The Killing Moon

by A. S. French

  ‘I think one of her friends at school nominated her. Every volunteer has to be nominated by a reliable person before they get invited.

  ‘What do you mean by reliable?’ Astrid said.

  He grinned at her through perfect white teeth. ‘Someone who has good, conservative Christian American values.’

  ‘I’m just a poor English girl, Glen; perhaps you can explain to me what it is you do here with the Future Youth Project.’

  She reached out for his hand, unsurprised he flinched when her skin touched his. He stepped back and rubbed at his forehead.

  ‘We promote American values.’ He glanced at Grace. ‘The Future Youth Project is committed to ensuring young Americans will understand and find inspiration in the ideas of individual freedom, a strong national defence, free enterprise, and traditional American life.’ Astrid resisted the urge to engage him in conversation regarding those views; they were only necessary to her locating Alex. ‘We do this through education and training while developing ongoing community projects which help the most impoverished.’

  It sounded grand. ‘Did you spend any time with Alex?’

  He shook his head. ‘I only saw her for a few minutes when the others told me how disruptive she was. A few of us had to talk her into leaving. This wasn’t the right place for her.’

  Grace continued making notes. ‘And you have no idea where she went after here?’

  ‘No, ma’am.’

  Astrid turned and left before she slapped the smile from him. Grace was two steps behind her.

  ‘Well, that was a waste of time.’ They returned to the car.

  ‘It was quite the opposite, Officer Crowley.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  The gates opened for them, and they left the youth of America behind.

  ‘Did you see the look on his face when I mentioned Alex? I thought he was going to wet his pants. He lied, and he let it slip when he said Alex caused too much trouble that first day. The first day implies more than one, and he didn’t realise what he’d said. How come your report says she was here for two nights, but he claims it was only one day?’

  ‘I don’t know. There’s no name attributed to that in the report.’

  ‘We need to find out who said it and speak to this friend who nominated Alex to come here.’ They drove on, leaving the country and heading into town. ‘Drop me off at my room so I can take a quick shower. Then we’ll meet in the bar across the road with the information you get from the police station.’

  ‘No problem,’ Grace said.

  Astrid didn’t doubt she’d break through the lies they’d heard; a bunch of callow youths and a corpulent politician wouldn’t hold out for too long once she applied the right kind of pressure. There was just one thing she couldn’t fathom out.

  Why would Alex go there in the first place?

  6 50ft Queenie

  Grace drove to the motel. The weather had transformed into a swirl of elements pummelling the town, with bits of dirt hovering everywhere. As Astrid got out of the car, dust spun in the air, turning the sky into a wave of tiny particles which bit at her face. Thunder arrived like the prelude to a death metal opera; heavy rumbling flooded every side of them. At first, it was a crack, with a vicious assault to the ears, but then came a rolling sound which dissipated into the surrounding hills.

  Astrid shielded her eyes from the worst of the conditions. ‘What happened to the sun?’

  ‘We get freaky weather all the time now.’ Grace closed the door, but left the window open. ‘Some people say it’s to do with climate change; others blame the fracking which started last year on the other side of the woods. Or it’s the spirits of the miners who died over the years.’

  Grace drove away, and Astrid thought of the ghosts from her past. She strode into the building, shaking grit from her hair and mouth, the taste of it making her cough on to the floor. The thunder continued outside, the roar of it ringing in her ears as her ghosts shrank into the shadows lurking inside her skull. The receptionist with droopy eyes lowered her head and stared at the ground, chewing like a dog snapping at a wasp. Astrid pulled thick wads of dust from her hair as she headed upstairs, the key in her hand and looking forward to a long shower.

  She only had one change of clothes with her, wondering if it would be sufficient if the local weather were to be this stormy for the next few days. That thought occupied her as she wiped nature from her face. The grit in her eyes irritated her enough to lose concentration, placing the key in the door and pushing on it before she realised it was unlocked. Her vision was clear enough to see the mess in the room, her bag upturned and emptied, and the contents of the drawers scattered on the floor.

