Page 16 of The Case of the Missing Dancer
"No Anna Volkov or Anya Petrova listed. If she tried to sail early, she never made it aboard."
My heart sank. If Anya hadn't managed to escape on the early ship, she was still somewhere in London—either hidden or . . . “
“He must have taken her Tuesday night after she left the theatre.”
“Or she went into hiding when she realized he was one step ahead of her."
Robert shook his head. "If she were hiding, she would have tried to contact someone—her landlady, the booking agent, even the theatre. The fact that no one has heard from her suggests she didn't have the opportunity."
As we made our way back to the theatre district, I couldn't stop thinking about the implications. "Robert," I said as our police vehicle approached the King’s Theatre, "Cooper might have discovered Anya’s hidden evidence. If he did, he would have shared it with Volkov.”
“And that makes him either very dangerous or very desperate. Possibly both."
The King’s Theatre stood as I remembered it, grand and imposing, but now it felt different—more sinister, knowing that betrayal lurked behind its elegant facade.
"We need to be careful how we approach this," Robert said as we climbed the front steps. "If Cooper is our informant, we don't want to spook him into running.”
"Or into doing something desperate."
Inside, the theatre hummed with its usual pre-performance energy. Stagehands moved scenery, costumers hurried past with armloads of fabric, and the distant sound of piano music drifted from the rehearsal rooms.
"Miss Worthington!" Monsieur LeClair appeared from the wings, looking haggard and worried. "Any news about dear Anya?"
"We're making progress," I said carefully. "Is Mr. Cooper available? We have some additional questions."
LeClair's brow furrowed. "He was here this morning, but he left quite suddenly. Said there was a family emergency."
Robert and I exchanged glances. "What time exactly?" Robert asked.
“After two I would say. He seemed very agitated, kept checking his watch." LeClair paused. "Now that I think about it, he'd been behaving strangely all week. Making telephone calls in private, arriving early, and staying late."
"Did he say anything about when he'd return?"
"No, just that he had to attend to urgent family business. But . . .” LeClair hesitated. “Early this afternoon, I caught him in Anya's dressing room. He claimed he was checking to see if she'd left any clues about where she might have gone, but he seemed to be searching for something specific."
My pulse quickened. "Did you see what?"
"He was examining the walls, running his hands along the wainscoting. Almost as if he was looking for . . .” LeClair's eyes widened. "As if he was looking for a hiding place."
The hidden compartment. Cooper knew about it, either from his own discovery or from information provided by Volkov. And if he'd been searching for it . . .
"Monsieur LeClair," I said urgently, "we need to see Anya's dressing room immediately."
As we hurried through the backstage corridors, Robert whispered, "If Cooper found the compartment, he may have discovered there were duplicates of the evidence."
"Which means Volkov now knows we have copies of everything."
"And that makes everyone involved in this investigation a target."
We reached Anya's dressing room to find the door slightly ajar. Inside, the space that had been pristine during my first visit was now in subtle disarray. The wainscoting behind the mirror had been pried open, the hidden compartment exposed and empty.
But it was the note pinned to the mirror that made my blood run cold:
Miss Worthington—You have something that belongs to my family. If you wish to see my niece alive again, bring the envelope to the Russian Orthodox Church on Ennismore Gardens tonight at midnight. Come alone, or she dies. —D.V.
Robert studied the note grimly. "He's using her as bait."
"Which means she's still alive."
