The Case of Severed Hands

The Case of Severed Hands

As I look back on my notes from a few years ago, I found a case so interesting in nature yet so dark. The exact details are so gory that I couldn't bring me to write the events at that time. The details of the events were kept hidden from the general public to avoid mass panic. Seven years have passed since the singular events of "The case of Severed Hands". I can now write these facts as they happened.
It was a chilly winter afternoon in mid-January. Sherlock was engrossed in his study of different varieties of Indian tobacco. I distinctively remember the day as Sherlock had been burning the calculated amount of dried tobacco leaves since 5 AM in the morning. He was speaking aloud the color of the leaves, color of flame, rate of burning, smell, amount of smoke, and texture of ashes. This was Sherlock's usual way of cataloging experimental data.
The apartment was filled with smoke. I tried opening the window, that's when I heard his voice after 3 days of complete silence.
"Do not sabotage my experiment kind doctor," said Sherlock while looking at tobacco ash with a magnifying glass.
"I expect more from you, you being a man of science".
"Even men of science need to breathe fresh air once in 3 days Sherlock" I replied as I slid the window open, feeling a cold breeze in my face. The street below was empty, winds blowing the dried leaves on the street.
Somehow the emptiness of the street reminded me of Sherlock, he hadn't worked on any case for the past 3 weeks. It was boring him, his actions or lack thereof was worrying me about my friend's health. Maybe there is a thing as god, as 15 minutes later there was a knock on the door. Mrs. Hudson let a man up the stairs. The man climbed up the stairs hastily as was evident by the sound of a leather boot striking against the old wood.
"You have gained weight, Lestrade," Sherlock said as the man entered into the room. He was still looking at the tobacco samples.
"How do you..." asked an out of breath Lestrade trying to find in which dark corner of the room Sherlock was.
"Never mind..." Lestrade continued with a look of anxiety and tiredness on his face.
"I need your help, Dr. Watson".
"I will be there..." Sherlock interrupted before Lestrade could finish his sentence. "Wait you said, Dr. Watson... You need Dr. Watson's help" Sherlock flustered.
"We will be there as soon as possible Inspector Lestrade," I told the anxious inspector.
After a few sentences of persuasion, Sherlock joined me for an afternoon walk to the Scotland Yard. As we reached our destination, Lestrade greeted us and showed us into the infirmary.
"I want your medical opinion, Dr. Watson, We can't risk this case getting out. It will create panic among good folks of London." Said Lestrade pointing to a medical table covered in white cloth. As a constable removed the cloth, Lestrade's face went pale. He seemed disgusted and anxious.
On the table, there lay 3 severed hands on the iron table. All were right hands, severed just below the elbows. Two of the hands were of white man judging by the size and hairs on the skin. One hand was dark colour, more hairy than others. The person probably was on Indian origin. All the blood from the limbs had been drained carefully. The most striking feature that captivated the attention of my friend Sherlock was a series of number tattooed on all forearms.
                                                                                                                                                     

10

                                                                                         

12

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

7

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

8

                                                                                         

