“Are you sure you want us?” Christopher answered. “It’s not exactly regulation, is it?”
“None of this is regulation,” Tom said. “You’re here. You may as well be ready to help, should I need it.”
The suggestion that Tom might need help was all it took to get Christopher racing up the stairs. I dragged myself up behind him, reluctantly. If Crispin was up there, he certainly wasn’t likely to attack Tom for walking in on him, and I didn’t see who else might want to do harm to any of us.
At the top of the stairs was another door, this one white. Tom stopped and knocked, with Christopher right behind him. I climbed the last couple of steps and listened, too. Our breaths were louder than usual in the narrow confines of the enclosed staircase, but other than that, there were no sounds from inside.
“Knob?” Christopher suggested, and his voice sounded funny, as if he, too, was expecting something bad to be lurking behind the door.
Tom pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and draped it over his hand before he reached out and twisted the knob. The door opened. He raised his voice. “Hello?”
There was no answer.
“This is Detective Sergeant Thomas Gardiner with Scotland Yard. I’m coming in.”
“Crispin would certainly answer that if he could,” I muttered, and Christopher nodded.
“Sounds empty.”
It did. “Better let Tom go alone. It might be illegal for him, too, to walk in without a warrant or due cause, but I’m certain it’s more illegal for us.”
“We’re concerned about your cousin’s wellbeing,” Tom told me with a glance over his shoulder. “Or at least I know you are, so I’m indulging you by making sure he’s not here and bleeding out on the floor.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I think.”
Christopher fumbled for my hand. “Just wait, Pippa. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.”
Certainly.
“We didn’t see the motorcar outside,” he added, as if rambling on and reiterating things we already knew made him feel better, and perhaps it did, “and nobody’s answering up here, so chances are they didn’t come back here at all when they left us. She told him to take a left, didn’t she?”
“That’s what Evans said she said. This would have been a right, wouldn’t it? If they were going directly here. But they hadn’t been at Ronnie Blanton’s flat. Unless he’d forgotten that, too.”
“Or was lying,” Christopher said.
Yes, of course. “You’re not actually helping, you know.”
He squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry. I think perhaps I am a bit more worried than I’d like you to believe.”
“I’m going to kill him,” I said. “If he isn’t already dead, I’m going to murder him for scaring us this way.”
Christopher nodded. “I’ll help you. Although I’m sure he’s not doing it on purpose, you know. He’s probably going home, headed down the Salisbury Road at forty-five miles per hour, scaring the sheep and everyone else on the road, and not sparing us a thought.”
Perhaps. It was a nice picture. I focused on it until I could breathe again. I was just starting to feel better where there were footsteps inside the flat, and then the door opened and Tom’s face appeared in the crack. “Come inside.”
The voice was grim, and so was the face.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, while my heart started to beat hard enough to knock a hole in my ribcage.
He eyed me. “I need an official identification.”
“Of?”
“The dead body on the bedroom floor. Grab her, Kit.”
My knees buckled, and I would have dropped to the floor had Christopher not caught me around the waist and kept me upright.
CHAPTERTWELVE
