Astrid spent a frustrating thirty-minute drive trying to find something decent to listen to on the radio, switching between stations without any luck, finding most of them broadcasting heavy religious messages. She settled on one where the male host presented the daily message from the Bible, disbelieving what she heard.
‘You may purchase male or female slaves from the foreigners who live among you. You may also purchase the children of such resident foreigners, including those born in your land. You may treat them as your property, passing them on to your children as a permanent inheritance.’
She waited for him to explain how the passage from Leviticus related to the modern world, but instead, he segued into some dire tune by Van Morrison. She changed the station, finding one where the hyper-active DJ lamented men’s failure to step beyond their fragile masculinity. Her destination approached as a caller spoke about how he couldn’t use an umbrella because it was too feminine.
Astrid pulled up outside the police station, wondering how low umbrella sales were in Angel Springs. She ignored the locals staring at her and pushed the door open.
The building was bright and clean. Uniformed officers strolled around while smartly dressed women pummelled keyboards and answered phones. She gazed at the American flags dotted through the room as she strode to the reception. A young woman with dark glasses peered at her. Astrid gave her details and took a seat to wait for the Police Chief.
She used her phone to browse online as she waited, checking to see if Alex had visited any of her social media websites in the last twenty-four hours, but discovered nothing new on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram or YouTube. If Alex had any other internet presence, her mother hadn’t mentioned it.
Astrid scrolled through the latest video comments, wondering if any of the people who’d left obscene and threatening messages might be responsible for Alex’s disappearance. There were more than a dozen threats of rape, most of which promised extreme torture first, and plenty of violent threats to Alex and her family. Every single poster had an anonymous name, the worst had cartoon characters as their avatars.
She was making a mental list of the most worrying posts when the man she’d come to see arrived.
Police Chief Roscoe Tanner was ready to blow like a volcano when she saw him. Someone had parked in his spot, and when he found out who it was, he’d throw them into the worst cell available. Only as he described the vehicle to the woman at reception did Astrid realise it was her car he was raving about. She didn’t mention it as she was ushered into his office and introduced herself while he removed his hat.
His ebony-lined eyes were subdued and sunken, sharp tufts of hair exploding from his head as if a rocket had gone off in a fireworks shop. There was grit in his teeth, and he struggled to remove it as he stared right through her.
‘You’ve come from England to find the Sanchez girl?’
He didn’t pronounce it as England, but as Eeengland, with a hefty emphasis on the E. She didn’t correct him on his misinformation.
‘Would it be possible for you to update me on your attempts to locate Alex?’
She tried the sweetest voice she could muster, but her charm didn’t work on him. Astrid waited for him to deny her any information, surprised when he smiled at her.
‘Do you have a PI licence for this state, Ms Snow?’
‘I’m working for the British Embassy in New York, Chief Tanner. Would you like me to give you their phone number?’
His grin turned crooked. ‘Teenagers disappear all the time, and then turn up a few days later.’ The smile vanished as he scrutinised her. ‘Christina’s going to a lot of trouble for nothing.’ He must have expected her to protest, but she kept quiet. Neither of them spoke for a minute as she glanced around the room at the photos of former US presidents lining the walls.
The silence eventually proved too fragile for him. He wiped the sweat from his eyes and glared at her. ‘Giraffe, get in here,’ he shouted.
Within an instant, the tallest woman Astrid had ever seen - she was at least six foot six - ducked her head to avoid banging it on the frame of the door and stumbled into the room.
‘Yes, Chief?’
Tanner gestured her over to him and whispered in her ear as she bent down. She glanced at Astrid as she listened to him. Then he lifted his head so Astrid could hear.
‘Take Ms Snow to the booking desk and give her an update on the Alex Sanchez case.’
He bared his teeth at her like a rattlesnake without the rattle. The tallest policewoman in the world peered down at Astrid in anticipation. She got up and followed the officer out, nodding her appreciation to Tanner, who ignored her.
They moved down a long corridor and turned into a room with a table and two chairs. The policewoman squeezed into one while Astrid sat opposite. She stared at her badge, seeing the name as Crowley and not Giraffe.
Crowley noticed where she was looking. Her smile was the warmest welcome Astrid had received so far in the town. ‘It’s one of the many nicknames they have for me. But you can call me Grace.’
‘What can you tell me about the disappearance of Alex Sanchez, Grace?’
Crowley frowned. ‘I’m sorry, Ms Snow; I can’t tell you anything. The Chief wants me to keep you here until he leaves.’
Astrid removed her phone and dialled Taylor’s number. While she waited for him to pick up, she returned that smile to Crowley.
‘What work do they give you, Grace?’
