Jack Reilly woke up and looked at his watch. They’d be landing in London in a couple of hours. Inside the passenger section of the plane, most of the lights were turned out. Around him people’s heads were lolling in various positions as they dozed.
I wonder how Regan is, he thought. If it’s not too late in New York when we land, I’ll give her a call. For some reason, he didn’t feel good about her staying in that apartment in the Settlers’ Club. And I made light of it to her, he thought.
Sighing, he reached under the seat for his briefcase. He pulled out the materials about the case he’d be working on with Scotland Yard. A suspected murderer had been apprehended in London. The British inspectors had him in custody and had searched his flat. Inside they’d found subway maps and pictures of New York, along with various phone numbers. Jack’s buddy was the detective superintendent at Scotland Yard.
“We need you to come over and take a look at this stuff. See if it means anything to you,” Ian Welch had said on the phone.
Jack was glad to help Welch, but he wished the timing had been better. Oh well, he thought. I’ll be back on Sunday.
But as much as he tried, he couldn’t stop the nagging feeling that Regan shouldn’t be staying in that apartment alone.