The Unexpected Coincidence (10 page)

“No. Bruised
maybe, but not cut.”

“Your hands are,
and your eyebrow. Your legs?”

“I think they're
fine,” she replied, hoping he wouldn't ask her to stand.

“All right, I want
you to sit up. Can you do that?”

She didn't answer,
but tried to push up off the carpet with her arms. Pain flared in
her right palm, but the recognition of it was dulled by the
swimming in her head.

“Lean forward,”
Gary said as he put an arm around her back and helped her tilt
over. “Looks like your coat kept most of the glass off you.”

“I guess that's
one good thing about it being so damn cold.” She heard him
chuckle.

“I'm afraid we're
letting all your heat out.”

That made her
laugh, but she cut it short when her head exploded in another wave
of pain.

“Sorry.”

Between Gary and
Andrew, she was helped to her feet and escorted into the back of
the ambulance. Andrew reassured her that he'd stay in her flat and
would get a mate to board up the window until she could get
replacement glass. Then she was shut in and whisked off to the
nearest hospital, just the other side of Bath's city centre.

***

Amelia sat down on
her sofa, relieved the workmen had gone and she had a brand new
window in place. They'd taken the boards with them and all the
leftover debris from the change. It had cost her a small fortune,
but the news surrounding the event had boosted her book sales
enough to cover it in an oddly ironic sort of way. Shane had phoned
her twice already today, once to check she was all right, and again
to give her the happier news. She expected it was another excuse to
check on her, especially as he'd cancelled her entire signing tour
for now and suggested she go stay with Sebastian for a few
days.

Both Andrew and
his friend had been amazing. She'd come back from the hospital to
find all the mess cleaned up and a large board covering the outside
of the window frame, but she hadn't felt safe until now.

The hospital had
kept her in overnight to monitor her, and the window company had
sent someone over to assess the job within an hour of her phoning.
It was late afternoon now, and the flat didn't look like it had
been crashed into by her flying body. Andrew had even managed to
get her blood out of the carpet. Well, mostly. She could still see
a bit of an odd-coloured patch if she looked at it from the right
angle, but the dark blue helped hide the stain.

The police had
shown up mid-morning to get her statement and collect all the
letters. She'd talked to them while people worked on the window.
They'd asked a lot of questions, which made her tiredness feel
worse, but having them there while so many strangers were fixing
the front of the flat had helped her relax in the safety they
brought with them.

Now she was alone
and enclosed, she decided to take a bath. She couldn't take a
shower, as she'd normally want to, thanks to the stitches and
staples she had in her head, along with the stitches in the palm of
her right hand. She didn't mind the ones they'd put across her left
eyebrow and palm, they were neat and under a patch of gauze, but
the thought of the staples in the back of her head made her stomach
lurch. Not for the first time, she wished she hadn't seen them
before they'd put them in.

Over an hour
later, Amelia still sat in the bath. The water was going cold and
she found herself struggling to resist washing her hair. With slow,
steady movements, she got out the bath and dried herself off. She'd
managed to keep her right hand and everything from her neck up dry
so the doctors couldn't complain about her not taking care when she
went back to see them.

It took her a
little longer to get dressed when she couldn't use all the fingers
on her right hand, but she managed to slip into jogging trousers, a
sports bra, and a relatively form fitting t-shirt. Myron would have
sneered, seeing her like that, but he never would, so she tried to
push it from her mind.

When she walked
back through to her open-plan living room and kitchen to prepare
something for dinner, she stopped and fought to stifle the scream
that rose instinctively within her. Another envelope sat on her
doormat, with the same blocky, hand-written version of her name as
the previous three.

Immediately she
picked up her phone and called the number the female police officer
had given her earlier.

“Hello, Officer
Bryant?” she asked as soon as she heard the click of someone
picking up.

“Yes, who is
this?”

“It's Amelia
Jones. I've got another one of those letters.”

“Oh, you've found
another. Could you bring it in to the station?”

“No, it's not
another I found. It just came through my door. I was in the bath
and I got out and there it is on my doormat.” She felt her
breathing increase in speed and noticed she could hear her heart
pumping blood around her ears.

“Okay. Why don't I
come over again and we'll open it together. I can be there in about
fifteen minutes.”

Bryant hung up and
left Amelia standing near her coffee table, unsure of what to do.
For several minutes she stared at the envelope, before she realised
the door would open over it. She went to the kitchen to get cling
wrap for one hand and struggled to get it out of the roll one
handed. By the time she had her left hand covered, several more
minutes had ticked by and she knew it wouldn't be much longer until
Bryant arrived.

After taking a
deep breath to help herself stay calm, she went over to the door,
picked up the envelope by one corner and put it down on the coffee
table. She sank into the sofa and stayed there until she heard a
quick, firm knock on the wooden door.

“Miss Jones, it's
Officer Bryant,” the police officer said, loud enough Amelia could
hear it where she sat. It galvanised her into action and she
finally looked away from the letter long enough to open the door
and let Bryant in.

Bryant wasted no
time. As soon as she saw the envelope on the coffee table, she
walked over and pulled two latex gloves from her trouser
pocket.

“Where have you
touched it?” she asked a moment later.

“Just the bottom
left corner.” Amelia waved her hand so the policewoman could see
her home-made glove. She nodded her approval at Amelia's
foresight.

Before Amelia
could offer her some sort of letter opener, Bryant had pulled a pen
knife from her pocket and was already slicing it open.

“Hopefully the
writer licked the flap and we can get a DNA match on the saliva,”
she said as she pulled the message out of its case.

Amelia,

I really don't
know what to believe any more. Your publisher said you were sick
and they sent you home to rest, and then they say that it was due
to a stalker threat. I really hope they don't mean me. I'm sure you
wouldn't want to involve the police in our affairs. As long as you
don't do anything out of character for you, you have nothing to
fear.

