Lost in America

by A. S. French

  Steam rose from his nose and ears, his skin turning redder than orange. He was about to pop, and she had to get the timing right.

  ‘A world of hurt is coming for you, girl.’ His hands shook, and she prepared for him to lunge at her. He took a step forward and she ran through the escape map in her head. But then he stopped and pointed the screwdriver towards her. ‘Cat didn’t say any of that to you, and my sister is a lying cow. Now you’ll suffer for all your lies.’

  ‘I’m already paying for it, Sawyer, having your stink in my face all this time. I mean, if you’re going to do it, get on with it so these two cowboys can see what you haven’t got between your legs.’

  He growled as he thrust towards her, the screwdriver coming straight for her head. She assumed any thought of keeping her alive for his father had vanished in his rage.

  She gripped on to the chair and leapt, twisting her hips, so the back of it caught the full force of his swing. It splintered against his arm, throwing her into the cowboy struggling on one leg while Sawyer continued with his forward motion and into the wall. She rolled over the bloke as he lay concussed on the ground and jumped up as Sawyer howled. The chair was off her back, but her arms were still tied to it. But at least she could move them freely.

  White Hat’s jaw was already on the floor, but she kicked him in the balls to make sure he wouldn’t be a problem. He crumpled like a sack of potatoes. She stamped on his ankle for good measure, the crack of the bone making a pleasing sound in her ears. Now it was only her and Sawyer, him with his screwdriver and those stupid rings.

  He swung at her again. She ducked, grabbed a broken piece of wood dangling from her arm and jabbed it into his thigh. He dropped the screwdriver and screamed. The fight was already over, but he didn’t know it.

  Astrid moved to the table and picked up a claw hammer. That would do. She used it to hit him in the nape of his neck. He fell on to the torture table and scattered the tools over the floor. She stepped over him and went to the cowering cowboys. They pissed themselves in stereo, two long streaks of yellow washing out of them, and she inched away from the stink.

  ‘That’s nice, boys.’ She patted the hammer into her palm. ‘Is my car outside?’ They groaned and nodded together. ‘Good. So which of you has the keys?’

  Black Hat pushed through his pain and into his pocket. He fished out the keys and tossed them at her feet. She scooped them up and returned to Sawyer. She had one last thing to do before heading back to Bakerstown.

  17 Thanks For The Night

  Some of Jimmy Sawyer’s blood still stained her nails as she drove away.

  What she did to him took longer than she’d expected. She thought a big man like Sawyer would have been more stoic, but he squirmed like a stuck pig every time she went to work. Even with the double set of restraints Astrid used on him, there were times he nearly escaped from that chair. At least the gag stuffed in his mouth meant she didn’t have to listen to his screams. And she’d changed the music on his phone to something more soothing than that country crap from before, finding an online playlist of Rolling Stones tunes. The only other sounds accompanying her were the hushed whimpers of Sawyer’s goons. She’d left them untied, guessing right they’d be no bother to her. Two beatings had been enough to curtail any thoughts they might have had of attacking her again.

  She didn’t mind them observing her work. Her time at the Agency had included many moments when people watched her from behind two-way mirrors. What did trouble her was how much she’d enjoyed what she did to Sawyer. And that’s why it took longer than it should have. Every artistic move of her fingers swept away her worries about Olivia, about whether Courtney could protect her daughter. And even the lingering doubts regarding the involvement of her father retreated to the shadows in her skull.

  But she’d enjoyed her time with Sawyer too much. It meant she was halfway back to Bakerstown when she realised she’d lost another phone. The one Angie Delaney had given her had disappeared from her pocket during her confrontation with the two thugs on the street, or they’d taken it from her when she was unconscious.

  Astrid pulled the car off the road and slammed her good hand on to the wheel as the engine growled. She got out and kicked at the stones in the grass verge, her heartbeat increasing to match the thump in her head.

  Fuck! Now Olivia can’t contact me. Or Courtney can’t.

