The police had checked her emails again and again; they were almost completely empty. A few business notifications, calls and memos, one or two social messages, but apart from that, nothing. Collins had got the technicians to check it over, and they were still in the process of doing so.

"What is it?" Olivia asked as she and Jonathan walked into the room. Collins was stood over the technician as they worked furiously at the computer.

"Well, she's cleared most of the messages, but we should be able to restore them. Won't take too long…" the technician muttered, entranced in his work.

"What about the email?" Jonathan asked exasperatedly.

Collins passed over a small slip of paper, upon which he had written:

ALAN SMITHEE:

NW1 5LA

"That's the email she just got," he said, checking the paper. "We wrote it down before War Games here got to work,"

"NW1 5LA?" read out Olivia curiously.

"That's Baker Street tube station," Jonathan replied. "Alan Smithee…I know that name,"

"So Paula got a message giving her the postcode for Baker Street? Why not just say Baker Street?" Olivia asked.

"We don't know it's the postcode…" Jonathan said, turning to face her.

"Still, better safe than sorry," Collins said. "Hoskins, who's in Baker Street at the moment? Lloyd and George? Tell them to keep an eye out for anything odd…yes, I get that's what they're doing now, but…oh, you know what I mean!"

"Maybe it's a code?" Olivia offered up, prompting Jonathan.

"Seems a bit random for a code," Jonathan answered. "Maybe a password? But, that's too…nebulous, right?"

"I suppose. Any ideas?"

"No, sorry,"

"She encrypted the files, I can't get them," the technician groaned, pushing the laptop away from him in frustration.

"Oh, come on, there's got to be something!" Collins begged.

"Well, this Alan Smithee bloke was a contact she'd made, so she's gotten emails off of him before. Apart from that, nothing,"

"It's a start," Olivia sighed "Come on, Jonathan, we'll go back to Pontiff's, see if there's anything on the gear he found.

"All right," he replied, before checking his watch. "I've got to call the theatre back, see if they've made any progress,"

Five minutes later, Olivia and Jonathan were outside, crossing the busy street, the latter angrily replacing a phone into his pocket.

"Well, that's it, isn't it? Our lead girl's dead, our star is hungover, and now the director's packing it in as well!"

"Wait, she was in the magic show?"

"Yeah, she was one of the assistants,"

"Makes more sense now – a magician's assistant doing a vanishing act,"

"Yeah, I suppose – wait, what did you just say?"

"What?"

"Just then, what did you say?"

"Makes more sense, magician's assistant, vanishing act?"

"Yes…it's all coming together now! Come on, back to the room, now!"

"What is it?"

"I think I've just worked out this whole thing…come on!"

Olivia followed after Jonathan desperately, as he stormed away with all the energy of an adrenaline-fueled moth.