The news of Amanda's luck hits the papers on Sunday. I return from the shops with three different newspapers, the prefered papers of our little household, and lie them down in front of the boys as I pour myself some water. Dad comes in from the bedroom, wearing his dressing gown over his shirt and trousers as he sits down at the dining table, and John emerges from upstairs a little while later and sits opposite him, picking up his newspaper as dad begins to read.
"'Who wants to be a million-hair'," dad quotes the lead article as he folds the paper in half, lying it down on the table before picking up his second. "Ever the inventive."
"Over a thousand years old and it's sitting on her bedside table every night," John says, shaking his head in disbelief.
"He didn't know its value; didn't know why they were chasing him."
"Hmm," John replies. "Should've just got her a lucky cat." He gestures to the awful ornament on our fireplace.
"Hmm," dad replies, his gaze becoming decent as John looks him over critically.
"Youmind, don't you?"
"What?" dad answers, looking over to him.
"That she escaped – General Shan," John continues. "It's not enough that we got her two henchmen."
"It must be a vast network, John; thousands of operatives," I answer. "We barely scratched the surface."
"You cracked the code, though, Soph; and maybe Dimmock can track down all of them now thatheknows it." I shake my head, smiling sadly as I flick through dads abandoned paper.
"No. No. I crackedthis code; all the smugglers have to do is pick up another book." The room grows silent as I scan the pages before my eyes narrow. 'A middle-aged woman, thought to have been of an oriental background has been found dead by her son in her home. The cause of death is unclear, although early investigations are showing that Shan Ling, 46, was shot.' I show the article to dad, and his own eyes narrow.
"It looks like we won't need to worry about them anymore," dad says, handing the paper over. "She's dead."
"What, really?" John splutters, taking the newspaper.
"A shot to the head," I mutter. "No doubt her employer killed her for not returning the pin."
"Do you think it's -"
"Moriarty," dad interrupts. "Very likely. I think we can expect something to happen very soon." John nods.
"Well, I'm off. Got to sort things with Sarah at the clinic." He leaves quietly, whilst we continue to flick through the papers for a new case.
"More dissapearances," I mutter quietly, looking at the pictures above the article.I look up, smiling, as the phone rings. Dad answers it immediately, slipping the phone from his pocket.
"Lestrade," he greets, pausing and allowing the DI to speak. "Brilliant, we'll be there in five." He drops his mobile back into his pocket.
"Good news?" I question, shutting the paper.
"The best. We're going to the graveyard."