Astrid got no sleep on the journey, instead watching some terrible film about a symbiotic alien and two old episodes of Father Ted. At least they left her in a good mood when she stepped off the plane. San Antonio was an hour behind New York, so it was eleven o’clock Monday morning when she passed through the gates. There’d been no new messages from George, and there was no point texting him since it would be five o’clock in the afternoon in London and he’d be leading an Agency meeting. Once she passed through security, she headed out and climbed into a cab for the ride to Eureka Falls.
The drive was short and the hotel cheap, enough for her to pay for three days with the cash she had on her. The kid on the desk only ogled her twice as she paid, and then took the stairs to her room. The corridors smelt of last week’s food, and the carpet tried to stick to her shoes. The place was compact with a view of a giant office block straight from the grey 1970s. She threw her bag to the floor and her body onto the bed. Her phone lay next to her and she waited for it to ping with a message. She was considering leaving and taking a walk through town when a noise in the corridor made her sit up.
The thump on the door was as heavy as the footsteps that had approached her room. In between the banging was wheezy breathing which, to her keen ears, indicated a heart attack soon if the owner wasn’t too careful. She was letting them knock one more time when the words police, open up put her on alert. She peered through the spyhole and glimpsed two sullen figures behind the badges they held. They could have been fake, she’d used plenty of her own over the years, but she didn’t care. Even though she’d checked into the hotel in her real name, nobody knew she was staying there, so this might be something to keep her overactive brain occupied.
She let them in and gave them her best smile. He was tall, rake thin with a handlebar moustache transported from the 1980s. Her face was so tight, Astrid could have opened a bottle using her skin. She was younger than him, maybe by ten years.
‘How can I help you, Officers?’
It was the woman with blonde flecks peppering her dark hair who replied. ‘Are you Astrid Snow?’
She didn’t see any point in lying. ‘I am.’
‘Ms Snow, I’m Detective Hudson, and this is Detective Hicks.’ Astrid watched them inspect the surroundings, examining the shabby furniture and frayed carpet. Their eyes narrowed as they looked at each other, and she guessed they were making a quick judgment about her based on the room. She scrutinised them, noticing the confident way he held himself and the tiny tic at the corner of Hudson’s mouth. The woman spoke again.
‘Do you know a man called Adam Church?’
Astrid racked her brain, but that name didn’t ring a bell. ‘Never heard of him. Has he left me some money in a will?’
Her attempt at humour fell on deaf ears. ‘We have him at the station downtown, and he’s asking for you.’
A man she’d never met had given them her name and knew she was in Eureka Falls.
‘How did you find me here?’
Hicks stuck a toothpick between his teeth as he replied. ‘We checked arrivals at San Antonio airport, and then rang all the hotels in town.’
‘All the hotels?’ Their diligence in locating her was disturbing.
He laughed as he wedged a foreign object out of his mouth. ‘There are only two in Eureka Falls, and we got lucky calling here first.’
‘So you want me to come with you?’
They both nodded. ‘I’m sure it won’t take long,’ Hudson said.
Astrid followed them from the room, down the stairs and out of the hotel. It was only when she was in the back of the car she thought to enquire some more about this Adam Church.
‘What’s he done to be locked up?’
Hicks turned to her. ‘Two children were found murdered in his basement.’
It was a twenty-minute drive to the Eureka Falls police department, and she got no further information from them. They were reluctant to volunteer any details, and she wasn’t going to ask. The only thing to catch her interest on the short journey was glancing out of the window to notice something called the Soccer Factory.
A little bit of England. If I get the chance, I might pop in to see if they have the latest Aston Villa home kit.
Astrid thought about her last trip to Birmingham as she spoke. ‘Does Church have a lawyer?’
Hudson shook her head. ‘Not yet. He made a phone call, and then asked for you.’
They got out of the car and guided her into the station, a small building with more empty parking spaces than vehicles. They strode through reception with its bulletproof window as Detective Hudson entered a code to get them inside. They led her past dispatch and staff hammering away on keyboards while glued to computer screens. They moved down a narrow corridor and turned right. Hudson opened a door and ushered her in. A table and four chairs were in the middle of the room while a uniformed policewoman stood next to the wall. Hicks left them as Hudson sat down and indicated for Astrid to take the seat near her.
Hudson pushed a stray hair from her eye. ‘Where are you from in England, Ms Snow?’
‘London.’ She wasn’t interested in small talk.
The detective crossed her legs and placed one hand on the table. ‘We assumed you were Adam Church’s family lawyer.’ Confusion crept into her face. ‘Once the captain ordered us to collect you and bring you here, it seemed obvious to us.’
‘Who is he accused of killing?’ Astrid didn’t see the point in correcting the detective for her misunderstanding.
‘Detective Hicks will explain more, but two young sisters, Kay and Martha Glick, were found in Adam Church’s basement twenty-four hours ago. Church claims he discovered them, and then called the police, but denies any knowledge of the crime. I was the first detective on the scene.’ She paused as the colour drained from her face, and Astrid guessed Hudson still saw the bodies every time she closed her eyes.
Hudson took a deep breath and started again. ‘The house was locked with no evidence of forced entry. His DNA - skin and hair - was on the girls, but there was no sign of sexual assault.’
Astrid was processing that information as Hudson’s partner returned with the suspect. Adam Church stumbled into the room with his face glued to the floor, his shoulders moving like potatoes in a sack with each step he took. When he twisted his head up, he mumbled something under his breath as he stared at her. His face told a story of no sleep, with the bags under his eyes reaching down to the bottom of his nose. There was no life in his cheeks, only a scattering of lines which should have been on someone twice his age. Hicks pushed him into the chair opposite her.
Astrid turned to Hudson. ‘Aren’t you going to give us any privacy?’
The cop scrunched her mouth into a humorous shape. ‘Are you his lawyer?’
‘You know I’m not.’
‘Then we’re staying here.’ Hudson nodded at the uniformed officer, and she left the room.
Astrid peered at the man she’d never met before, but who knew her name and where she was staying. She’d sat at numerous tables like this, stared across at hundreds of people accused of crimes they claimed to have no knowledge of. For most of them, she never spoke first, always waiting for them to damn themselves with their words or their impatience. She had endless patience, but this wasn’t one of those times. Adam Church had a face lacking sleep and eyes which couldn’t keep still.
‘How do you know me?’
Hicks stood at the side of the room, his gaze fixed on the suspect. Church stopped his erratic finger-tapping and brought his shaking hands up to his chin.
‘My uncle told me where you were and to get in touch with you. He said you were the only person who could help me.’
Astrid narrowed her eyes. ‘Who is your uncle?’
Church puffed out a long breath of air while running fingers down his nose and across his mouth. ‘George Cross.’
Adam put his face into his hands and lowered his head to the table. She’d expected cuffs on him, but there weren’t any. While he lay there and sobbed, she removed her phone and checked for new messages, finding none.
What’s George got me into this time?