by Amelia Price
“I've already put a few friends on watch at the house, but I don't know if he'll be the best of leads. It is a little early to tell.”
“It's likely to be a one-off purchase.”
“Of course, when he notices he has one less, he might try to warn them.”
“Perhaps. He will know you took it.” Mycroft didn't say this to show concern for his brother. If Sherlock hadn't known that on stealing it, he'd be an idiot not worth feeling concern over.
“I was hoping for that. He's a control freak. He probably counted them twice a day.” Sherlock grinned and flopped into the chair opposite Mycroft before picking up his pipe.
“Anyway. I'm between cases now. I solved Mrs Feltern's problem.”
“The cat?” Mycroft phrased it like a question but he didn't really need to ask.
“Yes. It was making a nest to give birth in. Seemed to think her black smalls were the best lining.”
“Climbed up a tree?”
“Yes, one end of the washing line was tied to an apple tree. You worked it out as well, then?”
“It was the only logical result,” Mycroft said and finished his tea. He felt better than he had since Miss Jones had shown up, and knew Daniels would pull up outside with the car at the right moment if he walked out now. With a smile he got up.
“Leaving already, brother?”
“Our business is complete, is it not?”
“It is. I just thought you might have another reason for coming to see me.”
“What possible other reason could I have? It's not either of our birthdays and it's still eight weeks until Christmas. Not that either of us make any extra effort then.”
“No, nothing like that. I thought you'd want information on Amelia.”
“Why on earth would I want information about her?” Mycroft almost spat the last word, and did nothing to hide his disgust.
“The police arrested a man outside her house less than two hours ago.”
“Who?”
“Some middle-aged man who was a carer for his own mother. She died recently.”
“But he can't be her stalker,” Mycroft said without thinking.
“No I don't think he is, but the police arrested him. I don't know any more than that. Amelia isn't answering her phone.”
“Then how do you know anything?”
“Her publisher announced it not long after it happened. I assumed you'd know already.”
“I've been at the club all day.” Mycroft frowned. “Good evening, brother.”
Giving Sherlock no time to respond, Mycroft hurried from the flat and was pleased to find Daniels waiting. In the end, Mycroft was the one who'd been late.
“Home,” he said once he was settled in the back of the car. He wanted to find out what had happened to Amelia and if she was all right. The police didn't arrest someone unless they breached laws, and that meant Guy Thomas had broken into her flat. Or worse. And she'd been trying to ask him for protection against the man only a few hours earlier.
Chapter 8
Amelia stared at the almost empty plastic bottle in her fridge and swore. She was running out of milk. The little left wasn't enough to have tea now and have breakfast in the morning, and she had no fresh bread for toast either.
It took her another few seconds of standing with the fridge door open for her to decide to go to the local shop. It would only take a few minutes, and then she would be back in the warm. As she pulled on her coat, she checked her face in a mirror. Her eyes weren't puffy anymore, and no one else would notice all the crying she'd been doing.
Already she'd gone over the events of the day more times than she could count, yet her barely bloodshot eyes were enough to remind her and start her brain off on another loop. This time she fought it. She'd cried enough for one day. Doing it more wouldn't help. Myron and his challenges were in her past now. Something to be remembered for the good bits. She could learn from the rest and discard the unpleasant memories.
With this resolve she stepped out the front door, pulling it shut behind her and hearing the satisfying click of the lock engaging. A moment later she shoved her hands deep into her coat pockets, the fingers of her right closing over her house keys and her left over her purse.
Less than ten minutes later she walked back to her house, grasping a shopping bag with milk, bread, eggs, bacon and mushrooms. She could start the next day with a full English and hope it fuelled her into the new book.
She cut across the small patch of grass, walking near the window and past the back garden gate, to get to her front door. Just as she was pulling her keys out of her pocket she heard a sneeze. She froze to the spot, looking towards the gate, where the sound had come from. A moment later she picked up the light rustle of fabric brushing against wood.
It took all Amelia's control not to run screaming, but she managed to stay where she was, half way across her front garden, standing in the sliver of light that escaped through her curtains from the lamp she'd accidentally left on.
