Forgetting Cyrus’ missing person was, professionally, a bit embarrassing for me, so I decide that I’ll try and gather some information on her before his visit. When I first started my firm, I felt I couldn’t involve the police in any way on any of my cases. It felt like a betrayal to my own talents, or even a betrayal to my clients. It felt like cheating, in a way. However, I soon realized that the police and I are not competing for work; They try to prevent crime, I solve mysteries. I work for the client, they work for the city. They make arrests, by any means necessary. I get justice…for the person who is paying me.

In any case, my time as a journalist helped me to make many contacts in certain police departments, and I realized that it was silly not to use those resources when I need to.

The Kenningate police department is rich in resources. The Kenningate burrough not only has the docks- which we’ve already talked about, reader, is a magnet for crime- but it is also a mixing pot of ethnicities, classes, and industries. Poor people live here and work here, the middle class lives here and works here, the upper class runs businesses here, and the docks ensure there will always be an eccentric mix coming and going. This equation tends to sum up to a lot of varied and interesting criminal enterprise. I’ve worked with no less than sixteen Kenningate constables, sergeants, and Detective Inspectors on past cases, whether theirs or mine, and the relationship is generally amicable. There is one young copper, however, who is my favorite, as he is clearly in love with me and gives me all the information I need.

“I’m here to see Neville Fleming,” I smile at the receptionist sitting behind the desk at the front of the police department.

“Miss Wilde, Officer Fleming has said he isn’t taking visits with you anymore,” she replies. Patience is an older woman with yellowish gray hair and gigantic eye glasses. She was a receptionist at a solicitor’s office her entire life, until that solicitor’s son took over the firm and fired her for a younger receptionist. Patience’s nephew is a DI in Glockbury and he was able to find her a position here. She is bookish, though perhaps a bit naive, but she can hold her own in the tense situations that are likely to occur in a police department.

“That’s the same thing you said last time, Patience, and what happened?”

“Yes, and after that, he said,” her eyes roll up as she tries to remember, “‘definitely not, never again, I’m not ever working with that woman, she’ll have me killed or fired’.”

“Oh, he was just emotional, and scared… it was a rough case, but I need to see him now. I just need to talk to him, I won’t even take him out of the department again, this time.”

“Officer Fleming was very clear, Miss Wilde-”

“I mean, can he even make rules like that here? I have a very good relationship with Chief Cogburn.”

“Cogwright.”

“Yes, let me talk to Chief Cogwright, he’ll tell you it’s okay for me to be here.”

“I don’t need to talk to the Chief, Officer Fleming said very specifically-”

“It’s for a case, Patience. A young woman has gone missing. She is pregnant and time is of the essence.”

Patience purses her lips and pushes her eyeglasses up the bridge of her nose.

“Fine. I will go and talk to Officer Fleming and see if he will talk to you about this case.”

“Patience, you’re a sainted woman, an angel amongst men!”

She rolls her eyes and walks to the back, her long skirt sweeping against the doorway to the bull pen. I follow her, though I know she did not mean for me to, and as Neville sees me, he begins shaking his head.

“No, no Patience, I told you-”

“Neville! It’s been so long!” I push past Patience to hug a reluctant Neville, who, despite consistent protests, hugs me back. Evaki uses the opportunity to climb up onto his shoulders, as he is substantially taller than me and she prefers a better vantage point. Patience gives up and returns to her desk.

“No, Emilia, I can’t help you again, I won’t. You and your…” he plucks Eva off his shoulders and holds her out in front of him while she swipes in the air, trying to wiggle free, “...your pet. You have to go. Every time I talk to you, I almost die.”

“That’s not true!” I take Eva and she climbs to my shoulders and bounces right back onto his.

“Uh-huh, yeah, it is. Last time, I was dragged out the back of an opium den with a pistol pointed in my face.”

“How was I supposed to know that madam had dreamt about a man that looked exactly like you killing her son?”

“The time before, I was pushed out of a moving carriage while you negotiated the purchase of stolen jewels.”

“I had no idea that fence didn’t trust men who don’t smoke.”

Neville’s eyes widen in anger. “The first time we met, the very first time we met, I was almost pushed off the top dock in the port. I was held over the side by my lapel!”

“Alright, fair play, that one was my fault. But that case did get you a promotion!”

“I’m not helping you anymore, Emilia! I have a mother and a sister to take care of, I can’t be putting myself in that kind of danger. We were called to stop a bank robbery last week that scared me less than my outings with you.” He pulls Eva down again and places her on his desk, but she hops back up.

