I clear my throat. ‘No problem.’

‘Come with me.’

If I had a phone, I guess she would have left me alone in here while she hid it somewhere else at the dump. That must have been what happened to Biggs. He would have waited, alone in this dark container, more and more convinced with every passing second that this was all wrong.

Until he decided to leave a message behind.

I look at the spot on the wall where the calendar used to be. Suddenly I realise what he was trying to do. The dates were a message. A code so basic that even a non-professor could decipher it. I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out sooner—it’s just like Tyrrell and his 88 tattoo.

Twelve dates, one per month. Twelve numbers.

9, 13, 19, 15, 18, 18, 25, 7, 1, 2, 2, 9.

I, M, S, O, R, R, Y, G, A, B, B, I.

•

Cindy drives me back towards Houston. Thistle must have heard my message by now. Where are the sirens? Why isn’t every squad car in Texas converging on us?

On cue, my phone starts to buzz inside my stomach.

I cough with surprise. The vibration turns my guts to water. I don’t know whether I’m going to throw up or shit myself.

‘Are you okay?’ Cindy asks, alarmed.

I clear my throat. ‘Fine,’ I gasp.

The phone keeps buzzing. I clench my pelvic floor. Don’t call me, I think. Track the phone!

‘You don’t look fine,’ Cindy says.

I thump my chest. ‘It’s just … anxiety.’

‘Okay.’ Cindy touches my arm. ‘Ride it out. Just listen to your breaths, okay? In and out.’

The phone stops. I exhale shakily.

‘That’s it,’ Cindy says. ‘Nice and slow. You’re doing great. Relax your shoulders.’

I loosen my muscles. I should have worked out how to turn off the vibration before I swallowed the phone. Another call, and I could be in deep shit. Maybe literally.

‘Thanks,’ I say.

‘Of course.’

‘You’ve dealt with something like that before?’

‘I used to get panic attacks,’ Cindy says. ‘One time I hurt somebody. I didn’t mean to—I just lashed out. So I taught myself some calming techniques.’

It all clicks together. She’s the one Warner told me about. The sex worker who hit a client, and was allowed to quit. Sindy with an S.

‘Did it help?’ I ask.

‘Not as much as leaving the situation did.’ Sindy looks at me. ‘I do hope you don’t want to leave?’

‘No,’ I say.

‘Great.’

She takes the turn-off towards the cabin in the woods.