‘Metyard’s on the move.’ Eliza sounded nervous. ‘We’ve heard reports of windows being broken, streetlamps going out, tables being overturned at the market—’

‘Hector’s involved. Turns out everyone wants a piece of her.’

She cursed under her breath. ‘Where are you now?’

‘Passing Alley.’

‘Ha. You know it used to be called Pissing Alley, right?’

‘Yeah, thanks. Listen – Dreamer wants to know where the sewer was – where Anne Naylor’s body was disposed of.’

‘I was just about to call you about that, funnily enough. Thought it might be a significant place. But you’re going to need to make a choice here.’ The line crackled. ‘According to the sources we have, the gully-hole where Metyard dumped Anne was in “Chick Lane” – but there’s no longer a street by that name in London.’

Nick exchanged a glance with me. ‘Does the street still exist under a different name?’

‘Yes, but here’s the catch: I’ve found two places that were once called Chick Lane.’

We had no time for error. If we turned the wrong way, I would blow my opportunity to impress Jaxon, and I doubted he was a second-chance man.

‘One is very close to you – Charterhouse Street. If it is there, it would explain why Anne haunts Farringdon tube station, which is nearby. She has no other historical connection to Farringdon that I can see.’

‘And the other?’ I said, leaning closer to the phone.

‘West Street.’

Nick’s eyebrows shot up. ‘The same West Street that’s less than a minute from our den?’

‘The very same,’ Eliza said. ‘I’ll leave the choice to you. Do you want me to tell Binder that Hector is involved?’

Nick sighed. ‘He might as well know. Thanks for the help.’

He pushed his phone back into his inner pocket. I waited for his judgement.

This was one hell of a fork in the road. We wouldn’t have time to try both locations, not with Hector on our trail.

‘Hector will have researched Metyard’s life, too,’ Nick said. He sounded as tense as he looked. ‘I say Charterhouse Street. We’ve always wondered why Anne haunts Farringdon – that explains it.’

‘Anne didn’t go in the direction of Charterhouse Street,’ I said. ‘Anyway, the gully-hole couldn’t have been there – Metyard wouldn’t have carried the remains from Bruton Street all the way to this part of London to dump them.’ I held his gaze. ‘It’s West Street.’

Nick let his head fall back against the wall, closed his eyes, and released a long breath.

‘This is your day. It’s your chance,’ he finally said. ‘Let’s hope you’re right.’

Chapter 4 No Rest for the Damned

No Rest for the Damned