He paused and then said, “Her death isn’t your sin. It’s his.”
I had used my question in an attempt to deflect, and I couldn’t decide if I was angry at him or myself for letting him see right through me. “You promised once. Do you remember? We were just like this on a similar task, on a similar platform.” I pressed my cheek to his chest and continued, “You promised you wouldn’t try to solve me like one of your little games. Do you mean to keep that promise even now?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t say anything else, not until we were seated on the train. “The SIM card was in the phone owner’s desk, tucked into the back corner. And while the phone had been wiped clean of data, her home phone number and a note were added after.”
I’d almost forgotten about the stolen phone. “What did the note say?”
“Does it matter?”
I smiled. “Of course it matters. It matters to everyone but you.”
“But we know who did it without that information.”
“Did you honestly not read it?”
Sherlock shrugged and stared past me out the window as the train started to move.
“She did it, of course,” I said. “The phone’s owner. Some bizarrely complex romantic gesture to make him call her. But the note would tell us why she felt the need to go to this length.”
“Her motives are immaterial.”
“But why would she say it was stolen in the first place?”
“She didn’t. She asked to borrow a friend’s phone and then was too embarrassed to correct the assumption that her phone was stolen. She tried to explain it was just lost, but by then no one would listen to her. And when they found the phone in his bag, she couldn’t exactly say that she’d put it there.”
“Her embarrassment was more important than his academic career. He’ll be pissed about that.”
“Overjoyed, actually.”
I stared at Lock and he shrugged.
“Happiest I’ve ever seen him.”
“But if you’ve already told him the happy news, why are we going to his house?”
Lock grinned. “My most pressing case has always been yours. We still need to figure out who’s threatening you, and my client now says he owes me.”
? ? ?
The client’s name was Jason Kim, not-yet-convicted computer hacker. His room was almost a flashing neon advertisement for his unscrupulous hobby. No fourteen-year-old in London needed a setup like he had for anything casual. But instead of being rightfully suspicious of what his son was up to, Mr. Kim, the client’s father, spent the entire walk to Jason’s room bragging about his genius son.
“Just brought him a few of the retired computer bits and bobs from work. He knew exactly what they were for, my boy. That’s my way of apologizing for the state of his room. Really can’t be helped, though. Genius is never tidy.”
I smirked a bit, thinking of the state of both Sherlock’s lab and room and my brothers’ rooms as well. Perhaps it was truer to say that boys were never tidy.
I was officially introduced to the back of Jason’s head first, silhouetted in front of a sea of white-blue monitor glow. Two of the monitors shifted from white-blue to black with green type dumping onto the screen much faster than any human finger movement could produce.
“You’ve got visitors, son.”
Jason nodded, and kept on with his typing, waving off his dad, who left quietly with a bright smile on his face.
Once the door closed, Jason spoke without turning around. “Two minutes and I should at least have his login to the MPS website. As promised.”
Lock seemed impressed. “Your text said it would take at least an hour only half an hour ago.”
“What can I say?” Jason finally turned to face us, with his father’s same bright smile. “I’m just that good.”
From the front, Jason was one of the more beautiful boys I’d ever seen. Creamy skin, dark, wide-set eyes, and perfect teeth surrounded by full lips. His thick-rimmed glasses tried to hide all that, to no avail, and when he swept them from his face, I couldn’t keep from staring. This boy had to be surrounded by girls everywhere he went, and he’d had his heart set on only one from his childhood?
I was suddenly pretty sure of our mobile phone culprit’s motive. This was exactly the kind of boy that elicited bizarrely complex romantic gestures.
My thoughts must have shown on my face, because when I glanced over at Lock, he looked thoroughly unhappy, which he quickly tried to cover by widening his eyes in a challenge. I shrugged at him.
“You’re Mori, then? Sherlock tells me you’re more clever than he is.” Jason gave me a little wave, then crossed his arms.
I didn’t wave back. “That’s entirely true.”
Sherlock’s expression warmed a bit. “She asked me the same question you did.”
“I guess I should just be happy that Kay wanted me to know her number.” Jason’s smile didn’t falter, but he did settle his gaze on me. “I’m told any further motive is immaterial.”