Frowning as she read the text, Vicki turned to Leighton. ‘It’s an email from a full-time hacker I know from my student days. I asked her to dig into any data linked to the phrase Route Kings – she’s scraped up the name and address of the person who set up Route Kings site - and it’s local.’

‘Looks like the train trip’s off,’ Leighton said, and got slowly to his feet.

29

At 7:45 a.m. the bright sun was already rising on the car that pulled to a gentle stop outside the two-storey apartment block in a residential area of Midway. The air being drawn through the car’s air conditioner carried the greasy stench of frying meat mixed with cigarette smoke.

‘Okay.’ Leighton turned to Vicki, as he switched off the engine. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Officer Sarah Anderson,’ she said resolutely.

‘Where’s your badge?’

Vicki pulled the jacket of her dark trouser suit open to reveal a metal star in a leather wallet folded over her waistband. She had to wear it that way, because the other side of the badge, pressed against her stomach, revealed a dated photograph of Leighton in his Highway Patrol uniform.

‘Excellent.’ Leighton smiled. ‘Now, remember, this might be nothing, but he could be dangerous. Don’t say anything, unless you have to - impersonating an officer is a criminal offence, but can’t be proved if you don’t actually speak. Just take out the notepad, and write down anything you think important. Okay?’

Vicki smoothed her hair back. For the first time in weeks, absurd as the situation was, she finally felt she was helping to find Laurie.

‘Right, then. Let’s speak to the man,’ Leighton said, and climbed out of the car.

The scuffed door of the apartment was opened by a short scruffy man in his early twenties. His hair was sticking up, and he was wearing three quarter length pants and a faded Pacman t-shirt.

‘Billy West?’ Leighton asked, as he slid one foot into the doorway - ensuring it could not be closed.

‘Yeah,’ the young man yawned. This was something Leighton had come to associate with guilty people - attempting to appear so relaxed they were sleepy.

‘I’m Detective Jones.’ Leighton held up his badge. ‘This is Detective Anderson. May we come in?’

‘What?’

‘We have some questions we’d like to ask you,’ Leighton spoke slowly. ‘To avoid your neighbours hearing, and perhaps drawing a false impression of you, I suggest we speak inside?’

‘Yeah, sure,’ the young man said. He tried, unsuccessfully, to remain sounding casual, as he ran a hand through his tangled hair.

Leighton noticed before he turned to lead them inside their host had glanced momentarily at Leighton’s belt, where his Glock 17 was located. He made a mental note to keep his body out of the other man’s reach.

Billy led his visitors through to a sparse living area consisting of bare orange walls, a black sofa, and a wooden table, on which sat a can of Sprite, a half-empty glass, and a tin ashtray with the remnants of a joint in it. West wandered over to the table, and picked up the glass.

‘So, what’s this about?’ he said, taking a small sip of juice.

‘You design websites?’

‘Yeah, I do a bit. Not a crime, is it?’ He raised his chin, as if to challenge Leighton.

The older man was not intimidated and continued with his questions. ‘What do you know about a website for a company called Route Kings?’

West frowned, and moved his eyes upwards in a deliberate thinking pose. ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘That name doesn’t ring any bells.’

‘That’s strange,’ Vicki said. ‘Because the Regional Internet Registry has verified that the named person who originally registered the domain name for Route Kings,’ she checked her black notepad, ‘is one Mitchell Webster, which we have discovered is the alias you have used to purchase thirty domains.’

Leighton stared at West, hoping to hell Vicki knew her stuff.

‘So,’ Leighton said steadily, ‘I’ll ask you again. What you know about the Route Kings website?’

In one frantic gesture, the young man threw the glass and its contents into Leighton’s face, and darted towards the open door. Whilst Leighton clutched his stinging eyes, Vicki grabbed out at West. He responded by thrusting a half made fist into her face, knocking her to the floor. As he broke away from her, he punched Leighton in the kidneys, then vanished out of the room. Leighton staggered against the sofa, gasping for air, then, somehow, righted himself.

‘You okay?’ Leighton blinked at Vicki, while rubbing his eyes.

‘I’m fine,’ she lied, and waved a hand at him, holding her bleeding nose with the other.

‘Okay, I’m going after him.’

Leighton stumbled out of the door into the bright street, to see West roaring by on a dark green motorcycle. He got a note of the first part of the license plate, but it shrank away from him too quickly. In his younger years, he would have been faster, better. He cursed his naïveté.

Back inside, he found Vicki standing in the small a bathroom, holding a bunched-up handful of toilet tissue against her nose. She looked smaller and more vulnerable here in the dark corners of the real world.

‘He’s gone.’ Leighton breathed out. ‘I’m sorry for bringing you here, getting you hurt. I should’ve come alone.’

‘It’s okay,’ Vicki said. ‘You want to take a look around?’

‘Hell yes. Whatever his role is in all of this, he certainly wasn’t keen on sharing anything, was he? I’ll let you get cleaned up.’

As he walked out of the bathroom, Leighton unclipped his Glock - just in case Billy decided to return. There were two doors outside the bathroom. Leighton pushed open the first on to reveal a cramped kitchen, where Domino’s pizza boxes were neatly stacked on the floor, in an angular column, next to a bin overflowing with soda cans.

Proceeding to the second door, Leighton slowly opened it gun first and discovered a room that was both bedroom and workplace. The single bed was neatly made with a colourless bedding set. Opposite this were two computers and a range of neat black devices lined up on a wooden desk. The screen of the computer furthest away revealed a low budget sex movie, featuring a woman handcuffed to a bed. Leighton discretely moved over and switched off the machine, before Vicki came in. He turned his attention to the desk drawers, all of which were empty.

‘You found the set-up?’ Vicki asked from the doorway.

‘Yeah.’ Leighton smiled. ‘Seems a bit of a small operation. How’s the nose?’

‘Blood’s dried up. You want me to confiscate any of the technology?’

‘Yeah, I reckon we’re due it as compensation,’ Leighton said, ‘but let’s make it quick.’ He placed his gun in his shoulder holster, but left the strap off, just in case it was required. Behind him, Vicki quickly disconnected cables.

‘Will you be able to hack into them? Is that the term?’

Vicki nodded. ‘I hope so. But, we need to take it back to my house.’ Vicki stacked the two remote drives and a notebook into a neat pile. ‘There,’ she said in a nasal tone. ‘All done.’

‘Okay.’ Leighton smiled crookedly. ‘Let’s get the hell out of here.’

30

At 10:00 a.m., National Park Ranger Frank Mankato, who had been cruising the perimeter of the southern tip of the sprawling desert of the Joshua Tree Park, pulled into the dusty picnic area. Even at this time in the morning, the sand-coloured tables were starting to fill up with families having a snack, or preparing their backpacks before a day of hiking on the long, hot trails.

Frank got out of the vehicle, put his wide brimmed hat on, and made his way through the area. He smiled congenially, and said good morning to the scattered patrons. He made small talk with most of them, mainly ensuring they had enough water, hats, and sunscreen. At this time of year, it was not unusual to get a couple of heatstroke fatalities in the park - during Frank’s first year on the job, they had had two in one day, when the temperature hit 105 Fahrenheit.