13

                                                                                                                                                     The cuts were precise and straight, on all limbs. The pattern on bone suggested a medical saw was used to cut off the bone. I conveyed my findings to Inspector Lestrade.
"You deduced a lot of good points, Watson, you have learned my methods well," said Sherlock and continued "Of course you missed everything of importance".
"Are you going to enlighten us, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" asked a rather proud Lestrade.
"Considering the fact that you needed only Dr. Watson's help, I will be taking my leave" replied Sherlock as he left the room and Scotland Yard.
I left for Baker street a while later. I woke up the next morning early. Sherlock hadn't been home last night. His bed hadn't been slept in. This was nothing new for me in my old days of adventure. He was most surely working on the case last night. He returned after breakfast soaking wet and shaking from cold as water dripped all over the carpet.
"There is a much bigger game at hand Watson"
"What game Sherlock?"
"The game Watson, the game. Lestrade and Scotland Yard are not going to solve this case".
"You should take rest Sherlock and change, you are no use to anyone if you fall sick. Just out of curiosity, have you formed a theory?" I inquired.
"I have 4 theories, but I do not have data to support any of them completely. I shall change my clothes and head back to my investigation. I will have more answers in the evening."
Sherlock moved into his room as I continued with my now cold breakfast. My day was slow; there were fewer patients than usual. I was waiting for Sherlock as the sun was going down. Sherlock returned soon after. After eating his cold lunch and smoking a long drag from his favorite cigar. I was waiting impatiently for him to answer all my questions that I haven't directly asked him. He sulked up in his chair and explained his research.
"Well, Watson this case has been most unusual. Scotland Yard is baffled and scared and yet they refuse to take my help. Nonetheless, I can solve this case on my own. Here are the facts as I have found them to be, At 9 AM yesterday, few kids playing near the river down by the rail yard near Camden road, found a sealed wooden crate near the river bank. The sealed crate had the limbs placed in them with utmost care wrapped in heavy newspaper. Police were informed; they seized the limbs but did not take wooden crates or newspapers. It's a shame Watson; I could have traced the wooden crate to a seller. As police realized this case could create panic among the commonwealth, Lestrade informed us. The inspector is worried about finding the bodies once attached to those hands. There has been extensive research in the river and nearby areas but without success. They are not going to find the bodies Watson, and they should not be wasting their time looking for it. But on the contrary, this is the most we can expect from the combined intellect of Scotland Yar
"Why they can't find the body?" I interrupted Sherlock in his monologue.
"Because the bodies have been destroyed, most probably burned or chopped off to pieces. The killer wanted to send a message; he wanted the limbs to be found. It was a warning. I need to find why someone will kill 3 people and send their severed hands gift-wrapped into the river.
What interests me most is the numbers tattooed on those hands. They don't fit any pattern or series I calculated. Apart from the fact that all numbers are below 14. I have written to one mathematics professor James Moriarty for his views. I hope he can provide some information, I have heard highly of him. Once I have more numbers, I can probably solve it myself"
"You think there will be more deaths Sherlock"?
"Yes, definitely"
And what did you find about the man who severed those hands?
There is no man or woman, Watson, who cut off those hands. It was a machine. One of those new hydraulic machines used for cutting metal. Those cuts were made by one swift motion. A huge amount of force is required to perform such a cut, cutting flesh and bone without breaking it. If you would have observed not just looked you would have found that marks on the bone were not from the saw. They were smooth and straight. All 3 cuts were exactly the same in every way. This was the work of industrial machinery. However all is not lost, the tattoo ink told me a lot.
The numbers on the first hand, 10 and 12, the ink for the color 12 was slightly brighter and the edges are sharper than number 10. However, the ink on the line crossing the 10 and 12 has similar ink brightness. Similarly, on the third-hand number, 13 is much brighter than number 8. On the third hand, the number 7 is darkest and ink has started to seep into the skin.
A closer examination might reveal more but for now, I can deduce that higher numbers were inked later and are newer tattoos. This led me to believe that there is a pattern here that will complete once we have all the numbers. And considering the similarities of these tattoos, I am sure these people knew each other. And more hands have been found.
"How can you say that?"
"Because Lestrade is on the stairs" Lestrade labored up the stairs and into the room a moment later.
"Where did you find them"? Asked Sherlock with a smile referring to the severed hands. Lestrade was aware of Sherlock's method and powers by now.
He was not surprised; he maintained his demeanor and told us the location of newly found limbs. One of the severed hands was found beside a tannery wall near King George Street. The second hand was found floating in an open wooden case by a fishing boat near the Blackfriar bridge.
Soon after getting the information all of us hired a hansom and reached Scotland Yard. Sherlock walked inside the constabulary with his eyes gleaming like a kid waiting for his new toy to be unpacked. His anticipation was satisfied moments later. There lay on the same table as before two more hands. Both hands were place white color, blood drained out, cut below the elbow. And Just as Sherlock predicted there were new numbers on the forearms.
                                                                                                                                                     

3

                                                                                         

4

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

2

                                                                                         

