Chapter NineTwo days later, Varis had the day off and joined Ruth in her search for Nigel Winchester. They stood in front of a small cottage outside London where, if the nearly twenty-five-year-old files could be trusted, Nigel resided. If not, the hour-long tube ride to Southgate and subsequent trek had been a waste of time. Thanks to the lack of street signs, they made three wrong turns before finding Church Hill Road. Ruth wondered if the street was named for England's revered prime minister.
Ruth sniffed the air. The acrid smell of burning coal that constantly assailed her in the city was not quite as strong. What she smelled was earthy, more organic. Perhaps it was peat. She scrutinized the building that abutted the sidewalk, its front stoop spilling into the walkway. Vacant, rust-fi
