The trader I'd left the coat with said he still had the coat under the counter, so Andy hadn't been and gone without seeing me. Of course, it was possible that I had scared him off — having been arrested and carted off to Porton Down can't have done a lot for his trust for authority. He might have decided to abandon coat and money, cut his losses and run, but I thought not. He'd been arrested here in the first place. He'd returned here after the escape. Something was bringing him back, and I was hoping he would show himself sooner or later.
I had to admit, though, it didn't look like it was going to be today. Maybe if I came back tomorrow I would have more luck. I thanked the waitress who cleared my cup away and headed out into the market. I stopped at one of the stalls selling fruit. The stallholder was bemoaning the figs he had for sale, saying they were too ripe to hold onto and he was going to have to chuck them out the next day if someone didn't buy them. I hesitated, wondering if Blackbird liked figs.
That was when the half-seen figure crossed my vision. It wasn't that I recognised him, but that I didn't really see him. When I turned to look there was no one there. He was using glamour to conceal himself.
I left the fruit-seller and walked swiftly to a parallel row, following along with the path I'd vaguely seen from the corner of my eye, trying to catch a glimpse of shadows that shouldn't be there or places where I had the sudden urge to look away.
I tracked back towards the stall where his coat was, being careful to keep out of view. I circled around, keeping stalls between me and the path he was likely to take, and came out near where I had left his coat. Andy was talking to the owner of a stall selling Caribbean foods with his back to me. The owner pointed to the stallholder with the coat. He thanked the guy and walked over to the stall, taking my bait.
I waited out of sight until he was talking to the stallholder. The coat was produced and he grinned, clearly pleased to have it back. He slipped into it, shrugging it onto his shoulders and patting the pockets. He pulled out the money I'd secreted and hefted it, making some remark to the stallholder. I edged forward, waiting for him to read the note I'd left with the money. As I did, the stallholder lifted up the rucksack and then noticed me, pointing me out to Andy.
Andy's reaction was immediate. He sprinted for the aisle, knocking over a tray of apples in the process, scattering them across the concrete. The stallholder shouted after him, gesturing after him as he raced away.
I was already moving after him, heading down a parallel row of stalls, catching glimpses of the flying coat as he ran ahead of me. He turned into the side street, heading back where he went before. I accelerated, figuring he was going for the same exit. As I tuned into the back street he was running ahead of me, coat flying out behind him. He didn't even look back, he skidded into the blind alley.
I slowed to a halt at the mouth of the alley. A little way in the coat was sprawled across the floor, abandoned. The bag of money was discarded too, thrown against some of the bin bags further in. Of Andy there was no sign. I drew my sword and edged into the alley, scanning the walls and the high roof, looking for an outline that didn't fit. I'd been only seconds behind him. Unless he could fly or run up sheer walls he had to be here somewhere.
"Andy? Come on out. I won't hurt you. I want to talk to you."
There was no reply. After a few moments I summoned up the courage to explore deeper, finding only old bin bags and rotting vegetables. I turned around in the alley, looking for hand-holds and climbing places. There was no obvious route upwards, but he'd used this alley twice now. Was there some means of escape that I was missing? I rattled the thin windows and checked the roller shutter again. Did he have some way of opening and closing it quickly and quietly?
I put my sword away and placed may hand on it, willing it to open. The cold metal was unresponsive, and when I tried to lift it, it clacked noisily but wouldn't budge. It left a finger-width gap, but that was all.
Turning slowly, I looked for trapdoors or drain-covers that might hide an exit underground, kicking aside bin bags to see what was underneath, but there were none. Walking slowly back along the alley I picked up the coat and the money. I hefted the money as he had done.
This clearly had value to him, he'd been pleased to receive it back. So why abandon it? The same with the coat, it was bulky, yes, but why leave it behind? I was beginning to think he was sprouting wings and flying away over the rooftops, which might explain the coat, but not the money. Why not take it with him?
Shaking my head I took it back to the market. The stallholder was not pleased to see me.
"He was fine until you turned up. Owe you money does he?" he said, hefting boxes of fruit onto a sack truck.
"I just want to talk to him."
"Maybe he doesn't want to talk to you? Thought of that, have you?" He carried on loading.
"Look," I said. "If I don't talk to him he could be in trouble."
"Police are you?" he asked. "Show us your badge."
"Not police, this is a private matter, and I think Andy will want to keep it that way."
"Bonking someone's missus is it? The quiet ones, they're always the worst."
"As I say, it's a private matter." I let him come to his own conclusions. "He's come to you twice now, he'll come back for the coat when he thinks the coast is clear." I held out the bundled coat.
"I ain't looking after it. Look what happened, you scared him into tossing my stock half-way round the market."
"You still have the rucksack, and I apologise for the damage to your stock." I fished out a tenner from my wallet. "That should cover any damage."
"Nah, I don't want your money. Give it 'ere." He took the coat from me.
"I've slipped a note into the inside pocket for him, make sure he knows it's there."
The stallholder tucked the coat away. "You've warned him off now. Can't you let him alone? He don't mean no harm."
"He's not in any danger from me. I only want to talk to him."
"Yeah, funny how those sorts of conversations end up with broken bones, ain't it?" he remarked, assessing me.
"Just make sure he gets the message," I said.
"All you have to do is find them and bring them in. That's it," Garvin said. "That's the job."
"It's not as simple as that," I said. "Amber and I went after this group and they were prepared. Now they know we're after them they'll be even more careful. It's not just me that can't find them, Amber hasn't been able to track them either."
"Meanwhile you want to give that Scottish git more ammunition," said Garvin.
"He has access to information that we do not," I pointed out. "We need to know what else has been stolen — not just trinkets and home comforts, but odd things — items that might have some symbolic significance."
"Why do you need to know this again?"
"Blackbird thinks they might be trying to create some sort of ritual, or to prevent one. You remember the fuss about the Quit Rents Ceremony? She thinks it might be something like that."
I carefully didn't mention Gregor. Garvin wouldn't be keen on Blackbird's involvement, but getting an outsider involved would not meet his approval at all.
"Is there nowhere else you could find that out?"
I thought for a moment about asking Sam Veldon. He worked for the security services and might have access to this information, but it would be outside of his normal sphere of interest and asking the wrong questions in that environment tended to draw attention. I had used most of my favours with Sam getting Alex back — he was unlikely to be helpful.
"Unless you have some other contacts with access to the police computer systems? That'll be the quickest way to find out what's going on — if we can narrow it down to thefts from museums, private collections, art galleries and anywhere else with artefacts which might have symbolic significance, stolen between the summer solstice and now, that should give us enough to work on."