His weary face cracked a wry smile. "You're too generous," he muttered quietly in response to her assessment of Whitby's sorry standards of journalism. He took the newspaper gratefully and quickly read the story he had been eager to read. Sixteen counts. Poor souls. What a grisly world they lived in. Such heart wrenching, senseless deaths. Then another gut punch. Poor Pippa. No wonder she was so afraid the killer would track her down. No wonder he'd managed to take on such a powerful form in her anxious mind. He pushed the paper back in her direction, much as one would push away a plate of food that one was sick of. He was disgusted.

It was lucky then, that Miss Zimmermann chose that moment to remind him that there was good in the world. He did not doubt her sincerity then, and hardly doubted that she would stand by Pippa if she knew the full story. If she would, how very very lucky her timing. What a godsent to Pippa. And what a relief to him.

But he would have to wait to find out. "It would not be right for me to share any particulars about Miss Danes's medical state without consulting her first, I'm afraid." The half written letter in his desk to his colleague was apparently exempt from this principle. "I will speak to her tomorrow morning, when she's hopefully had a good night's sleep. She will need care, one way or another. I would have gladly done more for her if I could, but..." he shook his head. "What a time for kind friends to find her."