“I thought for sure the whole lot of us were dead,” I said, letting the idea warm up inside me. “But, no one died at all! We’re safe! Everyone’s safe!” I smiled at my employer, who allowed himself a hint of a grin in response.

And then a distant scream cut across the silence. It was a woman’s voice—not the banshee’s, but a very human cry, full of shock and sadness and distress. It sounded very small and alone as it echoed across the quiet streets.

I swallowed hard, the elation of our survival draining out of me. “Who do you think . . . ?” I left the question hanging in the air.

“I haven’t a clue.” Jackaby’s voice took a hard edge, and he scowled out the little window for several silent moments. “I need to get out of this cell. This has gone on long enough.” He began to pace.

“And how do you intend to go about that?” I asked him. The constant stresses that seemed to be riling my employer had the opposite effect on me. No longer in immediate danger, I felt my adrenaline rapidly wane, and the exhaustion of a day full of heady emotions weighed heavily on my eyes. I slid down to sit on the cool ground against the wall, and rested my head on my knees.

“I’ll have to employ delicate and deliberate elocution. I’m sure our jailer can be persuaded to see reason.”

“You’re going to try to talk your way out?”

“Don’t sound so skeptical. Just you watch, Miss Rook. We’ll be back out and on the trail in minutes. I’m very good with people.”

Many hours later, I was roused from near sleep by the loud rattle of my cell door opening. Jackaby was restlessly waiting by his own door, his persistent but fruitless efforts to negotiate our release having apparently abated some time earlier. A glance showed me that my release had come at the hands of Junior Detective Cane. He gave me a reassuring smile, and opened Jackaby’s cell while I shook myself fully awake and rose. Charlie’s posture was alert and professional, as usual, but I doubted very much if he had slept at all in the last two days. His hair was mussed, dark stubble was coming in thick across his jaw, and his eyes still looked bloodshot.

“So,” I said, “we’re free now?”

“We’re being released on our own recognizance, Miss Rook,” Jackaby announced, dusting off his sleeves and stretching.

Charlie nodded. “Marlowe’s still not happy with you about hiding evidence, but he agreed that being in police custody during the murder is a fairly convincing alibi.” His voice was hoarse and a little gravelly, and even his accent was slipping slightly, more Slavic syllables inserting themselves in his words.

“So there has been another murder?”