Capt. Homer Jackson and Sgt. Bennett Drake poured through Deborah Goren's things, trying to find some clue to her disappearance before Reid returned. They found very little. Ms. Goren had few personal items, perhaps because she was a frugal person. Drake shook his head at Jackson as he pawed through some undergarments. Jackson grinned back and dropped them, shrugging.
"So how's Bella?" Jackson drawled casually, unable to resist from riling Drake when he could.
"Ms. Bella, and fine." Drake said, snapping off the word.
"You've been visiting her a lot, are her charms to your liking?" Jackson asked.
"Drop it." Bennett growled. Jackson smiled to himself having gotten the reaction he wanted. Drake leafed through one of the books left on the floor. "Hard to believe that anyone would want to harm Ms. Goren." Drake said dropping the book and looking at the photos of children on her walls.
"Everyone has secrets, and there are always sick people in the world." Jackson said.
"Yeah." Drake agreed, having met some of those sick people personally and having secrets of his own.
"But I do agree with you, except for her interactions with a married man, the woman is a saint." Jackson said.
"What?" Drake asked.
"You're pretending you didn't know?" Jackson said incredulously.
"Didn't know what?" Drake said wonderingly.
"You mean you didn't! You live in that man's ass, and you don't know he was bedding this woman?" Jackson asked, shocked.
"What are you talking about? I don't believe it, you're mad, he wouldn't do that; the inspector is an honorable man." Drake stoutly defended his boss.
"You poor blind, insipid dog." Jackson said pityingly.
"Shut up!" Drake snapped.
"Fine, but you should know about it, since we're trying to find this woman." Jackson said.
"He wouldn't." Drake insisted, suddenly thinking back to the time he had caught Reid kissing the woman.
"As you say Drake, as you say." Jackson said shaking his head.
Deborah Goren heard a bell tolling and realized she must be near a church, and that it must be morning. She had been in this hole all night. She dried her tears and thought about Reid. Not for the first time she wondered whether he had realized she was missing yet. If he did, nothing would stop him from finding her. He was a determined man. She held on to that belief as the cold curled its fingers around her. The rats hadn't let her sleep. They could get in through the cracks in the walls and door. Every time she had slept they had come and nibbled at her. She hated their scratching. She'd kept a cat at the orphanage to kill the things. She wrapped the blanket around her extremities and tried to still her breathing as she panicked. It was then that she saw light streaking through under the door, and heard footsteps.
"Hello." She called desperately. "Help, please let me out!" No one replied. The flickering light and footsteps stopped outside her door. She bent to the bottom of the door and looked out, all she could see was blinding light and maybe some stout shoes. A bowl and mug were placed by the door and pushed through the crack. Deborah moved backwards to let it in. She went back to the door and reached out a hand as she said, "Why? Why me? Let me go, please!" There was no reply, the light moved away with the shoes and she was left once more in darkness. She felt at the bowl and smelled stew. She felt a spoon in it and ate it, hoping that it wasn't poisoned. But she was too hungry and thirsty to care. She sipped at the mug of water, hoping it would last until she was out of here or until she was fed again. The rats attacked the bowl as soon as she set it down. If it were poisoned, at least she wouldn't have to worry about the rats anymore. Sometimes tears weren't enough.
She played in the park, the sun shining on her hair. It always started that way, brilliant and happy… She turned to him then smiling, clutching the new doll he had gotten her to her blue dress. The grey clouds moved in steadily. He reached for her; to take her home before the rain began. Her mother would be angry with him if he let her get her dress ruined in the rain. As he reached, she slipped away from him somehow, a smile on her face as if it were a game. She was a foot to his left now so he reached again. Still she slipped away, like an eel. The rain began falling then, big fat drops. Then the girl screamed suddenly as shadows leapt from the ground dragging her up into the clouds. He screamed, "Matilda!" reaching upwards, puddles of blood surrounding him from the dark red rain. She came then; a woman in flowing white splattered with red, her hem dragging through the mud.
"Edmund, save me?" Deborah asked imploringly, her eyes dark circles, as the shadows came for her as well...
Edmund Reid opened his eyes, well used to trapping his cries in his throat and the dull throbbing ache in his shoulder. By the clock on his mantle it was well after noon. Feeling slightly more refreshed, he dressed quickly and followed his nose to the kitchen. He found a pot of cold stew on the table and ate a flavorful bowl before he left for work. He called for Emily, but received no reply, so he assumed she was still at church. When he arrived at the station he asked for Drake and Jackson. He met with Drake in his office. Drake twisted his hat between his hands, not wanting to admit his failure.
"Drake, have you found anything yet?" Reid asked.
"No, Sir, we've found neither hide nor hair of Ms. Goren." Drake replied. He looked at his boss with a question in his eyes, wanting and yet fearing to ask him about his relationship with Ms. Goren. Reid caught his eyes, and held them in an icy stare.
"If you have something on your chest Drake, I'd feel much relieved if you got it off it." Reid asked. Drake pulled his eyes away with effort. The man could freeze an iceberg with those eyes, if he'd a mind to.
"No, nothing sir." Drake said quickly. Reid waved his hand towards the door.
"Get the men some rest." Reid said.
"Yes, sir. And if I might ask, what will you be doing Sir?" Drake asked tentatively. Reid got his coat and bowler back on and headed for the door himself.
"I will be finding Ms. Goren." He said determined. Jackson suddenly slammed open the door, dislodging Reid's grip and almost knocking him into the wall. Jackson smiled in apology, saying gauntly.
"Charging about willy-nilly? That isn't your way Reid."
"What do you know?" Reid snapped back.
"I know that you're not thinking clearly right now. Let's consider this calmly and logically. Why would anyone take Deborah Goren?" Reid raised his head and sat back behind his desk, straightening his papers.
"Do you not think the same thoughts have occurred to me? There is no reason, no good reason on this Earth to harm such a woman as herself." Reid said passionately.
"There were the Russians." Jackson said as held up a finger.
"That was an attack on London." Bennett said.
"And on Jews, which she is." Jackson added.
"But why her in particular, if it is because she is Jewish, why not just kill her and be done with it?" Reid wondered out loud.
"Its just an idea Reid, not an explanation." Jackson said as he raised his hands. Edmund held up a hand as a thought occurred to him.
"Wait, wait a moment." Reid said.
"Have you thought of something?" Jackson asked.
"Just give me a moment of silence!" Reid yelled. He began to pace back and forth voicing his thoughts. "In her room, her things riffled with, there were papers, and books scattered about the floor, yes?" He said.
"Yes." Jackson agreed.
"I think we should take another look at those books perhaps they hold the key to her abduction." Reid said with a slight smile, leaving the station with Bennett Drake and Homer Jackson in tow.
Emily Reid's knees ached from kneeling on the cold stone floor. Of course he had not remembered, had not cared to remember. She stared up at mother Mary looking down at her baby. Something she could not now do. Her husband, her fine upstanding husband had done the worst thing he could have done to her. He'd given her hope. Hope that her child may have lived, have survived the wreck that her husband had brought upon her. Then he had taken away that hope, dashed it and drowned it on that same wreck. The least he could have done was remember the anniversary of their daughter's death. But no, he chose to spend it working on his precious case, sleeping the day away; she was not surprised, nothing surprised her anymore. Nothing made her feel anymore. She was just a shell, mouthing the proper words, an automaton playing out a predetermined role, nothing more than a pitiful player acting out a scripted part. She had lit the candle for her daughter alone. Its flickering light was all that held her together. It would take only a brief puff to blow her away. She swayed on her knees, awaiting that final breath, wishing it would come to join her with her darling girl, Matilda.
