Joe inched closer to Irene, looking at her with the same worry as Henriette had. Irene ignored their concerns, confident that this was the right plan. All they had to do was get Noah to show his hand, then they would pounce.
Henriette finished the note and handed it to Irene:
"Meet me behind the butcher's at six pm," Irene said. "Excellent, Mrs. Grouper."
"Unfortunately," Henriette said. "The trauma of what this code has done to me made my penmanship a bit shaky."
"I've found the brain does two things with trauma," Joe said, in that same reassuring tone. "Either it blocks the situation out completely or forces us to relive those days on a whim."
"Sometimes, I wish I could block him out." Henriette gave Joe an understanding smile. "But then my days at Bletchley would be stolen away as well as my romance with Robert. And I rather like those memories. I'm going to check on Molly and try to explain things to my husband. Please have some breakfast before you go. You have put me at ease, but I will not rest until Noah is gone for good, either arrested or...simply gone from this earth."
Chapter VI
Observing a Mad Man at the Corner Pub
Joe stifled a yawn as Irene drove the car away from the house and into the countryside. The air was damp, the rain on pause for a moment, so Joe rolled down his window. He stuck his hand out, fingers dancing in the breeze. He let his head fall back against the seat and closed his eyes, enjoying the hum of the engine. As unfortunate as this case had turned, Joe almost felt the need to give everyone an 'I told you so' for rolling their eyes at the puzzles he was so excited to solve. This case had turned to action, and they were on their way to actually spy on someone.
He felt himself smile and knew he looked odd but doubted Irene would care. She made so many faces to herself, he was willing to bet she didn't even know she was making them. When she wasn't sitting as still as a stone, that is. Then he wondered if she even drew breath.
"You just stay there," Irene said, then mumbled a cuss word and abruptly stopped the car.
Joe opened his eyes and sat up. A small herd of sheep were crossing the road. Their coats sheared for the summer, their exposed bodies were dirty and wet from the rain. They bleated as they zig-zagged to the other side, and one decided to stop right in the middle of the road and stare at them.
Joe laughed at the sight as he watched the animals bump and bustle each other. He'd tended to a few sheep over the years and loved their personalities.
"My family always kept goats," he said. "Built-in lawn maintenance. I prefer sheep, myself, though."
"Why is it staring at us?" Irene asked, rolling down her window. "Move! We must get by!"
Joe laughed again. "It doesn't understand a word you're saying."
He looked around for the farmer and saw Irene about to honk the horn. He grabbed her wrist.
"I'll move her," he said. "The shepherd must be around here somewhere."
Without any guidance, the sheep spread out, baaing and munching on the grass at the side of the road. Joe left the car and clapped his hands as he approached the sheep.
"Look out, girl," he said.
The shepherd came over the hill, followed by a black and white collie. The dog immediately went to work, circling the sheep, getting them back on track.
"Sorry 'bout that." The old farmer shouted to Joe as he hobbled down the hill. "Me and Rufus there are both getting old. Can't run the sheep as fast as we used to."
"Not a bother," Joe said, keeping his eyes on the dog, enjoying every second of watching him work.
"Your wife doesn't seem too chuffed," he said.
Joe looked at Irene. Both hands gripped the wheel and she stared at him. He gave her a small wave and saw her shoulders slump in an annoyed sigh.
"She just doesn't like animals," he said.
"Well, tell her the nice gloves she wears in the winter are made from these sheep," the shepherd said.
"I will do that." Joe tipped his hat. "Good day, sir."
Joe climbed back into the car, leaning forward, watching the dog herd the rest of the sheep across the road. Irene tapped her thumb on the steering wheel, and as soon as the last sheep was on the grass, she sped off.
"You're not partial to small towns," Joe said. "Are you?"
"For relaxation and retirement only," she said. "I find the bustling and jostling of London keeps me satisfied with the most interesting prospects for mysteries to solve."
"And yet," Joe said. "Here we are, in one of the smallest villages chasing a code made by two people from an equally small town."
She sighed. "I suppose."
"Aha," Joe said. "That is one point for me."
"I am not keeping score."
"Oh, yes, you are."
She rolled her eyes, but Joe caught her smile.
✽✽✽
They entered the pub and found a table in the corner. Joe hung their jackets and hats and slid onto the bench beside Irene. They both ordered drinks and a sandwich and settled in. Joe grabbed the newspaper and pretended to read while peering over at the counter. The man they suspected to be Noah moved behind the bar. His hunched figure shifting from one side to the other as he took dirty glasses to the sink. Joe looked at Irene and sighed.
She stared right at Noah, brow furrowed. Her fist was clenched, her forefinger pressed against her lips in her usual pose as she took measure of a person.
Joe nudged her gently.
"You're staring," he said.
She pulled her eyes away from Noah and tapped the table. Joe watched her for a second, fidgeting and shifting in her seat. She wasn't settling, which seemed odd to him, as he knew how still she could be. He folded the newspaper and handed it to her.
"Here," he said.
"I don't want the paper," she said.
"You can't just stare at him the whole time." Joe pushed the paper closer to her. "You can have this or one of my novels."
