Read Online Alex Verus 5: Hidden by Benedict Jacka - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Benedict Jacka
Ads: Link
knocked on the door—it’s a hassle to do it while your movements are under the control of a driver and quite frankly it hadn’t been worth the effort. I tried it now and found to my absolute lack of surprise that Anne wasn’t going to answer.
I wanted to walk away, but I knew Luna would just do something even more annoying if I didn’t do a proper check. I climbed the stairs to Anne’s flat. There weren’t any would-be patients this time. I knelt on the concrete landing, put my ear to the wooden door, took out my phone and called Anne’s number, then let out my breath and listened.
After a moment, I heard the faint sounds of Anne’s ringtone through the wood. Apparently she hadn’t changed it since last year. It rang, then went to voice mail. I redialled and got the same result. Looking through the futures I could tell she wasn’t going to answer.
I looked to see what would happen if I just kicked the door down. Nothing. She definitely wasn’t in.
So why had she left her phone?
It probably didn’t mean anything, but it was enough to make me stick around. I glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then took out my picks and got to work on the door. It wasn’t a particularly good lock and after only a few minutes it clicked open. I stepped though and shut the door behind me. Anne
really
needed better security in this place.
The flat was pitch-black and I stood for a minute in the darkness, letting my eyes adjust. There was no sound in the present and no movement in the future. I took out a torch and clicked it on; the entry corridor was bare and so was the room I’d been in before. I moved deeper into the flat. The bathroom was neat and clean and empty, bottles stacked by the shower and on the glass shelf above the sink. In the kitchen, dishes and cooking pans for a meal for one had been washed and were sitting in the rack by the sink. Flashing my light over them, I saw that they were dry.
Still nothing definite. If Anne suddenly showed up (which so far, I had no reason to believe wouldn’t happen) then I’d have serious trouble explaining what I was doing here. All the same, something felt off—I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what it was, but something was making me feel uneasy and I’ve learnt to listen to those instincts. The only room I hadn’t checked was the bedroom, and the door was ajar. I slipped the sleeve of my coat down over my hand so that it covered my fingers, then pushed it open.
Anne’s bedroom was small, sized for only one person, with a window that would have given a view over the nature reserve if the curtains hadn’t been drawn. It smelt of some fragrance I couldn’t place but which made me think of flowers. Again, most of the room was neat and tidy—closed cupboard, clean desk, clothes folded on a chair—except for two things. The first thing was that the bed wasn’t made. The bedclothes had been pulled off and were lying in a trampled heap half on and half off the floor.
The second thing was that the bedside table had been knocked over.
I crouched beside it, careful not to touch anything. The contents of the table had been scattered across the carpet and the wooden planks. In the middle of the mess was Anne’s phone; it had been charging and the power lead was still plugged in, tethering it to the wall socket. There’d been a glass on the table and it had shattered when it had hit the floor, leaving a spray of shards all the way to the wall. They glinted in the light of my torch; as I studied them I saw that several had been crushed, as though from footsteps. Spread throughout the broken glass were the remaining contents of the table: a bedside lamp, small plastic jars of face cream, cotton buds, a set of keys, a hairbrush, nail polish, hand lotion . . . a wallet. Looking into the futures in which I opened it, I saw money and a bank card.
If Anne was going out, why would she leave her phone
and
her keys
and
her wallet?
I wasn’t just uneasy now, I
I wanted to walk away, but I knew Luna would just do something even more annoying if I didn’t do a proper check. I climbed the stairs to Anne’s flat. There weren’t any would-be patients this time. I knelt on the concrete landing, put my ear to the wooden door, took out my phone and called Anne’s number, then let out my breath and listened.
After a moment, I heard the faint sounds of Anne’s ringtone through the wood. Apparently she hadn’t changed it since last year. It rang, then went to voice mail. I redialled and got the same result. Looking through the futures I could tell she wasn’t going to answer.
I looked to see what would happen if I just kicked the door down. Nothing. She definitely wasn’t in.
So why had she left her phone?
It probably didn’t mean anything, but it was enough to make me stick around. I glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then took out my picks and got to work on the door. It wasn’t a particularly good lock and after only a few minutes it clicked open. I stepped though and shut the door behind me. Anne
really
needed better security in this place.
The flat was pitch-black and I stood for a minute in the darkness, letting my eyes adjust. There was no sound in the present and no movement in the future. I took out a torch and clicked it on; the entry corridor was bare and so was the room I’d been in before. I moved deeper into the flat. The bathroom was neat and clean and empty, bottles stacked by the shower and on the glass shelf above the sink. In the kitchen, dishes and cooking pans for a meal for one had been washed and were sitting in the rack by the sink. Flashing my light over them, I saw that they were dry.
Still nothing definite. If Anne suddenly showed up (which so far, I had no reason to believe wouldn’t happen) then I’d have serious trouble explaining what I was doing here. All the same, something felt off—I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what it was, but something was making me feel uneasy and I’ve learnt to listen to those instincts. The only room I hadn’t checked was the bedroom, and the door was ajar. I slipped the sleeve of my coat down over my hand so that it covered my fingers, then pushed it open.
Anne’s bedroom was small, sized for only one person, with a window that would have given a view over the nature reserve if the curtains hadn’t been drawn. It smelt of some fragrance I couldn’t place but which made me think of flowers. Again, most of the room was neat and tidy—closed cupboard, clean desk, clothes folded on a chair—except for two things. The first thing was that the bed wasn’t made. The bedclothes had been pulled off and were lying in a trampled heap half on and half off the floor.
The second thing was that the bedside table had been knocked over.
I crouched beside it, careful not to touch anything. The contents of the table had been scattered across the carpet and the wooden planks. In the middle of the mess was Anne’s phone; it had been charging and the power lead was still plugged in, tethering it to the wall socket. There’d been a glass on the table and it had shattered when it had hit the floor, leaving a spray of shards all the way to the wall. They glinted in the light of my torch; as I studied them I saw that several had been crushed, as though from footsteps. Spread throughout the broken glass were the remaining contents of the table: a bedside lamp, small plastic jars of face cream, cotton buds, a set of keys, a hairbrush, nail polish, hand lotion . . . a wallet. Looking into the futures in which I opened it, I saw money and a bank card.
If Anne was going out, why would she leave her phone
and
her keys
and
her wallet?
I wasn’t just uneasy now, I
Similar Books
