‘Do you want to continue when her lawyer turns up?’
Astrid considered what she’d heard in the other room. ‘You stick with her, Grace. I have to see Christina Sanchez.’
Bad news follows me around until it gets ahead of me.
Grace edged closer to her. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’
Astrid recognised the invisible weight on her friend’s shoulders, guessing it was there to mirror the despair in her heart because they hadn’t found Alex.
‘I’m listening, Grace.’
Detective Crowley took a deep breath. ‘I didn’t tell you the whole truth about what happened at the well.’ She glanced through the glass at Cope examining her nails. ‘I said Manny saw the girls drop me down, and then came and rescued me, but it wasn’t like that.’ She took another deep breath. ‘He didn’t see what happened; he only found me because I was crying for so long.’
‘How long were you in there?’
Grace shook her head. ‘I don’t know, more than an hour at least. I thought the girls would come back for me, but they never did. I sat in the dark, jumping every time something crawled over me or I heard a noise. I was a wreck by the time Manny got me out.’
‘Did you tell your grandmother this?’
‘No, I couldn’t, but deep down, I think she knew I’d kept something from her. The nightmares came each night until my teenage years. She said it was all in my mind, and there was nothing to scare me in the dark.’ She turned and stared at Cope through the glass. ‘But I knew she was wrong.’
Astrid did something unusual for her: she pulled Grace close and hugged her. They stood in silence until she let go.
‘Are you going to be okay if I go and talk to Christina?’
Grace nodded and gave her the car keys. ‘Take these. I’ll see you at my place.’
Astrid took a last look at Julie Cope through the glass before she left. Cope’s eyes had frozen over like the surface of a winter lake, robbing them of her intensity. The real Jules was in there, Astrid knew it, but now she’d retreated into a shell, into a façade to show the rest of the world. Perhaps it was only one of many masks she’d projected in her life, all to hide that person who enjoyed inflicting suffering and death on to others. She didn’t know why, maybe it had something to do with what Grace had told her, but she had the urge to reach inside and tell Cope it was better to release her pain, to open up instead of burying it behind falsehood, cruelty, and murder.
The story Cope had told them was a detailed construction proving how manipulative she was. Had she and Wylie lied about Alex and the initials on the bottom of the door to their murder chamber? The image of the events in that room made her hands ache even more. As she left the building, she hoped there were no clips of Alex in Wylie’s collection. It was terrible to think she might never find the girl, but she couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her on video if it was to watch her suffer and die.
As she drove to the trailer park, she ran through the things she’d say to Christina; none of them made her feel any good. The early morning sun flickered across the sky as she entered the gates. The streets were quiet as she got out of the car; even the dogs slept, snoozing outside the trailers. She flexed her fingers, but the pain wouldn’t go away. It wasn’t from the damage Cope had done but from her inability to discover the girl she’d been tasked to find.
This time, Astrid paid more attention to the homes as she went, admiring how each was personalised to stand out from the rest. Some were painted with exotic dragons or brightly feathered birds, while vibrant colours stretching from the top to the gap between the bottom and the ground covered the others.
She wondered how none of this had grabbed her attention before, realising her focus on finding Alex had distracted her from things that were right in front of her face.
Astrid reached the Sanchez home and paused. Initially, it was to gather her thoughts, taking no account of the time and how her presence would inconvenience Christina, but then a realisation froze her mind as well as her legs. There was something different about the trailer compared to all the rest. She’d noticed it before, but it hadn’t meant anything significant to her then.
The gap between the bottom and the ground was obscured by ornaments placed in front of it. She moved closer, glancing at the other homes, and then back to Christina’s: it was smaller in height than the others. She double-checked; perhaps it was just a different model, a shorter one.
No, it wasn’t that.
She ran towards it, dropping to the ground and pushing the Disney figures and potted plants out of the way. The trailer had no legs, no support; it stood on the cement, no gap to separate it. Astrid turned away and sprinted up the steps, hand out to bang on the door; it creaked open without her touching it.
‘Christina, are you here?’ The place was a mess, with magazines strewn everywhere, a table broken in half and the television on its side. ‘Christina?’
Her feet crunched through the smashed glass, and then she saw the lump in the carpet. She reached down and pulled the material away, revealing the hatch which hadn’t been closed properly. Astrid got her fingers into the gap and dragged it open. Her hands throbbed as she touched the ladder built into the side.
What is it about this town and underground rooms?
She removed the phone from her pocket and turned on the torch, her memory flashing back to the recent excursion below the earth near the river.
‘Christina, are you there?’ she shouted with one hand shining light into the dark and the other on the first rung of the ladder.