"You brought more than one?"
"Of course," he said. "In case I finish the first one."
She picked up the paper. "This is just fine."
He fished his newest novel from his bag and opened it to the bookmarked page. Within minutes, Irene set the paper down on the table and slouched in the chair.
"You would eventually want a pet, wouldn't you?" She asked.
He bookmarked his novel and set it down. "I suppose. You don't like animals?"
"I do, in fact," she said. "I begged my father for a dog growing up, but our budget was earmarked for either new equipment and lessons for honing skills, or a puppy. I chose the lessons. Even when I lived on Baker Street alone, I thought about adopting a dog, but with the chemicals and the mess I sometimes make, the flat would be ill-suited for a pet. Plus, a dog needs walking every day, and sometimes I don't like leaving the house."
"All excellent reasons," Joe said. "I do think birds are rather nice. Any animal would do me."
The young stableboy from the Grouper estate entered the pub. Joe kept his eyes on him as he finished his sandwich. The boy went up to the counter, right to Noah, and handed him the letter, then was off in a flash.
Joe paid close attention to Noah's reaction, hopefully observing anything that Irene missed. Not likely, but he'd try.
Noah shuffled to the corner of the bar and unfolded the note. He read it quickly, spinning the page as he went. His sunken eyes, brighter than Joe had seen them, narrowed at the paper. His lips pursed, the large scar over them tightening. He crumpled the note and threw it in the bin.
For a few moments, Joe witnessed the angry and dangerous man who'd made those threats to Mrs. Grouper. Irene saw everything he did and leaned to him.
"There's our villain," she said. "Now, will he wait until the meeting time? Or will he make a move now?"
A man approached the counter and requested two beers. Noah instantly put on his innocent persona and smiled at the man, fetching the beers.
✽✽✽
A little more than an hour later, Joe and Irene sat in the Va
uxhall outside the pub. Joe hoped there would be a tea house or coffee shop across the road, but in a town this small, there was no such thing. They couldn't sit in the pub for five hours, so their only option was the car. They had a decent view into the front window of Corner Pub, and kept an eye on Noah. He moved back and forth behind the bar, seeming slightly agitated but still greeted every customer.
He stepped into the back room, and both Irene and Joe went on alert. But within minutes, he returned. A boy scurried out of the backroom behind him and out into the rain. The same boy had run in and out of the pub a dozen times, but Joe made a note anyway.
Irene hunched in the driver's seat, opting to read Joe's extra novel. She flipped the pages at appropriate times and looked consumed in the text, but he doubted she'd even read a word. She reminded Joe of a predator, staying statue-still, waiting to pounce.
She made a thoughtful noise and touched Joe's shoulder.
"Do you see the way he walks?" She said. "Something isn't right."
Joe tried to observe what she did but only saw a man with a severe limp, moving back and forth at a snail's pace.
"I see nothing," he said. "Other than quite a predominant limp."
"The limp is awkward," she said. "His footsteps are quite uneven. Something isn't right about that limp. Which makes me question his other injuries as well."
"You cannot manufacture those scars, Irene," Joe said. "You saw the police report and heard Mrs. Grouper's description. This man has been seriously injured."
"Broken bones heal," she said. "I am just concerned that we have a formidable foe on our hands should he decide to engage with us."
She grew silent again and stared at the pub. Joe couldn't argue with her because she had a fair point. Even though this man looked horribly disfigured, he may be playing up his injuries to gain more sympathy from the town.
Joe watched the rain pelting a blue four-door car parked in front of them, the fat droplets bouncing off the metal roof.
"With all your smarts," he said. "Did you ever think of working at Bletchley? I know they did more than house secretaries, and with all the rumours I've heard, it sounds like an excellent outlet for your particular set of skills."
"Of course," she said. "I even knew a few people in the government to whom I spoke with. But I was deemed too unstable and they were worried I wouldn't follow their directions to the exact detail. Which, to be honest, I probably wouldn't have if I thought I had a better idea in which to do something. Which I almost always do."
"Even with the experts in the government?"
"Especially with the government," she said, then returned to her novel reading.
Joe laughed to himself as he thought about someone trying to give Irene orders against something she thought she could manage better. Not a pretty sight.
✽✽✽
Another hour passed and Irene set the book between them and sighed.
"Finished already?" he asked.
"I didn't read a word of it."
"Didn't think you did," he said.
She shifted in the seat, aiming her body toward him. He knew that position. She was about to engage in a rather serious discussion. He was never prepared for these, although, if he refused to answer any of her questions, she took it well enough.
"You relive your traumas, don't you, Joe?"
'Never prepared' was an understatement in this case. She knew about the episodes that plagued him occasionally and she never questioned him about them. All she would do is hold his hand while carrying on with whatever task she was doing, half the time not even bothering to look at him, and he would calm right down. He hadn't had an episode in a while, the last one happening when the man with the old hansom cab pulled up to their street last week, to say hello. The episode had been brief, but she'd taken his hand and stared at him with those dark eyes of hers and he was able to catch his breath and return to reality.
When he didn't answer her question right away, she sighed and stared at the dashboard.
