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Fog lay like gray cobwebs over London. Towards evening, it had drifted up from the banks of the Thames in thick clouds and spread over the entire city.
The fog crept through the streets and finally reached even the smallest alley and the last corner of this huge city.
It was already past midnight when the bus stopped at the lonely Pelton Street stop. The double-decker looked like a large dark shadow. With a hiss of the brakes, it stopped.
A single passenger got off.
James McGordon was in his mid-thirties, wearing a sporty leather jacket combined with jeans. In his hand he held a travel bag. Lucky, he thought. Just caught the last bus...
He had been on a two-week vacation in the Caribbean. When he had stepped off the plane, the notorious English weather had been the expected shock for him. By now he was pretty much frozen through. The damp chill that prevailed beneath the fog went right through one's marrow.
Back home, he thought sarcastically. But his vacation had come to an end, even though he could have easily taken another two weeks under the sun and palm trees.
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