She ignored any concern for her safety and lowered herself into the space; it was roomy, half the trailer’s length and the same width. It had been dug into the concrete below the motorhome, hidden beneath the vehicle. She couldn’t tell if it was a recent construction or not, but it wasn’t as old as Cope and Wylie’s underground torture chamber.
She moved the torch across the space: there was no damage, only an unmade bed, a small bookshelf crammed with items, and a laptop humming on the floor.
Astrid sat on the bed and picked up the computer; it was still warm and had twenty minutes of battery left. She touched the screen, and it sprang to life, static electricity penetrating her flesh.
The background picture was an image of Alex and Christina smiling into the camera, but it wasn’t that which attracted her attention. Down the side was a stack of digital folders, named for things Alex was interested in or attended: protests, demonstrations, charity events, fundraisers, and on it went until the very last one and a name she instantly recognised.
Roger Taylor. What are you doing on a teenage girl’s computer?
She moved the pointer on to the yellow icon and opened it. Inside were pictures and videos. Astrid selected all the images, right-clicked on them, and picked the photo gallery option.
‘Fuck!’ She closed them all just as quickly. She didn’t need to go through a dozen or so naked photos of Taylor; one was enough. Were these sent to Christina, and Alex had found them?
The first video answered that question in the negative.
‘You have a beautiful body, Alex,’ Taylor said on the clip.
Vitriol shot through Astrid’s stomach and up her throat. Forcing herself to watch five seconds of the two of them having sex, she switched it off and spat on to the floor.
You perverted scumbag.
‘I love that video; it’s my favourite of them all.’
Astrid turned to see Taylor pointing a gun at her. ‘What did you do to her?’ Wrath and venom were a heady mixture in her mouth.
‘I loved her, and she loved me; that’s all there is to it.’
Astrid dug her fingers into the bed. ‘She’s seventeen, a child; you’re a forty-year-old failed human being. Is this why you sent me to find her?’ Sickness swelled inside her gut like an inflatable balloon.
He waved the gun at her. ‘I didn’t realise she had those until I went through that computer. No, I’m looking for something else she stole from me. Do you know where she is?’ A flush of irritation brightened his skin. ‘I can’t believe it took me so long to understand her mother had hidden her here all this time. But Christina won’t tell me anything, no matter how much I beat her. So I’m guessing the great Astrid Snow knows where the girl is.’
‘I knew you were a piece of shit, Taylor, but this is something else.’
He raised the gun and brought it down on to the side of her face. The metal cut into Astrid’s flesh and knocked her into the bed. He pressed the barrel into her skull.
‘Tell me where she is, or I’ll splatter your brains over this room.’
Anger and frustration oozed out of him as blood dripped from her cheek. She rubbed at the wound in her palm.
‘Okay, Roge; I’ll tell you where she is if you tell me what it is you want.’
Astrid considered the options if she grabbed the pistol; they weren’t good. She was fast, but not like lightning, which she’d need to be to get the weapon before he made a significant hole in her head.
He moved back, the gun still directed at her. ‘She stole some digital files from me. They’re not on that computer, so she must have them on a portable drive.’
Astrid lifted and sat on the edge of the bed. ‘So, you’ve given up grooming and abusing the girl for some memory stick she took from you.’ She brushed cold blood from her cheek. ‘These must be some important documents she has.’ A mischievous grin crawled over her face. ‘Something worse than the video I watched? What have you been doing, Roge?’
‘It doesn’t matter, Snow. Now tell me where she is.’
He moved a step closer to her. She had one hand on the pillow; if she brought it across her head, would it be enough to soften the impact? Did she have any other choice?
As she prepared to lie to him, the floor creaked above her. It was sufficient for Taylor to flinch upwards and distract his attention. She grabbed the cushion and threw it at him.
The gun went off near her head, his fingers diverted by the pillow, a movement just enough for the bullet to scrape past her cheek. Her ears exploded, her skull ringing like drunken church bells. She had matching scars on both sides of her face now. Her fingers were on his wrist, twisting it before he pulled the trigger again. Astrid’s head throbbed, smoke drifting up to her nose, as she pushed him against the wall.
Taylor brought his knee up into her groin and knocked her across the bed. Her back hit the side, and she flopped on to the floor. He moved forward and glared at her.
‘I guess I’ll have to find her myself.’
He caressed the trigger. She was about to throw herself into his legs when something large dropped down the hatch and landed on his head. Taylor crumbled to the ground before he could fire, the microwave crashing into his spent form.
Astrid grabbed the gun and watched the figure coming down the steps.
‘That’s him cooked,’ Alex Sanchez said as she grinned. She peered at Astrid. ‘Are you okay?’
Astrid didn’t know whether to hug her, shake her hand, or do nothing. She did nothing.
