As soon as the woman disappeared, my phone suddenly beeped again. I took out it and read the text from Shirley: "Could be dangerous. SH".
The young man who called himself Anthony approached me. "I'm to take you home," he said.
I didn't move. I just stared at my hand that had the tremor. The woman had been right, after all, but how had she known? How had she gotten all that information about me?
"Address?" Anthony asked.
He finally broke me out of my thoughts. I turned around and started to walk towards the car. "Baker Street," I told him, making up my mind, "221B Baker Street. But I need to stop off somewhere first."
I had decided that, despite all the warnings against it, I was going to back to Baker Street. I had not decided if I was actually going to live there yet, but definitely being around Shirley and determining her character for myself would help me decide.
I gave the address for my old flat, which still contained all of my belongings. Now that I had been kidnapped, I had no idea what was still in store for me. Besides, I was planning on going back to Baker Street and Shirley had mentioned that it could be dangerous, so I planned on being prepared this time.
I opened the drawer in the one dresser in the room and shuffled through the clutter until I found my handgun. Yes, I owned a handgun. Like I said before, I did hunting for sport, so I know how to handle a gun. And ever since my parents died, I'll admit, I was a little uptight and kept the gun for security.
Now, I removed the gun and stuck it into my white purse (which I had also previously left at the flat) and walked back out to the car.
I was driven to Baker Street as desired. Just before I got out, I turned to Anthony- so-called. "Listen, about your boss. Is there any chance you could not tell her that this is where I went?" I asked.
He nodded. "Sure."
I glanced at the phone in his hand. "You've already told her, haven't you?"
He nodded again. "Yeah."
I turned to get out of the car again, but he called me back. "Hey listen, Jen," he said, "I do get a lot of free time, you know."
I pursed my lips and nodded. "Oh do you?" I asked. He stared at me hopefully. Ha! Not in a million years, mate. I raised my eyebrows at him and grinned. "Bye," I said, and then shut the door.
I watched as the car drove away before entering the flat. When I came up the stairs, I found Shirley sprawled out on the sofa, one hand resting on her other forearm, eyes closed.
I stared at her half-worried, half suspicious. "What are you doing?"
She opened her eyes, but didn't look at me. "Nicotine patch," she replied airily, sliding her sleeve up to show me three patches stuck onto her forearm, "Helps me to think. It's impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brainwork."
"Well it's a good new for breathing," I said.
"Ugh! Breathing," Shirley snorted, "Breathing's boring."
"Is that three patches?" I asked, although I could clearly see that it was. One was unhealthy enough, but three...
"It's quite a three patch problem," Shirley replied, putting her sleeve back in place and closing her eyes once more.
"Well?" I asked. Shirley made no response. "You asked me to come, I'm assuming it's important," I pressed.
Shirley opened her eyes again, snapping out of her reverie. "Oh yes! That's right. Can I borrow your phone?"
"My phone?" I repeated, wondering if I had heard her correctly.
"I don't want to use mine," Shirley said, "There's always a chance that my number will be recognized. It's on the website."
"Mr. Hudson has a phone," I pointed out.
"Yeah, but he's downstairs. I tried shouting, but he didn't hear me," Shirley replied.
And she couldn't be bothered to get up? "I was on the other side of London!" I said, annoyed.
"There was no hurry," Shirley replied.
I shook my head and frowned. I removed my phone from my purse and held it out to her. "Here," I said.
She had her eyes closed once again. She held out her hand without opening her eyes and I placed my phone in her palm. "So this is about the case, I'm assuming?" I asked.
"Her case," Shirley mumbled.
"Her case?"
"Her suitcase. Yes, obviously," Shirley said more loudly this time, "The murderer took her suitcase, first big mistake."
"OK, so what if he took her case?" I wondered.
"It's no use, there's no other way. We'll have to risk it," Shirley mumbled to herself. She held my phone out to me. "There's a number on my desk. I want you to send a text."
Really? This was what she needed me so desperately for? I pursed my lips. "You brought me here to send a text?" I asked, incredulous.
"Yes, a text. The number's on my desk," Shirley said, still holding out my phone.
She was being entirely serious. I shook my head once more in disbelief and went to retrieve the phone. However, before I went to look for the number on the desk, I peered out the window. After my encounter with that mysterious woman in the warehouse, I was suddenly very much on my toes and felt like we were being watched.
Shirley noticed me staring out the window. "What's wrong?" she wondered.
"I just met a friend of yours," I replied, scanning the street.
"A friend?" Shirley repeated, utterly confused, as if she had never heard of such a word.
"An enemy," I clarified.
"Oh," Shirley relaxed, "Which one?"
I looked back at her with an eyebrow raised. Just how many did she have? "Well, your archenemy, according to her," I said, "Do people have archenemies?"
"Did she offer you money to spy on me?" Shirley asked.
"Yes," I said.
"Did you take it?"
"No."
"Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time."
Clearly, Shirley knew exactly who I was talking about, so I couldn't help but wonder who she was and how she managed to call public phone booths, control security cameras, and get a hold of my therapist's notes. "Who is she?" I asked.
