“And neither has Danny,” Margaret said. “None of us has heard a word from him since. And we’d never heard of you at all, of course.”
“And now you’ve appeared here at our door,” George said.
Crowley’s concerns became overwhelming. He caught Rose’s eye and stood. “We have to go, I think. Thank you both very much for your help. Can we have a number to reach you on?”
“Of course.” George scribbled a mobile number on a Post-It note and handed it over. “If you find Danny, please let us know. We’re very worried for him.”
Rose stood and they moved into the hall. “This man who came asking after us,” Rose said. “What did he look like?”
George gave a rough description of the man and Crowley overlaid the words quite easily onto the man with the gun who had limped from the alley after Rose’s kick the night before. He caught Rose’s eye and she nodded slightly, that haunted look even more evident in her eyes.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t be more help,” George said. “But call us if you need anything, or if you think of anything else you might want to ask. We’re happy to help if we can. Even if it’s just offering some support.”
“We are,” Margaret agreed. “And I hope you’re both okay. I hope all this blows over.”
Crowley huffed a soft laugh. Such a thoroughly English attitude, that armed men trying to abduct strangers might be something that would just ‘blow over’. “I hope so too,” he said anyway. No point trying to convince them of anything else. He did hope they wouldn’t get any more visits from the same men though. “Keep up your caution,” he said as he shook George’s hand. “Keep that chain on your door.”
“We will.”
Rose’s phone rang. She pulled it out, frowned at the screen. “Work,” she said. “Excuse me.” She tapped to answer, then said, “Hi there. Can I call you back in a min…” She stopped dead, listening. The color drained from her face.
Crowley put a hand to her elbow, concerned.
“Okay, thank you,” Rose said, and hung up. “That was my boss from the museum. Apparently someone showed up today looking for me. They got quite angry when they were told I wasn’t there.”
Chapter 11
Crowley stared at his laptop screen, lips pursed, scrolling through reams of search results. Danny Bedford, Dan Bedford and Daniel Bedford had returned a lot of hits, most of them not especially relevant. Eventually he hit upon a news article in one of the London local paper websites. “Here,” he said, looking up.
Rose sat on the sofa across the room from him, staring out into the daylight through his front window. The haunted look remained in her eyes. No, he corrected himself. It had morphed. No longer as much haunted as it was hunted. She embodied both vulnerability and strength, and he couldn’t blame her for that. He needed to nurture the strength in her, remind her of her agency and power so she didn’t fall into despair.
“Here,” he said again, a little louder.
She blinked and looked over, his iPad forgotten in one hand. “Sorry, what?”
“I found this article.” He turned back to his screen and read. “Daniel Bedford, twenty eight, an orderly from Great Ormond Street Hospital, was reported missing last Thursday.” He paused, scrolled back up to check the date. “This is from last week. Anyway, blah blah blah, reports from his workplace, family are appealing for anyone with knowledge and so on. His parents are up in Yorkshire, but according to this they were planning to travel down to London to help police and try to find him.”
“Do you think they’re going to?” Rose asked in a small voice.
“Find him? No idea.” Crowley blew out an exasperated breath. “I wish we knew why these buggers were so interested in birthmarks like yours.”
“They’re interested in people like me,” Rose reminded him.
“Yeah, like you.” No point in pretending this was anything other than an extremely dangerous situation. But he remembered to appeal to her strength. “But you’re tough, and you’ve got me on your side.”
“I’m grateful for that.”
“And I’m not going anywhere. I know we’ve only just met, really, but as far as this thing is concerned we’re entangled. I don’t plan to leave you on your own until we have this all sorted out.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you think we should go to the police?” He had been reluctant to ask, but needed to have her input.
“I already put in a call. The guy I spoke to said he’d look into it, but I could tell he was just blowing me off. Couldn’t wait to get off the phone. I don’t think he even wrote down any of the names or details I gave him.” She bit her lip. “It’s hard to explain, but I don’t think there’s time for a police investigation. Twice in such quick succession, coming to my home, armed. These guys are serious. If we sit back and wait, won’t that just make me more vulnerable?”
“I agree. Maybe we can approach them if we learn more, but let’s stick to learning more and staying hidden for now. And I mean it; I won’t leave you on your own until we know what’s happening.”
He wanted to add, And I hope I don’t have to leave you on your own afterwards either. But it sounded cheesy and weak in his head and would sound even more so if it came out of his mouth. And it was entirely inappropriate in the circumstances.
“We need to pin down their reasoning,” he said instead. “Figure out what they’re trying to do, what they want with you. That’ll keep us one step ahead of them.”
Rose hefted the iPad. “I found this.” She turned it to face him and he saw a photo of someone’s back bearing a birthmark just like hers.
He had been skeptical when Margaret Wilson had said Danny Bedford had a mark identical to Rose’s. He could imagine it was similar enough to spook Margaret, and clearly the connection here, but identical? But this was a photo of a man’s back and the mark was indeed identical as far as he could remember from his brief look at Rose’s the night before. “That Danny?”
Rose shook her head. “Someone else.” She flicked at the screen, tapped. “This is a website where people submit pics of unusual tattoos or body marks. It came up from an image search I threw in for eagle birthmarks. This user’s name is BoldGreg79.”
Crowley shook his head. “Someone else with the same mark?”
“What’s going on?” Rose’s hunted look became frightened again. “How can something as random as a birthmark repeat like a photocopy. Three times now, that we know of. How many more? What am I?”
“That Greg guy got a user profile?” Crowley asked.
Rose blinked, looked back to her screen and tapped. “Yeah. Says Greg Pritchard, location Tiverton.”
“That’s down in Devon,” Crowley mused, wondering if there was any connection beyond the obvious. “Hang on.” He went back into a search engine, typed Greg Pritchard Tiverton. The first result was a news article from the North Devon Gazette. He drew air in over his teeth, the nerves in his gut roiling again.
“What is it?” Rose came to stand beside him, looked over his shoulder.
“Says here that a Greg Pritchard of Tiverton was killed a month ago in a bungled home invasion.”
Rose made a small noise of horror, one hand going up to cover her mouth. “This can’t be a coincidence.”
“No, it really can’t.” Crowley took her other hand, squeezed it. “It’ll be okay, Rose. We’re in front here, staying ahead of the game. We’ll figure this out.”