Echoes of Sherlock Holmes: Stories Inspired by the Holmes Canon(61)

“Let’s put you into that. I will go up with you, and wait in your mother’s room while you change. I’m not going to leave you alone.” He hoped she would not argue. They had pushed the kidnappers to the limit. They would offer no mercy they did not have to. He could delete everything from the flash drive, but then he would have no bargaining power left. He was bitterly aware of that.

She obeyed without even asking him. She looked very small and frightened. In the rooms, she found the dress and went towards the bathroom.

“Sarah!” he called.

She turned. He could see the fear in her eyes.

“I just want you to be safe,” he said without thinking.

“Oh!” She gave a weak smile and her eyes filled with tears.

He could not even imagine how lonely she was, and this evening she was going to have to give away the one stable thing in her life, on the chance of getting her mother back. He would have to find a way to get Raffa back—the real Sherlock Holmes would have. But of course, Holmes would not have cared.

He gave her half an hour, then knocked on the adjoining door.

She opened it straight away, and looked up at him. She had obviously washed her hair. It hung in a shining curtain, and she had on a red dress that in a few months was going to be too small for her. Now it was perfect, plain and simple, and the color made her skin glow.

“You look beautiful,” he said seriously. “And red is a good color, bright and brave.”

She gave him the best smile she could.

Downstairs the doorman called a taxi for them and they rode through the streets in silence. Raffa was still in the attaché case, which Marcus never let go of. It would have been nice for her to hold him, but dangerous—and perhaps also too emotional.

He thought about talking, and decided against it. She needed a little while to think of what was going to happen. He looked sideways at her once or twice, but if she was aware of him, she gave no sign. Her face was motionless and very solemn.

They arrived at the restaurant, which was brightly lit, people on the footpath stopping to glance at the menus pasted outside. A man and woman passed them and went in, she in a tight, sequined dress.

Marcus took Sarah’s hand and held it firmly. This was the very last stage of the transaction and he felt she was desperately vulnerable. He did not even think about whether he was being brave or not. For the first time that he could remember, he was ready to fight if he needed to. But this would not be fists or rapiers, it would more likely be a knife that he did not see coming.

He asked for the table he had reserved, in her name.

“Miss Waterman?” the ma?tre d’ said doubtfully.

“Yes,” Sarah lifted her chin a little. “That’s me.”

He was Sherlock Holmes. He did not get emotional, least of all about clients. Villains very occasionally, perhaps.

“Thank you,” he said to the ma?tre d’, and followed him to the table near the wall where they could see most of the room. They sat down and ordered salad and then a plain omelette. Eating was the last thing on their minds, but they must not appear exceptional.

He looked around the other tables as discreetly as he could, and saw two or three groups that could have been them. He had no idea what Maria Waterman looked like.

“Do you see her?” he asked quietly.

“No. I looked. She’s not here yet. She will come, won’t she?”

“Yes. They really want the flash drive inside Raffa.” He was startled by how calm and certain he sounded. But he was an actor, he often said things he did not mean.

She believed him. He saw it in her eyes, her smile.

He had no idea what the salad was made of. It could have been grass for all he tasted. She was eating too, concentrating on it as if it mattered.

“Hello, Marcus,” a sultry voice said at his elbow.

He looked up. “Hello, Lettie. How are you?” Of all the times for the damned woman to turn up. He saw Sarah’s dismay.

“I’m fine, darling. You look fearfully solemn . . .”

His mind raced for a way to get rid of her.

“This is a working dinner, Lettie. I’ll call you next week some time.”

Lettie was startled. Sarah looked up and down her elegant, rather thin figure and its emerald green dress. Clearly she did not approve. Lettie gazed around, searching for the cameras she expected, but did not see them.

Marcus gave Sarah a bright smile. “We should pick up again at the top of the page.” He hoped she would understand that he meant the remark for Lettie. The actress made a sound, then turned and stalked away.

“Was she someone else you helped, Mr. Holmes?” Sarah asked.

“She wants me to. But there is nothing else until this one is solved and you and your mother are safe again. This is perhaps the biggest case I have ever dealt with.”

“Bigger than The Hound of the Baskervilles?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“Oh yes.” He knew all the cases by heart. Here was something to talk about, to take her mind off the waiting. “Don’t forget, the poor dog was not actually supernatural at all.”

“Or The Musgrave Ritual?”

“Definitely. There is far more money involved, but more importantly, lives.”

“The Speckled Band?”

He answered more questions but all he could think of was Maria Waterman, and the men who were holding her.