“Okay, I get it, I understand, really I do. I’m sorry, Neville.” I smile gently at him.

Officer Fleming furrows his brow at me, but his face softens. He sighs, and then sits down. I sit with him at his desk. “Thank you, Em. Thank you for understanding.”

“Of course, Neville. I won’t ask you for anymore favors that put you in harms way, I promise.”

He looks at me skeptically and taps his thumb against the desk. “I’m going to regret asking this. Why are you here?”

“I don’t need you to go anywhere with me or anything. I just need to know if you have heard any information on a missing person.”

“I’m not a detective, Em. I don’t investigate things like that.”

“You’re not a detective yet, Neville, don’t sell yourself short. Besides, I don’t think there’s a report made on her or anything. I’m thinking more that I’ll give you her name and description, and you can search the files for any incidents or, God forbid, bodies that match.”

“I don’t think I should show you-”

“And think about it. If there is an incident that matches my missing person, than you will be the one credited with the case. Could help with that sergeant rank you’ve been eyeing.” I smile and raise my eyebrows at Neville, as if trying to relay some big secret that he needs to figure out.

Neville sucks his teeth as he looks down at the file he had been working on. I know I have him, though. Despite the varied and apparently dangerous adventures we’ve been on together, I did help him get promoted to Police Constable- and then sent his mother a goose dinner afterwards.

“Okay,” he says finally. “Give me the description.”

I grin widely as I relay everything Cyrus told me about Sky.

“I will look through the files for that particular description, and nothing else. I will only show you something if it matches your missing person, and I will not help you beyond that, do you understand?”

“Yes, thank you! You’re such a love, Neville. You get another goose dinner!”

Neville can’t stop himself from smiling, but he quickly suppresses it and then walks away, with Evaki jumping on his shoulders once again.

I sit for a while, in the middle of the busy bull pen, absently looking around and gathering my thoughts into another list. I go over my list a few times, but ultimately I have nothing more substantial than I had before. Ten minutes pass, and I start to get antsy. Perhaps it’s all the coffee in my gut, or the fact that I’ve had nothing to eat but a Cheese Baby in the last 24 hours. At fifteen minutes, my gaze fixes on a large quark board near the door to the lobby.

One side of the board is a list of the Wanted: People with active arrest warrants on them that have evaded the law thus far. I’ve considered attempting to hunt down people on this list in the past- especially when I’m doing my best to avoid Affair Season- but I can’t be sure that I would get paid for my efforts, nor even get any credit for it.

The other side of the board is a scattering of Missings. This, I have perused on occasion, but only when it could possibly pertain to one of my active cases. I haven’t looked at it thus far because I know Cyrus didn’t go to the police about Sky. However, I scan over it now because I notice there are quite a few more pictures on it than there usually is. In fact, there are at least fifty drawings and descriptions visible on the board, and those are covering many others, as if the board is full to bursting with missing people.

Without realizing it, I’m on my feet, drawn to the faces of the lost.

Gillian Grayson, age 19, missing for six weeks, pregnant.

Jimothy Vance, age 16, missing for two months, reported by his mother.

Horace Wheelright, age 37, missing for a month, reported by his wife.

Maude Araminta, age 14, missing for three months, pregnant.

Liza Bardell, age 52, missing for two weeks, reported by best friend.

Jennie Marable, age 22, reported by husband, pregnant.

My eyes dart up and down the board, and I notice a few things: 1. All of the missing people are working class or lower, mostly homeless or squatters. 2. Besides that, they have nothing in common. Usually children are reported missing, or wives are reported missing by their abusive husbands. On this board, the pattern is that there is no pattern; They are all different ages, ethnicities, and genders.

However, because of my current case, my eyes are specifically drawn to the women who are pregnant. I count them up quickly as I scan. There are 19 missing pregnant women in Kenningate. I pull a small notebook out of the breast pocket of my vest, and jot down as many names as I can see.

As I’m finishing up, Neville appears again from the back hallway, Eva napping quietly on his shoulders.

“No! I said no diversions, didn’t I?”

“Oh, so you don’t want more eyes looking for these poor missing people?”

Officer Fleming scowls at me.

“Did you find anything?”

“The closest thing we have is a report of a heavily pregnant woman being pushed into a carriage by someone while she was struggling. The people who reported it said they tried to intervene, but they couldn’t do anything. Someone in the station followed up and found out it was just the woman’s doctor taking her somewhere during an hysterical episode. This happened on Baltimore Street, by Covewallow. Could that be your girl?”

