘Planning for the future, ah guess. He’s makin’ a statement that there are people out there whose days are numbered. When they’re gone, he has the name tattooed over in black.’ He peered out of the window again. ‘Ah’m told he’s got mah name in red on his forearm, right where he can see it every day.’

Rufus Stone was frowning. ‘For a supposedly intelligent man,’ he mused, ‘this Bryce Scobell seems to have missed a trick. I mean, he’s on the run from you, he’s on the run from the whole US Government, and he deliberately makes himself more and more recognizable. If I was him I’d dye my hair blond and keep out of sight, not tattoo more and more names on myself.’

‘It’s a compulsion,’ Crowe explained. ‘The man can’t help himself. An’ it’s amazing’ what a pair of gloves an’ some stage make-up on the face an’ neck can accomplish.’

‘So what’s the plan?’ Matty asked. ‘What do we do?’

‘We don’t do anythin’,’ Crowe replied. ‘Ginnie an’ I, we leave the country. Head somewhere else. Change our names. Change our descriptions, as much as we can. You three go back to Farnham an’ try to forget about us.’

The words hit Sherlock like blows. His gaze slipped across to Virginia. ‘I don’t think we can do that,’ he said quietly.

Rufus Stone frowned. ‘I don’t understand. Why did you leave the clues to bring us to Edinburgh if you don’t want our help?’

Crowe closed his eyes momentarily. ‘Because ah wanted to say goodbye properly,’ he said. ‘An’ because ah wanted to explain, face to face, why ah was runnin’ away. Ah wanted you to understand the scale of what ah’m up against. Scobell will keep comin’, an’ keep comin’, and keep comin’ until he succeeds. An’ even if ah try to turn the tables an’ hunt him down, he’s too clever. He’ll cover his tracks an’ hide until I stop lookin’; or worse: he’ll lure me into a trap.’

A silence followed as each of them tried to come to terms with what Crowe was saying.

‘There’s two problems with all that,’ Sherlock said eventually.

Crowe raised an eyebrow. ‘An’ what’re they then?’

‘The first,’ Sherlock continued, not put off by Crowe’s attitude, ‘is that this man, Bryce Scobell, will keep on coming after you. If he’s as clever and as dedicated as that, then he will find you wherever you go, no matter how long it takes him.’

‘You’re right,’ Rufus Stone said, nodding.

‘What’s the other problem?’ Matty asked.

‘It’s that you’re treating this like you would treat any hunt.’ Sherlock paused for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts into some kind of order. ‘I know, from what you’ve taught me, that you treat men as if they were animals. If you’re hunting them you try to predict their movements based on their habits, and you look for the signs of their presence – the signs they can’t help leaving, the way that animals leave tracks.’

‘Ah’ve always believed that mankind is just a different kind of animal,’ Crowe conceded, ‘an’ many’s a time ah’ve used that fact to mah advantage. What’s your point?’

‘My point is that Bryce Scobell isn’t an animal. He’s turned the tables. He’s treating you as the animal, and he’s tracking you, and that’s spooked you. Your usual way of dealing with a situation won’t work. The game has been reversed.’

‘You’re saying he’s cleverer than me?’ Crowe challenged, his eyes flashing beneath his bushy grey brows.

‘Yes,’ Sherlock said simply. ‘So if the game has been reversed, let’s change the game. If Scobell is a better hunter than you, let’s not make this a hunt. If he’s a better game player than you, let’s not make it a game. Don’t let him choose the fight. Change the rules.’

‘Easier said than done, young man,’ Crowe rumbled, but the expression on his face suggested that Sherlock had surprised him.

‘If he’s looking for you,’ Sherlock said, ‘then don’t hide. Don’t do what he expects. Stay in the open. He’ll wonder what you’re doing. He’ll assume it’s a trap and he’ll back away.’

‘And then what?’ Crowe challenged.