"The most dangerous woman you have ever met and not my problem right now," Shirley replied quickly, "On my desk, the number."
I obviously wasn't going to get much out of Shirley right now while she was so caught up with this texting thing. I would have to ask her again later. I walked over to the desk and found a pice of paper with a name and number hastily written on it.
""Jenny Wilson"..." I read aloud, "Hang on. Wasn't that the dead woman?"
"Yes, that's not important. Just enter the number," Shirley said impatiently.
I obeyed and started to put the number into my phone. "Are you doing it?" Shirley asked.
"Yes," I replied.
"Have you done it?" Shirley asked, not even a second after my reply.
"Would you hold on!" I told her impatiently.
I finished inputing the number and waited for Shirley's next instructions. "Put in these words exactly," Shirley said, ""What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out. 22 Northumberland Street. Please come.""
"You blacked out?" I asked.
"What? No!" Shirley said, finally getting up and heading into the kitchen, "Type and send it. Quickly!"
I was almost finished. "What was the address again?"
"22 Northumberland Street. Hurry up!" Shirley said impatiently, coming back in.
As she reentered, I saw that she was holding a small pink suitcase. She pulled the chair out from under the desk and set the suitcase on top of it, then sat on one of the armchairs and proceeded to open the case.
I stared at the case. It clearly did not belong to Shirley. "That's... the pink lady's case. That's Jenny Wilson's case," I said slowly.
"Yes, obviously," Shirley replied, staring at the case intently. She noticed my questioning stare and rolled her eyes. "I guess I should mention that I didn't kill her."
"I never said you did," I said.
"Why not? Given the text I just had you send and the fact that I have her case, It's perfectly logical assumption."
"Do people usually assume you're the murderer?" I asked.
Shirley smirked. "Yes, every now and then."
I nodded and sat on the other armchair, the same one I had sat on earlier. "OK. How did you get this?"
"By looking," Shirley replied.
"Where?" I asked.
"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens," Shirley explained, "He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention to themselves, especially a man, which is statistically more likely. So obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the minute he noticed he still had it. Wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realize his mistake. So, I checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. It took me less than hour to find the right skip."
"You got all that because you realized that the case would be pink?" I asked, amazed.
"Well it had to be pink, obviously," Shirley said.
"Why didn't I think of that?" I berated myself. It seemed so obvious when she explained it.
"Because you're an idiot."
Excuse me?
Obviously my surprise at her extreme bluntness showed on my face because she waved her hand at me. "No, no, don't be like that. Almost everyone is," she said. She pointed to the case, "Now look, do you see what's missing?"
Still slightly annoyed, I shook my head. "How could I?"
"Her phone," Shirley said, "Where's her mobile phone? There was no phone on the body, there's no phone in the case. We know she had one. That's her number there, you just texted it."
"Well, maybe she left it at home," I suggested.
"She has a string of lovers and she's careful about it," Shirley said, "She never leaves her phone at home."
I was silent for a moment, until I wondered: "Why did I just send that text?" I asked.
"Well, the question is, where is her phone now?" Shirley said.
"She could have lost it," I suggested.
"Yes," Shirley agreed, "Or...?"
"The murderer? You think the murderer has the phone?" I asked.
"Maybe she left it when she left her case or maybe he took it from her for some reason," Shirley said, "Either way, the balance of probability is that the murderer has her phone."
"Wait, wait a minute. Sorry, what are we doing?" I asked, realizing, "Did I just text a murderer? What good will that do?"
My phone suddenly began to ring. I looked at the caller ID and saw that it was withheld. Shirley saw as well and the corners of her mouth turned up slightly.
"A few hours after his last victim, and he receives a text that could only be from her," Shirley said, "If anyone had just found that phone, they'd ignore a text like that, but the murderer... would panic!"
She quickly closed the pink suitcase and leapt to her feet. She grabbed her coat and buttoned it up before beginning to pull on her overcoat.
"Have you talked to the police?" I asked.
"Four people are dead, there's no time to talk to the police," Shirley replied.
"So why are you talking to me?"
"Mr. Hudson took my skull," Shirley said, looking forlornly at the mantle.
I looked at the mantle and saw that the skull was indeed missing. I frowned. "So I'm basically filling in for your skull?" I asked.
"Relax, you're doing fine," Shirley said good-humoredly, pulling on her gloves, "Well?"
"Well what?"
"Well you could just sit there and watch telly or whatever it is people do, or..."
I could see where she was going with this. "What, you want me to come with you?"
"I like company when I go out and I think better when I talk aloud. The skull just attracts attention," Shirley said, wrapping her scarf around her neck.
I smirked, thinking over everything that had happened over the past few hours. "Problem?" Shirley asked, obviously reading hesitation on my face.
"Yeah, Sergeant Donovan," I said.
"What about her?" Shirley asked, annoyed.
"She said you get off on this," I replied, "That you enjoy it."
Shirley smiled. "And I said "dangerous", and here you are."
With that, she gave me a smug grin and walked out of the room. I pursed my lips. She was right. I had come despite all the warnings against it, even her own. I picked up my cane and followed after her.