The Website

By Miriam Verbeek

★★★★★ PUBLISHERS WEEKLY'S BOOKLIFE PRIZE AWARD WINNER!

★★★★★ MAINCREST MEDIA AWARD WINNER!

★★★★★ CHANTICLEER INTERNATIONAL BOOK AWARD SEMI-FINALIST FOR MYSTERY & MAYHEM!

 

"Verbeek's The Website is strikingly original in concept and scope. While the topic of sex-trafficked children is a familiar one, the author integrates fantasy elements into the story, beginning with the fictional island of Si'Empra" – Book Life Prize

 

Perfect for fans of crime, thriller, and fantasy alike, The Website is a fast-paced, genre-mashing mystery novel that intertwines the beloved urban fantasy world of Si'Empra with the harsh realities of a child trafficking investigation.

 

Saskia Van Essen is a dwarf, finance geek, and crime investigator who has seen it all, from fraudulent activities to covert work with law enforcement agencies. But nothing could prepare her for the challenge of her latest mission – uncovering the secrets of an organized crime ring and dark net site that sells images of unusual-looking children tagged in Interpol's Child Sexual Exploitation database.

 

In a stroke of luck, Saskia learns of a mystical, isolated island in the Antarctic called Si'Empra, and the people inhabiting this island share a remarkable resemblance to the missing children tagged in her database. Getting to the island is the least of her worries, however. Its inhabitants are wary of foreigners, and though she knows she's getting close to those at the head of the trafficking ring, they always seem to be one step ahead. Can Saskia uncover the kingpins' identities before more children fall victim to their whims?

 

Gripping and full of intrigue, The Website is sure to be enjoyed by fans of hits like Bruce Beckham's DI Skelgill series and Yasmin Angoe's Nena Knight trilogy.

Click "Add to cart" today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Miriam Verbeek
• Release date: Jul 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9780648885450

Miriam Verbeek

Miriam Verbeek was born to Dutch parents in Bandung, Indonesia in 1954 and migrated to Australia as a child. Throughout a career in academia and management consulting, she advocated for environmental and humanitarian causes. She's a mother, homemaker, nature lover and bushwalker and lives with her partner on the east coast of Australia.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Rotterdam

Cars streamed in one continuous line from the cavernous interior of the Hull-to-Rotterdam ferry. On the dock, people jostled with luggage and waved and called to one another as they disembarked. Beyond the ferry, vessels churned through the grey, choppy sea. A cold breeze tugged at Saskia’s coat and whistled through the straps of her bike helmet. Not far away, a tall, thin man also leaned on the guard rail. He had not glanced at her when she stepped up on a cement block to give herself enough height to watch the hubbub.

Her phone rang. She touched her earbuds to answer the call.

Hi Saskia. It’s Simon Perrot. Can you talk?

Hi Simon. Yes.

Where are you?

I’m standing on a block of cement, leaning on a railing and taking in the view of Rotterdam Harbour. The ferry from Hull has just berthed.

Simon chuckled. That’s a comprehensive answer. Lucky you. Are you on holidays?

Visiting my family for a week. What’s up?

I thought you’d like to know. New images of those pale-looking children have turned up.

Tell me they’re not new. Tell me they’re recycled, Simon.

Unfortunately, no. They are new. New young victims. But, as far as I can tell, they’re taken in the same place – the children have the same features.

Damn! Damn! Damn! Still no idea who they are? It was a forlorn question. Years of searching by police units around the world, dedicated to fighting crimes against children, had failed to locate the pale-skinned, purple-eyed children or to shut down the website selling the images.

No idea.

Damn! What else could she say? This was not her case. She’d seen the awful images of the children on a previous case and had asked Simon to keep her informed.

Saskia thanked him for the information, popped the earbuds out and zipped them into the pocket of her cycling jacket. The news had made the music she’d been listening to sound tinny.

Sick minds! She gripped the rail and shook it violently. Grrrr!

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the thin man turn towards her, an eyebrow crooked up enquiringly. Out of sorts?

Am I being obvious? she growled.

The man grinned. Oh, I’m just guessin’. Thought I was in a bit of an earthquake there for a coupla seconds. His broad accent marked him as an Australian.

She wasn’t in the mood for talking to anyone. She turned her attention back to the ferry. The Netherlands is not on a seismic zone, she muttered.

Is that a fact. The man tilted his head, looking her over. I like the way most of you Dutchies can speak good English.

Irritated by his bold inspection, she returned: Is that what you’re speaking?

His grin broadened. I do my best, love. I’m just a sailor and la-di-da talking isn’t my thing.

Shamed by his refusal to be offended by her tetchiness, she said, Us Dutchies not only know how to talk English, we know how to be rude. Sorry.

Didn’t notice, love. Got the hide of a rhino, I do.

She laughed. Thank you.

