The poppyblood killer

Chapter 5

- Strange company yer keepin' these days, the informant says. The man Moriarty brought us to meet casts a dubious glance at Sherlock and John before turning his gaze to me.

- Though yer lady friend is quite the looker. Wouldn't mind if she stayed behind. Hah, the informant says. Blood rushes to my cheeks. John starts to stand up, but Moriarty cuts in before we can do anything. His voice is cold.

- I paid you for information, not to make inappropriate advances toward my companion. Make another crack like that and you'll find you no longer have a tongue to speak with, Moriarty says. The casual threat makes me gulp. His informant raises his hands in surrender.

- Whoa. Easy, easy, the informant says.

- Enough chatter. Did you see the girl or not. If you're wasting my time with lies, Moriarty says.

- Don't worry, you'll get yer money's worth, the informant says. My heart leaps. Using his connections in the criminal underworld, Moriarty has tracked down anyone who might have information about Clare's disappearance.

- I saw the girl with my own eyes an' the fella who was watching her too, the informant says.

- Give us a description, Sherlock says.

- The man had his face covered, an' he was wearin' a cloak. Real suspicious type, the informant says. I furrow my brow, thinking about what to ask next.

- Wouldn't that attract more attention, I ask.

- Surely he wouldn't want to stand out, I say in my head.

- Maybe. I'm just repeatin' what I saw, the informant says.

- Did she see him, Moriarty asks.

- Don't think so. He watches her for a while, though. Lurkin' across the street from that bookstore, the informant says.

- And if you had to guess as to this mysterious man's identity, Moriarty says.

- You askin' question you already know the answer to. He looked like the way they describe the Poppyblood Killer, the informant says. My blood runs cold.

- I knew it was from the moment I saw the flower, but part of me was hoping I was wrong, I say in my head.

- Interesting, Moriarty says.

- So what, did the girl end up dead or somethin', the informant asks.

- Not dead. Taken, Moriarty says.

- Yer puttin' me on. The Poppyblood Killer kidnapped someone. Thought all he did was butcher his victims, the informant says. The man's wording makes me gulp.

- Apparently, he has a different goal in this case, John says.

- Given your familiarity with the rumors surrounding the Poppyblood Killer, Sherlock says.

- I only know gossip and hearsay, the informant says. Their voices begin to fade into the background.

- So, Clare was abducted by a serial killer. And no one understands why he kidnapped her instead of killing her. But what if. What if he did. Could it be that he's already snuffed out her life, I ask in my head. My breath catches in my throat. I jump up from my seat.

- I need a moment, I say.

I hasten away from the table to a secluded corner of the pub. All I envision now is the grim discovery of her remains, and the elusive killer slipping through our grasp. Tears threaten to spill from my eyes.

- No, no, no, I say in my head. Footsteps, soft but purposeful, draw near, and I look up. Sherlock stands in front of me, his expression solemn.

- Kira. You must be aware that the Poppyblood Killer's actions deviate from his modus operandi, Sherlock says.