A Study in Lavender: Queering Sherlock Holmes Read Online Free Page B

Constable Briers. He’s one of us.”
    The constable frowned. “It’s bad business, then, sir. Will we be wanting Holmes on this one?”
    “No,” Lestrade and Gerard said at the same time.
    “We’ll take it from here,” Gerard said.
    Lestrade, staring at the body, imagined the freckled skin beneath the blanket. He knew almost every plane and curve of that body, he’d made good use of it in the previous weeks. Now Briers was dead. Who had done it? And why?
    “We’ll have to look into his recent whereabouts,” Gerard said. “Find out if there’s a woman, where he lived, where he liked to spend his time.”
    “I can do that,” Lestrade said. “You go back to the Yard. Get things under way there.”
    “If you like,” Gerard said.
    He left without another glance at the body, embraced by the welcoming fog.
     
    On the brougham ride to Briers’s flat, Lestrade couldn’t help thinking that if Holmes was on the case, he’d have likely solved it already – using the angle of Briers’s body, the dirt on the soles of his feet and the tobacco stains on his fingers. He would have also discovered Lestrade’s involvement with Briers, and that was something Lestrade was certain he couldn’t bear. Only one other truth could be so damaging to him.
    Sweet, sad Briers. How was it that he’d come to such an end? There had only been a few hours possible during which he could have been killed. Was it just chance – an encounter on the way from Lestrade’s home? Or something more sinister.
    Lestrade needed to find the answer soon. The more attention it drew, the death of a police officer after all, threatened his privacy, and were his predilections to come to light, he would lose everything that he’d worked for.
    He’d been invited to Briers’s flat many times, and yet had never visited. He’d always relied on the man coming to him. Briers had been a warm body for Lestrade’s bed, not much more, and while they’d shared the ultimate intimacy, Lestrade knew very little about him.
    The landlady, a Mrs Cosgrove, swelled with tears when he told her of Briers’s death and let him up into the rooms.
    “He was such a nice man,” she said. “Helped me when my son, Thomas, had gone missing. Always paid his rent on time. A gentleman.”
    “Yes,” Lestrade said. “Did you know of anyone who might have a quarrel with him? Anyone who had it in for him?”
    “No, and I can’t imagine it, neither,” she said. She covered her mouth conspiratorially. “I do think there was a woman, though.”
    “Oh?”
    “He was often leaving at odd times of night, or not coming home at all. Or coming home at the crack of dawn. He was a handsome fellow, I’m sure he had a woman somewhere. I often thought she might be married.”
    “Um, yes,” Lestrade said. “Thank you. Do you think you could leave me alone to examine the rooms?”
    “Of course,” she said, sniffing. “Catch whoever did this.”
    “I intend to,” Lestrade said.
    After she left, he moved about the drawing room and then into the bedroom. Briers did not have a lot of possessions. His bookcases were sparsely filled, there were very few ornaments on the walls, just uniforms and suits, hats and cravats, in the wardrobe. Again, he thought that the Detective would have been able to deduce volumes about the man just by looking at his living space. Lestrade, however, could only perhaps assemble a sentence.
    There wasn’t even a diary or anything to indicate what had been going on in Briers’s life outside of his time spent in Lestrade’s bed.
    He returned to Mrs Cosgrove. “Did Briers have any close friends? Someone he liked to drink with, or perhaps a friend from a club?”
    Mrs Cosgrove pursed her lips. “Most of his friends were from Scotland Yard. But there was someone he used to have supper with. Henry Samuels, I think his name was.”
    “Thank you,” Lestrade said. “Don’t worry, I’ll find who did this.”
    Mrs Cosgrove’s smile proved that she, at