‘Traffic reports mainly. I don’t get out of the station much.’
‘How long have you been a police officer?’
‘Five years. I graduated top of the class.’
Astrid was wondering if that was supposed to be a joke when Taylor answered. She didn’t stand on ceremony. ‘Do you still have contacts at the State Department?’
His voice was liquid Valium. ‘Of course I do. Have you made any progress finding Alex?’
She ignored his question. ‘Get in touch with your friends and convince them to pass this message to whoever’s in charge of overseeing the police in Angel Springs.’ Astrid turned her head and spoke in hushed tones to Taylor before finishing the call. She smiled again at Grace. ‘Do they have a car which is comfortable for you to drive?’
‘Some of the newer unmarked vehicles have extra adjustable seats.’
‘Have you ever worked out of uniform?’
‘No.’ Confusion reigned across her face.
‘What’s it like living in small-town America?’
‘Angel Springs is more of a small city than a small town. We’re surrounded by hills and home to some of the northeast’s most beautiful gorges and water springs, amazing places to go swimming. The lake is forty miles of clear pristine water and a boon for sailing enthusiasts, with several parks along the shoreline.’
It was as if she’d stepped straight out of the tourist brochure. ‘Do you sell many umbrellas?’
Crowleys eye’s narrowed as her brows creased. ‘What?’
Astrid shook her head. ‘Forget it.’ She placed her hands on the table. ‘Is there much for kids to do here?’
Officer Crowley smiled with lips wide enough to swallow the sun. ‘There are loads of things going on in Angel Springs for all age groups, but we have a growing student population, and there’s a heap of activities for young people around that. You’d find it difficult getting bored here.’
She said it with such enthusiasm, Astrid doubted the truth of it. ‘I grew up in London, and I can tell you sometimes having too much to do is just as bad as being bored.’
‘You mean like having too many dangerous opportunities?’
Astrid grinned. ‘Always.’
‘Giraffffe!’ The Chief roared from the bowels of the police station. ‘Get in here and bring that Brit with you.’
They must have heard his voice on the other side of town. Astrid found the walk back to his office more pleasurable than the previous one. Tanner’s face was redder than a sunburnt orange when they got there. She watched him struggle to calm his breathing. She spoke before he exploded.
‘I want to see your file on Alex Sanchez, plus I need to borrow Officer Crowley for a few days, out of uniform, and one of those new cars the department has. Is that okay, Chief?’
He couldn’t look at Astrid; whoever Taylor had spoken to had left more than a flea in his ear. Tanner shouted at Crowley.
‘You’ve got three days.’
As they went, Grace gazed at her in admiration. ‘I’ll get a copy of the file.’
She left Astrid standing in the middle of the room. Several officers tried not to stare at her. The tension was palpable, and she wondered what it would take to make them break.
Grace returned in a few minutes, clutching the paper and a set of keys. ‘We need to go out back for the car.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Astrid said as they got outside.
‘What for?’ Grace gave her the sweetest of smiles.
‘Once this is over, you’re probably going to be in trouble because of me.’
They stepped on to the pavement, strode down the side of the police station and into the rear where the cars were. Grace moved towards the shiniest vehicle.
‘You don’t have to apologise for anything; they can’t make my working life any worse than it already is. At least now I get to do some interesting police work. I should be thanking you.’ She opened the driver’s door and adjusted the seat, lowering and pushing it back. She slid in as Astrid got into the passenger’s side. ‘Where do you want to go first, Ms Snow?’
‘Let’s head to your place so you can change clothes and talk me through that report. And call me Astrid.’
They travelled through the town, over dusty roads, past cavorting dogs, with Astrid paying close attention to the locals and their local ways. The street baptism had dispersed, with drops of water lingering along the road and pavements. The re-elect Bob Brady posters grew in frequency the further they went.
She nodded towards the giant image of Brady’s grinning face on a roadside banner. ‘What are your thoughts on him?’
Grace frowned. ‘We’re not allowed to discuss politics while on duty.’
‘I was told Alex had joined one of his youth groups.’
‘That’s the information we have as well.’
‘Don’t you think it’s rather unlikely, considering her history of protest and activism against everything he stands for?’
Grace drove down a long, narrow alley, and then turned at the end. She parked next to a row of dumpsters. ‘Teenagers are always changing their minds about stuff, usually over the most trivial things. I know I did at her age. What about you?’
They got out together. ‘Sure,’ Astrid said, ‘that’s when I knew I preferred girls to boys.’
She watched Crowley turn her head to the side as she clutched the report to her chest. She clambered up a set of rickety steps and opened the door to a decent-sized house. Astrid followed her in.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ Grace shouted from somewhere inside.
