A series of newspaper articles flashed across the screen as James perused the search results. Even with the introduction of modern technology, journalism was still in the Dark Ages. After all, journalism was an old man who moved slowly and often struggled to change. Many newspapers hadn’t digitalised their archives, which meant individual journalists—or a dedicated research team—had to conduct research the old-fashioned way. So here he was, scrolling through articles stored on microfilm.
He paused and squinted at the screen. James rubbed the bridge of his nose as his glasses slid down his face. The yellow lights of the British Library newsroom were giving him a headache. This reading room was dedicated to news and was his favourite place to research. This afternoon, only a handful of people were clicking away at the mice on the other computers.
As his headache overpowered him, James refocused on the computer screen and scrolled to the next search result. It was another article about an archaeological discovery in Scotland with similar information as the previous article. Nothing new. Another article highlighted the turbulent nature of the archaeological world. There seemed to be an endless supply of examples of teams spending months away from home and then having an archaeological dig end up unsuccessful. He scrolled to the next article and sighed.
James picked up his smartphone and checked his email. There was nothing from Elizabeth. He scrolled through his emails, then looked up at the screen. It was odd. He had waited at the station for more than thirty minutes and missed his train, and she didn’t pick up any of his calls. After all of that waiting, he boarded the next train to London. The most frustrating part was that he needed her help and expertise. Maybe it was a good thing she didn’t turn up at the station. Anwar was quite clear on the conditions of her release, and leaving Northampton for London was one of them.
Could Elizabeth be afraid of Maximilian? Or maybe she’s working with him?
He placed the phone on the desk and stared at the article in front of him. They might be working together to sell the sword to pay for their debts, and maybe Pippa had the same idea and got in the way. Perhaps this was why Elizabeth claimed to have slept through the events that occurred in her living room.
James narrowed his eyes on a single sentence in the middle of the screen. He smirked as he leaned back in his chair and stared at the image of Maximilian Nicholls being handcuffed on Christmas Day and dragged out of Alistair’s family estate. James picked up his phone, selected Chan’s number from a list of favourites, and listened to the dial tone.
‘He was arrested for selling artefacts from an Egyptian tomb through Christie’s in London,’ James said the second the phone picked up.
‘Who?’ PC Chan asked as James hit the speaker icon.
‘Maximilian Nicholls.’ James had a slight smile on his face as he clicked through to the next article. ‘I’m going to mention this in my daily report. Elizabeth thinks Maximilian is managing the business side of Alistair’s business, and sourcing sponsors.’
‘Really?’ Chan’s voice had a hint of curiosity.
‘I think I’ll need to look into the company’s records, and maybe police records.’
‘Of course you will,’ Chan replied with a hint of sarcasm.
‘I’m going to need some type of evidence to move forward. Just to check that I’m not going down the wrong path.’ James stared at the image on the screen.
‘Fine. I’ll apply for the warrants,’ Chan said as James hit the red button on the screen.
A rock formed at the pit of his stomach. All of this digging was not good for Valentine. But he was damned either way. Figuring out who was behind all of this would lead him to her. James couldn’t sit still and wait, and he wasn’t telling the police about her kidnapping.
I’m screwed. James sighed as he stared at the screen.