The conversation in the other room had gone down in volume.

“I don’t even know why he bothered,” he said, stretching again. “Boo was always going to win. Better get dressed.”

He got up and went out of the room, leaving me alone. The apartment, I noticed, looked very much like Boo’s part of the room—stuff everywhere. Maybe seeing ghosts made you give up on cleaning. I could see that certain parts of the room were reserved for certain activities. The coffee table was for eating—it was covered in tinfoil takeout dishes and mugs. The table by the window had a computer and lots of files, with boxes full of more files on the floor. The walls around the table were covered in notes. I had a look at them. They all seemed to relate to the Ripper—dates, locations. I recognized some of the names and photographs of suspects from 1888 from the constant news coverage. What was unusual, though, is that there were comments about these people—places of burial, locations of death, home addresses. It looked like Stephen and Callum and Boo had gone to these places and checked them out, adding notes like “uninhabited” or “no evidence of presence.”

I moved away from the wall of notes when I heard someone returning. Stephen and Boo came back in, followed by Callum, who was now wearing jeans.

“Perhaps we should do an hour or two of ghost-spotting,” Stephen said, not sounding very enthusiastic. Boo was beaming and doing some hamstring stretches.

“We should take her underground,” Callum said. “It’s easier there. It’ll take five minutes, tops.”

“Maybe in the train tunnels,” Boo said. “But not on the platforms.”

“I work there. I should know. I saw about fifty once.”

“You never!”

“I did. Not all in one place, but all around one station.”

“Around one station? So in the tunnels, then.”

“Some of them were in the tunnels. But I’m telling you. Fifty.”

“You’re such a liar,” Boo said with a laugh.

“There’s one hanging around Charing Cross,” Callum said. “I’ve seen her loads of times. Let’s just take her there and get this over with.”

“Fine,” Stephen cut in. “Charing Cross.”

My approval was not needed on the idea.