Hector hesitated. Judah had worked at the dump with him until recently. A big white guy with an army tattoo on his shoulder. He spoke a little Spanish, and he and Hector got on well. Judah had left unexpectedly, and Hector wondered if he’d found better pay elsewhere.

‘You know Judah, right?’ the woman said. ‘A wide gentleman? Army tattoo?’

‘I really have to go,’ Hector said.

‘My boss will pay you an extra hundred dollars per day,’ the woman said. ‘For less than two hours’ work. Sound good?’

Hector did need the extra cash. He was about to have to buy some more school books for his boys, and Cesar needed a new uniform. Hector’s car had a rattle which was getting worse, and he couldn’t fix it himself. Plus, the rent was going up at the apartment.

But something Hector’s mother used to say came back to him. If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. Back in Cancun, the only people who offered such ‘easy’ money were the cartels. If the lady had offered him twenty bucks he might have taken it. But a hundred? Every day? He didn’t want the risk.

‘Thank you for the offer,’ he said. ‘But I’m not looking for more work right now.’

He got in his pick-up. The woman let him do it. Then she tapped on the window.

Reluctantly, he rolled it down.

She passed him a fat envelope. ‘This is just for considering the offer.’

Then she started to walk away.

Hector could have chased after her, made her take the envelope back. But he thought about the school books. The rent. The rattle.

The woman got into a dark blue sedan and cruised out of the parking lot.

Hector sighed and opened the envelope.

What was inside wasn’t what he had expected. No money. Just printed photos. Dozens of them.

They were all photos of Cesar and Miguel. Some had been taken from outside the front gates of their school. Others were shots from the soccer field. A couple were from outside the church.

With shaking hands, Hector reached the final photo. It showed his boys sleeping. The picture had been taken from right outside their bedroom window.

There was one more thing in the envelope. A flap, thin and pale, like parchment, but as soft as good-quality leather. Hector didn’t know what he was holding until he saw the army tattoo.

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 27

Forwards I’m heavy, backwards I’m not. What am I?

The clock ticks in Gomez’s hospital room.

‘You should have taken the money,’ I say finally.

He looks at his feet. ‘You think I don’t know that, now?’

‘What did she actually want you to do?’ Thistle asks.