‘We should tell Detective Moore about your hunch.’
They’d stopped for gas on the way to the police station. Astrid disagreed with Campbell’s suggestion as they got out of the car.
‘No, let’s wait for now. These numbers they found are more important to focus on.’
She stretched her legs while Campbell bought cigarettes. Astrid pushed her shoulders back and breathed in everything around her, not just the air, but the whole experience of America. She’d dreamed of this since she was a small girl, watching the flickering lights of the television while locked inside her room for twelve hours a day. This was her High Sierra, her Key Largo, and her Kiss Me Deadly.
That’s what she’d told herself when she’d first arrived in the town.
She’d been in Bakerstown less than an hour when she went to the bar after dumping what little she had in the cheapest hotel she could find. It was dark when she got there, and she’d got drunk a lot quicker than expected, which might have had something to do with the fact she hadn’t eaten for twenty-four hours.
The beers and tequila which followed didn’t help her state of mind that night, but only exacerbated the grumpiness flowing through her; a gnawing irritant she knew came from her sister’s refusal to answer any of her phone calls, texts, or emails. Not that she even wanted to speak to Courtney; it was her niece’s voice she needed to hear. Olivia was ever present in her thoughts and the lack of contact with her drove Astrid’s misery to greater lengths by the day.
At least she was doing something she’d dreamed of since she was a kid: to travel across America and see some of its sights. Now, she saw Bakerstown in the daylight and took it all in. A vast swathe of rolling hills stood in the distance on the other side of the gas station; brilliant shades of red and green rose into the sky as a flock of birds sauntered overhead.
She peered into the sun and remembered her favourite Tears For Fears video as a car as big as a truck pulled up next to them. A woman climbed out of it as if she was preparing for the catwalk, wearing impossibly high heels and a dress painted on to her bones. The hair on her head must have had enough spray on it to decimate the ozone layer. A man got out the other side, as tall as a giraffe with shoulders borrowed from a bull. His hat was bigger than his head.
Campbell gave them a respectful nod as she left the shop, and the couple entered.
‘Friends of yours?’ Astrid said as they returned to the car.
‘Hardly,’ Campbell replied. ‘That’s Jimmy and Rosie Sawyer, twins and only kids to old man Sawyer. They’ll own this town once he’s gone.’
‘Their father owns everything here?’
‘He does; all that’s worth owning and a little that isn’t.’
‘Does that include some residents?’
Campbell didn’t answer the question, but threw Astrid one of her own. ‘There’s a rumour going around you came here to find a grave. Is that true?’
Astrid placed a hand above her head to keep the sun from her eyes as it shone through the windscreen. A small dog strolled in front of them, cocked its skinny leg, and pissed over the car. The stink of urine seeped through the open windows as the policewoman shouted at the mutt; it scampered away as she yelled at it.
Astrid snatched the can of Coke Campbell offered her, opened it, and drank half in one go. The cold bubbles tickled the back of her throat and distracted her from the ache in her ribs.
‘As a kid, I was fascinated by old movies. The black and white ones from the silent era and the twenties and thirties, before the Hollywood censors arrived and ruined everything. They were an escape into a different world, a better one than my own. Chaplin, Keaton and the Marx Brothers made me laugh; Lugosi and Karloff scared me; Metropolis and King Kong sent me into new realms of adventure, while I fell in love with Harlow, Garbo and Valentino. But there was only one person who captured my heart.’ She pressed the chilled can against her face, absorbing the dampness into her skin as a shield from the sun. ‘I came to America by accident, but while I’m here, on an unexpectedly extended stay, I promised I’d see where that person is buried, in Rochester.’
Campbell didn’t appear to be affected by the heat. ‘That’s cool. Are you going to tell me their name?’
Astrid finished the drink and dropped the can into the slot in the car door. ‘While I’m here, I’ll give you some clues to guess who it is. As long as you don’t cheat and use the internet.’
Campbell shook her head. ‘As if I don’t have enough to think about.’
‘You don’t want to amuse me?’
‘Go on, then, give me the first clue, but if you’re talking about someone famous nearly a hundred years ago, they better be good clues if you want me to guess their name.’
‘She left home at sixteen to become a dancer in New York City.’
Campbell’s laughter bounced through the car. ‘Brilliant. Thanks a lot, my English friend.’
Astrid ignored her partner’s grumpiness and flicked the switch to the jukebox in her head to sing out loud to the music only she could hear as they left.
Campbell glanced at her. ‘What’s that tune?’
‘Sunday Morning by the Velvet Underground. Is this a new one to you?’
‘No, I know it; I just didn’t recognise your mangled version of it.’
They laughed together as Campbell drove.
The drive there was quick. Bakerstown was a narrow maze of streets, everywhere free of litter, with the buildings a mix of the old and the new. It could have been a small town anywhere, but the one thing that caught Astrid’s attention was the large brewery near the police station. The sight of the logo on its gates, of a bear sitting inside a beer glass, triggered the smell of alcohol in her nose.
