Shanahan must have opted for an impromptu vacation until the mess was sorted out. Either that or he didn’t want to be in the city while a dimensional portal was active.

Clay and I had experience conducting residential searches without the owner’s knowledge, enough to earn a rookie’s spot on a crime scene team. Trouble was, we were used to looking for evidence of a crime, usually homicide. Suspecting a mutt of man-killing wasn’t enough. We needed evidence. Not an unreasonable requirement, considering the death penalty was at stake.

We also had experience searching for clues to help us find a mutt-on-the-run, but we weren’t trying to find Shanahan. What we wanted from him we hoped to get right here: clues on how to close the portal.

Jeremy directed us to search books and files, the first on supernatural artifacts, portals or Jack the Ripper in general, and the second on Shanahan’s collection-assuming, as a careful investment banker, he’d keep detailed records.

Jeremy went in search of hidden books or ones hiding in plain view. Most reference texts on the supernatural don’t need to be hidden-anyone who stumbled on them would just think you had unusual reading tastes.

The file duties were split between old-fashioned and new-paper files and computer ones. I got the computer. While I knew how to recover files from the recycle bin or the “deleted” folder on my e-mail, when it comes to things like cracking encrypted data or finding files that have been wiped clean, I was lost. I read through Shanahan’s e-mail and hard drive files, finding nothing useful. Clay saved me from further digging by announcing that he’d found paper-based files on Shanahan’s collection.

“Where?” I asked, swinging around in the computer chair.

“Right here.” He pointed at the file cabinet. “Bottom drawer.”

“Out in the open? Are they written in code?”

“Don’t need to be. He found an easier way. They’re all listed as fakes-curiosities, not artifacts.” He lifted a folder and flipped it open. “One Baphomet idol, reportedly taken from an unnamed Templar castle in Britain. Later discovered to be a late eighteenth-century forgery.” He thumbed through a few pages. “It goes on to describe the significance of Baphomet in the persecution of the Knights Templar.” He handed me the file. “The usual stuff. How they were accused of worshipping Baphomet, presumably a Pagan deity of some kind. Problem was that no one’s ever found a Pagan deity called Baphomet.”

“So an idol of it would be significant.”

“And valuable, if only from a scholarly point of view.” He frowned and glanced at the doorway. “Where did you say he kept his collection?”

“Uh-uh. No side trips. We have work to do. You can’t get into that room in human form, so you’d have a heck of a timegetting a good look at it.” I paused. “Though I could see a few things from the doorway. Remind me to show you when we’re done.”

He nodded his thanks.

I waved the file folder. “So they’re all written up like that? Purported fakes?”

“All the ones I’ve skimmed. Good idea. Most of them, like the Baphomet idol, are historically significant and widely believed to either not exist or not to have the supernatural powers attributed to them. They’re written up as such-a collection of supernaturally-themed curiosities.”

“And the letter?”

He bent to the drawer again. “Still looking. Tried P for portal, L for letter, J for Jack. Nothing yet.”

“Here, hand me a bunch.”

He did. Jeremy joined us about twenty minutes later and took a share. His book search hadn’t revealed anything. Seems Shanahan wasn’t much of a reader. The only hidden stash Jeremy found was a half-empty bottle of rye whiskey, presumably belonging to the housekeeper.

An hour later, we’d gone through every page in every file, and found no mention of the From Hell letter or anything related to Jack the Ripper.

“He’s detailed everything,” Jeremy said. “It’s unlikely that the letter is the only undocumented artifact.”

“Don’t forget,” I said. “It was stolen.”

“So was his copy of John Dee’s Necronomicon,” Clay said. “According to the pages copied into the file, it went missing in 1934, from Oxford. Shanahan just says he inherited it from his grandfather’s collection.”

“So, chances are, there is a file for the letter. Either he took it or he destroyed it.” I looked around the office. “Does anyone see a shred-”

“Here,” Clay said, heaving to his feet and walking over to it. He took off the top. “Recently emptied.”

“Damn. What about the recycling box? He could have put the pieces in there.”

“Or burned them in the fireplace,” Jeremy said.

Clay nodded. “Or stuffed them in the garbage.”

“Everyone can check out the place they suggested,” I said.

“Excellent idea,” Jeremy said, and headed off to the fireplace as I grabbed the recycling box.

Clay looked over at me and at Jeremy’s quickly retreating back, then stalked out, grumbling.

Marked

IF SHANAHAN HAD SHREDDED THE FILE, HE’D TAKEN THE pieces with him. By the time we’d confirmed that, it was late enough to hunt down the second portal escapee.

When we left Shanahan’s house, I checked my voice mail and learned that Robert had called while we’d been inside. We called him back from the hands-free setup in the Explorer.