I drove straight back home, where I could get out of my wet costume and take myself off to my nice warm bed while Scruff and Emily amused themselves. I had a lot to think about. Who was behind these attacks? Why had they REALLY done them? I couldn't get out of my mind a nasty little suspicion that I was missing something. I took a very long, very warm bath and actually managed to get the stagnant dock smell out of my hair. Wonderful! Cats don't like water, and my cat costume indicates the truth about me on that point as well!
While Emily went out to do whatever she does at night, Scruff and I turned in. I didn't sleep well. I kept dreaming about being thrown off the boat, and the cloaked figure appeared before me time after time. Each time it took off its mask revealing a different face.
I was so glad when morning came and I could go and make myself a huge mug of coffee and sit down to watch the morning news. Starting with the latest from Iraq, as usual. But I suppose they have to report something, and so long as it isn't Ken Livingstone calling for my capture that comes on first, I'm great with it.
It came on second, much to my disgust. My boots were displayed by a police officer (and they're such nice boots too), while an appeal was made for information. Ken Livingstone declared that I was probably in with the masked men - never mind that they'd tried very hard to drown me!
"Once again the mysterious Girl in Grey has demonstrated that she's a criminal, not the crime-fighter she wants people to think she is," Livingstone said. "It seems she was leading an attempt to murder the film-maker..."
I turned the TV off again and sighed.
"Sis?"
"Livingstone saying silly things again. Jumping to all the wrong conclusions. We have to crack this thing soon, otherwise London would get very hot for this little kitty-cat - and I don't mean maybe.
"Good morning," Emily left her room. I've never asked her what she wears - when she's black and smoky like she is it isn't easy to tell - but she looked good. Well, her eyes were nice and bright.
"Emily! Where were you last night?"
"Out. Tracking the man I shot. He managed to get onto a balcony in the hotel, then he took off his cloak and went downstairs where he was picked up by a yellow Ford Focus. I got the plate from the hotel security camera and Scruff hacked into the Police National Computer so we got the owner.
"Who is it?"
"James Holding. He works as a security guard at Galliard Studios. Only he won't be in work today. Someone shot him with a crossbow-bolt."
We had progress!
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