Chapter 46: Beyond The Pale

Previous: Dylan Parry

Gareth Williams reportedly helped to foil
a plot to bomb transatlantic jets in 2006.

Sherlock Holmes opened some windows and sat down. "What did you find in the archive that got you smoking so heavily?" he asked.

"Three pieces in particular caught my eye," I replied, "but I think the thoughts they set in motion were more significant than the articles themselves. Among other things, I've begun to form new opinions as to the causes of death and rapid decomposition."

"Do tell," said my friend.

"I'm starting to think perhaps Gareth Williams may have been given a drug," I said. "Not enough to kill him, but enough to incapacitate him for a while. If he were rendered defenseless, knocked unconscious perhaps, it would only have taken a few minutes to remove his clothes and lock him in the bag. After that, even if he regained consciousness, it would have come too late to save his life. Once he was locked in, his death would have been inevitable.

"Perhaps he struggled a bit in the holdall, bruising his elbows. Slate said there were no other marks on the body. If he died by suffocation, we would not expect any.

"The toxicology lab could find no evidence of any drugs, but that doesn't really tell us very much. If he was given a drug, he could have metabolized it before he died. Or it could have been obliterated in the course of decomposition.

"I don't have anything more elaborate to offer," I concluded, "but I believe my new hypothesis fits the facts as we know them."

"Indeed, it would explain the lack significant marks on the body," said Holmes. "It would also explain why there was no sign of a struggle in the flat. If he was incapacitated by a drug before he was attacked, he couldn't possibly have fought back."

"Slate thought the white powder found on the counter tops could have been residue from a cleaning product," I continued. "Presumably he thinks the surfaces may have been wiped with a cleanser of some kind, but not properly rinsed or dried. I've been assuming he's right, and wondering whether the same product, if applied to the body, could have caused the rapid decomposition we've been reading about."

"It would be easy enough to test your hypothesis," replied the detective. "We could collect an assortment of cleaning products and see whether any of them can cause rapid decomposition and leave a white powdery residue behind. It wouldn't necessarily tell us what happened, but if your thinking is very far from the truth, this would be an easy way to find out.

"However," he continued, "we could probably learn more by doing two separate experiments. We have no reason to assume the same thing produced both effects. Perhaps one substance left a powdery residue, and another caused the rapid decomposition.

"Of course, it's possible that the white powder came from something other than a cleaning product. It's also possible that whatever accelerated the decomposition was not a cleaning product, not a household item at all, but something very different. We may never know. But rather than sitting around and speculating, we could try a few things and see what there is to learn."

"That sounds like a good idea to me," I said. "At least it would give us a better idea than we have now."

"We'll need supplies," Holmes continued, "and it's a bit late in the day to go out shopping. But there's no rush. Our experiments can wait until tomorrow. What else have you been smoking about?"

"I've found conflicting reports about Gareth Williams' work history," I said, "one of which appears to be the piece Slate mentioned. I think there could be a clue in it, but I can't work out what it is, or what it means."

"If the air in this room is any indication," said Holmes, "you've been trying very hard."

"Indeed," I replied. "I've been wrestling with a difficult question."

"What is the question?" asked Holmes.

"If Slate is reading this correctly, as I believe he is," I replied, "Gareth Williams made multiple contributions in the war against the terrorists. Some of these are considered fit for the public to read about, but not all. His most significant contribution, which may have saved thousands of lives, is apparently beyond the pale. I've been trying to figure out why."

"For security reasons, perhaps?" he asked.

"Maybe," I said, "but it's difficult to imagine what the reasons could be. According to the story Slate mentioned, Gareth Williams helped to crack a code which terrorists were using to communicate by email. The decoded emails were used as evidence at a trial which resulted in three convictions. Therefore, they must know that their email has been intercepted, and that their code has been broken. So why should it still need to be a secret?

"It's especially puzzling now," I continued. "Presumably the terrorists never knew who broke their code and thwarted their plot. Perhaps if they had found out, they would have retaliated against him. But Gareth is dead. They can't hurt him anymore. So what harm could come from their knowing?"

