by Amelia Price
He pointed out where she might have been quicker and which thoughts were redundant, and by the time he was done with that they were in Scotland and on their way to Lockerbie.
“So, who are we visiting first? The source or the reporter?”
“Who do you recommend?” he asked, wanting her to think through the logical course of action for herself.
“The reporter... No. The source. He's a father, right?” Mycroft gave an affirming gesture. “If we see the father first, we can get him to confirm which reporter and also make sure he doesn't tell anyone else. Then we can go see the reporter.”
Mycroft nodded. If it had been a bigger newspaper with more tight schedules, he'd have suggested the opposite, but the news was unlikely to be splashed anywhere until the following day, giving them time to stop it before it did.
Half an hour later they were in Lockerbie and pulling up outside Mr McGregory's house on Kintail Park. The father didn't have a job to be at, as he'd been made redundant a couple of months earlier, so Mycroft had little doubt he would be inside.
When Daniels let them out of the car, Amelia lingered on the pavement, waiting for Mycroft to take the lead. Both of them took a moment to look over the house they were going to. It was one of several houses in a recently constructed terrace, and reasonably neat and tidy on the outside. As were most of the houses. Insurance had paid for most of them to be rebuilt after the plane crash had killed so many people there in the late twentieth century.
“After you,” Amelia said a few seconds later and motioned for him to go through the low garden gate first. He obliged, feeling the gravel crunch underneath his thinly soled shoes as he made his way to the door.
He knocked twice in a firm manner and waited for an answer. When no one opened the door after a minute, he knocked again. A few seconds later, Amelia crossed her arms and tucked her hands out of the way. It was a cold day to be standing outside for long, but he fought back any of the signs his own body might give off to indicate his own coldness.
After what felt like another minute of waiting, but was in reality less than half that time, the door opened. Mr McGregory stood in his dressing gown, just the other side. His hair was unkempt and he had the stubble of a several-day-old beard on his chin. Mycroft hid his reaction to the sight.
“What do you want?” he asked in a Scottish accent.
“I believe you have some information regarding your MP that I have a great interest in,” Mycroft replied, and before the man could respond or otherwise cause a fuss, he pushed through the doorway into the house, using his much larger frame and weight to enforce the gesture.
Amelia followed while the guy stood by the door with his mouth still open. For several seconds, all three stood in the hallway staring at each other.
“Would you like us to wait in the living room for a few minutes while you get dressed?” Amelia asked, rescuing the shocked man. Mycroft had planned to wait until he did something, but her method was probably swifter to get the required result.
He nodded and hurried up the stairs behind him, leaving them both standing in the hallway. Amelia shrugged and peered through the nearest open door.
“Must be that way,” she said. “This is the kitchen.”
When he walked into the living room, Mycroft had to fight back a groan of disgust. The sofa had once been a soft green fabric, but years of young children spilling drinks and crumbs on it had significantly changed the colour. Even Amelia hesitated before she perched on the edge. He decided to walk over to the back door and pretend to be admiring the garden while they waited, but he listened instead.
The sounds from upstairs allowed him to estimate the return of their host, and Mycroft noted with some satisfaction that the first creak of footfalls on the stairs was only a few seconds later than he'd predicted they would be.
“If you're looking to buy it, I've already sold it on to a reporter, but I won't say who,” the man said as he walked into the living room, tucking his shirt into his trousers. Mycroft turned from the door, pulled out his small notebook and acted like he was reading some details from it.
“That won't be necessary, Mr McGregory. We're already well aware Stephen Kendel bought the information you acquired. I'm here to ensure it goes no further.” He gave a quick smile to add a friendly touch to the implied threat and noticed the quick gulp and way the man's eyes darted between him and Amelia sitting all prim on his dirty sofa. She added a smile of her own, looking as equally friendly yet unfriendly. She'd picked up on that much, at least. So far so good.
“Who are you?” he asked when he had recovered.
“Let's just say we're here to help, shall we? You're struggling financially and we want to ensure the general public doesn't get the wrong idea about something that's perfectly innocent.”
“It doesn't look innocent to me.” The man puffed out his chest and tried to look intimidating. It didn't work. Mycroft had to glance at the floor to keep from laughing outwardly.
“That's precisely the problem, Mr McGregory. You think that government funds have been misspent. I can assure you that they haven't, but if the document you acquired is published by the press, the public will also think it has.”
“So what have they been spent on?”
“I'm afraid that's classified.” Mycroft gave the man a brief smile again. Before either of them could speak, Amelia sat forward.
“I know this is difficult for you, Mr McGregory. You've seen something that looks like an injustice, and you want to do something about it. That's the mark of a good man, and for that, you have my utmost respect.”
She paused, her eyes scanning over his face. When he frowned, opened his mouth and then closed it again, she continued.
“We'd tell you what happened to that money if we could, but for reasons we can't go into, we really need to make sure this doesn't go out into the press. Just like you, we're trying to make sure something good happens. You'd be doing your country a service by cooperating with us.”
