Amber stood in front of the Washington Police Department, wondering if she should even be there. She was a puzzles editor, not a reporter, and certainly not the kind of person who got involved in dangerous criminal cases.
The building was large and blocky, with police patrol cars parked out front and a small crowd of reporters waiting to see if there was any news coming out on the case. Amber could see Joseph there and he spotted her in almost the same moment.
“Amber? What are you doing here? Did Henry send you?”
Amber shook her head. It was hard to explain herself to Joseph like this. “I… I’m here to talk to the police. Well, to the FBI, really.”
“I don’t think they’ll let you in,” Joseph said. “They’re keeping reporters back.”
“They’re expecting me,” Amber said. It seemed so strange to say that, but it was only the truth.
She still had to push her way past the scrum of press there, none of them willing to let her through because they all just assumed that she was trying to get a better spot from which to get to the story.
Joseph was there, helping to clear a path for her, his greater size meaning that the camera operators who tried to step into Amber’s path had to move out of the way. It gave her a clear shot to the door, one Amber took while flashing Joseph a look of gratitude.
A police officer was there to intercept Amber as she reached it, holding up a hand with a stern look.
“You’ve all been told before, no reporters in the building.”
“I’m Amber Young. Agent Phelps is expecting me.”
That changed the officer’s expression a little. Now, he looked intrigued.
“The one who helped figure out where to look? He said you’d be coming. Follow me.”
The officer had gone from trying to keep her out to leading her through the station. He led the way up a flight of stairs, to a large, open-plan department filled with cops, most of whom looked pretty satisfied with themselves. Amber guessed that most of them were happy that they’d brought in a man they believed to be the killer.
She flinched slightly at that thought, because how were they going to react to the idea that they hadn’t arrested the right man?
The officer led the way over to an interrogation room, where a detective was currently interrogating an older man who was accompanied by a lawyer with the harassed look of a public defender. Agent Phelps was in there too. He looked taller in the flesh, with a presence that was hard to deny. The officer hit a button on an intercom.
“Amber Young is here to see you, Agent Phelps.”
The FBI agent hurried out of the room so fast Amber almost suspected that he’d been looking for an excuse to leave. He smiled as he saw Amber, offering his hand for her to shake.
“Ms. Young.”
“Please, call me Amber.”
“Amber, I’m Simon. You said on the phone that you had more information about the clue you unraveled for us yesterday? That there was another layer to it?”
He led the way over to a small office. It was just the two of them now, with the door carefully shut, as if Agent Phelps also understood that the cops outside wouldn’t like what Amber had to say.
“I don’t think that man in there is the killer,” Amber said.
Simon nodded. “The more I hear of the local cops trying to interrogate him, the more inclined I am to agree. But what makes you so sure? Boat maker’s rest seems pretty definitive.”
“It is, but not in the way you think,” Amber said. She knew she would have to explain that. “In cryptic crosswords, there are a bunch of standard phrases we use, so if we say that something is in a particular phrase, maybe there’s an anagram in a part of it, for example. But the person who sent the note didn’t say that the woman could be found in boat maker’s rest, but at it.”
“And that makes a difference?” Simon looked a little confused, as if the distinction didn’t seem important to him. To a non-puzzler, it probably wouldn’t be.
“It’s just not the normal way someone would phrase it, if they meant that she was in a boat maker’s yard,” Amber explained. “The ‘at’ makes it sound more like a set of coordinates, so I thought… have you heard of the What Three Words app?”
She saw Simon nod.
“The one that fixes geo-locations based on three meter squares?”
“And that identifies them with unique three word combinations,” Amber continued. “I tried entering boat makers rest with no apostrophe, and I got a location in Washington D.C.”
She could see the way that caught Simon’s interest.
“Where?”
“It’s quite hard to explain.”
“Could you guide me there?”
***
The building was an old house that Amber could see hadn’t been occupied in years. She and Simon were there alone, because the Washington PD were apparently still caught up in the idea that they might have caught the man they were looking for. Simon had driven over in a large black town car that looked as if it was as much a part of the FBI uniform as the suit he wore.
As they pulled up, Amber couldn’t resist at least one question. “What’s it like, being an FBI agent?”
“I thought you were a puzzles editor, not a reporter?” Simon countered.