"What was the plot?" asked Holmes, "and when was it thwarted?"

"It was a plot to bomb transatlantic jets," I replied, "and it was foiled in 2006. Here's the article, by Jon Clements in the Mirror. He says the intercepted emails were key to the convictions of Abdullah Ahmed Ali, Assad Sarwar and Tanvir Hussain. That was in 2008."

"I don't recall any of those names," said Holmes.

"Neither do I. Clements says they were communicating with the mastermind of the plot," I said, "a fellow in Pakistan called Rashid Rauf."

"Rashid Rauf?" said Holmes. "That name rings a bell. I'm sure we have something about him in the files. Excuse me for a moment, will you? Let me see what I can find."

Next: Rashid Rauf

Chapter 47: Rashid Rauf

Previous: Beyond The Pale

Rashid Rauf

Holmes returned a few moments later with his index in his hands. "Under the 'R,'" he said, "we shall find all manner of robbers and rapists, rascals and rogues. What do we know about Mr. Rashid Rauf?"

He flipped through the pages until he found the entry he sought. "Ah, here we are," he said. "Rashid Rauf, a British Muslim of Pakistani descent, was born in Birmingham in 1979. He fled to Pakistan in 2002 after the fatal stabbing of his uncle. Reportedly he was questioned by police in connection with that crime, but was released and allowed to leave the country.

"He fled to Pakistan, where his ancestral family live, and married a daughter, or a niece -- sources differ -- of Maulana Masood Azhar, the founder and spiritual leader of J-e-M. That's 'Jaish-e-Mohammed', or in English, 'the Army of God', a terrorist group who have made their name by bombing passenger trains in India and Kashmir."

"Lovely chaps," I said.

"Indeed," said Holmes. "Rauf apparently returned to England and was reportedly questioned and released again -- this time in connection with the July 2005 tube-and-bus bombings here in London which killed 52 people. Again he was allowed to leave the country and again he found his way to Pakistan.

"The following summer he was fingered as the mastermind of the plan to bomb transatlantic jets, the so-called 'Liquid Bombers' plot, which, as you have just discovered, Gareth Williams may have helped to foil.

"Rauf was later implicated in the 'Easter Bombers' plot, which was broken up by a series of dramatic arrests in Manchester and Liverpool in April of 2009. He was also implicated in a number of other terror plots on the Continent, all of which, to the best of my knowledge, were detected in time to prevent any carnage.

"Rauf was arrested in 2006 in Pakistan, in connection with the arrest of the 'Liquid Bombers.' The charges against him were dropped, reinstated, and dropped again, but he was never officially released from prison. Instead he escaped from police custody under very suspicious circumstances, while en route to a court appearance in 2007."

"Do you think they deliberately let him go?" I asked.

"Apparently the Pakistani government thought so," said Holmes. "Some of the policemen who were supposed to be guarding him were arrested in connection with his escape, but to the best of my knowledge, they were never prosecuted. For his part, Rauf disappeared, allegedly into the wild tribal lands of Waziristan, where he was supposedly killed by a drone missile attack in November of 2008."

"Supposedly?" I asked.

"His demise was claimed but not proven," replied the detective. "His remains were never returned to his family, and their request for proof of his death was ignored by the Pakistani government."

"Are we sure about all this?" I asked, half in jest. "You couldn't ask for a murkier story."

"It certainly is murky," agreed my friend, "and that's just the outline. Fortunately we are well-stocked with details."

"How so?" I asked.

"Our files," said Holmes, "contain many clippings pertaining to the 'Liquid Bombers,' and many more on the 'Easter Bombers,' both of which held my attention for quite some time. I collected as many articles as I could, sometimes without even reading them, on the hunch that they might turn out to be important. But I have never had a reason to use them, and as a result they probably contain many details of which I am unaware.

"We also have a smattering of information about the 2005 London bombings and some of the Continental plots with which Rauf was allegedly involved. I can't say how much of this material will be useful to us now, but it's all there if we need it."

"I can spend some time reading through those files," I said, "if you think it will help."

