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Pfft. Work, she mutters. I thought you were sick of stagnating, but look at you giving up so easily. It’s pathetic.
I ignore her, and try to figure out what to do. I fish out the Agency’s address from my bag. I can go there and beg them to let me help. This guy killed Magda. He killed before her and he killed after her. Nobody has managed to catch him for years. This murder happened in London. My home town. No way am I going to sit this one out.
Filled with a renewed sense of determination, I head to the address for the Agency’s London Headquarters in Westminster. When I get to the address I found on the internet, I worry that I am not at the right place. Street view did not fully convey the grandeur of this place. It looks more like a monolithic old museum than an office for law enforcement. Nearly everyone going into the building is stressed in suits and formalwear. No uniforms to be seen.
I stand outside, staring up at the immense building, and wonder if Storm is inside or if he went back to Paris. It would be good to see a face I know, even one that is more likely to scowl than smile when it sees me. And he’s more likely to believe me than a stranger is.
Trying not to think of our last meeting, I go inside. I am relieved to find a reception desk that looks like it could well belong in a police station.
“I’m here to see Constantine Storm,” I tell the woman at the desk, trying to sound as if I am confident that he works here.
She taps that her computer, and frowns. “Do you have an appointment?”
I shake my head, my heart beating faster, because this confirms that I am in the right place. Storm must work here.
“It’s about a case he is working on,” I say.
She looks at me suspiciously, as if I might be some sort of fan-girl chasing after a movie star. It is not far off. Storm’s father was a movie star, and Storm himself has led an interesting life. It occurs to me that perhaps I am not the first girl who has turned up here looking for him. I flush bright red.
“Special Agent Storm isn’t available,” she says.
I discreetly take a deep breath, trying to settle my nerves. “I was a witness for his case at Wintersdeep Castle,” I tell her. “At the Royal Engagement Gala. He interviewed me there and… Er… That case it still open.”
“That was two years ago,” she says, looking unimpressed.
“He said to call him if I needed to talk to him.”
“Then you should do that.”
“I lost his business card,” I tell her lamely.
“You can leave a message for Agent Storm with me. I’ll pass it on.”
“But I really needed to talk to Agent Storm in person.”
“I can’t help you,” she tells me coldly.
“This one giving you trouble, Maxine?” says a brusque voice behind me.
I turn around to see a gorgeous woman in her late twenties towering over me. With her curly black hair and her confident stance and steely gaze, she looks like a warrior.
The receptionist, Maxine, sits up a little straighter in her chair. “Not at all, Agent Gage,” she says.
“Did I hear you say you were after Storm?” says Agent Gage to me.
I nod.
“On official business, supposedly,” says Maxine.
“Come with me,” Agent Gage commands.
She strides away, not bothering to check if I am following. I almost trip over my own feet hurrying to keep up with her, she leads me into a foyer and then up in an elevator. Her silence in the elevator does not invite me to speak. She does not look like the sort of person who enjoys chit chat. I spend the time worrying about what I am going to say to her.
We leave the elevator and she expertly leads me around the maze-like top floor, part of which is open plan desks, until we reach an office. The door is ajar. She knocks once, and then sticks her head inside.
“Chief, I’ve got one here to see Storm,” she says to whoever is in the office. “Says it’s about a case. Want me to interview her?”
The door opens to reveal a middle-aged man standing there looking at me with suspicious eyes. He is balding and the expression on his face tells me that he is not having a good day.
