Flint sat alone in the interrogation room at the back corner of the station. Holmes and I joined Lestrade at the one-way mirror to observe Flint for a minute—he kept switching between tapping his fingers on the table and chewing on his gnarled nails, eyes darting about the room.

"That's a guilty man if I've ever seen one," said Lestrade.

"He proclaimed his innocence quite emphatically earlier," said Holmes.

"Sure, right after he brawled with the two of you in the street," said Lestrade. I rubbed my strained wrist; my entire body was sore from the ordeal. A dark bruise had formed on the side of Holmes's face. "Be realistic, Holmes. He knows the victim, he fits Day's description of the potential kidnapper—a man that's a few years older than Doughtry—and after Doughtry was abducted he fled from the police twice in two days. He has a criminal record. Just look at him." Lestrade gestured to Flint through the glass. "He's sweating through his shirt in there!"

"Has anyone spoken with him?" said Holmes.

"Only for a moment, when he first arrived," said Lestrade. "No surprise, he maintains that he's innocent, and he has no idea where Doughtry is. He's a liar, it's written all over his face, but he's about to crack."

"I'm ready to interview him," said Holmes.

Lestrade had no objections, and the three of us walked into the small room. I leaned against the sidewall, as Holmes took the seat at the table across from Flint. Lestrade shut the door behind us, and I felt a claustrophobic tightness envelop the space.

"Sam Flint," said Holmes. "My name is Sherlock Holmes, and I have a few questions for you. How's the shoulder? Felt like I may have sprained you earlier."

Flint winced. The adrenaline of the chase had faded, and I was painfully aware of several bruises forming on my body. "Not so bad," muttered Flint. "I could go again." I thought back to the way Flint had barreled through Holmes no more than an hour before ago.

"Did you kidnap and mutilate Ester Doughtry?" said Holmes.

"No," said Flint. He was making a visible effort to remain composed, and Holmes's piercing glare wasn't making the task any easier.

"So, just the kidnapping then?" said Holmes.

"No!" said Flint. "I already told them, you got the wrong man!"

Holmes studied Flint's face for several seconds before speaking again. "Do you know Ester Doughtry well?"

"She volunteers at the church I work at," said Flint. He shrugged. "I've seen her, never talked to her."

"Written to her?" said Holmes.

Flint flinched at Holmes's question, and cleared his throat before responding. "No. Not sure what you mean."

"Come on, not even Inspector Lestrade could have missed that reaction," said Holmes. "Deception is not your forte, Flint. I found the letter you wrote to Doughtry in her room. You're a romantic. The handwriting and ink quality matched a notebook from your flat. How long have you been intimate with Doughtry?"

Flint shrank in his seat, caught in the lie. "She started helping me out more at the church," said Flint. "Volunteering. We spent a good bit of time together, on our own, and one thing led to another. I guess that started about six months ago, on and off."

"Have you ever visited the Doughtry residence?" said Holmes.

"Once or twice," said Flint. "Maybe thrice. She invited me."

"Now, why would you go lying about a thing like that?" said Lestrade. He stepped forward and put his hands on the table. "What else are you hiding?"

"She's engaged," said Flint. "He's a big guy—a soldier. I don't want any rumors to start, that's all."

"Enough with the act!" said Lestrade. He looked ready to leap over the table.

Flint's eyes looked heavy as he spoke. "I read about her in the paper this morning. Is it really true? Did someone really cut her up?"

"If you didn't do it, then why did you run?" said Lestrade. "Twice, I might add!"

"I know people that ain't done nothing wrong, but they still get in trouble," said Flint. "I've had bad luck with the police before, and I don't want any trouble."

"Well, that, and the safecracking," said Holmes. "You're obviously the St. Aurelia Church burglar. No need to deny that."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Flint.

"What did I tell you, Flint?" said Holmes. "Deception is not your forte. This attempt at deceit was better, but still apparent. The cadence and pitch of your voice, a twitch of movement in the eyes, your posture—the micromomentary expressions of the human face are elementary enough to read, if you know what to look for."

"Ridiculous," said Flint.

"The burglar was almost certainly someone that worked at the church, given that he found the safe at all in the pastor's back office, and that he happened to strike when the funds would be at their peak. It was someone with intimate knowledge of how the church operates. I found the tool used to pry open the safe at your flat, pretty conspicuous."

Lestrade growled under his breath. "This is going to get a lot worse if you keep lying to us."

"Ok, ok!" said Flint. "I may have had a hand in that, I admit, but I swear to you that I had nothing to do with Doughtry. Whoever did that to her is still out there."

"Tell me everything that you did this past Sunday," said Holmes. "Start with the moment you awoke. What was the hour?"

"6:00," said Flint. "I went to the church and finished up some pruning before the 8:00 service. I watched the service until 10:00, then worked for a bit before heading off across town, to a couple shops in Fulham."

"What time did you leave the church?" said Holmes.

"I think it was about 11:30," said Flint.

"And what shops did you visit?" said Holmes.

"A cigar shop called London Leaf, and an opium shop called The Red Ajagar, and then I got some meat at Ed Gleeson's butcher shop," said Flint. Holmes was stoic, even at the mention of the opium shop.

"What time did you visit each shop?" said Holmes.

"Must have visited each one between 12:00 and 1:00, or around then, hard to say exactly," said Flint.

"Then what?" said Holmes.

"I went back to my flat for a few hours," said Flint. "Then I went out again to Keegan's Pub—that was around 8:00. Didn't get back home until close to midnight."

"When did you last see Doughtry?" said Holmes.

"In the morning, before I left the church," said Flint.

"She may have met with a man at Woodberry Park on Sunday," said Holmes. "Do you know anything about that?"

Flint shook his head. "No, nothing about that." There was a faraway look in Flint's eyes, then he said, "Well, it's just a feeling, I guess, but I had noticed Ester acting odd these past few weeks. Call it a hunch, or a gut feeling, but I thought she might be seeing someone else. I thought she might be hiding something from me."

Lestrade smacked his hand against the table. "Well, that's awfully convenient for you. Who was this second secret companion?"

"I told you, it's just a feeling I had," said Flint. "She has a lot of friends. People like her. They're drawn to her."

Holmes continued interrogating Flint for another hour, tirelessly questioning and re-examining every aspect of his relationship with Doughtry, and her behavior on the day of her disappearance. He had Flint recount everything he could remember about Sunday. I was relieved when we left the confined room, the walls had started feeling tighter over time.

"So, what do you think, Holmes?" said Lestrade. We walked down the hall of the station. "I don't trust him in the slightest."

"Send some men to the shops in Fulham that Flint mentioned," said Holmes. "See if anyone can verify his alibi."

Lestrade agreed. Holmes and I left the station by midafternoon, and as I flexed my bruised hand on the cab ride back to Baker Street I hoped for a quiet reprieve. Holmes closed his eyes and sat back, he may have been asleep for a few minutes for all I could tell. He opened his eyes as we turned on to Baker Street, and we both stepped out of the cab to see a girl in her late teens standing by the door of 221B. She was wrapped in a tweed jacket and scarf, and from the chilled pinkness of her nose I assumed that she had been waiting for some time. She had a spark of determination and focus in her eyes.

"You Sherlock Holmes?" said the girl.

Holmes nodded. "And you must be Grace Day."