She waved an impatient hand. “Isn’t it obvious? I’ve failed to come up with another way to prove your brother’s innocence, and so I’m changing my tactic. My hypothesis about the chemicals he may have ingested has proven insufficient, so I must make a new one.”
Alexander’s brows lowered into a frown. “You plan to break into Petrov’s flat and you’re looking for what?”
“From what Lee said about the notes I took from the autopsy, it sounded as though it was not an acute poisoning, meaning it was something he’d been exposed to over time. Breaking into the Harpenden laboratory is an unlikely possibility, so I plan to look for anything that might have made him sick in his own home.”
Though he shook his head in the slow, unbelieving way she was accustomed to, Saffron didn’t miss the hint of a smile on his lips.
“Elizabeth can find his address in his immigration papers, I am hoping,” she continued, “and as soon as I learn where he lived, I’ll be able to find what may have been damaging his kidneys and liver. After I do that, I can tell Inspector Green that he may not have considered a chronic poisoning that couldn’t be linked to Adrian.” Alexander opened his mouth, no doubt to question her, and she raised a staying hand. “I plan on insisting very firmly that he take a look at other possibilities without revealing that I’ve been doing any sort of poking around.”
“This is assuming we find anything in Petrov’s home.”
“We?”
His eyebrow quirked. “This is for Adrian’s benefit. How could I let you go alone?”
She buried her pleasure at his words, giving him a severely doubtful look instead. “Considering the last time you helped me break in somewhere I was nearly caught and ruined a pair of stockings by hiding under a desk, I’m not sure I want your help.”
To her surprise, he took a step closer, forcing her chin to tilt up to keep meeting his eyes. “Have no fear. I’ve been practicing my technique.”
Her throat suddenly quite dry, she merely nodded.
They continued down the street, and when they’d boarded the bus to return to campus, Alexander asked, “What was your inspiration for this new plan of attack?”
Saffron’s grip flexed on her handbag, in which sat the file of her father’s papers. With a tight smile, she said, “I was merely reminded of how much can be hidden within someone’s home. Important clues could be easily missed, if someone doesn’t know what to look for.”
CHAPTER16
Elizabeth, her anger toward Saffron forgotten, found Demien Petrov’s file after two days of searching the records room with Colin’s help, she explained enthusiastically upon presenting Saffron with a piece of paper in her perfectly executed typewriting. She had gotten his last known address as well as quite a bit of other information, including a photograph of the man.
“Eliza!” Saffron gasped, taking the black-and-white photograph in her hand. “You can’t just take this!”
“I’ll return it on Monday,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It’s not like anyone will miss it. I thought you might like to know what he looked like.” She sighed, inching forward on the couch they shared in the parlor to look at Petrov. “I can see the pain of his losses so clearly in his eyes.”
Saffron had to agree. Adrian had described him as having a face like concrete, and he was rather lined and aged-looking in this photo, taken in 1919 when he’d immigrated, but there was softness in his shadowed gaze. Saffron felt for him having run from his homeland to start anew. He’d been sixty-one when he’d arrived in England, and nearly sixty-five when he’d died. He’d been married, but his wife had died young and he’d never remarried. He’d had no known children and no family in England. He’d lived a long life, but Saffron wasn’t certain it had been a good one. It certainly hadn’t ended well.
It put a pall on her mood the next morning when she met Alexander at the bus stop nearest her flat. Any sense of adventure fromtheir planning had dissipated, leaving her unsure of their course of action. The prospect of looking through Petrov’s things felt like an invasion of privacy after the reminder that he was no longer a living, breathing person. Looking at her father’s papers had had a similar effect; she’d learned her father had been in communication with Dr. Calderbrook just before his deployment to France, rejecting the offer to join Kew. The letter had alluded to a private research project her father believed would soon bear fruit. Seeing her father’s handwriting spike with telltale excitement had given her a strange, out-of-body feeling, as if she watched him write it. She could so clearly imagine him pushing his eyeglasses up on his forehead as he reread his words.
“Harpenden is rather far from Tottenham,” Alexander said, recalling her to her task for the day. “I looked at the train timetables; it would have taken Petrov at least an hour to travel from there each day.”
She’d looked at the map herself; Petrov had lived in Tottenham, north of London proper. Harpenden was also north of London, but the train and bus lines would have taken him through the city to get there. “I wonder why he would live so far away from the lab.”
Eventually, the neighborhoods became less crowded, the buildings alternating between new and old the further from the Thames they went. They switched from bus to tram, and, at long last, they emerged onto a rather plain-looking street.
Saffron didn’t know what to expect when they set out on the journey, but what she found was a busy neighborhood street opposite the train tracks. The day was overcast and promised rain, but that didn’t stop women from hanging their laundry in the tiny yards, or a handful of young men standing around smoking as they chatted at the end of the street.
They passed one street, then another. Saffron resisted the urge to get out her map and examine it to assure herself they were headed in the right direction. Seeing her craning her neck a bit to see what street came next, Alexander caught up her arm and threaded it through his own. “You will draw the wrong sort of attention doing that,” he muttered.
“I know,” she said plaintively. “I just want to know we’re not wandering around, missing it.”
“It’ll be just up here.”
“Did you memorize the map?” That would be a very Alexander thing to do. He was so exasperatingly competent and assured, it was both extremely annoying and extremely attractive, neither of which was useful when she was anxious about their housebreaking.
“Yes,” he said, “but I can also see what we’re looking for.”
Saffron followed his nod toward carts stationed at the end of the next street. As they grew near, she could make out the hum of conversation, laughter, arguing, and calls for customers.
The street sign affixed to the building announced Durban Street, the one Saffron had been searching for. The market seemed to spill out of the street, a colorful display of produce, clothing, books, and an assortment of housewares.