"The bad memories leave me," she said. "Or perhaps I force them out. Either way, my brain doesn't hold onto them and I have to work hard to pull them back even if I wanted to."
Joe fiddled with the corner of his book, trying to find any words to comfort her. He knew she had things haunting her too, things to do with her father and her uncle and whatever happened during the war, but he never pressed her and he could never figure out why they never seemed to affect her like his did. But, if all her terrible memories vanished, then they couldn't reappear, taunting her.
"There are memories of mine I wish I could forget," Joe said. "But they force themselves upon me and I have no choice but to endure them. I wish I could block them out like you say you can, perhaps that is the best way."
Irene shook her head as if Joe's idea was absurd. "Whole days are missing from my memory, Joe. The facts are clear, but it's like reading a paper from another country. All emotions are purged and the memory is snatched away, both the good and the bad. If I want to recall pleasant memories from a certain day, the horrible ones tend to follow. It eats away at my emotions and causes me to turn very irritable sometimes."
Joe couldn't help but laugh, despite the serious discussion.
"I don't think I've ever seen you grumpy." He winked at her, a smirk on his lips. She gave him a small playful shove.
"There is a difference between grumpy and deep in thought."
"You'll have to point out those nuances to me sometime," he said. "Have you spoken to Lestrade about any of your troubles?"
She shook her head. "He knows much about what went on, and though he is my dear friend, he comes at everything like it's a problem to be solved. That may sound rich coming from me, but sometimes I don't think things like these are problems that require solving. Either way, he tries to fix things and I get impatient and angry. No, he cannot help me."
"So why tell them to me?" Joe said. "If Lestrade cannot help, what am I going to do?"
She shrugged. "Maybe there is nothing to do."
"There must be something," Joe said, reassuring himself more than her. "Even if it's simply lending an ear to listen."
"Perhaps one day," she said. "But for now, I've probed this conversation enough. Let's put it behind us."
She scooted back to her position and grabbed the novel, opening it to a random page, and looking out the window.
Joe wanted to continue the conversation with her. That's the closest she'd been to talking about her feelings or sharing her hardships with him. He felt like he'd peeked into some deep chasm but couldn't tell if it was full of treasures or dangers.
His mind kept comparing her to a rescued animal. She was slowly learning to trust him, but if he moved too fast, or pushed her to do something she didn't like, she'd retreat and take off, never trusting him again.
Irene Holmes, his own little rescued terrier.
He felt foolish comparing her to an animal. Still, he hadn't met any human as complicated as Irene, and his knowledge of animal psychology far outweighed that of the human brain. He had no idea how she regarded him. Perhaps as an animal as well, though one that required training rather than rescuing, or as a simple man that tagged along on her adventures.
✽✽✽
At quarter to five, Irene and Joe headed back into the pub for some supper. The thunderstorm raged outside as they dug into their fish and chips. They ate in silence, casting glances at Noah, but he was busy serving supper to a few of the townsfolk who had nothing better to do on this stormy evening that come into the pub.
After their meal, Joe pulled out his novel and started on the final chapter. He wasn't two sentences in when Irene elbowed him. He looked up at Noah.
The man had cleaned the same glass for the third time in a row. He was growing impatient, letting his character slip.
"I thought he might jump the gun," Irene said.
Joe looked at his watch. Almost five o'clock. It didn't look like Noah was going to wait an extra hour to make a move, though.
"Are you ready to give chase?" Irene asked.
"How fast do you suppose he is?"
"We're going to find out."
Noah dropped the towel in his hands and hurried away from the bar. He pushed open the door and disappeared into the storm. Joe and Irene slipped out of the booth, both grabbing their jackets and hats.
The rain lashed down on them as they looked for Noah. He moved surprisingly fast down the street and was challenging to see in the rain, but they spotted him.
They gave chase and gained quickly. Noah looked back and panic spread over his face as the lightning lit up the street.
He turned suddenly, cutting behind a building. Irene passed Joe, pivoting around the corner after Noah. Joe turned the corner too and nearly ran into her.
A tall wooden gate shut in their face, the brick wall on either side towering over them. Irene shouldered the gate, but it didn't budge. She smacked the wooden planks with her fist.
"How is he this bloody fast?" Joe yelled through the rain.
"Don't you see?" Irene said. "The limp was false! I knew something was off about his footing. Both of his arms probably work top notch as well!"
She kicked at the closed gate, chest heaving, wet hair clinging to her shoulders.
Joe blinked through the rain, looking around for a tool or something to bash through the wood, and came up empty. He moved down the wall and found a part where a few of the top bricks had fallen.
"Irene!" He linked his fingers together, making a step for her, hoping she caught on to his idea. Luckily she did, and as soon as her toe was in his hands, he boosted her onto the top of wall. She rolled onto her stomach and held her hand down. He grasped it, pulling himself up and over the wall behind her.
They landed in an abandoned garden, water rushing over their shoes.
"Where'd he go?" Irene shouted through the rain.
"I don't know," Joe shouted back. He looked around as best he could in the water and darkness of the evening creeping in. He found another gate, at the end of the yard, banging against the building.
The Circle Code Conundrum Page 6
