Russell looked at the phone Charlotte had just rudely slammed down, then at the gloom written all over her face, and for a moment didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
"I say," he leaned against the wall, smiling at her, "even if you really don't want me working for your brother, you don't have to be so blunt about it, do you?"
Since when did she get so territorial?
"Whether or not you go work for Mycroft has nothing to do with me." Charlotte turned her face away and walked toward the sofa.
"I just simply think Mycroft has so many things to deal with every day, he ought to get some rest earlier, that's all."
The girl's tone sounded flat and unruffled, but that back of hers, looking for all the world like a cat with its fur bristled, was genuinely hard to believe.
"Is that so?" Russell watched her act so contrary to her own words and couldn't help but laugh. "Then if Mycroft found out that the sister he'd never gotten along with since childhood secretly cared about him this much, he'd surely be moved to tears."
"Uh..."
Hearing Russell's words, Charlotte seemed to picture some deeply grotesque scene, and her expression turned downright ferocious.
"Don't bring that up again," she said.
With that, Charlotte sat down on the sofa.
"So, what did Mycroft say to you?"
"Well... he had no objections," Russell said after a moment's thought. "He thinks I handle things with good judgment."
At that, Charlotte shot Russell a glance, then withdrew her gaze.
"By the way," Russell thought of something else, "since we're going to the interview this weekend, why don't we just buy the clothes on the way back while we're at it?"
He spoke, then picked up the desk calendar beside him and flipped through it.
"Counting the days, it's about time anyway—it might even turn colder in a few more days."
"Whatever," Charlotte said indifferently.
Might as well settle everything in one go, so we don't have to make another trip out later.
"Then it's settled." Russell circled Saturday's date on the calendar, more or less nailing the matter down.
"Saturday morning we go for the interview, and in the afternoon we buy clothes—perfect."
"I have no objections." Charlotte leaned back in the armchair and picked up a fresh file.
"But on one condition—you have to help me finish sorting through these damned files first."
"More sorting?" Russell pulled over a chair and casually picked up a file, flipping through it in his hand.
"Three hundred thousand possibilities—no matter how you look at it, it doesn't seem like something you could sort out in any short amount of time.
Rather than mulling over this, I feel it'd be better to put our focus on Pilsen and Emily Collins.
For instance, thinking about where those two might be right now—that's got to beat sitting here puzzling over a password with three hundred thousand possibilities."
Hearing this, Charlotte let out a "tsk," seemingly displeased with his leisurely attitude.
She snapped the Lloyds Bank customer file shut with a loud clap, then tossed it on top of that pair of documents.
Then Charlotte drew out a file on Pilsen and waved it in front of Russell.
"Since you're so curious about that fellow, then we'll do it your way, cat boy."
"No... where on earth did that nickname come from?"
Charlotte ignored him and rose straight up from the sofa, walking over to that enormous evidence board, taking down the somewhat aged map of London, and spreading it flat across the soft carpet.
The flames in the fireplace danced, casting a warm orange glow over the map's yellowed paper and lighting up the girl's focused, alluring profile.
"Come here." Charlotte patted the spot beside her without looking up.
Russell shrugged, set down what was in his hands, then got up and came to Charlotte's side, half-kneeling on the carpet in imitation of her.
The two were very close—close enough for Russell to take in her profile in full, close enough to smell the scent drifting from the ends of her hair, a mix of shampoo and chemical reagents.
"Hand me the red pins." Charlotte reached out, her fingertip tracing across that jagged, interlocking region on the map.
"Southwark District is too big, and too chaotic. Lestrade's manpower is limited—there's no way they can do a carpet search.
So, we have to narrow the range down first."
Russell brought over the small wooden box on the reception table that held pins of various colors, and pinched one out of it.
"How do we narrow it down?"
"Information filtering."
Charlotte took the pin from his hand and pressed it precisely onto the word [Bermondsey].
"Pilsen is a pauper now, and even if Emily Collins has some savings, they won't hold up to two people squandering them.
So the first thing we can rule out is that they couldn't possibly be living in one of those apartments that demand exorbitant rent."
As she spoke, she took several more pins from Russell's hand and marked them one by one across the map's chaotic, cheap districts.
"Secondly, he also has a severe smoking addiction—that's his weakness, and also our breakthrough point.
Where there are more people, there are naturally more tobacco peddlers, and so the chance of Emily Collins being spotted rises accordingly."
After finishing marking the map, Charlotte picked up one black rubber band after another and connected these pin-marked areas, forming an irregular polygon.
"So, all we need to do is focus on the cheap inns and underground bars in these few areas, as well as the street peddlers hawking Woodbine cigarettes."
"The workload still sounds pretty heavy," Russell said, gazing at that circled region on the map and letting out a heartfelt sigh.
"At least it's simpler than having you crack three hundred thousand password combinations."
Charlotte gave him a sidelong glance, then picked up a personal file on Pilsen and began reading through it carefully.
Russell picked one up too, staring at the words on it out of sheer boredom.
Pilsen's history was complicated. He'd served in the military, fought in wars, and after being discharged he'd knocked around in the underworld, doing nearly everything, and getting hauled in by Scotland Yard for a chat more than a few times.
But because the things he did were never too outrageous, each time he'd only be locked up for a month or two before being released.
In fact, during his hardest times, he'd even used this trick to get through the winter, avoiding the fate of freezing to death.
And so, inch by inch, wriggling along, Pilsen eventually made a bit of a name for himself in Southwark District, earning the respect of most people.
You could call him a legendary survivor king of sorts.
Russell yawned and put the file in his hand back where it belonged.
"I'm tired, I'll go rest first," he said, then stood up and walked toward the door.
"Mm." Charlotte nodded, watching Russell leave the room.
Only then did she stick the map back onto the evidence board.
Having done all this, Charlotte stretched, then wandered over to the reception table and picked up the bag of coffee beans.
The girl idly ground the beans, but in her mind she couldn't help recalling the questions Russell had asked during the mock interview.
The criteria for selection... the thing chosen...
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