time”—she looked at Abby—“and keep me posted. This might be interesting.”
“Will do.”
Abby stared after the retreating form of the lieutenant. Soren too, she couldn’t believe it. Had they read his email? There was that ‘They’ again. Would they figure out what he’d meant? And the keys, how—and when—could he have placed them in her couch? Did he know she would need them? He knew she often fell asleep on the couch, and that she often lost the remote between the cushions; hell of a gamble though. She hadn’t thought things were bad enough to need the keys and what they opened, but if Soren was missing… And there was still the story, God, this was a hell of a story. She just needed to live through it to tell it. Soren’s preparations for the unlikely collapse of the country no longer seemed so superfluous, even if things hadn’t gone to the same hell he’d predicted.
“What’cha thinking about?” the detective asked, grinning at her.
She closed her eyes, shook her head once. “Nothing.”
“That’s what it looked like. How about some coffee?”
“You have tea? I’m trying to get off coffee.”
“Off coffee?” His eyebrows raised almost to his receding hairline.
She flattened her lips together, made a ‘What can you do?’ face.
“I’ll see what I can find, no promises. Wait here, can’t have you wandering around.”
Abby nodded and watched him walk around a corner and out of sight. She looked back in front of her, where the detective had been sitting on his desk. There were folders there, reports. One caught her eye, right near the edge: HAGELIN . Her pulse sped up as she glanced around the station. No one was paying her notice. She grabbed the folder and shoved it into her purse.
She immediately regretted it. God, she could lose her job for something like that, maybe even go to jail. What was she thinking?
She was thrumming with adrenaline now, more than that time when her and several girlfriends had gone on a trip to Canada during college and, in the pitch black night, gone streaking past the oblivious crowd of revelers on the other side of the bay.
She had to put it back, she couldn’t steal from the cops. She clenched her fists, rubbing the thumbs against the side of her index fingers as she looked around again. No one was watching her. Were there cameras? Too late for that, if nothing was missing they’d have no reason to look. She took a deep breath, bit her lip and began the motion to reach into her purse, but then the detective rounded a corner, holding two cups.
That was
fast
. Shit, shit. She slowly, and she hoped subtly, eased back into her seat.
He reached her and held out one of the cups. As she took it, he frowned, tilted his head to the right. “Are you okay?”
Abby let out something that wasn’t a laugh. “No.”
The frown left his face, and he patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out. Now, let’s see if we can’t help you remember what you saw.” He settled back onto his desk.
“I told you everything I could remember already.”
“So you say. You might be surprised by what the human mind is capable of.”
“I’m a reporter.”
He smiled, a broad, genuine smile. “And I’m a cop, and you’re not even thirty. Kid, you ain’t seen nothin’.” He put up his hand. “Just play along. Humor me. If you can’t, you can’t. But if you don’t try, you’ll never know.”
Abby held her tea in both hands in front of her chin. “Fine.”
“How much did you tell them?” you ask.
“How much did I tell them?”
“Earlier,” you say, “you said you didn’t trust them. I was thinking maybe you didn’t tell them enough.”
“I told them everything I knew.”
“Oh. Good.”
“Wait, they know we’re here then?” the champagne catcher asks.
“These trains have sensors,” the long-haired man says. “They would know anyway.”
“So,” Abby says, “I told him everything this time, and then I was
“Will do.”
Abby stared after the retreating form of the lieutenant. Soren too, she couldn’t believe it. Had they read his email? There was that ‘They’ again. Would they figure out what he’d meant? And the keys, how—and when—could he have placed them in her couch? Did he know she would need them? He knew she often fell asleep on the couch, and that she often lost the remote between the cushions; hell of a gamble though. She hadn’t thought things were bad enough to need the keys and what they opened, but if Soren was missing… And there was still the story, God, this was a hell of a story. She just needed to live through it to tell it. Soren’s preparations for the unlikely collapse of the country no longer seemed so superfluous, even if things hadn’t gone to the same hell he’d predicted.
“What’cha thinking about?” the detective asked, grinning at her.
She closed her eyes, shook her head once. “Nothing.”
“That’s what it looked like. How about some coffee?”
“You have tea? I’m trying to get off coffee.”
“Off coffee?” His eyebrows raised almost to his receding hairline.
She flattened her lips together, made a ‘What can you do?’ face.
“I’ll see what I can find, no promises. Wait here, can’t have you wandering around.”
Abby nodded and watched him walk around a corner and out of sight. She looked back in front of her, where the detective had been sitting on his desk. There were folders there, reports. One caught her eye, right near the edge: HAGELIN . Her pulse sped up as she glanced around the station. No one was paying her notice. She grabbed the folder and shoved it into her purse.
She immediately regretted it. God, she could lose her job for something like that, maybe even go to jail. What was she thinking?
She was thrumming with adrenaline now, more than that time when her and several girlfriends had gone on a trip to Canada during college and, in the pitch black night, gone streaking past the oblivious crowd of revelers on the other side of the bay.
She had to put it back, she couldn’t steal from the cops. She clenched her fists, rubbing the thumbs against the side of her index fingers as she looked around again. No one was watching her. Were there cameras? Too late for that, if nothing was missing they’d have no reason to look. She took a deep breath, bit her lip and began the motion to reach into her purse, but then the detective rounded a corner, holding two cups.
That was
fast
. Shit, shit. She slowly, and she hoped subtly, eased back into her seat.
He reached her and held out one of the cups. As she took it, he frowned, tilted his head to the right. “Are you okay?”
Abby let out something that wasn’t a laugh. “No.”
The frown left his face, and he patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out. Now, let’s see if we can’t help you remember what you saw.” He settled back onto his desk.
“I told you everything I could remember already.”
“So you say. You might be surprised by what the human mind is capable of.”
“I’m a reporter.”
He smiled, a broad, genuine smile. “And I’m a cop, and you’re not even thirty. Kid, you ain’t seen nothin’.” He put up his hand. “Just play along. Humor me. If you can’t, you can’t. But if you don’t try, you’ll never know.”
Abby held her tea in both hands in front of her chin. “Fine.”
“How much did you tell them?” you ask.
“How much did I tell them?”
“Earlier,” you say, “you said you didn’t trust them. I was thinking maybe you didn’t tell them enough.”
“I told them everything I knew.”
“Oh. Good.”
“Wait, they know we’re here then?” the champagne catcher asks.
“These trains have sensors,” the long-haired man says. “They would know anyway.”
“So,” Abby says, “I told him everything this time, and then I was
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