  She turned from the side and peered at her reflection in the car window. To calm her mind, she started counting the lines on her face, stopping after a minute before becoming too depressed. The wind whistled into the nape of her neck, the touch of it making her feel better than she should have.

  I’ll use Eleanor’s phone when I get back and call Courtney. I can put up with talking to her for Olivia’s sake. I should forget about Bakerstown and head home.

  But could she? Didn’t she owe Cruz and her children something?

  It all started with Caitlin helping me. Benedict Sawyer’s attacks were all because of that. Perhaps one of my former enemies is paying him to do this. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  So the easiest thing would be to pack up and return to England. That’s what she imagined her reflection saying to her as she stood next to the car.

  Go home. You made Jimmy Sawyer suffer. There’s nothing else to do. The Cruz murders weren’t your fault. More people will die if you hang around. They always do.

  She pushed her damaged hand into the window, wiping at the other version of herself. Sawyer’s blood trickled on to the glass and stuck to her reflected cheek. She turned from it and stared into the sky.

  What did Cruz, the trafficking website, and Benedict Sawyer have in common? Who put those numbers into the mouths of the Cruz family? Did their killers do it? If not, why didn’t they check the bodies and remove them?

  She thought of the cowboy goons who had attacked her twice. They were stupid enough to do such a thing, but could they kill a mother and her children like that? And then there were the murders in the cabin. She’d assumed the victims had murdered the Cruz family, and were then silenced by whoever had hired them. But what if they hadn’t; what if they were only another distraction?

  Does this all lead back to Benedict Sawyer? Or does it all lead back to me?

  Those thoughts bounced inside her head on the return to Bakerstown. The only thing to vanquish them was the sight of flashing lights outside the Campbell house.

  A stomach-churning wrench grabbed at her guts. She was out of the car and running into the building when a paramedic stopped her. She looked around him, seeing two of his colleagues, but no police.

  ‘I wouldn’t go in there, Ms. It’s not very pretty.’

  She pulled from him as sirens approached and stormed into the house. Campbell was on the floor, brains splattered everywhere. But this wasn’t her Campbell; it was the Secret Service man, Robbie. She recognised what was left of his face from the wedding photograph standing on the shelf behind his corpse.

  ‘It looks like he shot himself.’ The paramedic from outside had followed her in. ‘Not surprising if he did what’s in the kitchen. I’ve seen nothing like that.’

  Astrid steeled herself for the sight. It was the smell which hit her first; she’d experienced it many times in the morgue and at autopsies, but never as fresh as this: the overwhelming stench of the contents of the human body rotting in the air.

  She took a deep breath and strode into the kitchen. Even her hardened senses flinched at the sight: a body nailed through the hands and the feet across the top of the table. The same place where she’d sat not so long ago. The blood had congealed where it had slid to the floor.

  She stepped forward and examined the deceased. Someone had taken a knife and sliced down from under the chin, not stopping until they’d reached the genitals. The murderer had scooped out all the internal organs and placed them around the corpse as if they were small plates of food on a tapas menu. She wondered if it had happened while the victim still lived.

  Astrid dodged the
blood and guts clinging to the floor and stared at the face of someone who must have endured terrible agony. But it wasn’t Officer Campbell she peered at, but Detective Moore.

  She moved back and pulled at her throat; her bruised fingers ached, while her skull throbbed. Her stomach churned and she twisted from the body, her mind returning to the last time she’d seen him, outside this house.

  Why kill Robbie Campbell and Jim Moore? What am I missing? And where’s Eleanor?

  Astrid regained control and turned back to the dead man. It wasn’t only about killing Moore, but using him as a message or some example. Why else would they have eviscerated him and left the organs on the table?

  Jimmy Sawyer and his two goons couldn’t have done this because they were with me in Sugar Hill. So who?

  The paramedic thought Robbie Campbell had killed Moore and then himself, but where was the evidence for that? Forensics would know for definite when they checked Campbell’s body by examining the fatal shot’s angle and the exit wound, but she went to look for herself.