And then she remembered the image from the bar and the beers she’d drunk. The cartoon bear stared at her and clawed at the back of her skull, trying to retrieve her missing memories, but it was no good. She shook it from her head as Campbell parked and they stepped into the station.
No one inside appeared pleased to see them. Moore slammed the phone down and had a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp as Astrid approached his desk. His eyes narrowed when he spoke to her.
‘Have you returned to help with the investigation into the murders of Caitlin Cruz and her children?’
‘Can you show me the bits of paper you removed from the victims’ mouths?’ She expected he wouldn’t, but asked anyway.
Moore opened a drawer. ‘I’m not allowed to share anything with you, Snow, but I will place this photocopy of them on the desk before I hand it to Officer Campbell.’
He did that. She stared at the numbers and memorised them as Campbell grabbed the paper before anyone else noticed what was happening.
‘What do you think they mean?’
He stared long and hard at her, and she guessed he was wondering how much he should tell her. After a minute of silence, he gave in.
‘We figure it’s a phone number with one digit missing, stuffed into their mouths because it’s some psycho ritual or they’re playing games with us.’ Moore gazed right at her. ‘Unless you know something we don’t.’
She pulled up a chair to rest her aching feet. The afternoon exercise had taken more out of her than she’d thought possible. And her ribs were throbbing again.
‘You’re wrong on both counts, Detective.’
She waited for him to ask why, but it was Campbell who spoke first.
‘Why do you say that, Astrid?’
She liked the way her name sounded on Campbell’s lips, but she also noticed Moore’s grimace.
‘The paper wasn’t stuffed into their mouths for some serial killer to get their kicks. I think the victims were trying to hide the numbers or swallow them.’
‘Why would they do that?’ Moore crossed his arms.
‘I’m guessing they lead back to whoever killed them,’ Astrid replied.
‘But they’re not part of a phone number?’ Campbell said.
Astrid smiled at Moore. ‘Can I borrow your computer?’
He got out of his chair. ‘Be my guest.’
Astrid went to the other side of the desk while they watched what she was doing. She brought up the web browser and opened another tab away from the county police force’s website. She cleared the address and typed in the numbers from memory. It came back as page not found. Then she switched the two groups of four around and retried again. She got the same results: page not found. She tried every combination, but ended up with dead pages each time.
She grabbed a pen from Moore’s desk and used the end to poke at her palm.
Moore seemed perturbed by her action.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I was sure those numbers were a website address.’
Campbell put her fingers on to Astrid’s hand and took the pen from her. ‘I thought web addresses were all www this or www another.’
Astrid twisted her head to smile at her. ‘No, that’s just what the numbers are converted into to make it easier for the public to use. The URLs contain ten numbers.’
Moore raised his eyebrows at her. ‘URLs?’
Astrid gazed at the screen. ‘Universal Resource Locators.’
She crunched the front part of her brain until a memory returned of her father beating her one night after he’d found her diary and discovered what she’d written about him. The pain of the image was terrible, but it ignited a flashbulb in her head. She’d continued writing in her diary, but to stop him from reading it, she’d invented her own code. Not that complex, but enough to fool him.
Cyphers and maps had always fascinated her, to the point she’d started creating her own regularly; she’d used the codes to keep certain things secret from adults and her sister. The maps had been her way of coping with emotional problems; she’d used them as plans for her escape to a better life. Nowadays, she created maps in her head as a way of solving complex problems. This was now second nature to her, so much so she devised a new one using the figures she’d memorised until she hit on a solution.
She tried the numbers again, but this time in combinations of reverse order. She got the right one on the fourth attempt.
Moore and Campbell gasped at the sight. Astrid accepted it as inevitable when the website popped up. Someone selling people online like they were cheap shoes or dishcloths was nothing new to her.
Moore turned the screen towards him. ‘It’s a human trafficking site.’
Astrid wondered how long she had left in the town. She got up as Moore flicked through the pages, not envying him the sights he was about to see.
She looked at Campbell.
‘You should contact your local FBI office to deal with this.’
I’ve done my part now. That website will link to Caitlin’s killers.
Moore gritted his teeth, an audible sound which hurt her ears.
‘But why would they kill Caitlin Cruz and her kids?’
Astrid shrugged. ‘Ask the people behind the website when you find them.’
She was heading for the door as Moore’s phone rang. Her hand was on the handle of the exit when he shouted to her.
‘I need your help, Snow.’ She didn’t know whether to be flattered or worried, considering he’d said it in front of his colleagues. Most of them pretended not to notice, but she felt their eyes burrowing into her.
Astrid waited for the inevitable.
‘There’s been another murder.’
It was two murders, and it took them twenty-five minutes to get to the crime scene. She travelled with Moore, resisting the temptation of sitting next to Campbell in the other car. They spent most of the journey in silence. The Detective’s gaze focused on the road while Astrid scrutinised the surroundings.
