WE STOLE BACK INTO London sometime after midnight. I hated to give up the motorcycle, but it was a rarity and could therefore cause people to notice us — the opposite of what we needed to do. We pulled up in an alleyway off Skeffington Street and dismounted, stretching our tired bodies. I pulled an envelope out of my satchel and popped in the motorcycle key. I wrote the address to the bakery on the envelope and this cross-street as well. Hopefully, by the time they got the key, the motorcycle would still be here.
“I still don’t like the idea of splitting up,” Lancaster said, leading the way down to the waterfront. “But you’re right that it will be hard enough for me to get into the Royal Arsenal.”
“I have other avenues to pursue,” I assured him. “But the most important element is our meeting place so that we can regroup with our data.”
“The Wool and Weaver is exactly the pub you’re looking for,” he assured me, reaching for my cold hand. “Remember to tell the bartender that you’re visiting your pregnant sister. He knows where to take you. And he can be trusted. We worked together in the war.”
“Like Major Collins?” I asked.
“Yes and no,” Lancaster replied, leaning in close. “Are you sureyou won’t just head straight to the pub?”
“Are you sure you don’t want to tell me about Heddy Collins?”
“I promise I will tell you everything about the Collinses as soon as you can explain their connection to this and not before,” he replied.
I felt his breath on my face and nodded. “I will see you tomorrow night. Be safe.”
I kissed him once, on the edge of his mouth, and then again. And then we were kissing like we hadn’t seen each other in months. He tasted like that odd combination of bubble gum and Morlands — not unpleasant, but distracting. We broke it off at the same time and I turned away immediately, heart hammering, walking in the opposite direction of the Royal Arsenal, putting as much distance between me and that temptation as I could.
It took me nearly two hours to navigate my way to my destination, switching between short hops in cabs and walking through alleys I recognized only by name from Holmes’ map. I dropped off the envelope with the key and my ads — one for The Lady and one for The Sunday Times where I hoped my grandfather would find it — at a post box along the way, glancing over my shoulder with a paranoia I had never felt before. Finally, I made it to Stepney Green and knocked discreetly on the door to the shop where I had been welcomed a week ago.
Once, twice, thrice I knocked, but no one answered, so I took a chance, turning the handle and finding it unlocked.
“You!” said the young boy named Lin, who had pulled me from the street to meet his aunt. He lowered his cricket bat and called out something to his aunt, who came out from behind her counter carrying a flat-bottomed pan.
“I am so sorry to bother you so late,” I said, my hands raised in case they still thought I was a threat. “But I need your help.”
The aunt stepped forward and clapped me on the back, speaking far too fast for me to understand even if she had been speaking in English, but pointing at me with a triumphant look in her eyes. I shushed her as best as I could, letting her lead me further into her shop.
“You can talk,” Lin said, wiping the sleep from his eyes,
“I can,” I said, as Lin’s aunt examined me again. “But I still need you to translate for your aunt.”
“You could have waited to tell us in the morning,” Lin said, his grumpiness evident as he took a seat at the counter.
“I couldn’t, actually,” I said, gently grasping the aunt’s hands and removing them from my face. “My friend is in trouble and I have a feeling you can help me find him.”
Lin’s aunt said something that Lin translated. “She wants to know if you stopped taking those pills.”
“Why … Yes, I did, though not on purpose,” I replied.
She nodded as soon she heard my “yes,” speaking quickly to Lin.
“She says she knew the pills were causing the problem,” Lin said.
I frowned because that was ridiculous, wasn’t it? Except it wasn’t. It was a possible explanation for a problem doctors hadn’t been able to explain. This was a clue I hadn’t been searching for in a case I thought I’d solved. I glanced at the counter where I had last seen the scrapbook Gavin had left behind.
“She wants me to go back to bed,” Lin interrupted my thoughts. “You said you need help?”
I followed Aunt Chen out a back door to her shop about ten minutes later. She had sent Lin packing off to bed. We would have to communicate with her limited English.
Through the haze of smoke and dulled pain I thought I saw Portia Adams walking towards me, but that was impossible. She was counties away with her new lover doing God knows what.
I saw him right away, at the back of the second drug den Aunt Chen led me to. I walked around men in various states of stupor, leaving Chen to speak to the “helpers” who tried to get in my way.
“Brian,” I said to the man I love, the man I barely recognized, his long body twisted and bent into a fetal position, his damaged hand hanging off the filthy cot like it wasn’t even a part of him anymore. “I’m here. I’m back.”