As Amelia spoke, Mycroft found himself raising an eyebrow. The Scotsman sank down into the sofa in front of him. She'd taken the fight right out of him with her almost pleading request.
“I believe you've already been offered an amount of money by someone to say no more?” Mycroft asked. The man nodded, but didn't look up. “If you'll sign this, we'll make sure you're compensated.
Mycroft pulled the piece of paper mentioning the official secrets act and the amount out of his jacket pocket and unfolded it. McGregory took it where he sat, as well as the pen Amelia was already holding out, and after glancing at the four-figure sum, hastily signed his name.
“Thank you, Mr McGregory. There's just one last matter of importance. Have you sold the document or a copy of it to anyone else?”
He shook his head and Mycroft nodded with satisfaction. He was telling the truth.
“Well, then. We'll leave you to your afternoon now,” Amelia said as she tucked her pen back in her handbag and got up from her perch. McGregory didn't notice her deftly wipe the back of her dress where it had come in contact with his sofa but Mycroft did and had to stifle his reaction. She shouldn't have sat down if she didn't want to get dirty.
Before much longer, the pair of them were walking out of the house, half their goal achieved, but Mycroft suspected the next part would be significantly harder. The reporter wasn't going to buy any story about his secrecy being for the greater good. They would have to try a different tactic, and until Mycroft met the man, he wasn't sure of the best approach.
“Where are we going now?” Amelia asked as soon as they were outside.
Mycroft didn't answer but walked down the short path back to the waiting car. Daniels stood outside with a phone in his hands and a frown on his face.
“I couldn't get a meeting before three this afternoon,” Daniels said as soon as they were close enough.
“Then we'll go to his office.”
“They've said he won't be there.”
Mycroft nodded, expect
ing no less, but it was exactly the sort of thing people said. Most of the time it wasn't true.
“Take us there anyway.”
“Yes, sir.” Daniels hastily tucked the phone away and opened the door for Mycroft and Amelia. She got in first and shifted across the back seat of the car to make room for him. As he followed her, Mycroft caught a hint of the perfume she wore. The first time he'd smelt it he found it a little too cloying but this time he found it didn't bother him, especially when it mingled with the smell of rose coming from the single flower sitting where she'd left it in the car. It was more gentle and natural than the air fresheners Daniels used.
“I can't imagine the reporter will be as cooperative,” Amelia said once the car was underway, echoing his earlier thoughts.
“No, he won't be. And it might be wise if I handled this second meeting alone,” he replied. She raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth to question his decision before thinking better of it. “I wouldn't want any harm to come to your reputation as a writer.”
“Oh.”
“While I have full confidence that he will be persuaded to cooperate, I can't stop him from forming some kind of vendetta against you in the future. It's best he doesn't ever connect you to me.”
She nodded, and he found himself yet again surprised by how much information he was volunteering to Amelia. It wasn't like him to explain himself, at least not since Sherlock had been a young boy. He didn't need to anymore. But how else was she to learn?
The biggest difference between Amelia and Sherlock was how completely obedient and loyal Amelia was. His brother would often deliberately antagonise him and sometimes flat out refused to help, yet Amelia relished the chance to provide assistance.
A few times she'd angered him because she'd acted in a manner he wouldn't have recommended but every time it had actually been her best option. It reminded him that he had underestimated her at least twice. He just wasn't used to anyone coming close to the Holmes brothers in terms of intelligence. Not since Moriarty had anyone been better than he expected. Usually, he found people were the opposite.
Amelia seemed to understand that he wanted to think for the remainder of their journey and stayed quiet in her seat. Normally, long silences in situations such as this quickly felt awkward, leading him to regularly refuse to have company on a car journey, but her company was never a problem. She lost herself in thought as deeply as he did, and if it weren't for the slight noise of outside traffic, he might think himself in his own study or in his private room at the Diogenes Club.
“One way or another, this won't take long,” Mycroft said to Amelia as Daniels stopped the car outside the newspaper's main office. He stepped outside just as the first few spots of rain fell from the sky, forcing him to take the short journey over to the building a little quicker than he'd have liked.
A woman in her fifties sat at the wooden reception desk, tapping away at the computer in front of her. She didn't look up until Mycroft was right beside her. Neither of them smiled or said anything for several seconds, giving him time to take in the grey roots that showed she dyed her hair the chestnut brown and the moth-eaten holes in the left sleeve of her red jumper that gave away the slightly tight finances she was facing.
“What are you here for?” she asked when Mycroft allowed the silence to grow awkward.
“I need to see Mr Kendel. It's urgent.”
“It always is, sweetheart, but he's not here at the moment.”
“I don't think you quite understand.” Mycroft pulled a small photo ID from his inside jacket pocket. It wasn't something he carried often, but he had been aware he might need it to get the newspaper to cooperate. The receptionist read the information stating that he worked for MI5 and immediately grew flustered, dropping her pen. It bounced off the edge of the desk and tumbled to the floor.