  Then someone shoved her in the back.

  Astrid hit the bed chin first, her face buried in the sheets as the blade snapped into the covers and grazed her cheek. Her elbow sprang upwards and found her attacker. The intruder lurched into the table against the wall, crashing down and rolling on to the carpet. She pushed up and twisted to meet him, blood sliding down her cheeks as the weapon came at her again. She dodged to one side and threw her arm into his neck. He coughed and spat through his black mask and hit the wall. She moved forward and grabbed the knife from him, was about to press it against his face when something struck her on the rear of the skull. Cheap porcelain shattered against her head, bits of a doll-like female figurine flying into the air and flopping to the floor.

  ‘Fuck!’

  Astrid jumped on to the bed, pressing into the wall. As she readied for the next assault, her attackers fled the room. She stumbled after them, a fog drifting over her eyes which was worse than the dust storm outside.

  They staggered down the stairs as she grasped at the wall, their feet bouncing off the steps as her fingers found tattered paper and wrinkled paint. By the time she reached the bottom, they’d gone. The receptionist was nowhere as Astrid lurched through the door and onto the street. A thick haze had replaced the dust as she struggled to see anything around her. The air was quiet, the thunder having dissipated, and the only sound was the thump of her heart vibrating inside her head. She rubbed at the back of her skull, picking tiny bits of porcelain from her flesh and staring at them, a nervous laugh crawling from her throat at the sight of a ceramic hand with spots of her blood on it.

  She dropped it on to the ground and considered her options. Pain and irritation prompted her to go after them, even though she had no idea which direction they’d gone. Common sense told her she was more vulnerable than they were and would be disadvantaged if she headed into the vapour covering most of the street.

  A burning smell hung in the air, with a taste of electricity on her tongue. She bit her lip as spots formed before her gaze. She’d had a concussion before, and this was starting to feel like that. Astrid clutched at the ache at the back of her head and staggered into the hotel, where she slumped into a chair and removed her phone. Then she rang the number Grace had given her earlier as she struggled to keep her eyes open.

  The paramedics arrived before Grace did. They were attending to the bump on Astrid’s skull as Officer Crowley burst in. The receptionist had returned and looked sheepish as she sat in the corner, biting her nails.

  ‘I don’t know how they got in,’ she cried.

  ‘What happened?’ Grace said.

  Astrid touched the back of her head. ‘Two people attacked me in my room. They didn’t break in; they either had a key or picked the lock. They ransacked the place, but there’s nothing of mine missing.’

  Once she’d dug her nails into her arm to make sure she stayed awake, Astrid had checked her meagre things before the paramedics arrived. Then she returned downstairs and waited, as the receptionist repeatedly apologised for something she said wasn’t her fault.

  Grace removed her hand and took out her notebook. ‘Did you see who they were?’

  Astrid went to shake her head, but it hurt too much. ‘The one with the knife wore a mask. I didn’t notice who smacked me.’

  G
race turned to the nervous receptionist. ‘What did you see?’

  A scruffy white cat jumped on to her lap, and she clung to it like a shield. ‘I didn’t see nuthin,’ I swear.’

  ‘The swelling should go down in a couple of days, and the cut on your cheek is only a nick,’ the paramedic said to Astrid. ‘Are you sure you feel okay, no dizziness or blurred vision?’

  ‘I can’t see what’s going on around here, but I’ll be fine,’ she replied. ‘Once I find somewhere else to stay.’

  Grace picked up Astrid’s bag. ‘You’ll stop with me while you’re in town; no arguments.’

  Astrid followed her out. The weather had returned to normal, and she was thankful for that small mercy. She grinned through the constant vibration bouncing through her head.

  ‘But, Officer Crowley, what will the neighbours say?’

  Grace ignored Astrid’s question as she started the car. ‘Do you think they were waiting in your room for you?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Perhaps they were burglars, and they lashed out as a reaction.’

