“Should we go to the police after all?” Rose asked. “We should just report this, the attack on me, everything. It’s all getting out of control.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Jake, Danny Bedford is missing, probably dead. That Greg guy is definitely dead. Surely I’m next! We have to tell someone!”
“Call me paranoid,” Crowley said, “but we don’t know who to trust.” He gestured at the North Devon Gazette story still on the screen. “That’s a murder covered up if we’re right. How do we know how much reach and power these people have? You said yourself, going to the police will likely make you more vulnerable at this stage.”
“So what do we do?”
“I think we need to carry on like we said, gather more information, as much as we can. All the time we’re one step ahead, we keep learning and stay one step ahead. We were right not to go back to your place and we definitely can’t do that now. You can’t go back to work.” He paused, thinking. Wondered if he’d been made as Rose’s accomplice. What if these guys went back to the Wilsons’ place? Had he used his name there? He was fairly certain he hadn’t, but maybe it was a chance they shouldn’t take. And they’d seen him, maybe they’d snapped a photo, and could make his ID from it.
“What are you thinking?” Rose asked.
“I’m thinking maybe we shouldn’t be here either. Let’s get some things packed, computer, tablet, chargers, all that. I’ll pack some clothes, then we can head to the shops and buy you some clothes to be going on with. Then I think we find a hotel or something and check in while we figure out what to do next.”
Rose took a long breath in through her nose, shook her head slightly. But Crowley saw a steely resolve settle into her eyes. “Okay. Drop off the grid, eh?”
He nodded. “Let’s go dark, see what we can do. I’m going to call in sick to work, then I’ll pack. We leave our phones here and buy new ones with pre-paid credit so we can’t be traced by our mobile signal. Then we draw out all the cash we can so we don’t have to use ATMs or credit cards any time soon.”
Rose smiled crookedly. “You’ve done this before?”
“No, I just enjoy a lot of crime fiction. We’ll be out of here in ten minutes and I suggest we head out of town and set up camp somewhere in the suburbs.”
Less than an hour and a half later, armed with all the cash they could pull from their accounts and a bag each with a few changes of clothes, Crowley checked them into a small hotel in Battersea, not far from Clapham Junction train station. The place was run down, cracked walls and peeling paper, but not seedy. Altogether forgettable, usually frequented by traveling businessmen by the look of things.
They had agreed on a double room, Crowley saying they always had a fold out sofa and he’d sleep on that while Rose could have the bed. Better they stay close together all the time they could. They signed in as Mr. and Mrs. Lansing.
“Where did you get a name like that?” Rose asked.
Crowley grinned, remembering the fun-loving goof whose name he had lifted. Melancholy accompanied the recollection. “He was in my unit, great guy. Tim Lansing. Stepped on an IED outside Kabul.”
“Killed?”
Crowley nodded. “He used to joke about stepping on an ‘IUD’. Goofy sense of humor. I miss him.”
“Oh, man, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. All a long time ago, you know. But his name has stayed with me. We were good mates. So I thought I’d use it here.”
They went up to their room and Crowley was pleased to see he had been right about the extra fold out bed. It would have been embarrassing had they needed to negotiate other sleeping arrangements. He marveled again at just how bizarre the turn of events over the last twenty four hours had been.
“So what now?” Rose asked, slumping down onto the bed. It creaked and sagged and she made a face. “Comfy!”
Crowley grinned. She seemed to be holding up well. As did he, for that matter. For all his military experience, this situation was entirely new to him. While some of his skillset would be transferable, he wondered how long he could continue to feel in control. He admitted, somewhat reluctantly, that he was enjoying himself, at least in part. Life since active service had been good, but it lacked that edge of adrenaline-charged excitement. While that was generally a good thing, he realized he had missed it a little bit. But he wasn’t foolish enough to think this was any kind of game. He would use the excitement to fuel the battle at hand, but not get complacent.
“Danny’s interest in the occult sticks out to me,” he said.
Rose frowned at him. “What do you mean?”
“Well, he was after this Devil’s Bible and stuff, acted all weird from time to time. And I remember your lecture at the museum, talking about odd beliefs around birthmarks.”
“Oh, so you were listening then. I thought you looked bored.”
“I was positively entranced, Miss Black!”
“Sure.” She grinned at him and it warmed him somewhere deep inside. “But what’s your point?”
He shrugged, not entirely sure where he was going with the train of thought. “I don’t know. I’m just wondering if there’s anything in that.”
Rose pursed her lips, thinking. “Well, I don’t know a lot, but some people believe a birthmark can be used to tell the future or even tell who you were in a past life. That sort of thing. There’s a common thread in some birthmark mythology about past lives, in fact.” Her brow creased again. “I have to be honest, seeing at least three people with a birthmark exactly like mine does make me more inclined to consider supernatural stuff I would have laughed off yesterday!”
“I know what you mean. That’s kind of where I was going with this, I think. We ought to consider the possibility that someone out there might be a true believer in some occult birthmark lore. They might be focusing on people with matching birthmarks, or even specifically people with your birthmark.”
“So what do we do about that?”
Crowley shook his head, raised his hands in defeat. “No idea.” He blew out a breath, exasperated. “But Danny apparently said this Devil’s Bible had the answers. Methods of learning the truth, or something, right? Maybe we need to educate ourselves on any occult connections with birthmarks. See if something useful comes up. Honestly, I’m fishing here, but it could be a connection. And if we learn something more, it might become a future bargaining chip with these thugs who are after you.”
“I’ll call George Wilson,” Rose said, pulling out her newly purchased untraceable pre-paid phone. “He might have an idea of some of that stuff, or direct us where to look.”
Crowley nodded and handed over the number.
Chapter 12
“Well, this has taken an utterly bizarre turn,” Crowley muttered, as he followed Rose into the bright echoing hall and high arches of the Old Bailey’s lobby. Light flooded in from skylights in the domed ceiling far above, reflecting off yellow and gold edges, brightly painted frescoes, and shining across the glossy white and black tiles of the floor.
Several people milled around, some clearly tourists and others with the focused intensity of law officials at work.
“Why’s it called the Old Bailey anyway?” Rose asked.
“The street outside is called Old Bailey, the courts are named after that.”
She gave him a withering glare. “I know that. The most famous law courts in the world, probably, so that much is obvious. I mean, why is the street called Old Bailey. It’s a weird name.”
Crowley glanced at her, wondering if she was being facetious, but her face was open and without guile as she scanned the impressive interior. “A bailey is a wall. That street follows exactly the old fortified wall that used to enclose the City of London, and these courts were right outside that.”