I sigh. “I don’t think so. She wasn’t heavily pregnant- I think she was still deciding what to do with the baby.”

Neville furrows his blond eyebrows. “What to do with it?”

I stare at him blankly. Sweet, naive Neville.

“Oh! What to do with it. I get it.”

“Did that report mention anything else? What the person looked like, the carriage, anything?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a description of the woman here, the carriage, even the doctor. But why would it matter to you? It’s not your girl.”

I tap my notebook with my pen, my eyes darting over the board, and then back to Officer Fleming. “There are a lot of missing pregnant women reported here. That report you found makes 20, if she’s not someone already on the board.”

“Well she’s not missing, she was with her doc-”

“She’s missing, Neville. Have you ever been pushed into a carriage by your doctor?”

“No, but I’ve also never been pregnant.”

“The two don’t correlate,” I reply absently, my mind racing like a steam train at full-bore. “Do you have the name of the person that made that report?”

“Um, yeah, I believe so. If they made a report, we would’ve had to have gotten their name and address, assuming they didn’t give us a fake one.”

“Okay, I need to talk to them, and I need to go to Chronofell and Leadenhelm at least, if not Sootdrift and Ashford as well,” I say aloud, but I’m talking to myself. I need more information, and I only have the rest of this day to get it. A knot is forming in my stomach, but not the kind that makes one feel nauseous. This is the kind of knot that I get when I see something that needs unraveling. Everything so far has been the blurry corner pieces of a gigantic jigsaw puzzle, and I’m not even sure they’re from the same box. Now, edges are filling in, and they’re starting to piece together, but I still have no idea what the picture is. Suddenly, though, an idea. “What are you working on today, Neville?”

He shakes his head, violently. “No, no, no. What did I say? I said no!” The more he repeats it, the more he shakes his head, the more I am assured that he will come with me, because he’s only trying to convince himself.

“This is low stakes, Neville!” I put a hand on his arm and squeeze. “Do you know the phrase ‘no risk, no reward’?”

“Yes, but with you, I’ve had plenty of risk and still no reward!”

“Right, yes, sure, buuut this time it will be more like…no risk, YES reward!” He scowls at me. “Look, all I need to do is pay a visit to some other police departments to see what their Missing boards look like, and then go and talk to the people that filed that report to get some more information on the abduction they saw. If there’s no abduction, no connection, this is all circumstance…then you just come back here and continue with your files and sleep easy knowing that you have tried to find some missing women and their babies. But if there is a connection, then we’re one step closer to maybe finding these women, or any number of other people! I get my case solved, you make sergeant, maybe we save some lives, and all I need you to do is help me ask some questions in some very safe areas! C’mon, Neville. I have my boneshaker. We’ll get around quickly, I’ll take some notes, we’ll ask questions, I’ll buy you lunch, we’ll be back here before your shift ends.”

Officer Fleming clenches his jaw and breathes out heavily through his nose. I’ve got him.

“Fine. But I’m driving the boneshaker.”

I told you he’s in love with me, reader.

……………

The Chronofell police department told a similar story; Larger than average missing persons reports, all in lower wealth brackets, a large chunk of them being pregnant women. Officer Fleming didn’t admit to there being a pattern until Leadenhelm gave us similar results, and he didn’t stop complaining until Ashford.

Perhaps, I think to myself, it’s best if he never becomes a Detective Inspector. He doesn’t seem to have much vision.

After the Glockbury station, the tally was 97 missing people, with 48 of them being pregnant women. The day was creeping closer to evening so, with much prodding, Neville convinced me that we couldn’t visit every police station, and we needed to talk to the people that filed the report.

Cotton and Dorothy Lisney run a shellfish stall in the Covewallow Fish Market. Dorothy’s cousin, Henry Maitland, lives in an old trawler with his family, and they take it up and down the coast, foraging clams and mussels, and dragging them behind the boat until they’re back in Kenningate.

The Lisneys were walking home from their stall when they came across the possible abduction. Since it’s not quite evening just yet, they should still be at their stall, and so we make our way to Covewallow. I read their report on the way to Covewallow, the file pressed against Neville’s back as he drives.

The Covewallow Fish Market can be heard- and smelled- from two blocks away. You can smell the salty sea water in all of Kenningate and Chronofell, but Covewallow carries a very specific odor- though, reader, I feel if you’ve ever smelled fish before I don’t have to carry on too long to describe it. The noise, however, I will spend some time on.