  ‘Why would someone go through your stuff? Have you got anything worth stealing?’

  ‘It’s amateur hour scare tactics, that’s all. Somebody wants me out of this town.’ She removed the fingers from the back of her neck. ‘Maybe the locals still think they’re fighting the Revolutionary War, and they just don’t like the English.’

  Grace drove away. ‘You could be right, and they might have been petty criminals thinking they’ve got an easy mark since you’re new in town.’

  Astrid gritted her teeth as the car bounced over a pothole.

  ‘I guess anything is possible.’ She glanced at the pretty streets with their clean shops and impressive architecture. The earlier storm appeared to have left no lasting damage. ‘Did you find out who recommended Alex to the Future Youth Project?’

  ‘Her name is Beth Sharp, Alex's friend and a student at the same college. I have an address for her.’

  Astrid suddenly felt better. ‘Wasn’t she the last person to see Alex?’ Grace nodded. ‘Before we go to yours, let’s speak to her. I want to find out why she helped Alex get into that group.’

  Grace made a left turn, the momentum of which threw Astrid’s shoulder into the policewoman. There was a brief smile between them before she righted herself.

  ‘She’ll be coming out of school in about fifteen minutes; we can meet her outside. As long as you feel up to it.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Astrid touched the scar forming on her cheek. The paramedics had cleaned the blood away, but she could still smell it.

  ‘You look great, don’t worry.’ Grace’s laugh was nervous and light.

  ‘Why, thank you, Officer. I hope you write that down in your report.’

  They laughed together, a natural, comfortable thing as if they’d known each other for years.

  ‘Speaking of reports,’ Grace said, ‘I checked to see who’d made the statement regarding Alex spending two days at the youth group.’

  ‘And what did you find?’

  ‘The original report, the one I photocopied this morning, was altered; it’s been replaced. Now it says she only stayed there until the afternoon on one day. There’s no name next to the statement, even on the original. If I hadn’t copied it, we wouldn’t have known this.’

  ‘You know you can’t trust anyone in your station, Grace?’

  ‘I guess so.’

  She sped down the road, and Astrid saw the sign for the Lincoln Parks School ahead. They had ten minutes before the school got out. She flexed her fingers and let the aches and pains settle into her body. The two attackers had caught her by surprise, but she chastised herself for such a slow response and for being too casual as she went to her room. She’d taken the small town of Angel Springs for granted, but she wouldn’t anymore.

  Astrid peered out of the window, fascinated by the uniformed guards patrolling the school. It was impossible not to see the guns strapped to their sides. Grace parked opposite in front of the park. She reached into the glove compartment and removed a bright orange swag of chocolate treats.

  ‘I need a regular sugar intake during the day.’

  Astrid looked her up and down, scrutinising her large frame in the car. ‘Too many sweets will stunt your growth.’

  Grace chuckled and offered the bag to Astrid, who declined. ‘That’s what I thought, so I’ve eaten stuff like this all my life, but it didn’t work.’

  ‘Maybe you should have switched to fags?’

  The policewoman narrowed her eyes as she bit through a handful of chocolates. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s a British slang word for cigarettes. Kids in Britain were told smoking would stunt your growth.’ She glanced at the armed security again. ‘I guess it’s one of the many cultural differences between our countries. When I was at school, the worst thing that could happen to you was detention or other kids itching for a scrap or a bit of name-calling. You might get grief for having the wrong hairstyle or for liking dodgy music, but that was about it.’ She searched for any good memories of her schooldays, but knew it was a fruitless exercise. ‘I can’t imagine what it must be like attending school and thinking you could get shot as you’re sitting down to learn about geometry or human biology.’

  Grace slipped the sweets back into their resting place and laid one hand on the dashboard. ‘Touch wood, but so far, thankfully, Angel Springs has never had a school shooting.’

  ‘Do you think that’s because of the armed security?’