Bakerstown looked like a sleepy, slightly eccentric country place where nothing much happened. Problems were mild and manageable, and conflicts solved through neighbourliness and the application of common sense.
But as idyllic as it seemed, she guessed there would be darkness in a town like this. Wherever you found people, you’d get sin and failing. Moore’s faith in his fellow humans in Bakerstown was admirable, but she recognised it was misguided.
She studied his face as he drove, understanding that if anyone knew where this town’s failings were located, it was likely to be him. His gaze peered through the glass in front of him, and she would have sworn he’d aged rapidly since their first meeting. Dark brown eyes filled with obvious pain and hidden trauma glistened in the light. But then, she didn’t feel too good herself.
I should get him to drop me at the bus station. Nothing is keeping me here now.
But her memories of that night were incomplete, and if she couldn’t resurrect them, they’d keep on haunting her, regardless of where she went.
Astrid broke the silence. ‘Are you allowed to take me to a crime scene?’
‘You’re aiding with an investigation; that’s all anyone needs to know.’
His New York accent told her he wasn’t originally from the town. Now they were alone, his speech was slower than before, the words slipping from his mouth at a languid pace. They arrived and met Campbell. Astrid gazed at her, still surprised she didn’t know her first name.
Don’t kid yourself. You don’t want to know because you’re leaving here soon, and it’s best not to get too attached.
She thought of this as she checked the area, wondering why there weren’t more vehicles apart from theirs and one other police car. Then she remembered what Campbell had told her about the limited police resources.
Now all three of them and the one-horse town’s only forensic guy stood inside a cabin on the outskirts. Only the forensic guy was a woman, and Astrid was happy about that for more than one reason. Her name was Alice Graves, which seemed highly appropriate to Astrid.
Graves sounded tired when she spoke.
‘We’ve got a male and female bludgeoned to death about eight hours ago with a yet undiscovered weapon.’ She glanced at Astrid, but didn’t ask what the stranger was doing there.
Astrid knelt to look closer. Moore had given her some forensic gloves, but she had no desire to touch anything. The two bodies lay close together, hands outstretched to reach each other, but failing by a few inches. The killer had smashed their fingers into blood and pulp, a destruction that matched what was left of both their heads, which appeared to have taken a bath in a heavy dose of sulfuric acid. The smell of burnt flesh lingered in the air.
Campbell stood next to Astrid. ‘It looks like someone tried to cover up their identities.’
Astrid turned to Moore. ‘Do you know who lived here?’
He got out his cell and dialled a number which she assumed was the police station. She was still annoyed she didn’t have her phone.
He was on his cell for two minutes. In that time, she scanned the cabin and the immediate exterior. The place stood on its own, with no other residences in sight. Trees surrounded it, and she guessed its owners used it for tourists and holidaymakers.
When she returned inside, he’d finished the call and confirmed her thoughts.
‘This is a holiday home and nobody has rented it for six months.’
‘Who owns it?’ She stared at the bodies again, her eyes fixed on those hands, reaching out to each other but not getting there.
Moore put his phone away. ‘No need to check for that information. That would be Benedict Sawyer.’
‘Old man Sawyer?’ Astrid said.
‘You know him?’ Moore replied.
‘We saw the twins earlier,’ Campbell added.
Astrid turned to Alice Graves. ‘This is the work of the same killer or killers from the Cruz murders?’
Her skin was soft and pale, with a layer of freckles under both eyes. Those eyes sparkled with intelligence as Graves brushed a stray wisp of hair behind her ear, touching her high cheekbones as she did. Her lips glistened as she spoke.
‘Either that or it’s a very skilled copycat.’
Astrid stared at what remained of the victims’ faces. ‘Did you find anything unusual in their mouths?’
‘Only smashed teeth and blood.’
Campbell and Moore checked the cabin. Astrid addressed the Detective when they’d finished.
‘Have you found any clues?’
He shook his head. ‘Not yet.’
She took one last look at the bloodied things that used to be people on the floor.
‘Then we must wait until you hear from the FBI about that website.’
‘We?’ Moore looked at her curiously.
‘Unless you want me to leave?’
The Detective scowled. ‘No, Ms Snow; I think I’ll need all the help I can get.’
She couldn’t tell if that was sarcasm or not. Astrid turned to Campbell.
‘Then the only thing to work out is where I’m going to stay, because I can’t stomach another night in that hotel. What do you say, Officer Campbell?’
I don’t even know her first name.
Moore slapped Astrid on the back. ‘I doubt Campbell’s husband will take kindly to having a limey Brit in the house with them; he’s not a big fan of foreigners, is he, Eleanor?’
Astrid stared at Officer Eleanor Campbell, watching the fear in her eyes.
‘What?’ she said.
‘You can sleep on my couch, Snow,’ Moore said. ‘And I might even cook you my famous spaghetti sauce.’
Astrid stumbled out of the cabin and lost her appetite.