  The living room was empty, apart from the corpse. She didn’t question where the paramedics had gone and stepped across to Robbie Campbell. She scanned the room first, searching for signs of conflict or an intruder. Everything appeared to be in its proper place, with no sign of damage or breakage. She bent her legs and peered at the remains of his face. It seemed to be an act of suicide from a cursory glance, but it was difficult to tell from where the body lay, and she couldn’t move it. The last thing she needed was her DNA on him.

  Perhaps Sawyer is trying to frame me for more murders.

  But where was the weapon? She stood and rechecked the room, not seeing a gun, so returned to the kitchen. It wasn’t there either, or the blade the killer must have used to slice up Detective Moore.

  If it was a murder-suicide, at least the firearm should be in the house. Unless it was another attempt at framing her and the weapons would turn up with her DNA on them somewhere.

  None of this makes any sense. If Benedict Sawyer or anyone else wanted me out of the way, they could have killed me easy enough, starting with the night I was that drunk, Caitlin Cruz took me home to patch me up.

  She shook her head and strode out, not wanting to be there when the police arrived. As she stepped outside, the paramedic approached her again.

  ‘Are you Astrid Snow?’

  She hesitated, wondering what she might implicate herself in before her composure returned. At least she hadn’t found Eleanor’s body in the house. Perhaps this bloke had news about her.

  ‘I am.’

  ‘This is for you.’ He handed her a cell phone.

  She placed it to her ear, guessing who it would be. There was a long drawn-out breath at the other end before Benedict Sawyer spoke.

  ‘Have you considered my job offer, Ms Snow?’

  ‘I’m about to give you my reply in person, Sawyer. No amount of goons with guns can keep me from you.’

  Another heavy breath. ‘I have no doubts about your capabilities, Ms Snow. What a shame you weren’t there to prevent Agent Campbell from discovering his wife’s infidelity with Detective Moore. It’s strange what broken men will do under extreme duress. At least Campbell’s wife is safe for now.’

  Astrid sucked in a massive chunk of the chilled air. ‘What have you done with her?’

  She was already mapping out how she’d get into the compound and make Sawyer pay.

  ‘Officer Campbell would like to speak to you, Ms Snow.’

  The voice changed on the line, Campbell’s terrified tone sending a shiver down Astrid’s spine. ‘Oh, Astrid, they made me watch what they did.’ She was sobbing so loudly Astrid didn’t catch the next few words. ‘…there was blood everywhere, and the screaming, oh my God, the screaming.’

  Silence followed. She gripped the phone, observing the paramedic watching her. She knew Sawyer was back on the other end.

  ‘How much are you making from the human trafficking website for you to do this, Sawyer?’

  The line hissed as he spoke. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ms Snow. You can tell Officer Campbell is distressed over what happened with her husband and Detective Moore. To prevent her from harming herself, I think it best she stays with me for a bit. I have excellent medical facilities and personnel here; my people will look after her. I’m sure she’ll be good as new in two or three days. Yes, Ms Snow, you’ll be able to see Officer Campbell in three days, no sooner than that. What do you say?’

  Astrid gripped the phone against her damaged fingers. ‘Say hello from me when you see your boy, Sawyer.’

  She ended the call and handed the cell back to the paramedic, wondering what to do next. He quizzed her with his eyes.

  ‘Are you a friend of the family?’

  ‘Something like that.’ The blue lights were getting closer. ‘Who called you out here?’

  He removed a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. ‘An anonymous tip.’ His gaze darted from the house and back to her. ‘If you ask me, I think the bloke in the living room killed the other one, called us, and then topped himself.’

  ‘Why would he phone for an ambulance if he was going to kill himself?’

  He blew smoke towards her. ‘Who knows with these types of mental breakdown? Maybe he thought he might make a hash of the suicide shot, and we’d be his backup. Or perhaps he didn’t want his wife to find him like this.’ Astrid saw two pennies drop behind his eyes, and he added them up to four. ‘Are you his wife?’