‘I’m fine.’ Blood trickled down her cheek. ‘It’s only a nick.’ She stared at Alex, impressed with the girl’s maturity until she recognised it was a forced maturity she knew only too well.
Alex gazed at Taylor on the floor. ‘Is he dead?’ The cracked microwave lay next to him. Astrid didn’t care either way, but she checked his pulse and examined his head.
‘He’ll live.’ She took out her phone. ‘We need to find your mother. God knows what he did to her.’
‘She’s fine,’ Alex replied. ‘I found her tied up at the back of the motorhome. Our neighbours are looking after her.’ The girl was seventeen going on fifty. ‘I saw him creep into here and followed; then I heard the two of you fighting in my room.’
‘Are you all right?’
Alex looked older than her age, her eyes filled with things most people never experience. ‘I am now Mum’s okay, and he’s out cold.’
‘What did you take from him?’
She reached into her pocket and removed a memory stick. She handed it to Astrid.
‘This.’
‘What happened to you after you left the Future Youth compound?’
‘I found a cabin in the woods, and the old man who lived there helped me. I stayed until it got dark and walked home, making sure no one saw me. I told Mum everything, and she kept me hidden in here.’
Astrid admired her coolness. ‘She didn’t dig a hole in the ground for you, then?’
Alex grinned. ‘No, it’s been here for years. There are a few of these in the park. If you hadn’t already guessed, this place is part of a refuge and rooms like this are used for safety if any unwanted visitors arrive.’
Astrid glanced at Taylor as he moaned on the floor. ‘Like him.’
‘And worse than him.’
‘Did he force you into a relationship?’
Her eyes darkened. ‘I was fifteen, and he made me feel like the most important, most beautiful girl in the world.’ She clenched her fists. ‘But I woke up eventually.’
Astrid didn’t want to push Alex any further on what had happened between her and Taylor. She held up the memory stick. ‘Do you know what’s on this?’
Alex nodded. ‘It’s why I hid from him. I didn’t know what to do about its contents, but I knew he’d come looking for it, and me.’
‘Let’s have a look at them.’
They went through the files together on the laptop; then Astrid called Grace and the British Embassy in New York. She peered at Taylor’s slumbering body again before phoning for an ambulance. By the time the police and the medics arrived, she knew Roger Taylor would be going to prison for a long time.
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Christina Sanchez was drinking coffee with her daughter at the police station when Grace strode into the room.
‘Are you all okay?’
Astrid nodded. ‘There are only a few bruises for Christina where he tied her up.’ She’d confirmed that Taylor hadn’t laid a finger on her otherwise, with his claims of violence only a bluff. ‘Alex is in good health considering how much time she’s spent underground.’
‘What about the cut on your face?’
‘It’s just a scratch. Where’s Taylor now?’
‘The Feds have him downstairs. They’re not telling Tanner much. What was on the memory stick Alex gave you?’
Astrid took Grace to one side. ‘He groomed her when he was seeing the mother, starting when she was fifteen. Christina didn’t know what was going on when Alex went to New York for demonstrations and stayed with Taylor.’
‘What a scumbag.’
‘Thankfully, Alex eventually realised that.’ Astrid glanced at the girl, pleased to see her smiling, but knowing from experience it wouldn’t be something she could quickly shake off. ‘Then she secretly videoed him handing documents over to a Russian contact.’
Grace let out a low whistle. ‘His employers won’t be happy with that.’
‘They won’t be the only ones. There were files on the memory stick from the US State Department. I don’t know how Taylor acquired them, but he passed them to the Russians as well.’ She let go of Grace’s arm. ‘What happened with Cope?’
‘She wouldn’t give anything away, said it was all Wylie’s doing, and she was trying to save you from him when I arrived.’
Astrid shook her head. ‘She certainly knows how to lie.’
‘It won’t help her. Wylie is spilling the beans about their crimes, and he has plenty of videos incriminating Cope.’ Grace relaxed her shoulders. ‘He’s given us evidence she knew nothing about. She’ll be an old woman if she ever gets out of jail. I’d say this has been a successful day all round. What will you do now?’
Astrid touched the wounds in both her hands. She wasn’t comfortable with goodbyes, taking a final look at the reunited Sanchez family and hugging Grace.
‘I expect to get regular updates on your new life as a detective.’ Then she let go. ‘And what it’s like to be a foster mother.’
Chief Tanner called Crowley away before she could reply, the American giving her English friend one last grin.
Astrid strode through the station and stepped outside. It was time to move on, but to where? Return to England or perhaps keep travelling through the States?
There’s still so much to see.
As she contemplated the options, the phone vibrated in her pocket with a new message. She removed it, her heart fluttering as she saw who the sender was: her sister. This would help her decide what to do.
Astrid opened it with shaky fingers.