"I don't see how it could hurt," replied Sherlock Holmes. "I'd be especially interested in anything you can find about the coded emails to and from Rashid Rauf which Gareth Williams was reportedly reading."

"I'll do what I can, Holmes," I said. "I'm beginning to get weary, but I can start tomorrow."

"Would you mind doing some shopping tomorrow as well?" the detective asked. "I can give you a list of the supplies we will need for our experiments."

"I'll be happy to help with that," I said. Then, reflecting on what I had just offered to do and why, I felt a shudder of revulsion run up and down my spine. It wasn't the first, nor would it be the last. 

Next: Setting Up The Experiments

Chapter 48: Setting Up The Experiments

Previous: Rashid Rauf

After a week in which I'd had great trouble sleeping, I finally awoke feeling somewhat refreshed. But I wasn't becoming accustomed to the horrible facts and ideas we were investigating; I had simply become too exhausted to dream.

Wednesday morning was exceptionally cool and damp, a reminder that September was nearly gone and more cool, damp weather was on the way. For the first time in several months I caught myself rubbing my shoulder, which had never fully recovered from the wound it suffered in Afghanistan when I was an Army surgeon, so many years ago.

Sherlock Holmes had lit a fire and was sitting at his desk, finishing my shopping list. I ate my breakfast quickly and set out on my task without much enthusiasm. It all seemed so grim.

But I had to admit it was for a good cause, and I hoped to return home as quickly as possible, so I proceeded with as much efficiency as I could muster. As requested, I bought:

3 different brands of dish detergent
3 different kinds of laundry detergent
3 different types of household cleanser
2 other general-purpose household cleaning products
12 half-litre Mason jars, with sealing lids
12 boneless pork chops, half an inch thick
an assortment of counter top samples, in various types and colours

When I returned, Holmes was ready to start setting up our experiments.

"Our work on decomposition will take some time, so we should start it first," he said. "If you will wash the jars and lids, I will cut up the meat.

"Pork is more like human flesh than anything else the butcher sells," Holmes continued, "so it will provide as good a testing ground as we can hope for." He cut each chop into quarters, then put four pieces into each of the jars I had washed.

"While you were away, I mixed up a solution," he explained. "It's a teaspoon of salt in six cups of water, and it will take the place of bodily fluids. It's not an exact match, of course, but it will serve our purpose well enough."

Holmes poured half a cup of salt water into each jar. He sealed one of the jars and marked it "Brine." To each of the other jars he added two tablespoons of a cleaning product, and I labeled each jar: "Fantastik," "Cascade," "Tide," and so on.

When all twelve jars were sealed and labeled, he shook each one well, put them all in a box and covered it. "It would have been dark in the bag," he said, "and it would have been warm." Then he put the box on top of a cabinet near the fireplace, saying, "This might be the warmest spot in the flat."

Having done all this, Holmes turned to me and continued, "We'll leave it there for a week, then take a look and see what's inside. We won't open the jars, as the smells will be nauseating. But we can look through the glass, and, using the brine for comparison, we can see which samples, if any, show accelerated rates of decomposition.'"

"That sounds simple enough," I said.

"It is," said Holmes, "and while we wait, we can do some testing with the counter tops."

"What do you have in mind?" I asked.

"We'll test one substance at a time, using it to 'clean' the counter tops. But we won't rinse them; we'll just let them dry. And we will see which cleaning products, if any, leave a powdery white residue.

"We'll also take note of how each of the surfaces appears while it is drying. I'll be especially interested to see if any of them appear clean when slightly damp, but show a white residue when completely dry."

"That seems easy as well," I said. "Do you think the killer, or killers, meant to leave the residue behind?"

"Assuming it is the residue of a cleaning product," replied Holmes, "the answer is 'Who knows?' They could have forgotten to rinse and dry the counter tops, or they could have deliberately left them coated with some cleanser or another, thinking it would better hide their traces. I have no reason to prefer one alternative over the other."

"You do think they were hiding evidence of their presence?" I asked.

"I think it very likely that they would want to do so," Holmes replied, "don't you?"

I nodded, and Holmes continued, "As I mentioned yesterday, our experiments won't necessarily tell us what happened to Gareth Williams. But if we're on the wrong track, they will surely tell us so."

