Will’s eyes moved to the computer; he wondered if Miriama had hidden her secrets a second way.

Deciding to talk to Matilda then and there, he made a call to the fire station.

“Take whatever you need,” she told him when he explained where he was and what he was doing. “But you take good care of it.”

“I will,” Will promised, and booted up the computer. “Do you know where Miriama keeps her old diaries?”

“She cuts out all the pages, then goes deep into the bush to bury those pages. Says it’s about saying -good--bye to the past and living for the future.”

Will thought of the pages rotting away in the silent dark, an act of hope for the future turned into a somber omen. “I’ve got another -question—-what was the name of the man who molested Miriama as a teenager?” He was far more dangerous to the young woman than Steve.

“Fidel Cox.” Matilda’s voice quivered with rage. “That pokokōhua did a runner, cops never found him. You think he came back to hurt my Miri?”

“I don’t know, but I’m going to check it out.”

“Just find my girl, Will. Just find Miriama.”

Will didn’t make any promises; he’d learned his lesson about making promises and he’d learned hard. Never again would he tell a victim that everything would be all right. Because, too many times, the monsters won.

25

Will had one more thing to do before he left Matilda’s home. “I want you to remember something, Steve,” he said to the man in the sagging armchair. “Matilda might let you push her around, but I won’t look the other way. I see her with a single bruise, I’m coming after you.”

Steve postured, all raised shoulders and lifted chin. “A man’s got a right to do what he wants with his own woman in his own home.”

“You just remember what I said anytime you get the urge to hurt Matilda.” Will knew his eyes had gone flat in that way one of his partners had once said made him look like a psychopath. Will wasn’t always so certain he wasn’t a -psychopath—-psychopaths didn’t have feelings and his had burned down to ashes thirteen months ago.

Steve glared at him, but Will was satisfied Matilda would be safe from abuse, at least until Steve forgot his fear. Will wouldn’t have dealt with the situation the same way had it been a different -man—-some mean bastards would’ve hurt Matilda out of pure spite at being ordered not to, but Steve was both a coward and just smart enough to know that Will was too big a predator to challenge.

Walking out into the rain, the tin box and watch protected under the -high--visibility -police--issue jacket he’d changed into after the weather turned, Will put both items on the passenger seat of his vehicle, then ran around to get into the driver’s seat.

He made a call on his way back into town, asking Tom Taufa to meet him at the café. The other man was waiting when he got there. “I was at the fire station,” he said as he let Will into the café’s back room. “That’s Miri’s corner there.”

A much newer computer sat on a spacious desk, along with several cameras.

Metal jangled as Tom took a key off his key ring. “I have to get back to -Josie—-she’s not doing so good. Stay as long as you like, keep the key in case you want to look at stuff again.” He dug in his pocket. “I asked Josie about the computer after you called and she said there’s a password.” Handing over the piece of paper on which he’d scribbled the mix of numbers and letters, he said, “Josie knows it because technically the computer is the café’s, for accounts and things, but she mostly got it for Miri to use.”

“Thanks, Tom.” Will was already turning back to the computer as Tom left, but he didn’t expect to find anything private, not when Miriama knew Josie also used this computer. Still, he had a quick look. The only emails on it related to the café.

Miriama must have an email -account—-if nothing else, she’d have needed one to apply for the -internship—-but chances were high it was a web account she nearly always used from her phone. He’d found no emails on her home computer either, and her browser history and bookmarks hadn’t included any webmail sites. The same proved true here.

Given Miriama’s age, her reliance on her phone for communication was unsurprising.

Photo editing software made up the bulk of what was on this computer. Will checked Miriama’s current projects, then slotted in the memory cards from her cameras, but nothing jumped out. Shot after shot taken in pursuit of her signature portraits, plus several finalized -images—-including one of a -bare--chested Dominic in bed, his smile intimate, and a stunning one of Pastor Mark sitting -stoop--shouldered on a church bench, but none of it told him how to find her.

He took the memory cards regardless, and made a mental note to dig deeper later. Right now, he had another priority: he needed to follow up on Fidel Cox. Locking up the café, he returned to the police station.

The system spat out the correct case file after a single inquiry.

According to the notes of the officer who’d driven in to record Matilda’s complaint on behalf of Miriama, the police had sent Fidel’s photo out across the country and received exactly zero tips in response. Fidel was an experienced hunter, so everyone figured he’d “gone bush” until the heat died down.