I wanted to obsess over the fact that someone was cataloging my sins, and not just my stupid mistake of throwing my father’s sword into the lake. They knew I was responsible for Sadie’s death as well. Somehow, whoever doctored the drawings knew enough to know what I’d never said aloud—that I’d invited my best friend into the house of a serial killer, when I wouldn’t be there to protect her.
I shielded myself from the pain of that by focusing back on what my discoveries might mean. First, the smell of glue on what was clearly a drawing meant that Sherlock had been wrong that the drawings and threats were coming from two different people. Clearly, the card picked up the scent on a shared surface or by being handled by the same person who glued the letters on the threat. It possibly also meant that another threat would be coming to me in the mail.
Second, the fact that the drawings were doctored meant that the person sending me the drawings was not the artist. Third, whoever doctored the drawings had taken the time to sever the hand from the man character, which had to be a message. The hand found in our rubbish—it belonged to the man in the drawing. It was possible the man in the drawing was the artist.
So, I knew a few facts and several possibilities, and still I couldn’t answer the larger question: WHY? Why would someone send these to me at all? What was her end game? Did the sender think she could scare me into some kind of confession? Did she really hate me that much? And how many more of my sins had been documented in this way?
When Sherlock’s ringtone filled the room again, I was still sitting on the floor, glancing back and forth at the word “sin” written on each card. I didn’t even know how long I’d been there. Without looking away from the drawings, I reached for my phone and answered, “Don’t come over. I’ll show you the second drawing tomorrow.”
Lock paused just long enough for me to wonder if the change in costuming in the drawings was a message too, and then he said, “I need you.”
The tone of his voice caught my attention. I looked up at my window. “Where are you?”
“Hospital. Charing Cross.”
He hung up before I could tell him I’d be there, leaving me with a name I hadn’t heard in almost a year, a place I never even allowed myself to think about. The place I’d left my mother. I had sworn that I would rather die on the street outside the front doors than walk the halls even one more time, but one phone call with three words from Lock and within minutes I was walking to the Baker Street Tube station, leaving the drawings and everything they represented on the floor of my room.
Chapter 13
My mobile rang again as I approached the bright blue awning of the Baker Street Tube station. I didn’t recognize the number, but on the off chance it was Sherlock calling from a hospital phone, I picked up on the final ring.
“It’s Lily.”
“I have somewhere to be. How did you get my number?”
“I’m at your house. Where are you?”
I sighed. “Baker Street Tube station. What’s this about?”
“Baker Street? Stay there. I’ll come to you.”
She ended the call, and I looked between the awning and my phone, trying to decide what to do. I scowled, but I stayed aboveground, watching the minutes creep past on my mobile. Just as I was about to give up on her, Lily appeared, her cheeks pink from running and a bouquet of flowers clutched in her hand.
“You hid the weapon.” I could tell she was trying not to sound accusatory, but it didn’t work. Her anger and confusion shimmered off her.
I wasn’t sure how she’d found out, but I could guess. I doubted Mallory would give that kind of information to the victim’s family, but he was hardly the only member of the police that Lily could get her information from. She could have heard the accusations about me and the sword from anyone, really.
Maybe I should have lied to her, or kept quiet like I did when Mallory was the one interrogating me on the issue. But Lily deserved better from me than that. “I did.”
Lily clutched the bouquet with both hands like a shield. “You said you wanted him to pay for what he’s done.”
“I do.”
She thrust the bouquet at me so roughly that a few petals fluttered to the ground at my feet. “You said you wanted him to pay for what he’s done! How could you? . . .”
I started toward the stairs, but Lily rushed to block my way.
“You knew where it was all this time, and you said nothing!”
She was yelling on the open street, oblivious to the stares we were already attracting. It was only a matter of time before someone recognized one or the both of us. I stepped toward her until our shoulders almost touched. She flinched when she thought I’d push past her, so I grabbed her forearm just hard enough to keep her beside me and spoke just loud enough for her to hear me over the street noise.
“I thought if I got rid of his weapon, maybe he’d stop—even if it was just for one day.”