‘I’ll have the sweetest hot tea you’ve got,’ Astrid said from the living room.
She stared at the floral patterned curtains and decided they were the worst thing she’d seen in her life, until she gazed at the carpet covered in tiny illustrations of cats. She wanted to get off it as soon as possible in case it corrupted her shoes.
The other furniture included a pea-green three-piece suite, a large TV on a stand too small for it, and a coffee table. More impressive was the bookcase: Jacques Derrida next to Kant, Nietzsche brushing spines with Germaine Greer, Simone de Beauvoir sharing space with Hannah Arendt. On the bottom row, it looked like the complete works of Agatha Christie.
Grace appeared in the doorway. ‘This was my gran’s house. I haven’t gotten around to changing the furniture and décor since she passed.’
‘What about the books?’
‘They were all hers, but I love to read, as well.’
Astrid reached down and picked out The Murder of Roger Ackroyd.
‘This is one of the first things I ever read. Christie was a genius.’ She was seven when she discovered how untrustworthy authors could be, but it was two years before that she realised the same about people. She put the book back and glanced at the stack of records and CDs piled in the corner: most of it was jazz from the 1950s, with the odd sixties American rock album dropped in for good measure. ‘Is the music your gran’s as well?’
‘No, that’s all mine.’ She picked out one by Thelonious Monk. ‘I’ve loved jazz since I was a little girl.’ Astrid put a finger in her mouth and pretended to throw up. Grace shook her head. ‘You obviously have no taste. Come through to the kitchen, and we’ll have our drinks and read this together.’
She held the police report in one hand and the CD in the other. Astrid followed her into the room, hoping she wouldn’t play the disc. As she considered how not to offend her host, she scrutinised a kitchen stuffed with garish ornaments: a six-piece set of tiny chefs stood next to a row of grinning pigs near the window, while a dozen or so novelty salt and pepper pots lined the shelf above the cooker. She took a seat at the table and glanced at the plate of chocolate biscuits in the middle. An aroma of sugar and cocoa drifted off them.
‘They smell freshly baked.’
‘Tuck in,’ Grace said. ‘I can cook a meal later. Just tell me what you want.’
Astrid couldn’t remember the last time someone had cooked for her. ‘That would be great; thank you.’
She grabbed a biscuit and bit into it, savouring how the chocolate melted in her mouth as Grace pushed a large, steaming mug of coffee towards her. Astrid warmed her hands on the mug while staring at the photos dotted around the kitchen. Grace was in every one of them at various ages, always holding on to an older woman Astrid assumed was her grandmother.
Astrid read through the report. There wasn’t much in it which differed from what Christina Sanchez had told her. What she was interested in was what wasn’t in it. She sipped at the drink and finished scanning the text.
‘What are the statistics for missing kids here?’
Grace pushed the papers to one side. ‘We get perhaps four or five a year. Most of those eventually return because they wanted to sample the bright lights of a big city, but find it’s too much for them and hightail it home.’
‘What about the ones who disappear but are never reported or recorded?’
Grace looked sheepish. ‘How do you know about those?’
Astrid twirled another biscuit through her fingers, rich on the one side, impoverished on the other. ‘I’ve lived on the streets, been to plenty of places where things are seen differently dependent upon whose interests are affected the most, and it works the same everywhere. The authorities can only do so much, and when resources are lacking, or the motivation is missing, certain people fall way down the list of priorities. Does Tanner have any children?’
‘He’s got two daughters, thirteen and fourteen years old.’
‘I guarantee he’d get the National Guard out here in an instant if one of those disappeared.’ Grace nodded in agreement. ‘How many kids do you think go missing from communities similar to where Alex lives?’
‘There’s been a few this year, more than usual.’
‘What number are we talking about?’
Grace held out her hands. ‘Perhaps five or six.’
‘Why haven’t the authorities done anything about that?’
‘The Chief and the Mayor usually put them down as runaways because, well, you know…’
Astrid knew what she meant. ‘Because why would any kid want to live somewhere like that?’ She finished her drink and stood. ‘Can you get a list of those names and dates of when they were last seen?’
‘I’ll try,’ Grace said. ‘The Chief doesn’t usually keep official records if the families don’t report their child missing.’
‘Okay, that’s a start. Now I need you to take me to this youth group Alex supposedly joined.’
‘We might have a problem getting in; they don’t like strangers inside their compound.’
Astrid devoured another biscuit. ‘Well, that’s fine, because you’re not a stranger, Officer Crowley. So go and get changed.’
Grace did as instructed as Astrid considered how far the corruption went in this picturesque religious town.