5

                                                                                                                                                     
Sherlock extensively analyzed all the limbs with a magnifying glass, scraped each nail on all 5 arms, took hair samples, and closely surveyed skin and tattoo ink. After 30 minutes, Sherlock was finished with his analysis.
"As I told Watson earlier, he is trying to send a message Lestrade!"
"And how do we find this man?" asked Lestrade.
"I will be back after dinner Watson, I will have more answers tomorrow," said Sherlock and left without acknowledging Lestrade's question.
I headed to my apartment at Baker Street. I was lost in my thoughts and impatiently waiting for Holmes. I had tried turning this case in my head over and over without making much sense of it. As my friend Sherlock Holmes put it "I missed everything of importance". It was after 10 PM that doorbell struck, Mrs. Hudson was away for the week. I opened to door to find a not on the doorstep. It was a bill receipt from a butcher's shop, one of the corners had blood thumbprint, I turned it and there was a short message written on the backside:
                   "Come to Jason& Smith Metal Co.,
                   Bring your gun"
                                                           -Sherlock Holmes
It was the last sentence that sent a cold chill down my spine, Sherlock was not a person who exaggerates the severity of a situation. If he is specifically asking me to bring a gun that means we might end up using it before the sun rises tomorrow. I looked up and saw the empty street, the wind has stopped blowing, the street eerie silent. I saw a young running into one of the side alleys. He was wearing a butcher's apron. "My mailman", I thought.
Soon after I hurried to my room, took my revolver, and my overcoat with me. Within 5 minutes of receiving the note, I was out on the street to join my friend in a new adventure. I was walking hastily down the street looking for a Hansom. I was worried about my friend, though Sherlock never exaggerates the situation, he does overestimate his own powers. My destination was almost 30 minutes ride by a hansom, 20 minutes if the horses are rested before. I found a hansom soon and was on my way.
After almost 25 minutes I was in old Berkshire, This part of London was once famous for housing factory workers. Workers used to work round the clock on military equipment for East India Company. There were rows after rows of triangular roofs made of red brick and glasses. These abandoned factories were humongous; some were big enough to house the population of small cities. It was a perfect place for our murderer to do his deed; there were not many people around. Only some of the factories were operating, and not even at half of the capacity. It took me another 10 minutes to reach Braxton Street. I paid the hansom and continued on foot toward Jason & Smith.
The factory was similar to others in this area. Huge, ugly, and most probably abandoned. It was a heavy metal factory, sprawling from one of the Thames's tributaries on one side and King George Street on another. It had several entrances, walking through the main entrances might alert someone. The walls were too high for me to climb. There was no sound coming from the factory; I started walking slowly beside one of the walls parallel to the river. Many factories had opened to the river for transport. The temperature was dropping rapidly; I saw a thin fog forming over the river. I could feel cold droplets on my face.
I reached for my gun in my pocket when I felt a hand on my shoulder. My army training had taught me how to react in situations like these. Still, I felt scared, but I didn't panic. My breathing paused, lips tightened. I instinctively tried to grab the hand and turn to subdue my assailant. But to my surprise, I had my feet kicked from under me and I was on the ground.
"Dear Watson, this is a covert mission, try not to make any noise, "said a man in a familiar voice. But his face was not familiar; the man was wearing a torn black coat with mud on shoulders and his knees. He was wearing a miner's hat, his face was twisted, the nose seemed broken and skin blackened with machine grease. He took a cloth from his pocket and wiped down the black grease with it. I could see the familiarity now, as he removed the rubber glued to his nose and cheek.
"I apologize for the inconvenience Watson, but I can't risk being seen while working a case such as this. I need to remain in the shadows," said Sherlock with a sly smile as he helped me get back up on my feet.
I tried to ask Sherlock our plan of action as we crouched our way inside the factory. The entrance near the river had an iron gate, but there was a small space below the gate above the river water. We made our way inside slowly and waited behind one of the metal pile.
"I have found the murderer Watson; this man is ruthless, meticulous, and determined. He has killed 5 men, and won't hesitate to kill 2 more."
A cold breeze swept over me as I heard some footsteps coming from inside the factory.
"I have informed Scotland Yard, but they will not be here in time. We have to move now if we want to catch him" Sherlock continued.
We slowly moved towards one the machine area in front of us, I had my gun pointed at the metal door. This door was huge, probably used for moving huge machinery to and fro. It had a small door on the lower right-hand side. I pushed the door slowly as Sherlock stood behind me. I looked at him, his eyes were fixed on the door but I knew his mind was inside the room already. He was figuring out all possible scenarios, and how to have the upper hand in all of them. His face was joyous yet focused, like a wild animal at the end of his hunt about to strike on his prey and enjoy the bounty.
As I pushed the door it made a loud creaking noise. We lost the element of surprise. I heard footsteps on the other side of the room.
"Run Watson" Sherlock shouted as we chased the footsteps in this dark room, full of heavy machinery. The only light present was moonlight making its way through the fog and through the patches of glass in the roof. The footstep ahead of us fastened and suddenly everything went silent with a loud metal bang. It took us a few minutes to find our way into the dark. We reached the source of the sound, there was a body lying on the floor. It was a man with his face down on the ground. The neck had been punctured by a rusted iron bolt holding down the machinery. There was a lot of blood on the ground. His heart was beating faster and it pumped most of the blood in his body within seconds. I checked for his pulse which was non-existent. Sherlock stood by the feet of the corpse squinting, looking for any possible clue to figure out what happened.
"He was heading for the backdoor" said Sherlock pointing to a small door in front of us. "He heard us entering and tried to flee, tripped his feet on the leg of this machine and landed with his face on another leg"
Sherlock pulled up his right hand, rolled down his sleeve to reveal the numbers written on the forearm:
                             

