Hunter walked over to Maria’s table, about to open his mouth and ask for breakfast recommendations when her expression halted him. She looked up at him with anguished eyes, shaking her head emphatically and murmuring in rapid Spanish. “¿Qué?” said Hunter helplessly. “Maria, ¿hablas inglés?” Maria shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. She kept speaking urgent words Hunter didn’t understand. He tried asking questions but her torrent of Spanish continued unabated until Hunter threw his hands up in frustration. “Whoa, whoa, slow down,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder to try and calm her. But Maria was too worked up. She reached for a pen and notebook on the table, eager to explain. Hunter watched in confusion as she scribbled furiously, then ripped the paper out and shoved it back at him. He took it, squinting at what she’d written: imated over a bridge about 10km outside the town. Thinking only tracks, not considering what it represented. Please help me find Trainer. “Um…” Hunter said slowly, as if pieces of a puzzle were starting to click together in fits and starts and he wasn’t quite sure how they went. “So…um…” At that moment, his radio crackled to life. “Detective! You said to call you if it happened again!” Hunter sprang up from his seat. “I’ll be right there!” he shouted into the radio. Maria sat frozen, her pen poised for more writing as she watched Hunter sprint out of the café, leaving her via agonizing ordeal to develop her camera film.