Fitzrovia Twilight (Nick Valentine Book 1) by James White

into the dark swirling murk until he had to blink to ease the watery burning in his eyes. Nothing. He slowly turned to look back at the street; it lay as quiet as if under a blanket of snow. Nick waited. He suddenly craved a cigarette, but resisted. If there was anyone out there, he didn’t want to be lighting up. He huddled against the railing for a measured fifteen-minute stretch that felt longer. Much longer. He could feel the wet had penetrated his coat and his trousers were sticky against his legs; as he stood, his leg muscles protested with jolts of fire through the fibres. He’d seen and heard nothing.
                  Stretching to reduce the cramping, Nick hobbled back towards the corner of the building and fished in his trouser pocket for the skeleton picks he kept there. He cursed silently as his numb fingers at first ineffectually scrabbled at the cold metal then he found his grip and slowly inserted them into the front door lock. It sprung open without a sound. Nick had already notice the line of doorbells on the right of the door showing the house had been converted to flats. Clicking the door shut behind him, he peered around the small dark lobby. A piece of threadbare carpet that had seen better days lined the floor, some stairs led up to the higher level flats. There was no post lying around and the place at least looked clean.
                  Nick pinged the flat’s front door open and stealthily moved inside. He entered a small entrance room with a table and two chairs, and not a lot else. Moving cautiously through the dark flat, it became apparent that as he’d suspected, someone else had already been there. The cupboards in the kitchen hung open, pots, pans and plates scattered over the floor. Nick’s shoes crunched on the broken crockery as he padded from the kitchen and bathroom into the single, large, main room.
                  The room was dominated by a huge double bed. Nick felt slightly queasy as he imagined the Brigadier and Ramona lying in it. A large, dark wood wardrobe hung open, the few clothes from within scattered on the floor alongside other garments scattered from the battered chest of drawers. There was a large bureau with a wireless set and gramophone on top. Nick could see that the drawers had been forced. If anything had been in there, it was gone now. The only other item in the room was a small wooden bar, now lying sadly on its side in a pool of abandoned liquor. Nick shook his head and nudged his foot through the mess. Smiling he bent over to retrieve an unbroken bottle of Scotch. Uncorking it, he took a long slug. Closing his eyes for a minute, he delighted in the warmth spreading through him. He took another hefty swig and looked around the room again. The furniture was mid-range tasteful and he guessed perfect for an evening’s tryst rather than a place for a couple to live full-time.
                  The carpet looked new. It was certainly thick and expensive. There had been some tasteful watercolours on the wall but they too lay smashed on the floor. A silk gown hung on the back of the door. Nick looked at the expensive silk undergarments lying around the floor. No wonder Ramona had needed money, unless the brigadier had provided it all. Having met him, Nick didn’t think that was likely. He idly wondered if Ramona had entertained anyone else in the flat, but pushed the thought away distastefully.
                  Nick sat on the edge of the bed and scanned the room again, his mind working. The mattress had been flipped; the carpet was awry at the edges. Whoever had searched the place had done a good job. But how good? He took a good slug of the whisky and was tempted for a moment to flop back on the mattress and embrace the warmth flowing through him, then his eye was drawn back the bureau. Nick leapt up and crossed to the wireless set. The back had been pulled off. He turned to the gramophone set. Someone had