6

                             

9

                             

11

                             

"We will wait for Lestrade; I hope he can solve it from here"
Lestrade arrived with some of his constables a few minutes later. We left for baker street soon after, Sherlock was quite on his way back and still lost in his thoughts. I knew not to disturb his train of thoughts. I slept that night like a tired child. I could hear some voices in the morning coming from the sitting area. I slept again and woke up just before lunch. As I made my way out of my room, I saw Lestrade in the living room.
"Well good of you to join us, doctor, I was just briefing Mr. Holmes. The man that we found dead last night was Mr. David Porter. He was once a sailor working for a trader in Birmingham. He was living under aliases near Trafalgar square. We found his real name and history in his old identification document at his home. He had no family and his landlord knew nothing of his crime. David was a silent tenant who kept to himself and paid his rent on time. As for the factory, we found a sheet cutting machine near the body, blade, and the area was covered in blood. That's where he cut those hands. There is no trace of the bodies anywhere. We are still searching the area but there is no hope of actually finding the bodies.
"What about the numbers," I asked
"Well I don't know but it looked like all victims knew David, they all had similar tattoos. They might be part of a cult or local gang. You never know with these opium heads." said Lestrade with an expression of disgust on his face. "I think this case is closed, we have contacted the police station in Birmingham to look for the trader."
"I have found him," said Sherlock as he filled his pipe with tobacco. "And if I am not wringing, he is at the stairs."
There were footsteps on the door, a man walked into the room. He was old but not weak, he was a tall man with a strong face, and broad shoulders. He wore a brown leather jacket with a top hand and black sewed shoes covered in river mud. As soon as he saw Lestrade and constables in the room, he started running downstairs. Lestrade subdued him after a few feeble punches to the jaw. He was brought back into room on request of Sherlock.
"Please take a seat Mr. Thomas, and tell us your story. I have reasons to believe it is extremely interesting," said Sherlock.
The man tried to resist at first but after realizing that his fate was sealed, he sighed and told us one of the most horrific and fascinating stories I have ever heard which did not include Sherlock Holmes.
"I will tell you," said the man as he sat down on chair "I was a spice merchant in my youth. I brought spices from India to England and other countries in Europe. At that time, East India Company was in its initial years of operation in Asia. They plundered and amassed a large sum of gold, jewelry, and artifacts from Indian temples. But they didn't have enough ships to transport it all to "merry old England". East India Company rented hundreds of merchant ships to transport tons of loot. My ship was one of them; it was a small ship, "Spice queen". They filled every corner of that ship with gold, silver, diamonds, and other precious metal. They even threw out my spices to make space on the ship. I did not resist, I was making more money than I could have made in 10 such trips down to India.
After a day of making arrangements, we set out to open seas. There were a total of 20 members on the ship, along with 5 East India company soldiers to keep watch over their loot. We sailed along with 50 more ships to England. The sea and wind were good for the first few weeks but turned violent after that. One of those nights, the devil must have reached in my heart. A plan formed in my mind. I convinced 6 of my crew members to execute the plan. Some were hardened sailors, a few criminals running away from law and one was an Indian boy who wanted to see the world. We killed the soldiers' one by one, and then the passengers. It was not hard as most of them were asleep. We decided to split the loot once we reach England, our future generations could have lived on this wealth.
We made our way to England secretly in a few weeks. We moved our ship into Jason and Smith co. using the river where it was destroyed. It was stripped down to individual bolt and most metal melted, wood burnt away. All the money was stored in a safe location to be split once the East India Company has stopped looking.
The hard part of my plan was done, now we started spreading rumors about "Spice queen" that it was destroyed at the sea off the coast of Africa. After a few months, the East India Company stopped looking for a ship and its crew. They already had so much money to worry about; they couldn't waste resources finding loose change. It was time to start enjoying the loot. The Indian boy warned us that if we spent too much we might get caught, so we came up with a system to split and spend it. We manufactured a safe with 7 keys, one for each. Each time someone wants to take share, everyone will be present and bear witness. We tattooed the number on our arms as a way of keeping the account. We will have a complete record of who took the money and when. You see it was not much of a plan, but it made sense to us when we started. It was probably the opium in our blood which made it sound intelligent. The only good thing that came out of the plan was we kept in touch and took care of each other. This plan worked smoothly for many years but then I realized that it was not fair. I deserved all of it. It was my plan, my ship. They were just helpers and they got paid handsomely for their services.
