"I jumped eagerly down into the trapdoor, not thinking about the distance to the hard floor or any murky things below..."
Agnetha King is back, and summoned to Moscow by a worried Caroline. As she investigates a murder and more, she finds herself amongst the web of troubles that are harder to untangle than that of Mr. Craig's life!
Petre was walking home along the crisp snow that banked along the sides of the road. He whistled a little, quietly, as he had just finished his night shift and he was not willing to wake any of the inhabitants up at this godforsaken hour. He watched as the street-lamps began their morning flicker off, even though it was still quite dark, and something crept into Petre's mind. He'd always known himself to be safe, but there was something today, some electricity in the air that he didn't trust. Being a policeman was fine, when he didn't have to be involved in the tougher side of the business, and tonight was one of those nights where he wondered how safe he was in his job.
Suddenly, a scream split the air. Petre looked to the source of the sound: the other side of the road, where a young girl was struggling with another figure shrouded in the darkness. He was certainly not her father. Another street-lamp chose this time to go out, covering the alleyway in a thicker coat.
Petre stepped forward into the darkness; he knew this place well, it was a one-way street leading to a brick wall.
But where had they gone? The girl and her captor had vanished right in between two houses, and three brick walls.
Then, the last thing Petre knew was a blinding pain in the middle of his back as the soft snow around him was splattered with his crimson blood.