𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞┃ Anthony Lockwood┃2┃

Chapter Forty - File A Missing Skull Report

Seven fifteen that same morning, and Nola was lying awake in bed.

At other times, in other years, she would have greeted the day in jaunty spirits. It had been an exhilarating night, and the artificial elation she always got at the end of a dangerous hunt still coursed through her veins. She had got back early enough to fall into a brief exhausted sleep, but had been woken not long after by a phantom dream of her ex-employer once again. After her eyes had opened, she couldn't close them again. Her body was too tense. Her mind was whirling.

So much of it was good, of course. The Ealing Cannibal had been a notable case, and news of its entrapment and destruction would spread widely. The reputation of all present in the house the past night would definitely be enhanced. For Nola, the prospect of Penelope Fittes' approval was particularly gratifying. With her knowledge of her mother's Talent, she was unlikely to undervalue Nola, as Rotwell's and other agencies had done. The young girl could expect a slew of new cases as a reward.

And Lockwood & Co would do quite nicely too. Miss Fittes had made that clear enough. That pleased Nola. By helping them out, she had maybe gone some small way towards paying off the debt she owed them for having left so suddenly. Now that the case was successfully completed, she could turn her attention to other things.

Yes, so much of it was good. Yet, her room and bed seemed bleaker on that sunny spring morning than on any rain-lashed afternoon during the foul, dark winter. Lockwood had wanted Nola for one job, and she had done that job, and now there would be no more, and the pleasure that she had felt while working alongside him – and George, and, yes, even Holly – made that prospect bitter. But she could have coped with it, just as she had coped those last four months, if she had still felt secure in her original reasons for leaving. It was to protect Lockwood that she had left the company, and even though it had been painful, Nola had known that it was right. He was safer without her.

Or was he? If what George had said to her was true, she might actually have made things worse. He'd become even more reckless without her there. And the varied implications of that kept Nola lying rigid in that bed for a long time, with the sun streaming over her rumpled duvet.

Really, she should have at least tried to get to sleep again, but she was too keyed up. Keyed up and keyed down – she was hyped and befuddled at the same time. At last, she got out of bed, only to stumble over the ghost jar in the middle of the floor.

As Nola stood there cursing and rubbing her shin, an unsavoury face manifested behind the glass. "You look worse than me this morning." It observed. "Well, when you recover, I await your grovelling thanks. You know where I'll be."

The girl went to put the kettle on. "Grovelling thanks for what?"

"For my help last night in pinpointing the Source. You only found it after my tip. Quite clearly we make an excellent team, and I have an idea. I suggest we go into business together. 'James and Skully', we'd call it, or possibly 'Skully and Co'. Yes, that's it – with a little picture of me over the door. I can see it now..." Chuckling, it receded into the plasm.                

Nola didn't respond. She wasn't in the mood. She picked up some of her scattered clothes, found her dressing gown, and went across the landing to the communal bathroom. She soon came back and made tea. She got out her casebook, tried to make a few notes about the evening, but found she didn't have the words. The other thing that Nola needed to do was make out her final invoice to Lockwood & Co. But, she couldn't quite bring herself to do that either. Not right then. So, she took a shower, threw on some clothes, grabbed cash from her wallet and went out to get a takeaway. Obviously she should have cooked something, but Nola didn't have the energy. It was the same old story.