Steamboats chug in and out of the market docks all day. Fishmongers shout out auctions for the restauranteurs and smaller markets across Etherbury. People carrying fish, selling fish, buying fish for their families… stray cats and dogs hoping to nab a fish, birds constantly flying overhead, dipping down for fish. On top of all of that noise, there is an absolute racket from a colony of seals that has made the shoreline that Covewallow rests on their home, as the fishermen believe it is good luck to toss a fish to a seal on their way out. These are very fat seals.

Cotton and Dorothy have a stall that consists of long tables making up a square, with a large umbrella perched above them at the center. Each table has a dozen or so large metal trays sitting on a slab of ice, filled with live clams and mussels. Cotton is a sturdy man with a pleasant, young looking face, though his hair and hands betray either his true age, or a hard life. Dorothy is a very beautiful older woman, and you can see a slim but muscular figure through her thick woolen pinafore that tells a tale of a life of working hard. They both seem happy, as if smiling comes very easily to them because they do it often.

“What can I help ye’ with, Constable? Miss? These mussels is fresh! Just came in this morning, guaranteed to be alive ‘til they reach the pot, every single one of ‘em!” Mrs. Lisner gives me a bright eyed smile as she gives her pitch. The mussels do look good.

“Actually, ma’am, we’re here following up on that report you made about the pregnant woman on Baltimore Street,” I inform her.

The Lisners look taken aback.

“We made that report over two months ago!” Cotton replies. “A copper came by, told us it was all just a big misunderstanding.”

“That’s true. But we have reason to believe it might be connected to another…situation we’re looking into.”

“Are you a copper, miss?” Dorothy asks.

“No, I’m a private detective, Emilia Wilde. I’m working with the police on some investigations.” I smile at Officer Fleming, who shoots me a bit of an aggravated look, if I’m being honest. “Do you mind if I go over some of the details of the report with you quickly, just to make sure we have everything? I won’t take up too much of your time, I know it’s valuable.”

The Lisners look at each other, and then nod at me. “Yeah, of course.”

“Whatever we can do to help,” Cotton smiles.

I take the thin folder from Neville and begin to read back the report.

“‘On the evening of June 14th, 1984, the reporting couple’ assuming that’s you two, ‘were making their way home from their place of employment, when they spotted a man guiding a volatile young woman into a carriage. The man was described as thus: Well dressed in a fine, tailored suit and silk waistcoat, blonde, about mid-40s, with a pair of magnifying eyeglasses and a stethoscope hanging around his neck. The woman was described as thus: Heavily pregnant, also well-dressed, though slightly disheveled and pale, and looked to have been sweating profusely. The carriage was a fine, large Growler with the name Dr. Geoffrey Billinghurst, Women’s Doctor and Alienist embossed in gold on the side. The woman looked to be in distress, and when the reporting couple assessed the situation, they believed her to be being forced into the Growler against her will, and they inquired of the gentleman. He assured them that he was simply her physician and was trying to help her, and a follow up on the situation...”

Neville puts a hand on my arm as I’m finishing up reading, and I look up at him. He is looking at the Lisners. Cotton is wide-eyed, looking as though he has witnessed a great betrayal. Dorothy has a leather gloved hand clasped over her mouth, holding in an incredulous gasp.

“That’s not what we reported, miss. Not at all.” Cotton’s expression is grave, but confused.

I swallow. “Do you mind telling me what actually happened?”

“I remember it like it happened last night,” Cotton nods. Dorothy takes off both of her thick working gloves and clasps her hands back over her mouth. “It was dark, and raining, hard. I know it was raining hard, because the rain was loud, and we could still ‘ear her screams over the rain. The man was not dressed well, and ‘e was no gentleman. I ain’t no gentleman me’self, so I know just a bloke when I sees one. This wasn’t no bloke neither. This was…he was…”

“He was a villain!” Dorothy says. “Like you see in pictures, like they describe in books! He was tall, wasn’t dressed well neither, ‘ad a rough looking suit on, like Cotton’s. Not a Doctor’s suit, but a working suit like. His hair was dark and thin, and his face looked…sunken in, like ‘e was sick. It was dark but, we could see ‘e was pale, almost yellow.”

My sallow man.

“And she wasn’t dressed well!” Cotton chimes back in. “Her dress was stained, ragged and ripped. She looked like she’d been living rough a while. But she didn’t look sick, and she was screaming and strugglin’, hitting at ‘im and kicking ‘im. She was fightin’ like her life depended on it. And ‘e was doing everything but hit her to get her in that carriage. He wasn’t no doctor, and that wasn’t no doctor’s carriage. Had it of been a doctor, you think we would’ve made a report?”

