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Lily Black’s apartment, Harrow on the Hill, London
IT WAS LATE in the afternoon by the time Crowley and Rose arrived at Lily’s apartment building. Crowley liked Harrow on the Hill, a suburb in the northwest of London. Lots of narrow streets, green hedges and trees, tightly packed pale brown brick buildings with dark gray slate roofs. A number of shops they had passed on the high street had been whitewashed, classic old London suburbia. He could have afforded it, not on his teacher’s salary, but with the other money. However, it didn’t seem the sort of place one went to live a lonely bachelor’s life.
“Nice spot,” Crowley said.
Rose nodded, lips pursed. “Lily bought this place a few years ago. No idea how she afforded it, but like I said, I don’t know much about her life. I wish I did, now more than ever.”
They entered the building and took a double flight of stairs up to the second story. Rose pointed. “That’s her place. You really going to break in?”
Crowley laughed softly. “Don’t be so shocked, Miss Black. When we first met I told you about how I demobbed from the army, young and stupid, and ran with a few London hoodlums. Nearly ended up in prison.”
“Oh yeah, you did tell me that.”
“So let’s just say I picked up some useful skills back in those days.” He crouched by the door, used his body to mask his furtive activity with a highly illegal lock-pick kit. He enjoyed Rose’s closeness as she stood behind, watching over his shoulder. She regularly glanced back to ensure they remained alone in the hallway.
A sharp click and Crowley stood. “And there it is.” He flashed a grin back over his shoulder and pushed Lily’s door open. Rose followed him in and shut the door behind them.
He paused in the spacious lounge room, scanning the décor. A number of Egyptian themed artworks adorned the walls, a few vases and other ornaments clearly resonant of the pyramids, mummies and sarcophagi. A mirror hung above the mantelpiece, framed in alternating blue and gold bands, the top a spreading pair of wings in three shades of blue. Above the wings a cobra emerging from each side of a large red ball.
“That’s a little...” Crowley wasn’t sure how to describe it.
“Ostentatious? Pretentious?” Rose suggested.
“Yeah. That. Both of those.”
“I feel weird, breaking in here,” Rose said. “We were never welcome, never invited.”
“Sure, but if we’re going to find your sister, this is the only lead we have, right?” Crowley pointed to a wall of bookshelves. “Lots of Egyptology titles here, and lots of books on the occult and secret societies.”
Rose joined him. “No surprise for someone doing a doctorate in archeology, I suppose.” She ran a finger along a shelf of hardback spines.
“Guess not.”
Crowley gestured towards a glass-topped table against one wall, supported by two proud leopards coated in gold leaf. Beside it sat a large rosewood chest inlaid with gold and turquoise tiles. “These things look expensive. Like genuine artifacts. Or at least, very valuable modern recreations.”
Rose frowned. “What are you implying?”
“Well, I’m just surprised a PhD student can afford this stuff, not to mention this apartment.”
“Yes, but like I said, I have no idea what she did before she went back to do her doctorate,” Rose said. “She could have made a fortune on the stock exchange for all I know.”
Crowley walked towards a desk in one corner. “Or maybe they’re gifts from someone. A man, perhaps?”
Rose made a non-committal sound. “No idea.”
Crowley moved behind the desk and opened a laptop lying there. He hit the power button and waited while it booted up only to be faced with a password. “Well, that’s irritating, but not unexpected. You got that mail the neighbor gave you?”
Rose reached into the inside pocket of her jacket and pulled out a wad of a dozen or so envelopes. “Not much use, I don’t think.”
Crowley shuffled through the white and brown windowed packets. “No personal correspondence.”
Rose laughed. “Like letters? How old are you? Fifty? No one writes letters anymore.”
Crowley couldn’t help laughing along. “Yeah, I can’t remember the last time I wrote one. Probably not since my Gran died. Just hopeful, I guess.” He turned over the last one and saw it was a credit card bill. “But this might be useful.”
He slit the envelope open, pulled the bill out, and scanned the transactions. “I think I know where your sister has gone.”
“Just like that?” Rose hurried to his side, looked at where he pointed to a line from a travel agent.
“She bought a plane ticket to Cairo.”
Rose looked up from the bill to Crowley. “That doesn’t explain why she isn’t responding to her messages, though. She often makes me wait a day or two when I try to start a conversation, but she always replies. Even if she’s not using her phone overseas, she checks email regularly, and I’ve sent a dozen emails in the past week alone.”
Crowley rubbed a hand back over his close-cropped dark hair. He wasn’t sure about any of this. “Let’s keep poking around.”
In the immaculately tidy bedroom, he found a small safe tucked into one side of the wardrobe. “Check this out,” he called out.
Rose came through from the kitchen, looked into the dim cupboard. “Hmm. Now that’s more interesting.”
“It needs a four-digit code, though. Locks I can pick, but this has millions of possible combinations. Beyond my skills.”
“Nineteen thirty-five,” Rose said, without hesitation. “Our grandfather’s year of birth. No one in the world meant more to her than he did. She was devastated when he died.”
“Huh.” Crowley punched in the year and the safe door popped open. He shared a smile with Rose. “First bit of luck we’ve had!”
He took out the small pile of documents from the top shelf of the safe and moved back into the light of the bedroom. A frown creased his brow. “Well, this only raises more questions.”
“What is it?”
Crowley held up Lily’s passport for Rose to see. “Not only her passport, but her other ID, driver’s license, credit cards.”
“How could she have left the country without those?” Rose asked.
Crowley held up another envelope, clearly showing the logo and name of the HM Passport Office. “This might explain it. The address is this apartment, but it’s not for Lily Black.”
“Who then?”
“You ever heard of Iris Brown?”