Your publisher
mentioned that you were attacked last night and were hurt. It's
made me very angry. At least having time off work means I can keep
an eye on you now. I'm going to take care of you.

With my
love.

“Right, I'm going
to need to take this,” Bryant said as soon as they'd both finished
reading it. Amelia nodded.

“Although I don't
think the writer intends to try to break in, is there somewhere you
can go where you'll feel safer, or someone who could come stay with
you? A brother, or boyfriend?”

“Uh, maybe. I'd
have to ask.” Amelia frowned. Her first option would have been
Myron, but that wasn't possible now and she didn't appreciate being
reminded of that. “You don't think it was Guy, then?”

“It can't be. We
still have him in custody.”

“Right.” Amelia
stopped again, her mind barely able to process this information.
Two men threatening her was not something she wanted to think
about.

“I'm going to take
this into the station. It's going to affect the case we have
against Mr Thomas, so the officer dealing with that will want this
update.” Amelia nodded and followed Bryant over to the door. “I'll
call you when we have more information. In the meantime, try and
get some rest.”

The door shutting
behind Bryant sounded too loud to Amelia's ears. Silence followed
it, and she could hear nothing over the sound of her own breathing.
All thoughts of food were forgotten as she went back to the sofa
and sat down.

Several minutes
later her mobile phone went off, vibrating along the coffee table
and making her jump. She reached for it and exhaled as she saw it
was Sebastian.

“Please tell me
you need some help with the plot for your next Dalton novel,” he
said as soon as she answered. A small grin flitted across her face,
“I haven't got an unsolved case. I need something to do.”

“Hi,
Sebastian.”

“Hmmm, you don't
sound good. You said you were fine in your text earlier. What's
wrong now?”

“I... uh... There
was another letter. The police don't think it was Guy, as they
still have him locked up. It just doesn't make any sense. I thought
it was him when he came to the restaurant. I know I was followed,
and there was that creepy black car, but...”

“It's obviously
not him. Mycr – my brother and I were only discussing that last
night.”

“You discussed it
with Myron?”

“Yes, I was
helping him with something. He was very concerned when he heard
what had happened to you. Tried to hide it, of course, but that's
my brother.”

“Right.” Amelia
frowned. She had no idea what to think. Fear gripped at her stomach
and tied it in knots, and Sebastian just talked and talked.

“Well, come on,
then, tell me what plot you have so far,” Sebastian's voice broke
through her thoughts once more.

“I'm sorry,
Sebastian. I don't think I can concentrate right now. The police
have said I should find someone to come stay or go somewhere else.
They don't think it's safe for me to be alone. I don't... I don't
know what to do.”

As soon as she
said the words out loud, she felt tears sting the backs of her
eyes. Oddly, she also felt better, as if saying the words aloud
made the fear easier to manage.

“Come here then,
dear. You know you're very welcome.”

“Would that be all
right?” she asked in a small voice, feeling some of the weight lift
off her.

“Of course. Get on
the next train. It leaves Bath in twenty-two minutes. You'll have
to hurry packing though.”

She smiled at the
information. Sebastian always seemed to know the exact train times
from everywhere to anywhere.

“I haven't
unpacked yet.”

“Good. I'll see
you in two hours and forty-three minutes, then. Your train will be
ever so slightly delayed, but not by much.”

At this she
laughed. It wouldn't surprise her for him to be right, but it
didn't matter either way. She was going to London and she realised
it felt a lot like going home.

An exasperated
sigh escaped Mycroft's lips as he pulled off his tie and grabbed
one of the wigs from his disguise kit. Yet again, he found himself
having to leave the house to do something himself.

Now that Amelia's
face was all over the news, he couldn't assign one of his agents to
keep an eye on her without them growing suspicious. That meant he
had to do it himself, and Daniels had just informed him that she
was not only staying with his brother in Baker Street but that she
had decided to leave the house to go get food.

Mrs Wintern had
felt concerned and told Daniels, who'd passed it on to him. Most
irritatingly, Sherlock was inside the flat. If he was meant to be
keeping her safe, he was doing a crap job of it.

Once Mycroft
looked like a street cleaner, he had Daniels bring the car round.
In the back, Daniels had already placed a see-through bin bag with
bits and pieces of rubbish and a stick designed to grab litter
without the user needing their hands.

He wouldn't need
to do much of the job, just enough to get close to Amelia. It would
give him a chance to keep an eye on her, and if the male who'd sent
her threatening letters happened to be there as well, Mycroft knew
he would notice.

After sending
Amelia away and insisting Guy Thomas was no threat to her, he felt
a small pang of guilt that the carer had pushed her through a
window. Sherlock said she was fine, but he'd seen her medical
records. With that much glass and the way she'd gone into it, it
was only luck that resulted in the damage not being worse.

As soon as he'd
found out about her state, he'd demanded the police records. Mr
Thomas was pleading guilty, but saying he never meant her to go
through the window. Just that tempers had flared. In his case, he'd
just found out his mother had died. And Amelia had admitted to
pushing him first because she felt threatened. Given that another
letter had come through while Thomas was held in a cell, the police
had decided to let him go with a verbal warning to leave Amelia
alone.

Finally, Mycroft
had asked for the letters. At first the chief of police had been
awkward about handing evidence over to him, but they both knew
having Mycroft on the case would solve it more swiftly.

The original
letters had arrived by courier that morning. He'd already
identified the ink and where it would have been bought from, as
well as the month the stationery was purchased. Given that it was
likely to be in the Bath area, there was already someone looking
through the shop records of all the suppliers of the envelopes and
matching those with names. If Mycroft could find even a little more
information, they would figure out who the imbecile was.