London (16 page)

It was amazing to think that I'd never noticed how much the Thames rises and falls. The river had a life of its own that I'd been entirely ignorant of. I bent down and swished my hand through the water. The current had changed, and from this moment on, the tide would begin coming in—not that I could see any discernible change at that moment. The surface of the water seemed as impenetrable as ever. But from what I'd read and heard, it was underneath the surface that the tugging of the current could really be felt. The water swirled around my hands, inky and opaque. I watched, mesmerized by the fact that I'd never touched the Thames water before. Suddenly I felt something wrap itself around my hand. With a soft yelp I jumped to my feet.

“What is it?” Sebastian said, concern in his eyes.

I laughed as I lifted my hand and revealed an old shoelace entwined around my fingers and wrist.
Not the most stunning start to my first mudlarking experience
, I thought as I continued walking along the water's edge. The going underfoot was rough and I was thankful for my Converse.

A few minutes later, however, it was Sebastian's turn to call out. He wasn't up against a mere shoelace, however. He was well and truly stuck!

I thought he was joking at first, teasing me for the way I'd jumped when the shoelace coiled around my hand. But by the time I ran to him, I'd noticed two things: (A) he was standing with both his feet in the water—how had that happened? And (B) judging by the way he kept twisting and turning, he was in serious trouble.

“My left foot's caught. I can't get it loose,” he cried out.

I plunged my hands into the water and tried to free him.

“It's a roll of wire fencing,” he said. “I could see it at the waterline and I jumped onto it without thinking. Stupid! As soon as I put my weight on it, it slid down into the water. I don't know if it's the bottom of my pants or one of my shoelaces that's caught on the wire. But I'm definitely stuck.”

“Hold on to me,” I said as I continued to feel around under the water, hoping to find a way to loosen him from the wire's grip.

The tide was coming in fast now, and the spot where we were standing would shortly be submerged. I looked around, but there was no one else on the beach. The treasure hunters had disappeared back onto the Embankment.

“Sebastian, you have to wait here for a minute, all right? I'm going to go back onto the dock and find something I can use to cut the wire,” I said.

I ran back along the beach the way we'd walked and up the ladder onto the dock. Then I dashed up the stairs that led to the Embankment in the hope of finding a passer-by who could help me. But it was quiet, and I saw no one nearby. As I turned, however, I saw a figure flit behind the ice cream stand to my left—and he or she moved with the same lightning speed and lightness of foot as the shadow I'd seen earlier.

“Hello!” I called. “I need some help!”

No response. I'd definitely seen someone run behind the ice cream stand, so either they hadn't heard me, or they were deliberately keeping away from me. In that case, I was even more sure that whoever was hiding was the person who had been shadowing us since Sloane Square—or probably since we'd left the party.

I ran to the ice cream stand, but as I reached it, I saw the figure peel away from the shadows and start to run toward the bridge. There was no point in following—I'd wasted enough time already. But at least I'd seen a distinct shape: tall, athletic, and male. That didn't tell me much, but I wouldn't have applied that description to Johnny, Georgie, or Caro. So who was it?

I ran as fast as I could back to the dock. Once I reached the loading equipment, I turned on my phone flashlight and frantically searched among the crates, forklift, and machinery for scissors, a crow bar, a hammer, anything that might be sufficient to cut the wire holding Sebastian. But there was nothing!

I started picking up some of the empty crates and tossing them around, hoping to find something useful lying forgotten underneath—but there was nothing. Then, just as I was about to run along the Embankment and call again for help, a glint of something metallic caught the light of my flashlight. It was on the floorboards of the forklift. The machine's tiny cab had a covered roof, but was otherwise open to the air, and I saw no blinking light signaling an alarm. Without further thought I reached in and grabbed the tool by its handle. It was a chisel. It wouldn't have been my first choice, but perhaps it would do.

On my own, I didn't have the strength to hit the wire mesh with enough force to break through. I quickly ran my eyes over the crates and equipment. I didn't see what I was looking for, but surely I would find something on the beach.

I ran back to the ladder and climbed down it again. As my feet touched the beach I searched around me, my eyes taking in the varied surface of the shore until they rested on just the thing I needed—a heavy stone. I picked it up and hurried back to Sebastian.

He was up to his knees in water now. “I can feel the current coming in from behind me,” he said, a note of panic in his voice. “It's quite strong.”

“Well, hold still,” I said. “I hope this will work.”

We positioned Sebastian's leg so that I'd (hopefully) be able to break the wire around his left ankle without hurting him. Then he repositioned his free leg for maximum balance.

“I thought you said this was going to be a romantic outing,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Technically, I think I said it
could
be romantic—which I actually feel it's becoming.”

“And how can you possibly get that feeling?” I asked as I lifted the rock in my right hand and held the chisel with my left.

“Well, there is something quite romantic about being saved by a good-looking detective at night under the moonlight, don't you think?” He stopped talking as he watched me aim the first thwack. “Of course, most romantic would be if you could get me free without breaking my ankles.”

“Very funny, Watson. You're entirely in my hands now, so I'd start being nice if I were you. And stop distracting me and look somewhere else, will you?” I didn't wait for an answer but let the stone fall onto the chisel handle. It felt like the wire bent, but it didn't break. I repeated the same procedure again and again. Soon, however, my hands were submerged under the water, and I could see that Sebastian was getting more anxious. The water was above his knees now, and I had to get up to my shoulders in the water to reach his ankle. (I thanked the detective gods that it was Belle La Lune who'd lent me the suit I was wearing. She was the last person who'd be angry with me for ruining it.) It was getting more and more difficult to hit the chisel. But finally I broke through enough of the wire around his foot to loosen it.

“Stand up, Axelle, and get out of the water,” Sebastian said. “You're getting tired—”

“I am not!”

