I kept walking until I saw the address of the house I would be staying at. It was just like the others on the street. I rang the bell and a sharp nosed woman with a toddler on her hip answered after a short wait.
“Hello. I’m Justin. Checking in to the rental.”
“Oh! You’re a bit early but it’s okay. I’ll show you up.”
“Sorry, just got off the plane.”
“Don’t worry. The place is ready. I’ll just get the keys.” She turned and rummaged through the drawer of a table in the entry hall. The toddler peeked around her mother’s arm, giving me the eye. I smiled at her and she smiled back, her mouth sticky with strawberry jam from a piece of toast she was mammocking.
“Here they are. This way.” The woman edged past and led me around to a set of covered steps outside. The steps climbed up steeply to a small landing and a door near the top of the house where she paused, fumbling with the keys. Finding the right one at last, she fitted it into the lock. “I’m Murial, by the way,” she said, turning as she pushed the door open. “Come on in.”
The place looked fine—more or less what I expected from a garret apartment in a middle class borough of London. The pictures online had, as they always do, made it look larger. Mid-morning light filled the tiny living room, angling in through a window overlooking the street. A tiny kitchen with a window overlooking the neighbor’s roof was next, then an even smaller bedroom and bath. The furniture gave off a strong thrift shop vibe. The floor was hardwood painted a bizarre shade of green and mostly covered by rag rugs.
“Staying a few days?” Murial hovered in the doorway.
“Yes, just in town for business.”
“Great. Well, let us know if you need anything. We’re just downstairs.”
She left and I got myself situated. The view of Bathmore’s building was not terrible actually. It was up the street but I could see the main entrance. I had a feeling that just watching the building was not going to give me much data though. I needed to get inside and search Bathmore’s apartment and I needed to do it soon. I got a glass of water from the little stainless steel sink in the kitchen, pulled a chair up to the window, and sat, thinking and watching the entrance to the building. An elderly woman left with one of those rolling carts every elderly woman in Europe seems to have, going to visit the shops on the high street. A young man arrived, trudging like he was coming home from an overnight shift. I empathized with him. My overnight shift had involved a lot of sitting on an airplane but I was feeling the time change and lack of sleep.
A moment or maybe an hour later I started from a half-sleeping daze, unsure for several seconds where I was. Someone was walking away from the building entrance. I focused my eyes. A man, mid-height, dark hair, with a long, prognathic British face. It was Bathmore. Ashna had forwarded me his driver’s license photo. I roused myself, grabbed the key the landlady had left, and darted down the stairs. By the time I got down to the street, he was gone. I followed anyway, walking in the direction he had been headed. At the end of the block I reached Hammersmith road. I guessed he was headed to the tube station so I turned and walked that direction, scanning the street ahead. The sidewalks were crowded with office workers heading out for their lunch breaks. I couldn’t see Bathmore in the throng. Up ahead, a Starbucks occupied a corner retail space. I looked in the windows as I passed but saw no sign of him. I had lost him and I wasn’t sure following him would help much anyway. I gave up and turned right at the next intersection.
It was a quiet residential street I found myself on, parallel to and one road over from the one I was staying on. Halfway down the block there was an apartment complex with a driveway leading around to a lot in the back. I could see the rear of Bathmore’s building in the break between the apartment block and the next row house. A wall separated the properties but Bathmore’s building backed right up to it and, furthermore, a fire escape ran up the middle of the building with emergency exit doors at each floor. I hesitated for a moment. Careful planning had always been my method. But ever since Valerie’s missing painting had shifted my trajectory, setting me on my current course, I had found myself in more situations requiring immediate, unplanned action. I knew Bathmore was out and had just left. Assuming he hadn’t just run out for a coffee or groceries, I should have some time to search. Planning was good but I was never much of a waffler or hesitator either. The desire to just get it done defeated my more conservative impulse and I started up the driveway.
Vauxhalls, Volkswagens, and weird Ford models not available in the states were scattered around the lot. A row of trees grew along the wall. Casually, sensing more than intellectually knowing that no attention was currently turned my way, I moved behind one of the trees and quickly scaled the wall. It was brick and concrete block with easy hand holds. At the top I balanced for a moment then jumped the narrow