  She shook her head. ‘I doubt it. I guess we’ve been lucky the town hasn’t produced any kids with those kinds of disturbed minds.’

  ‘I have some experience of dealing with sociopaths and those with lives fuelled by violent criminal fantasies.’

  Grace’s wide eyes added to her unique allure. ‘Tell me more, Ms Snow.’

  Astrid ignored the throbbing at the back of her skull. ‘Some people crave recognition, some of which is driven by violent fantasies that start at an early age. The majority of these focus on inflicting pain on others, more often than not as a release for their own perceived pain or as a form of revenge against supposed injustices. The fantasies typically intensify over several years before they’re acted on. With time, the mental images become more detailed, often reinforced by a distorted sense of what is just or moral, such as the need to avenge a perceived offence or the belief in a divine right to decide the fate of others.’

  Grace scratched at her leg. ‘They sound like politicians.’

  Astrid laughed. ‘Several studies have shown high-level functioning sociopaths often gravitate to high-pressure jobs in government or industry, which I suppose is better than becoming murderers.’

  ‘I’m guessing most of these will be men.’

  ‘More than ninety per cent, I’d say. Murderous sociopathic or psychopathic women are rare, but not unknown. According to a study published in the International Journal of Women’s Health, female psychopaths are more likely to flirt and use their sexuality to manipulate people. They’re more likely to be verbally aggressive and mean, and less likely to attack people violently. On the other hand, psychopathic men are more physically aggressive and more likely to commit fraud; this is perhaps why there are many more men in prisons.’

  A mischievous grin crossed Grace’s face. ‘Do you flirt to manipulate people, Ms Snow?’

  Considering what she’d gone through, Astrid felt good and smiled. ‘Why, Officer Crowley, what are you implying?’

  Grace licked her lips and swallowed the sweet. ‘Is it nurture or nature that creates society’s killers?’

  ‘There’s no easy answer, but it’s a mixture of both.’ Astrid inspected the guards talking to each other as they prepared for the kids to come out. ‘At a young age, violent offenders are often pessimistic about their future and have low self-esteem. Many have been harassed, bullied or rejected by classmates, suspended from school, or pressured by teachers. Someone with a less balanced psyche and in the wrong environment can
then snap into the sort of destructive criminal behaviour sometimes seen in American schools.’

  ‘I know guns aren’t legal in Britain, but don’t you see similar actions from damaged kids?’

  Astrid pushed her childhood memories into the shadows. ‘Yes, but not on the scale you have. There are examples of violent conduct, of knife attacks, but the incidences are low. I’ve no doubt things would be worse if firearms were easily available back home.’

  ‘Did you carry a gun when you worked for the British government?’

  ‘Only when I had to, and it wasn’t the British government I worked for.’

  Grace pulled a face of mock disappointment. ‘Don’t shatter my illusions, Astrid. I had visions of you travelling the world like a female James Bond, driving the coolest cars and wearing the most expensive clothes.’

  ‘You mean a chain-smoking, heavy-drinking, Benzedrine-popping womanising hero who indulges in her vices to silence the demons brought on by her dark profession as a government-sanctioned killer?’

  ‘Well, since you put it like that.’

  They laughed together in stereo.

  ‘I’ll tell you some stories to curl your hair later.’ A group of adults with younger children gathered outside the school. ‘Do you have any other family, Grace?’

  She turned her head from Astrid and let out a deep sigh. ‘There’s only me. My parents died when I was ten, and my gran took me in.’

  Astrid recognised the sorrow in Grace’s face, wondering what her life would have been like if her parents had died when she was young. She didn’t have any aunts or uncles, so she’d have ended up in foster care, but that was preferable to the reality. She still would have had Courtney to deal with. She pushed the image of her sister from her mind.

  ‘Do you want a family?’

  Grace raised a hand to her lips, appearing to want to chew on her nails before thinking better of it. She dropped it on to her leg instead.