Turnbull House by Jess Faraday

Turnbull House by Jess Faraday

Author:Jess Faraday
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9781626390249
Publisher: Bold Strokes Books
Published: 2014-02-16T06:00:00+00:00


Chapter Twelve

I woke to a sharp rapping at the door. I’d drawn the curtains, and the inside of my flat was as dark as pitch. The fire in the fireplace had died, and on top of everything else, it was cold as hell. I reached out my arm to steady Marcus, and my fingers brushed the cool, smooth plaster of the wall instead. He was gone, and I was alone.

“Mr. Adler?” called a gruff man’s voice. It wasn’t Marcus crawling back after his snit. It wasn’t any voice I recognized, but he knew my name—a fact that, given its urgency, did not comfort me. “It’s the police. Open the door!”

The police? My first thought was that a neighbor had overheard something he shouldn’t have and reported me and my mysterious male friend. No evidence was required to convict a man of gross indecency—nor indeed any actual indecent occurrence. Even “attempted” indecency carried a penalty of two years at hard labor. How fortunate Marcus had chosen the previous evening to absent himself.

My next thought was that something had happened to Marcus. Or to Lazarus, or even to Bess.

“Coming!” I called. Scrambling out of bed, I pulled on my trousers and grabbed the lamp off my desk. When I opened the door, the dim light revealed a pair of constables dripping black rain onto the floorboards of my corridor. They looked as happy to be there in the middle of the night as I was to receive them.

“Come in, Officers. How can I help you?”

The first man, short and stout, with a ruddy face and a thick, dark moustache, shuffled inside. His boots were shiny, his whiskers well groomed, and he had the whiff of a military man about him. His partner—a taller blond man who was clearly the subordinate—followed closely, shut the door behind him, and stood against it, as if to emphasize that I wasn’t going anywhere.

“Mr. Adler, we need to ask you a few questions,” the first one said.

“Why? What’s happened?”

“You’re living here alone, is that correct?” He glanced about as if expecting me to lie about it.

“Yes. As you can see, I have barely room enough for one.”

Behind him, the second constable took out a small pad of paper and began to scribble notes. “And you work for Turnbull House on Raven Row?”

“That’s right. Are you familiar with our work?”

“A number of officers give to the Christmas fund every year. Your Mrs. Lazarus can be quite convincing. But that’s neither here nor there. The reason we’re here, Mr. Adler, is that we’re searching for a young woman last seen in your company. A Miss Kathe Backer.”

He watched my face closely with his sharp blue eyes, but the only response I was able to offer was confusion.

“I…I’ve never heard that name,” I said. Though something about it was familiar. Backer…Backer…Oh.

“One of Erich Backer’s neighbors reported someone of your description paying a visit yesterday to the flat he shares with his daughter.”

“Kathe Backer,” I said, trying—and failing—to reconcile this new name with the young man we all knew as Jack Flip.



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