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A sigh so long she could hear the phlegm in it. “This the long way of telling me you can’t authorize a cull?”
“Yes, sir.”
A longer pause. “Make sure you have all your ducks lined up on this one. You need to be certain beyond doubt that this isn’t connected to the Colony. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. You know me. Plenty of ducks.”
“Don’t be facetious.”
He ended the call. Barbara looked at the phone, a little nonplussed. Decker knew the word “facetious.”
She laid the phone back on the table and took a sip of coffee, staring across at the bar and the distasteful decorations above. Amid the vampyr paraphernalia, a few old photos of the town had been hung haphazardly. They reminded Barbara that she hadn’t taken another look at the photos Rita had given her. The box was still up in her room. And there wasn’t much else she could do right now.
She traipsed upstairs, only remembering that her room had been trashed by Grace when she pushed open the door. She stared for a moment at the writing on the wall, the yanked-off bed covers, overturned chair and slashed mattress. Oh well, at least Grace hadn’t tampered with the evidence.
Barbara grabbed the box and took it back down to the bar. Settling herself at a table, she opened it and began to sift through, thinking again about what Beau had said about kids disappearing. Not recorded as murders back then. Written off as accidents. She wondered if there might be something about the disappearances in here.
She shuffled through photos and pieces of paper. One fell to the floor. She picked it up. It was folded into a tight square, the creases so worn in the paper almost tore as she gently peeled it apart.
A newspaper clipping. Dated March 15, 1953.
TOWN TURNS OUT IN SEARCH FOR MISSING GIRL
The whole of Deadhart turned out this morning to help search for missing six-year-old Mary Dawson…
The little girl Beau had mentioned. Rita’s aunt. The accompanying photo showed a plump-cheeked girl with chunky pigtails. Another photo showed a group of townspeople. The search party, she presumed. Barbara squinted at the picture. Slightly to one side of the group stood a thin, dark-haired boy. She frowned. Something about him looked familiar. She rifled back through the pile of papers till she came to the pictures of the Bone House. The hard-faced madams glared back at her, but this time her eyes were drawn to the figure crouching in the corner. Skinny, legs like sticks in ragged shorts. She hadn’t paid the boy much attention before. Now she held the photo up. It was old and faded. Dirt camouflaged his face. But…could it be the same boy?
A thud, thud, thud at the front door.
“Shit.” She jumped. Someone must be desperate for a drink.
And then a familiar voice called: “Hey, Detective Atkins? You in there?”
Mayflower. Barbara walked over to the door, unlocked it and pulled it open. The wind almost blew her back off her feet.
“Mayflower? What are you doing here? Is it an emergency?”
The girl was bundled up in a big, black parka. She rolled her eyes. “Kinda. My dad’s all out of beer. Plus, Mom wants some steaks out of the freezer.”
“They ever heard of a shop?”
“Yeah, but Mom says they’ve already paid for this stuff, so if they can’t serve it to customers they might as well use it.”
Barbara sighed. “Okay. Come on in before you freeze.”
“It’s not so bad,” Mayflower said, stepping inside. “It’s usually colder in January.”
Barbara raised an eyebrow. “Well, no offense, but I hope I won’t be here to see that.”
“Yeah, wish I could say the same.”
The girl pushed her hood back and straight away Barbara could see her eyes were red and swollen.
“Are you okay?”
Mayflower’s hand fluttered to her face. “Yeah. Well, no. Dan dumped me.”
Of course, Barbara thought. Men like Dan were only ever faithful to an easy life.
