The coffee strong and fragrant, washes away my doubts and clears my thinking, although granted, it leaves me with my problem.

How to find Juliana?

And what is the significance of the invoice addresses?

I let my mind freewheel, caffeine lubricating the gears.

What's the connection?

?

?

Back to basics...

Finchby’s invoices...

Taken from his own files…

Supply addresses from legitimate businesses…

… Listing women, children… Human cargo.

???

That can't possibly be what went through the customs checks...

Duplicate documents then?

Same references. Same monetary values. Different cargo.

That would seem logical: A parallel accounting system: one for the outside world, one for private records.

Yes, that works. Any competent criminal could make that work. And doubtless, with the money involved, they’d have accountants and bookkeepers… Perhaps even customs officers and tax inspectors on the payroll.

But none of that gives me the connection to Antonio’s bar or any of the others.

Why here?

Frustrated, mind spiralling inward…

Damn the coffee…

I order another

*****

Charlotte

and boots he uses for riding, and a thick cable-knit sweater… “…I’m going to take Oliver

air. And the sunshine is that brilliant clear

I look down to my tiny daughter, blinking at the mobile rotating above her in the cot, trying, with unformed muscles, to reach

eye on Cara.” My Mom smiles from her rocking chair next

me five minutes, just while Cara drops

takes the few steps to bring him close to me, then reaches down with a long finger, stroking Cara’s cheek. His face might seem impassive to any that didn’t know him, but I see the hidden smile behind his eyes. Our daughter burbles a bit but doesn’t seem to mind. “Take all the time you need,” he says. “I’ll be

*****

“All ready for you.” Straightening up, he runs over me with his eyes. “You’re wearing plenty of layers?

a

his hands into a cup.

slaps him on the shoulder then runs a hand up his neck. “Shhhh… Calm down. We’re going now.” Oliver’s ears flick

“I thought we might take the

“Great idea.”

*****

in the world. The ground is firm with the cold and Oliver is trying to take the bit. Head tossing, his gait dancing between a walk and

Charlie, also performing, jarring under

to the

“Only to the fence. No

lost to the wind as I kick heels at Charlie, and she moves from trot to canter to gallop in

her son begins to draw away, Charlie jolts under me with another burst of speed and as we reach the end of the field, Charlie and Oliver, mother and son,

maniac, panting, my blood racing.

the bottom, the air frigid and fresh. Oliver and Charlie blow blue from their nostrils. “It’s so good to

out, lifting the long arm of the gate latch to let me through, clucks

path that will take us

there’s something I

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