I look at Officer Fleming, who looks at me, confused.

“Can you tell me the name of the Officer who told you it was just a misunderstanding?”

“Yeah, Officer Potter he says it was,” Cotton answers.

“Maynard,” Dorothy adds. “Maynard Potter.”

Neville grabs me by the elbow and pulls me a few steps away. “We do not have an Officer Maynard Potter in the department.”

I sigh. “I’m sorry Neville, it appears I might’ve put you in danger again.”

He looks at me questioningly, but I step away from him and back to the Lisners.

“Cotton, Dorothy, would you mind doing me a large favor?”

“Like I says, anything to help.”

I hand them my card, with my name and address on it. “Could you write down everything you remember about that night, and everything you remember about Officer Potter, and bring it to me at this address? No detail is too small, and any small detail could be helpful. I’ll reward you for it, and I’ll buy some mussels now, six pounds please.”

Dorothy nods eagerly. “We would be happy to do that, no reward necessary! I knew that poor girl was in trouble, I just wish we’d done more…” Dorothy’s sweet eyes begin to tear up, and I reach over the table to put a hand on her arm.

“No, anything else you could’ve done might have put you both in danger as well. We’re going to get to work on this right away, and we’ll do everything we can for her.” I smile, and I hope it’s reassuring to them, because it’s absolutely not to me.

They both nod.

A short while later, Neville and I are walking away, me with a large cloth bag full of ice and mussels. Eva managed to nab a mussel from the bag and is currently trying to figure out how to eat it, all the while dripping its juices onto my shoulder.

“Why did you say I’m in danger again, Em?” Neville asks once we’re back to my boneshaker.

I sigh. “Because there’s a crooked cop in your department, Neville. A mole or something.”

He shakes his head. “No, nobody I work with would…” He trails off, presumably because he’s not sure of the rest of the sentence.

“Well then who is Maynard Potter? And why was that report completely altered?”

“An officer from a different borough? And obviously there was some kind of miscommunication.”

“Neville!”

He breathes out in frustration. “I don’t know, Emilia! I don’t know what happened, but I’m not ready to believe any of my colleagues are dirty.”

“Okay, I understand that.” I don’t, actually, but that’s probably because I’m a naturally skeptical person. Honestly, reader, the fact that Neville is so trusting and naive makes me question his merit as an officer. I’ve been doing that a lot today. I choose my next words carefully. “Are you concerned, at all, about that young woman? Or any of the young women we’ve seen on the missing boards today?”

“Of course I am!” He seems offended that I asked.

“Good, I’m glad! And I’m glad you’re upset that I asked you. But, unfortunately Neville, some people aren’t concerned. To some people, they’re just women, and the only merit they provide is to their husbands or the fathers of the babies.” Neville begins to interject but I stop him. “Don’t, Officer Fleming, that’s just a fact. If you see them as more than that, then you are a shining example of a man and a credit to your mother…and I need your help with this.”

Young Neville’s face betrays a war within himself. He wants to tell me to piss off, that much is clear. He became a constable because he is truly good, holds good values, and wants to spread them. He wants to protect vulnerable people like his mother and sister, and he wants to believe that all of the police are doing that as well. To help me with this case means admitting that someone who wears a uniform like him has turned his back on those values. I’m sure, in his short 23 years of life, Neville Fleming has never had to deal with a moral quandary like this one, and he’s doing it all on his own, in his own head, on the walkway in front of me.

I decide to provide him some easement. “How about this? The extent to which you help me is only to prove me wrong.” Neville furrows his brow. “I believe there is a dirty mutton shunter in your department, and you’re telling me there isn’t. So you, quietly and carefully, ask around about an Officer Maynard Potter, and try to find this Doctor Geoffrey Billinghurst. If you can confirm this story, I’ll never ask you for help again, I swear it.”

Neville thinks a moment, and then nods. “Okay,” Neville sets his face hard with righteous determination. “I’ll prove you wrong, Emilia.”

I take the younger man’s hand and smile. “I hope you do, Officer Fleming. Truly.”

……….

“Not this again, Em!” Aisling groans at me as I start taking pictures and artwork off the large wall in our sitting room.

“What do you want me to do, Ash? It’s the biggest wall in the flat!”

“You have an office, specifically for this purpose!”

“I can’t have clients coming in and seeing all of this madness and horror when they want to talk to me.”

“Do you have any appointments with new clients scheduled soon?”