Acting braver than she felt, Amelia took a step towards the sound.
“Who's there?” she called, pleased her voice came out calm and steady. Silence responded. A minute later she shook her head at herself, already assuming she must have heard something else and no one was there. The sound of the gate latch creaking open stopped her.
She gulped as it swung inwards and Guy Thomas stepped out. At first she gaped at him. He didn't look at her, just wrung his hands together in that already familiar way. Then he took a couple of steps forward. Amelia stepped back, bringing her bag of shopping up as some kind of shield.
“What are you doing here?” she asked when he didn't speak.
“I needed to see you.” He stepped forward again. “Do you think I could come in?”
“No, I don't think that would be...”
“Are you sick? You were so nice yesterday. I just want to talk. To tell you how I'm feeling. You're so easy to talk to.” Guy came even closer.
“Stop,” she said, trying to cut through his nervous talking. “I don't know what you expect of me, but I'm not interested in what you have to say or...”
“I thought you cared. I just...” He wrung his hands and came closer to her again. Not knowing what else to do, she tried to push him away. Reacting quicker than she'd anticipated, he grabbed her arms. They grappled back and forth as he emitted a low sort of growl.
The pair rotated inch by inch as Amelia tried to keep him away from her. Uttering a final loud grunt, he shoved her. She lost her balance and flew backwards. The sound of shattering glass filled the night air and she landed with a bump on her living room floor.
“Oh, God. I'm so sorry,” he said, coming to his senses before she did. She could only blink as a hot liquid trickled down from her eyebrow into her left eye, stinging as it went.
Her vision swam as Guy continued talking and his words blurred together. A moment later she saw someone else appear beside him, and had no idea how he'd got there, but he stepped gingerly through into the room.
“Amelia, isn't it?” She tried to nod, but pain flared in so many places she stopped. “I'm Andrew, from upstairs.”
Staring at him, she tried to process what he'd just said.
“He pushed me,” she eventually said, as much to let herself know what had just happened as her neighbour.
“I gathered that much. I'm going to call you an ambulance. Just stay still.”
She nodded and raised her hand to try and clear her left eye, but it only made her eyebrow hurt more.
“Don't,” Andrew said, his phone to his ear. She stopped and shut her eyes, making them sting even more. A minute later he dabbed at the skin around her eyes with something damp, and then held it against her eyebrow. It made the pain worsen at first, but then soothed it and stopped more blood flowing into her eyes.
She listened as he told someone on the other end of the phone call what had happened, while Guy continued apologising in the background. Opening one eye, she checked that he was st
ill outside. He stood closer but still the other side of the shattered pane of glass, staring at her. Amelia closed her eye again so she wouldn't have to look at him and tried not to think about what he'd just done.
Her breath still came in ragged gasps and her chest hitched up and down, sending little ripples of pain through her each time it did. Somehow she had to slow it down and breathe normally, but it took all her focus just to listen to Andrew as he spoke to her and tried to stop the bleeding from her head.
“The ambulance will be here in a minute or two,” he said, updating her again on its status. At least she thought he'd told her that already. She wasn't sure any more.
It felt like she'd only blinked when a young male paramedic appeared at her side. Andrew stepped back and talked to an older man in another green jacket and then another siren drew her attention. Two policemen leapt out of a car and came hurrying up. It didn't take them long to realise Guy had pushed her and she watched as they arrested him and took him off towards the car.
“Amelia?” An insistent voice said in her ear. She winced as she turned to look at the man. “Amelia Jones, the writer?”
“Yeah,” she managed to say.
“I'm Gary. I need you to focus on me, all right?”
“Sure, Gary.” As she spoke she felt herself calming more. Guy was gone and her chest wasn't so tight.
“You've got a lot of cuts from the glass and some is still in there. We're going to take you to the hospital to get it all out and, if we need to, give you more blood. Why don't you tell me where it hurts the most?”
“My head,” she said, trying to think about the pain even though her instincts were doing everything they could to block it out. “I think my head hit the window first.”
“All right. What about your back?” Gary asked.
“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.