“Let me call up and see if we can find him,” she said once she'd gathered herself.
“Thank you,” he replied and tucked the ID away. It had at least done its job.
He listened to the woman's end of a telephone conversation for several minutes as she tried to track down his reporter. Then she dialled another number and put her hand over the receiver.
“He's definitely not in the building, but I'm trying his mobile to see if I can get him to come back.”
Mycroft frowned. He'd assumed the reporter was just avoiding him, not actually away from the building. It was the most likely probability by far, but even the smallest odds could result in a surprise.
After several more attempts at dialling, the receptionist left a message on the mobile phone of the reporter asking him to urgently contact her and then gave Mycroft an apologetic look.
He pulled out a business card from his trouser pocket and handed it to her.
“Have him call me as soon as he gets back in touch.” Without waiting for a response, Mycroft left the building and hurried through the rain back to his car.
“Where are we going next, sir?” Daniels asked, once he was back in the driver's seat.
“I think there's a café in the town here. Take us there, please, Daniels.”
“It's where I set up the meeting for you at three,” he replied.
“He wasn't there?” Amelia asked a moment later.
“No. We'll have to wait, but I can still teach you a thing or two before you have to go back to Bath.”
Chapter 6
Amelia tried not to show her surprise as she stepped into café 91 in Lockerbie's small town centre. Myron was taking time out of his schedule to directly teach her once more. She knew this was exactly what she'd asked for, but it hadn't felt like her lessons were going well enough to merit this much effort on his part.
He ordered them both tea, paying for it then and there, and then they found a small table tucked at the back of the building, from where they could both see the rest of the customers without much effort. As she sat down she noticed the receipt he placed on the table. For some bizarre reason, it said 'café 17' on it instead of the '91' on the outside of the building.
She blinked back her shock as her mind finally caught up. For some reason Myron wanted her to notice the number, but before she could mention it he whisked up the receipt, tucked it into his pocket and gave her his usual fake smile.
“Why don't you tell me what you've seen in here?” he said, not giving her the time to say anything else. She went to look at the people nearby, but he stopped her. “No, Amelia. Look at me and tell me what you've already seen.”
She gulped as she tried to remember everything she'd observed in the last few minutes, but under his intense gaze she felt too unravelled to process the information. Trying to calm herself, she looked down at the table.
The waitress rescued her mind from its turmoil by bringing over a tray and placing a large pot of tea and two cups on the table.
“Come on, Amelia. It shouldn't take this long,” he said as soon as they were alone again. Knowing she just had to take the plunge and suffer any admonishment, she took a deep breath and opened her mouth.
“By the door, there's a couple of teenagers. On their first date... Or perhaps their second,” she said as her mind began to re-imagine what she'd seen only moments before. “I don't think he's as interested in her as she'd like. Either that or something has him distracted.”
“The latter,” Myron said. “Did you see what?”
“No. I was distracted by the toddler, getting angry over their chip having too much ketchup on it.” She bit down on her lip and glanced at his face but he didn't look too angry at her admission. He sighed and gave her a disapproving look, so she tried to look apologetic.
“You should learn to take in more at once and not let one sound distract you from focusing on everything until you have all the information you need.”
She nodded and took another deep breath. Myron was nothing if not intimidating, and it still seemed a little unreal that she was taking lessons from him.
Over the next twenty minutes she described everything
she'd noticed and what it told her about the people. It wasn't as much as her second attempt at the hotel in London but it was better than her first. Each time she missed something, Myron filled her in on the details, also not looking to verify anything. By the end, Amelia sat back with her mind blown.
“I can't believe you learnt all that from that short space of time and while you were ordering the tea,” she said. “You're amazing.”
Myron blinked a couple of times and then finally stopped looking at her to stare at his teacup. It didn't take her more than a few seconds to realise her praise of him had made him uncomfortable.
“What made you say yes to me?” she asked to make sure no awkward silence developed. He didn't answer right away, evidently taking a moment to think about it.
“Curiosity,” he said, eventually. “Even I can learn new things. I wanted to know what it felt like to have someone to teach.”
“Surely people have wanted to learn from you before?”
“Some have, yes. My brother has taught another, but I've never done so.”
“I figured Sebastian had. He occasionally mentions that he had someone who used to help him with the odd case.”
“Most people are far too annoying or stupid to be in a room with for more than a few minutes. I've never found anyone I can tolerate long enough to instruct.”
“Then I'm honoured that you're teaching me. I really do hope you'll keep doing it.”
“Yes, well, you've learnt enough for today. It's time you went home.”
She sighed, not wanting to leave now she was comfortable with Myron but she knew there would be no arguing, and there was only one more train that would leave in time to get her all the way back to Bath. She'd come a long way and knew when she set out that it would only give her a few hours with the eldest Holmes.
Obeying his command, she stood and gathered her things. When he made no move himself, she paused.
“Daniels will take you to the train station. I'll stay here. I don't want to miss the opportunity to meet this reporter. Go on, be off with you.”
