Page 22 of Nothing Hiding

“Stop! Police!” she shouted. And then she was off, powering across the exhibition hall, hurrying toward the exit where he’d just disappeared. She wished Wyatt was with her, but he’d gone to investigate the night manager. She had to do this alone and as fast as she could.

Even though he must have known the police were giving chase, Griggs wasn't slowing down. He was running faster. He darted out of the exhibition hall, and he veered to the left, heading into the main street.

Gritting her teeth as she chased him, Juliette realized he'd picked a good getaway route. This was one of the main shopping streets, and on a fine Saturday, just before lunch, it was jam packed with tourists.

She fixed the shape of him, those long, lean legs, the shape of his hair, and the color of his clothing—dark pants, and a white and blue shirt that seemed to be standard for the exhibition staff. If he was lost in the throng, she'd need to find him again and as fast as she could.

But it was going to be a frustrating, risky, stop-start process in these streets, seething with tourists who were strolling along, admiring the window displays, the tailored suits, and pastel summer dresses from the top fashion brands, storefronts that were draped in big-name branding for maximum impact on one of the world's busiest shopping streets.

He was heading toward Harrods, she saw. Was he going to try to take cover in the store and then lose her?

Yes. As he veered toward the entrance, Juliette realized that was exactly what he was going to do, and she knew it was a masterful tactic. Harrods, inside, was like a maze. Every one of the famous store’s seven floors contained numerous rooms and halls, and there were elevators as well as connecting staircases between them.

He'd already dodged inside, hurrying through the entrance, and by the time she reached it and burst through herself, he was nowhere to be seen.

He could be aiming to double back and run out again. That was her first thought, and with it in mind, she stopped, calling out to the guard at the door, showing her badge. "Police business! Don't let anyone leave the building! I’m chasing down a suspect."

"Yes, ma'am," the guard said.

She'd bought some time, but she didn't know how much. There were other ways out of Harrods—staff entrances and delivery doors—and as an exhibition access manager, he might know them and be heading that way.

She ran inside, through the perfume hall, breathing in the combined sweet, floral, and musky aromas of a multitude of expensive scents.

Relying on her experience in chasing down suspects to guide her, trying to second guess which way he’d turned, she ran past the clothing sections, ignoring the mannequins in the windows, the jewelry displays, and the bags and accessories. Her eyes were scanning the crowd, searching for Markus, his tall frame and distinctive clothing.

"Do you mind, lady?" a shopper shouted, her voice angry and combative as Juliette pushed past. With her designer jacket and immaculate, glossy hair, she was clearly the Harrods target customer.

"Sorry! Police!" Juliette said, continuing on at a run, her eyes peeled for him as she searched the halls.

Where would he have gone? He wasn't on this floor. She couldn't see him here at all.

So, perhaps ...

An idea occurred to her, something he might have done if he was smart and desperate and hoping to outwit the police.

She ran up the stairs, heading for the menswear floor. Her feet pounded on the staircase. She had to pause, breathing hard, frustration flooding her as she waited for a family to help their two young children, complaining loudly, up the last few stairs.

Couldn't you have taken the elevator?Juliette wondered to herself, feeling a sense of desperation that time was slipping away, and he’d somehow get out and be gone.

Then they were clear, and she was able to race up another flight, bursting out into the men's section.

The section had airy, bright rooms that were decorated with expensive and exclusive shirts, suits, ties, and casual wear. There were a disturbing number of mannequins here, sporting the designer gear in their carefully choreographed poses. It made her uneasy to see them. She didn't know if she'd ever look at a mannequin the same way again after seeing that hideous semblance of life earlier, that waxy sheen coated over the dead woman’s face.

Shaking her head to clear the gruesome memory, Juliette pushed on, scanning the faces of the shoppers in the room. She moved at a slower pace now, knowing that she needed to be more careful in this area.Because she was looking for something specific.

And then she thought she saw him. A tall, long-limbed man striding from the hall she was in, through to the next one.

"Hey! Police!" Juliette shouted, her heart speeding up as she rushed across the floor, pushing her way past a display of floral suit jackets and into a room devoted to shoes.

The man spun around, looking startled.

It wasn't him, and she felt her heart thud with disappointment. He'd been so similar looking, but now that he was facing her, she saw that he wasn't the same person. This was confirmed by his strong Italian accent as he asked her, "You are speaking to me?"

"No, no. Not you. Sorry," Juliette apologized breathlessly. She continued on, rushing through the halls, searching around, looking carefully behind each display, each clothing rack. And then, just as she was about to give up on her idea and acknowledge defeat, she saw him.

He was coming out of a changing room, and he'd done exactly what she'd suspected he might do. The blue and white striped shirt that offered such a distinctive lead to him was gone, and he was wearing a high necked, dark knit sweater that he must have grabbed off the shelf to cover up. But otherwise, he was the same. She was glad she’d imprinted that gangly frame and the spiky look of his dark hair into her mind.

"Griggs!" she shouted, and for one, horrified instant, he looked around, and she saw his features, the guilt in his eyes.

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