Free The Journey: Illustrated Edition (An Anna Kronberg Thriller) by Annelie Wendeberg Page A

annoyance. I smiled at him and said, ‘I know you care. But don’t make me smaller now. You know what I’m capable of.’
    His set chin didn’t relax. ‘It is only logical for you to go to London immediately. You are too slow to help me track Moran, and the next instance your presence is needed will be at the solicitors’ office to receive your dower.’
    ‘It would only be logical if I would expect you to do everything and think everything for me. And you know I don’t. I need to see with my own eyes how Moran reacts to the child’s death. I want to see how hungry he is. I collect my own data and analyse them with my own brain. You may do as you seem fit.’ With that, I turned my attention to the grass and the sand as though they needed inspection.

    Around noon, he knocked the sand off his trousers, took our two bottles and the one water pouch, and dashed off to the ferryman.  
    With the telescope held up against one eye, I watched the pile of rocks and the dunes farther up.
    A hat appeared, then another. Shoulders emerged from the tall grass. One of the men turned enough for me to see part of his moustache. My skin prickled. Moran! I turned my head to see where Sherlock was. I thought of warning him, but then decided against it. He would keep an eye out for the two and would approach our hiding spot with utmost care. The sun was still behind the clouds. No strong reflections could be cast off the telescope and betray my location. I lifted the instrument to my face again and watched their progress.
    Three dogs sniffed eagerly, urging the two men ahead. Moran’s companion appeared younger, perhaps in his thirties. His clothing was cheap. His demeanour showed how low in the rank he stood — he obeyed Moran’s waving hand in a flash. The man squatted next to the pile of rocks, flicked the makeshift cross aside, then moved the rocks.  
    He stopped, scooped sand with his hands, stopped again. Moran bent down, pointed, and his footman, Parker, picked up the package.  
    Did I see reluctance in his moves? The girl must have begun to stink. Both men stood still for a moment, gazing down at the bloody towel and its contents. Moran waved; Parker dropped it back in the sand and tossed a few rocks back on her. Callousness, whispered my mind.
    While they stood with arms crossed over their chests, I heard Sherlock approach. Sand whispered under his shoes.
    ‘Did they swallow the bait?’
    ‘It appears so,’ I said quietly and gave him the telescope. While he observed the two, I told him what I had seen.
    ‘The next train leaves at three twenty,’ he noted.
    ‘That will be the last train today.’
    A few minutes later, he rose. His knees were crackling. ‘They are gone. Come.’
    While we hurried to the ferry, he said, ‘Enquire for a trap to Worthing. As soon as you arrive there, send a telegram to Mycroft Holmes, Diogenes Club, Pall Mall. The message “now” will suffice. He’ll know what to do—’  
    We ducked when we saw Moran and Parker on the other side of the river.
    ‘I’ll keep a very close eye on these two. He’ll dispatch telegrams from the post office. You and I will meet at Victoria Station tomorrow morning. Should I be unable to arrive in time, leave the luggage with a porter, then hide at your Irish friend’s home at once.’
    ‘Garret? Are you serious?’
    ‘Is that a problem?’
    ‘We parted rather… unfriendly,’ I answered.
    ‘We have to agree on one location quickly now, Anna. It cannot be a public place, for we might have to change our disguises. I have a few hiding holes distributed throughout the city, but you wouldn’t be able to find them, even if I gave you the addresses.’
    ‘Good, Garret, then. If he doesn’t welcome me, he’ll certainly take a message for you.’
    ‘Excellent,’ he said, bent down and extracted a revolver, ammunition, and a few bills from the bag. ‘The second revolver and some twenty more bullets are in the side pocket…’ His face fell. ‘Why