I tried to convince 3 others when we met 2 weeks ago at a pub, but they didn't agree with me and threatened to tell others. I killed them later that night and took their keys. I knew others will come after me, but I did not want to kill them. So I sent a message. I chopped off their hands and put them on the river. I did what I had to do, I tried to move the safe but couldn't. It's not safe that you can hide in your bedroom it's basically a vault built into the ground. I tried to open it but couldn't. That's when I realized that I needed all 7 keys. I called the remaining 3 bastards, but David did not come. I killed them and threw their hands away. I wanted to keep the police confused as long as I get hold of my money.
The only thing standing between me and my money was David, I could have easily killed him and lived my life in peace if not for this gentleman right here" said Thomas pointing at Sherlock.
"I still don't know how you found me" he continued before ending his monologue.
"Technically, you found me, Mr. Thomas," said Sherlock.
After glancing at our confused faces, Sherlock continued, "When we first examined the limbs I was sure there will be more. The numbers were not random; no one will tattoo random numbers on their forearm. Yet still, they did not fit any sensible pattern. The only explanation was that the data set is not complete, some numbers were missing.
When I examined the ink, it was definitive the higher numbers were written later than smaller numbers. It meant that these people were getting a new tattoo based on some event. I couldn't have figured out the story of "Spice queen" from these numbers or any other clue. Mr. Thomas and his companions covered their tracks beautifully. But I could figure out where those hands were dismembered. My examination of hair samples from arm gave me some clue. The hairs burnt with a bright blue flame, which suggested the presence of metal, most probably copper. This experiment along with the presence of metal scrapes in the nails reduced my search radius.
All the limbs were found near riversides, assuring me the killer wanted them to find and thereby sending a message. But that was his first mistake. When none of the bodies were found, I knew the killer was smart. He was not stupid enough to walk around the town with dismembered limbs. So he dumped them from somewhere near the Old Berkshire. It was a good place, enough people to notice a chopped off body part but not enough to disturb his process. And there are enough slaughterhouses in the reason to churn whole bodies. River, metal and heavy machinery used for cutting the limbs helped narrow down my search.
I restricted my search to all metal industries which are nearby any slaughterhouse. It was a simple process of elimination. I searched the area all night and found there were three such factories that fit my criteria. It was still only one of the many possibilities for this case. I started with Jason and Smith co and struck gold. As I made my way into the factory, I saw a man frantically cleaning the floor. I thought it was Mr. David cleaning the blood of its victim, but it's clear now that man was none other than Mr. Thomas.
That's when I send for Watson and Scotland Yard with the help of butcher's boy. He delivers the meat in the whole city and was eager to earn a few quid on the side. We thought David got killed in an accident running away from us. But he was actually running away from someone else. Thomas had probably lured David to the factory to assure him of safety and was planning to kill him. When we reached the factory, his plan would have failed if not for David's misfortune of landing on a sharp nail with his neck. Thomas took David's key and left before we could find his body. I knew there was one man missing because one of the numbers was missing when I saw David's arm. The number 1 was missing.
I couldn't have found Mr. Thomas if not for Mr. Thomas himself when he was running away from the factory he dropped his own key." said Sherlock as he pulled out a dull golden key from his pocket. It was an old copper key, almost as big as a serving spoon. It had no markings on it except the letters "T.T." inscribed on it, for Thomas Taylor.
"The next part was simple" Sherlock continued, "I published an ad this morning in the newspaper about a lost key found on King George street. I knew Mr. Thomas would be desperate to get his key back with police trying to find his link with David. He saw the advertisement and ran straight to Baker Street."
"Now Lestrade, if you would be so kind as to take Mr. Thomas to his new belongings at Scotland Yard".
"What about the money, the safe, Mr. Holmes?" asked Lestrade.
"I am sure Scotland Yard can extract that information out of Mr. Thomas. Or you want me and Watson to all of your jobs?" said Sherlock as he moved inside his room.
The safe was never found, Mr. Thomas never gave up the information. It remains a mystery to this day. However, Sherlock has a different theory altogether about the safe. "East India Company doesn't want to share the finder's fees."