  ‘I’m just a friend of the family.’

  She gazed at the house, trying to understand why Benedict Sawyer would do this and coming up with no logical answers.

  Will he let Eleanor go after three days? Why hold on to her for that length of time? Why is he holding her there against her will anyway? And what do I do now?

  She had to get her away from Sawyer, but that wouldn’t be easy. Even with the warning he’d given her, the old man would know she’d come for him and Campbell. He’d have improved his security and have everyone on his payroll watching out for her. She needed time to think of a plan.

  Where am I going to go now?

  Some of her things were still at Moore’s house, and she had the spare key he’d given her. But the police would be all over the apartment once they’d found what had happened to him. There was Angie Delaney; maybe she’d help her.

  And that would mean putting Angie and her mother at risk.

  No, she couldn’t do that.

  So what next?

  She turned to the paramedic. ‘I thought the media would be here by now.’

  An apparent murder-suicide featuring a prominent local copper and a Security Service member would be a juicy news story too hard to ignore.

  ‘The Police Chief and the Mayor have ordered a complete blackout over it. I’m surprised you got here.’ For the first time since she’d arrived, he looked at her as if she shouldn’t be there.

  ‘Why the blackout?’

  The paramedic scrunched his eyes at her, giving his face the appearance of a confused rabbit.

  ‘Have you been asleep all day? The President’s coming here, part of a national tour of the country’s smaller towns. Apparently, it was a last-minute thing so he can speak to the people before the election next year.’

  ‘Is he staying in Bakerstown?’

  The paramedic laughed. ‘Yeah, our first presidential visit since Carter, but he won’t be in town with the rest of us grunts. He’ll be in the lap of luxury at Sawyer’s mansion.’

  That’s why Sawyer didn’t want her there. He’d taken Eleanor hostage to prevent Astrid from causing havoc at his place during a presidential visit.

  She went to Campbell’s car and put her hand on it.

  Campbell’s car.

  She stood there, leaning on the vehicle while wearing Eleanor’s clothes. What would the police think about that when they turned up? The approaching blue lights indicated she’d get an answer soon enough.

  18 Lively Arts />
  Astrid remembered the ride to the police station this time. The Officers didn’t speak to her, yet she felt the resentment dripping from them. There was no arrest on this occasion, but she guessed they were desperate to throw her into that cell again. She spent the journey mapping out her responses to the obvious questions they’d fire at her while planning how to get Eleanor away from Benedict Sawyer.

  When she got there, the mood in the station was a mixture of anger and sorrow. From the looks on most of the faces, she assumed they were directing some of that fury at her. There was no trip to the cells as they led her straight to the interrogation room. As she stepped inside, she automatically looked for Moore, finding the Chief and a Plainclothes Officer instead. She took a seat before being asked to.

  ‘I’m Detective Newman.’ He glanced across from her. ‘You know Chief Colt.’

  Instinct and experience told her to stay quiet, but one of the escape maps in her head, devised on the ride to the station, started with her asking them questions, at least one of which she knew the answer to.

  ‘Where’s Eleanor Campbell?’

  They scrutinised her as much as she did them. Was Colt involved with Benedict Sawyer? A man who owned an entire town would have his fingers deep into the local police department. She stared at him and waited for the copper to blink, but those large frog-like eyes were unmoving.

  Newman answered her question.

  ‘We hoped you’d know of Officer Campbell’s whereabouts, Ms Snow.’

  She rested one arm on the chair. ‘And why would that be, Detective?’

  ‘You were seen at Campbell’s house late last night, speaking to her and Detective Moore.’ He paused for effect. ‘And now she’s missing, and he’s dead. Murdered and mutilated most horribly while Agent Campbell was in the next room with his brains all over the carpet.’

  Astrid settled into the chair and crossed her legs. ‘Is there any other way to be mutilated?’