Nigel paced about the shop. He was still rattled by the contents of that video. Every time he looked at the computer that contained the image, he thought of the video of the woman. Visions of Hunter attacking those police officers and slitting his throat overwhelmed him. He closed his eyes, then performed the breathing exercises that usually calmed him.
Nigel’s phone chirped; it was John Appleton.
“Nigel, what’s wrong?” John asked.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Nigel said.
“Then why did you call me five times?”
“I did? I just called you once.”
“No, five times. I have the call log to prove it.”
“Oh . . . I need your advice. I found something . . . bad, maybe illegal, on my first customer’s computer.”
“Does it involve . . . children?”
“I don’t think they are children. They appear to be in thei
