The Journey: Illustrated Edition (An Anna Kronberg Thriller) Read Free Page B

taken his own life.’
    I swallowed. ‘I was talking to my father’s murderer. He had poisoned him and let it appear like suicide. I asked him how he was planning to kill me. He answered he’d kill me slowly, but not immediately. James had forbidden his men to harm me, he said. I would be allowed to give birth to his child and three years later, they would come and find me. Or us .’
    ‘Intriguing,’ he mumbled, his gaze directed back at the tree tops.
    ‘The moment the man left, he ran into Mycroft. They fought, and Mycroft shot him. But there is more. He also said that James had set this trap: the plan was to separate you and me, and with that weaken us. What he did not include in his calculations, though, was that neither of us was alone. You had Watson, and I had your brother.’
    Holmes merely nodded. ‘What poison had been used to kill your father?’
    I didn’t answer.
    ‘You didn’t examine him?’ A sharp shot with both tongue and gaze.
    I grew cold and let the drop of temperature reflect in my voice. ‘I went to see my father. I touched his skin, examined his eyes, sniffed his face, licked his lips even, but nothing indicated what poison had been used. Then I lay down next to him to bemoan his death and to share a little of my warmth with him. It did not matter that he had begun to smell, that he was stiff and cold as the stone floor he lay upon. It did not matter what poison had been used. All that mattered was that my father had been killed and his murderer was dead. No matter how well I examined and studied my father’s corpse, he would not come back.’
    Holmes cleared his throat. ‘I merely wished to know whether an identical mixture had been used to murder your father as the one you used to poison Moriarty. That would have indicated a much more complex scheme than I was able to divine.’
    ‘Belladonna can be excluded; his pupils weren’t dilated. An overdose of arsenic would have caused a blackening of his fingertips or discolourations in the mouth, eyes, or hands. I found none of these symptoms.’
    ‘Thank you,’ he said, lowering his chin and folding his hands, index fingers tapping each other. ‘We can conclude Moriarty suspected you might poison him one fine day—’
    ‘He said that he had always suspected the wine,’ I interrupted.
    ‘But apparently he did not know what poison you would use. He had not discovered the flask. Let us go back to what your father’s murderer said. That Moriarty forbade his men to harm you is quite revealing, don’t you think?’
    Knowing James, the games he had played, the layers of lies concealing one another, I wasn’t certain his actions revealed anything. I picked another piece of meat and ate while thinking of various strands of possibilities.
    ‘When James saw his blackened fingertips,’ I began, ‘he must have known what poison I had used and that the arsenic would kill him soon. He would have wanted his murderer to suffer and die. What might have made matters complex was that his murderer is also the mother of his unborn child. He had to make a compromise if he wanted it to live. That he would give me three years to raise it is odd, though. Why not have someone take it right after birth and kill me? All that’s needed is a wet nurse.’
    ‘Hum…’ said Holmes. ‘If I wished to abduct a small child, what would be the best time to do so? If I had to pay a band of ruffians, I’d make sure the child was old enough to survive a hasty and possibly long trip under harsh conditions.’
    ‘That would explain the three years,’ I answered.
    ‘And if the child is not what he wanted?’ he mused.
    ‘Why would…’ I trailed off, thoughts racing, picking up pieces and rearranging the picture. ‘Assuming he never cared about his unborn child, which would be quite plausible, the ultimatum only serves to torture me. He allows me to give birth, to love the child, and live in fear for three years, only to take it away and gift me the ultimate