“I’m curious.”
She saw Simon consider it for a moment or two. “Most of the time, it’s interesting, exciting even. I get to do a job where I feel as though I’m making a difference. I get to bring in people who need to be brought to justice. Some days though… investigations like this can be hard.”
Amber wished she could say that she could imagine it, but the truth was that she couldn’t. Chasing after a serial killer had to be a very different kind of life than simply setting a few puzzles every day and trying not to let her boss cancel her page again. Just the thought of that terrified her… but also strangely excited her, too.
The house was larger and older than most of the others around it. The yard in front was overgrown with weeds, while the paint on the outside of the building was peeling. With its roof missing several slates and its tattered curtains, Amber guessed that this was the house the local kids would assume was haunted. It was more than creepy enough to fill the role. Even the trees around it seemed a little more twisted and lifeless than those in the rest of the neighborhood.
“This is the place,” Simon said, stepping out of the car and heading up to the front door. Amber followed him automatically, wanting to be a part of all this. After all, she’d been the one to work out the clues that led to this place. It only seemed right that she should see this through to the end.
Was it right? Was it even something she wanted? Different parts of Amber were at war right then, one part wanting to be involved, the other telling her firmly that she wasn’t cut out for this. That she should stay in the car and solve a puzzle or something, rather than trying to be in the middle of the hunt for a missing woman.
Even Simon seemed to think that, because he paused at the door to the decrepit old place, turning to face Amber.
“I think you should wait out here, Amber,” he said.
“What? But I’m the reason we’re here!”
“This is still potentially a crime scene,” Simon insisted. “There could be a woman in need of medical attention in there, or worse.”
“And you don’t want a reporter in there with you, documenting your every step?” Amber shot back.
“I’m doing this to keep you safe,” Simon replied. There was no give in his expression as he said it. “It could be dangerous in there and… well, there are some things that it’s better not to see.”
Amber thought about continuing to argue, but she could see just from the look on Simon’s face that he wasn’t going to give in.
“Please, just wait here,” Simon said. “If I thought there was enough time, I’d bring in a SWAT team, but after last time, I’m not sure they’d exactly hurry.”
He tried the door. To Amber’s surprise, it wasn’t locked. Had it been left unlocked, just for them?
The door creaked as it opened slowly, revealing a wood paneled hallway, complete with long stopped grandfather clock. From her spot near the door, Amber could see cobwebs over everything.
Simon disappeared inside, leaving Amber standing out there like she was suddenly surplus to requirements. Like she was some kind of child who needed to be protected rather than a grown woman and an editor at a major newspaper. Amber felt frustration and anger growing inside her at that thought.
Even so, for now, she stayed outside. It was the sensible thing to do, the right thing to do. Only…
Only she was an editor at a newspaper. She spent her days around reporters. Shouldn’t she be in there, trying to get the scoop? Joseph would be in there; Amber had no doubt about it. Probably, Simon wouldn’t even have tried to stop him.
Amber still had the app on her phone to lead to the correct spot. Within a house this size, there would be multiple locations on the app, letting her narrow down where she needed to go. That was a factor too because, to Amber, this puzzle didn’t feel as though it was finished until she found the missing woman.
That thought was enough to get her to step over the threshold, setting off into the house. It really was creepy in here, with layers of grime on the windows lending a dim quality to the light and cobwebs on the walls covering up old, abandoned portraits.
There was a door nearby that looked like it led down to a cellar. It occurred to Amber that, while the app gave her the location she was looking for, it didn’t give her a sense of elevation. Maybe it made sense that a kidnapper would put someone on a basement level.
Again, the door opened with a slow, agonizing creak. This time, it was fully dark down so Amber had to light the way with her phone. That light barely pierced the darkness, letting her carefully pick her way down an unsteady feeling staircase to the bottom.
Amber illuminated the basement little by little, taking in old pipework and tools. There was a length of pipe on the far wall and there below it…
The smell of death hit Amber at the same time she saw the body, a woman lying there contorted in her death throes, one hand cuffed to the pipe. She was staring out with blank eyes, looking straight at Amber.
Amber cried out without thinking about it, the shriek echoing around the house even as she had to quell the urge to throw up. She’d done it, she’d found Willow Matthews, and Willow was dead.