Next: Another Letter From Anglesey

Chapter 49: Another Letter From Anglesey

Previous: Setting Up The Experiments

"Place them here, side-by-side, will you?"

"For the counter top experiment," Sherlock Holmes suggested, "we may as well start with the items one would normally use for cleaning kitchens and bathrooms. We can certainly try the dish and laundry detergents, but it makes sense to work with the cleansers and general-purpose cleaners first, doesn't it?"

I agreed and Holmes began to clear space on his work table. "You've collected some fine samples, Watson," he said. "Place them here, side-by-side, will you? We'll swab them with a sponge, and we can reach them all at once if we arrange them properly."

"Do you think we should protect the table top somehow?" I asked. "Surely some cleaning products will seep through the gaps. We have a sheet of heavy plastic somewhere. Shall I go look for it?"

"I wouldn't bother," replied the detective. "After the spills this table has suffered -- various acids, blood, all manner of solvents and the occasional poison -- a drip of cleanser may come as a pleasant surprise.

"The most likely candidate for leaving a powdery residue," Holmes continued, "would be a powdered cleanser, such as -- What did you buy? Comet?"

"What did you buy? Comet?"

I handed him the tin I had bought and he continued, "I've borrowed a bucket and a sponge from Mrs. Hudson. She probably thinks we're crazy, but --"

I could barely suppress a chuckle. "She probably thinks you're crazy," I thought, but I said nothing. Instead I took the bucket to the sink and filled it with warm water.

No sooner had I brought it back to Holmes' table than Mrs. Hudson appeared. "Good heavens, Mr. Holmes!" she exclaimed when she saw the samples, "You're not thinking of redecorating the flat, are you, sir?"

"Don't worry," Holmes replied. "We're just conducting a small experiment in support of an investigation."

"I'm glad to hear it, sir," said our landlady. "I've come to ask whether you will both be here for dinner this evening."

"Indeed we will, thank you," replied Holmes.

"One more thing, sir," Mrs. Hudson continued. "This letter just arrived. It's for you. It appears to be from Wales, sir."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," said my friend and our landlady withdrew quietly.

Holmes cut open the envelope and removed a single sheet of paper.

William Hughes

"It's from William Hughes," he said, "and it's addressed to both of us. Will you be so kind as to read it aloud?"

He handed me the letter and I read:

Trefor near Bodedern
Anglesey, Wales
Tuesday, 28 September

Dear Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson,

Thank you once again for your interest in our Gareth, and for your presence here these last few days. You have lifted many spirits, not least those of Ellen and Ian, and I am most grateful for that and for your many expressions of support for our family.

After some confusion, I have finally made contact with Dr. Terry Hewitt, Gareth's former advisor at Manchester University. I had been led to believe that he had moved to Bangor and I was looking for him there; in fact he is teaching at Bangor now but still living near Manchester.

In any case, I finally reached Dr. Hewitt and he told me he would be happy to speak with you regarding Gareth. Unfortunately he is extremely busy and it is almost always difficult to arrange meetings with him.

However, he will be in London this Friday and will visit you at four o'clock in the afternoon if you will be available then. You can contact him yourselves to make arrangements; I will include the necessary information below.

Thank you both once again on behalf of myself and the entire family. You have already done us more good than you can imagine, and we're hoping and praying that you'll be able to solve the case as well.

Please let me know if I can be of any assistance. I would be happy to help you in any way possible.

Yours sincerely,
William Hughes

"This is excellent!" I exclaimed when I had finished reading the letter.

"Indeed," replied Holmes. "The chips seem to be falling in our direction at the moment. We can never know how long such a run of luck will last, but we're fools if we don't take as much advantage of it as we can.

"You have the bucket, no? Here's the sponge. If you'll wipe down the counter tops with some Comet, I will confirm our appointment with Dr. Hewitt immediately."

Next: A Jolt Of Fear

Chapter 50: A Jolt Of Fear

Previous: Another Letter From Anglesey

Thousands of flights were canceled.
Many others were delayed.