“Irrelevant! Besides, there’s not a big enough wall down there either. Now, help me with this…wrought iron…this large…whatever this is.”

Aisling gets up to help me pull a large piece of art off the wall. “It’s a Gaelic knot for love, and it was made for me by my father in his blacksmith shop in Galway the night he heard my mother was pregnant with me.”

“Yes, your grandmother told you that, and as I’ve told you, many times before, I’ve seen these being sold at the market Dirifall!”

Ash rolls her eyes as we lean the heavy monstrosity against the wall outside her room.

Once the wall is clear, I set to work ripping pages from a large artist’s sketchbook and writing at the top of each page with a big hunk of charcoal, leaving plenty of space underneath for information. On the left side of the wall, I tack up a page for every small bit of information I know about all the missing pregnant women. Once they are up, I start adding the smaller bits of information I know in pencil.

Sky Macklay Member of Cloudsong Crew Missing over a month Went missing shortly after finding out she was pregnant Rape victim Higher Than Average Missing Persons/Pregnant Women Kenningate Chronofell Leadenhelm Ashford Cotton and Dorothy Lisner Witnessed abduction of pregnant woman Baltimore Street Homeless? Sallow Man? Report altered in Kenningate Police Department- Officer Maynard Potter?

On the right side of the wall, I do the same thing for the swan company- or whatever it is.

Swan Card Nehemiah Archer The Magic Four Sallow Man- first appearance Cornelia’s Swan? Pretty sure Will not let just anyone look at their books- not a real business Kenningate Docks T.M. Whitesmith Hires many freelance ships- places them at docks so they can’t see each other Unknown cargo Very large contracts, pays for discretion, provides ships

In the middle of the wall, I put the only two things that have connected both cases: Cyrus Kayo and the Sallow Man. The Sallow Man, however, has a big question mark next to him because I can’t be sure it was indeed him that abducted that poor young woman.

“Oh, I get it,” Ash says after watching me carefully for almost an hour. She hasn’t been entirely idle; She’s been sketching absently in a small notebook and refilling a glass of whiskey occasionally. “Cyrus Kayo did all of it!”

I step back to asses my work. “I see how you could think that, but no. He reported the missing woman.”

Aisling shrugs. “Could still be him, bigger plot twists have happened.”

“Only in detective novels, Ash.”

“Well then I’ve got nothing.” She takes the last swallow of her drink.

I sigh; Aisling is in one of her moods where she is trying to be intentionally annoying. “Why aren’t you downstairs?”

“I’ve got the triplets running the pub tonight. They can handle a slow night, and I desperately needed a day off after the last few days.”

The triplets are not actual triplets. They’re not even sisters. Agnes, Dorcas, and Preshea are three young women who answered our Help Wanted advertisement. The sign read:

Help Wanted

Woman to Work Part Time Pulling Pints and Serving Food

Good Hourly Wages

Safe, All Female Working Staff and Owners

Ladylike Qualities Not Necessary

We had many women apply, but not all with the disposition we thought necessary to manage a busy public house. These particular three were lovely and kind, tough and trustworthy, and they knew how to work. They were not, however, especially bright. Therefore, we believed that the three of them together would be able to solve any problems that came their way. They’ve been doing a bang up job of it ever since we hired them, with only a few slight hiccups along the way.

“Well…do you have something else you may want to be doing? Napping or drawing or something?”

“Do you want me to leave? I’m helping you solve this case!”

“I’m not solving this case right now, Ash. I’m getting all my thoughts together in one place so that I can organize new information that comes in. This isn’t a simple affair case or fraud tracking… hell it’s not even just a missing person. Something big is coming together here, and I need to stay ahead of the information I collect.”

“You need a hobby.”

“I do not need a hobby.”

“You do. All you do is work cases, work the Sparrow, and spend time with Eva.”

Evaki opens exactly one eye at the mention of her name, but then closes it again.

“I read books.”

“You read detective novels.”

I groan in frustration. “Okay, I will get a hobby as soon as I’ve finished this case that I’m working on right here,” I gesture towards the wall, “and the hobby will be amazing. Now can you please leave me alone?”

“I told you, I’m helping you with this case!”

“No, you’re really not Ash!”

Aisling gives me a smug look as she rips out the drawing she’s been working on. It is an extremely detailed likeness of Cyrus Kayo in pencil. She tacks it up underneath his name on the wall.

“That’s good.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re going to have to explain to him how you got his details so accurately.” She raises an eyebrow at me. “He’ll be here in the morning.”