The boys all laughed, and Lock took my hand from Michael’s shoulder and squeezed it just before I opened the door. “Never boring with you.”
“Is that a compliment?” I asked, but I wasn’t sure he heard. The very moment the door opened a crack, the onslaught began.
“Is it true they never found the murder weapon?”
“Do police really think it’s still hidden in your house?”
“Are any of you planning to testify?”
“What about reports that the murder weapon could prove your father’s innocence?”
We kept our heads down and took the stairs as a group, but the wall of people wouldn’t budge when we got to the bottom, and I felt Michael start to tremble into my side. I sighed. I knew of one sure way they’d let the boys through, but it definitely came with a cost. Lock seemed to read my mind.
“Get them on their way and come back for me?” I said into Lock’s ear.
He didn’t look very pleased with the request, but he pulled my brothers close to him as I climbed up to the door. “If you promise to let my brothers go to school without following them, I will make a statement.”
The sudden hush was almost more frightening than the cacophony that followed. The wave surged toward me, leaving a nice opening for Sherlock and the boys to escape. Only Freddie glanced back as they ran up the street. I waited a few long seconds to make sure they’d gotten away clean before speaking.
“We have no contact with Detective Moriarty and, by law, he is not allowed to contact us. If you want answers to your questions about him, ask Detective Inspector Mallory of the Westminster Borough.”
I jetted down the steps as quickly as I could, and through what was left of the opening my brothers had taken, but I wasn’t quick enough. The questions started before I could reach the sidewalk, and I had to bat away cameras and outstretched hands holding phones and other recording devices just to take a single step forward.
“What did the police find at your house last night?”
“Tell us about the murder weapon! What does it mean that it can’t be found?”
“Do you believe your father’s innocent?”
After only about ten steps, I was ready to run into the house and never come out again, but just as I had decided to give up, a hand reached out and grabbed my wrist, yanking me through the crowd and to the open door of a black cab. I dived in and crawled to the far side of the backseat, and then we took off all in the space of a few seconds. The silence was glorious. Not that it was all that silent. My panting breaths and the murmurs of talk radio plus normal traffic sounds filled the cabin of our taxi, but it still felt like silence.
After a few beats, my eyes met Lock’s and we both laughed a little. “Thanks.”
His smile filled his voice when he asked, “What in the world did you say?”
“To ask Mallory their questions and leave us alone.”
Lock raised his brow. “I’m sure that went over well.”
“And my brothers?”
“In the first taxi I flagged down, on their way to school. This is the second.”
“Two cabs on Baker Street this early?” I asked.
Lock leaned forward suddenly and asked the driver to turn up his radio.
“Sources report police searched the home of the now confined Detective Sergeant Moriarty, looking for the weapon he is accused of using to stab five men to death in Regent’s Park. There is no confirmation that the weapon was found, but pictures are circulating on Internet news sites of officers retrieving an object from the rubbish bins in front of the house and taking it away as evidence. We’ll report more on this as word comes in.”
I stared from the radio to Lock, who was still pitched forward, like some answer was right in front of us.
“I sent my brothers to school,” I said, pushing my fingers through my hair. “Everyone will know by the time they get there.”
We spent the rest of our cab ride in silence only to face down another handful of reporters awaiting our arrival at the school. There weren’t enough of them to truly block our way, and their questions were easily ignored, but once inside the school, I was forced to walk a different kind of gauntlet.
“Why would she come to school?”
“I barely made it inside from all those reporters. Does she think of no one but herself?”
“I wish she’d just move away.”
The third time someone asked why Sherlock Holmes would be walking with a girl like me, I pulled him into a less-populated side hall and said, “Just go to your class.”
I was pretty sure his pause was going to be followed by a long argument about why he wasn’t going to leave me to walk the rest of the halls alone, but instead he just said, “No.” He reached for my hand, but I pulled away.
“Not this time. Just, for me, go to your class.”