I moistened the sponge, sprinkled some Comet on it, and used it to wipe the counter tops. "We should let that dry overnight," said Sherlock Holmes when he saw what I had done. "One test per day will surely be sufficient."

"That seems reasonable," I agreed.

"You think you can handle it, then?" asked Holmes.

"Me? Why me?"

"You'd never know it by my recent travels," said Holmes, "but I have three other cases going, all of which I have been neglecting, and I need to leave you on your own, possibly for a couple of days."

"Well, I suppose --"

"Good! The counter tops won't take much of your time, and if you've nothing else pressing, you could make yourself very useful by reading until I get back."

"I suppose I could keep the counter top experiment going in your absence," I said. "And while I wait for it to dry, I may as well pass my time by reading." I rubbed my shoulder again. Spending some time indoors suddenly seemed a very good idea.

I heard Holmes mumbling in the other room, then he reappeared carrying a box full of files. "I'm sorry to say my material on the 'Liquid Bombers' is not in a file of its own, Watson," he said. "You will have to look through the general files for the relevant documents."

I tried to suppress a groan, but his ears were stronger than my self-control. "It's not all that bad, my friend," he said. "The files are arranged chronologically, and the plot was thwarted in August of 2006. So just start there."

I groaned again and Holmes heard me clearly this time. "Don't do it for me," he said. "Do it for Gareth. Do it for Ian and Ellen, Chris and Ceri, Hughes, --"

Passengers were stranded under
the eye of heavily armed guards.

"All right, all right," I said. "It just seems a big job."

"Of course it's a big job," replied Holmes with a grin. "But there's no deadline. There's not going to be a test. You needn't feel any pressure about it at all."

"That's good," I replied, feeling much relieved.

"But seriously," said Holmes, "it's Wednesday  afternoon. I may be away until just before our appointment with Terry Hewitt on Friday. That's about forty-eight hours. Could you use that time to become the world's greatest living expert on the 'Liquid Bombers' and their plot?"

"No," I said, "but I'll do the best I can." I was suddenly feeling very over-matched, and chiding myself inwardly. I'd fallen for his "no deadline, no pressure" line once before, and now he had just caught me with it again. But he was right -- it was for a very good cause.

So I picked up the folder marked "August, 2006," sat down and started reading. I didn't look up until Mrs. Hudson called us for dinner. But then I was astonished to see that I had been reading for less than an hour. My head was already spinning.

I remembered well the jolt of fear we experienced on August 10 of that year, when we awoke to news of a fantastic terrorist plot which police said would have caused "mass murder on an unimaginable scale."

The new restrictions would become permanent.

The plot, according to US officials, was for suicide bombers to blow as many as ten intercontinental airliners out of the sky simultaneously, using liquid explosives they were planning to smuggle aboard the planes disguised as soft drinks.

The plotters had "accumulated and assembled the capabilities that they needed and they were in the final stages of planning for execution," according to US Homeland Security Secretary Michael Chertoff.

Twenty-four people had been arrested overnight in England and several more had been collared in Pakistan, after an international investigation involving unprecedented surveillance and cooperation amongst British, American, and Pakistani security forces. But others might still be at large, according to the police, and while the search for them continued, security was dramatically increased.

The terror alert level was raised to "critical" and chaos reigned at the airports, especially Heathrow. Thousands of flights were canceled, leaving passengers stranded under the eye of heavily armed guards.

Those who were allowed to fly were prevented from carrying any luggage aboard, except for a few things in clear plastic bags. Items as innocuous as bottled water were taken from them, and mothers were required to taste their babies' milk before they could board their flights.

Unnamed "sources" at the Department for Transport said the new restrictions on hand baggage could become permanent. One told the BBC the "way we travel" would "never be the same again."

At the time, some people had said the airport clampdown seemed an over-reaction, and the rhetoric about the scale of the foiled attack seemed a bit exaggerated.

Now, reading the stories again with a vague idea of the twists and turns the drama was to take, I couldn't shake the word caricature from my mind. Nor could I figure out what it meant.

But dinner was ready, and I was hungry.

Next: A Long Shot