“You are…” He stopped talking as he wriggled his foot. “Besides, I think you've done it.”

I took another step deeper into the water so that Sebastian could hold on to me more easily. My legs and arms were now completely sodden with river water (not to mention my suit!). I began to shiver as I stood next to Sebastian so he could lean on me for support until he finally his foot pulled free.

With a hop and a skip we splashed our way out of the water, only stopping to pick up my clutch bag from the edge of the beach as we dashed back to the ladder. We climbed to the dock and collapsed onto a concrete barrier between the loading dock and the steps leading up to the pavement. Neither of us said anything as we caught our breath.

“Well,” I said finally. “I think we've figured out how Gavin got his legs wet.”

“You think he got stuck in some wire?”

“No, I doubt he would have had the same brilliant idea as you.”

“It's nice to know, Holmes, that even when you're half soaked with germ-infested river water, your spirits aren't dampened.”

“Clearly, Watson, you haven't heard that old saying, ‘Look before you leap.'”

“And clearly, Holmes, I'm never going to live this one down.”

“Probably not.” I laughed. “But seriously, I think Gavin might have come down here for the same reasons we did: to test the water, to know what the incoming current feels like.”

“This is the closest ‘large' beach to where he was found, so timing wise, it fits perfectly with his actions on Sunday morning—better than any of the others I've marked on the map.”

I nodded. “Yes, and that's given me a theory. Remember that Gavin told Tallulah he had to check on something, and that she also had the feeling he was planning to meet someone. Let's assume he was checking on the tides and currents, and while he was down there, he maybe looked at his watch, realized he was running late for the prearranged meeting he'd made with whoever, and got out of the water. He ran the five or six minutes to the Embankment on the other side of the river and confronted his ‘date' with whatever he'd discovered about the past, thanks to that old photo, and the person hit him hoping to silence him.”

After a moment Sebastian said, “So what do you think he discovered?”

I shook my head. “I only have a few vague ideas at the moment.”

“That you won't share?”

I laughed as I upended my Converse and watched a stream of water pour out. “Don't you think it's time we got home?”

Sebastian did the same to his shoes, then took my hand and pulled me up. As our hands touched I felt a tingling sensation race through me like a jolt of electricity. I'd forgotten how good we were at dealing with dangerous situations together. I'd almost forgotten how good we were together period. I was spending more time with him now than I had in three months, and it made a welcome change from our tension-fraught long-distance Skype calls.

Living three hundred miles apart was a killer (no pun intended), but being together—even drenched in stinking river water—felt, well, right somehow.

As we stood on the loading dock and gazed at Westminster Bridge, Sebastian suddenly made a small gasp.

“What is it, Watson?” I asked.

“Holmes, did you save the old photo to your phone?”

“Yes, I did,” I answered, pulling my phone out and searching through my album. I found the picture quickly and, standing next to him, held up the phone so we both could see it.

Sebastian studied the image for a moment and then said, “Follow me.” He led me back to the end of the dock, down the ladder, and onto the beach. The water had risen, but hadn't yet reached the riverbank wall. With our backs to the wall we retraced our steps to near where he'd been stuck.

“Look,” Sebastian said, as he pointed out over the Thames in front of us. “The photo must have been taken from this beach. Do you see?”

“I think you're right, Watson,” I said as I zoomed in on the image. The background matched up perfectly with the fuzzy detail we could see in the photo—which I could now see was in fact the western edge of the Palace of Westminster! But we'd never have noticed it if we hadn't come down here.

“No wonder we couldn't work out where the photo was taken,” I said. “You'd have to stand in this exact spot, looking from this angle and at low tide. It seems even more likely now that Gavin came here on Sunday morning. The photo must have led him to this beach.” I paused, thinking hard.

“You've gone quiet…”

“Sorry. I'm just thinking. The photo has led us to this beach, but so what? What does it tell us? We don't know where Julian drowned exactly—and it doesn't seem that we'll find out either. Mr. Rivera didn't tell us anything specific, and we got hardly any details from the newspaper reports. Furthermore, the four people who probably could help us haven't given anything away so far. So how could Gavin have found out more than we have?”

“Maybe he didn't.”

“True. And like I said, he could have come down here because he'd figured out the location of the photo, but the location may not be all that important. Maybe this location”—I waved my phone around to indicate the area where we were standing—“has nothing to do with the motive for Gavin's attack. Maybe there's something else in the photo, some other little clue we're still missing.”

“Like what?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “If I knew, we wouldn't be standing here, dripping and shivering…but…but maybe Gavin found out some intriguing detail about Julian's death. Not that it necessarily happened here on this beach. But the photo must have prompted him to investigate…”

I felt a chill run up my back, and not just because of my wet clothes.

What had Gavin seen in the photo? What had tipped him off to the idea that something wasn't quite right?

My grandfather's trusty mantra flickered through my mind:
Things aren't always as they seem…

What had Gavin seen that I hadn't?

“Before we get you back home, there's something I'd like you to do, Holmes.”

We were back by the dock, alone. I looked at Sebastian, my eyebrows raised.

“Take your wet jacket and T-shirt off—you can wear mine.” I started to protest, but Sebastian wouldn't have any of it. “You're going to catch your death if you don't,” he said, “and you've a case to solve. That's not a good combo.”

He had a point. “Okay, fine.”

“Oh, and Holmes?” he said with a smile as he pulled off his jacket and shirt.

“Yes?”

“I promise I won't look.”

I rolled my eyes at him as he held his jacket up as a screen for me to change behind. After I peeled off both my T-shirt and jacket, Sebastian handed me his shirt. It was warm and smelled deliciously of him. I put it on and he took a step toward me, holding out his jacket so that I could slip my arms into it. But I couldn't take that as well.