You a sailor?

I can swim, but I’d prefer not to be on the water.

Racing bikes? He nodded towards the bike she had laid on the grass nearby. It was a modified child’s bike and the thought that she would be able to join a peloton on it made her laugh again.

It’s just my recreational pursuit. Saskia nodded in the direction of the waters before them. Is your boat out there somewhere?

Way over there. He pointed into the distance, past the ferry, cargo ships and other craft to the opposite shoreline. "You probably can’t see it. That two-mast one over there. Been all over the world in her. Westrunner’s her name. My mate’s just taking her for a bit of a spin. We’re waiting for another job to come in."

I see, Saskia said. Is Rotterdam the usual place you get your jobs from?

No. Truth to tell, this is only the second time I’ve been here. Like the place though. Big harbour. Lots of things going on. He gave the grey sky a rueful glance. Don’t go much for this weather though.

It is tedious. But it is also coming into winter. Where do you usually dock your boat?

No place usual. Been all over the world in her – as I said. Seen things and met people you’d never imagined even existed.

Any with purple eyes?

Purple eyes, eh? Yeah. I seen them.

The response so startled Saskia that she stared at him, tipping her head back further to take in his full measure. Really?

Yeah. I have. Strange little people. Live underground most of the time. His eyes narrowed as he regarded her. So, why’d you ask?

Oh! Well. Well – I saw a picture of one and wondered if – you know – contact lenses?

Nope. They all got eyes like that. Something to do with the gases underground that these beasties they live with produce.

Saskia frowned.

The man grinned, crow’s feet around the man’s eyes deepening. You think I’m kidding, don’t you? He pulled a mobile phone from out of his coat pocket. Here, I’ll show you. He tapped for some time and handed the phone down to her. Here’s one of me with one of them.

She took the phone and studied the image, expanding and moving it around with two fingers on the screen. The person standing next to the Australian was dressed in brownish, loose trousers and coat. A wide-brimmed hat shadowed a porcelain-white face but the large, rounded eyes definitely had a purplish tinge.

They’re little, said the man. He’s full grown and one of the taller ones, too. He don’t even come to my shoulder, and I’m just shy of six foot. Usually, you can’t see their eyes. Real light-sensitive they are, so they keep sunglasses over them. But I got this guy to take off the glasses for the photo. That’s why he’s squinting a bit.

Where did you meet this person?

Oh, you only ever see them on their island. They never leave there, apparently. None of them people who live on that island leave the island.

Do they all have purple eyes?

"No. Only them as live underground. Crystalmakers, they call them. Leastways, that’s the English name for them. They don’t talk English – the underground ones. Some singsongy language. There’s people who live on top. They call themselves Skyseekers. They got their own language too but lots of them speak real good English. The above-grounders and the under-grounders had a bit of a – you might say – a bit of an altercation about fifteen year ago. I was crew on Westrunner then. The man gave another nod in the direction of his boat. The captain as used to own the boat and me and another mate, Joe, we ran some supplies out to them a few times. Real intense they are. Don’t take much to strangers. But I hear they got quite a tourism industry going now."

What’s the name of this place?

Si’Empra. So, what’s got you so interested? You don’t look nearly so crotchety no more.

I think I needed a distraction and you’ve provided me with one very nicely. Tell me how you spell the name of this island.

Jeez! Now you’ve got me. The man screwed up his face. Just got to call up the island on the sea chart. He tapped the side of his head. Got the chart of that part of the ocean in my head, he muttered. S I – and I think there’s one of those high comma things, and then E M P R A. If you’re thinking of going to visit, take your warm woollies ’cause it’s bloody freezing there. That island’s almost on the Antarctic Circle and the wind just about never stops.

So, visitors should pack their skis?

Probably not, love. Snow on the mountains all year – bloody big mountains – but no resorts up there. Winter’s black as sin. Antarctica’s not a place you want to spend time in winter unless you’re a scientist or something.

Her mood having lifted into the realms of hope, Saskia stayed to talk to the Australian for a while longer. He had little more to tell her about Si’Empra, but was eager to expand on other of his adventures, which, she gradually came to believe, involved activities that were highly dubious if not downright criminal.

Saskia took her leave and retrieved her bicycle, eager to get to her computer. She tightened the helmet straps under her chin and then, in smooth almost simultaneous moves born of much practice, she clicked her shoes into the pedal cleats, hunched over the handlebars and set the bike in motion.

Who would have thought, she murmured. Who would have thought that a chance encounter could deliver this information.

She sped along the cycle path that followed the harbour and into the city, winding her way through narrow streets, over canal bridges and into the neighbourhood of Delfhaven, in which she had grown up and where her parents still lived and operated their café. She locked her bike into a bike rack and entered the café, her cycling shoes click-clacking on the tiled floor.

As usual, the café was a buzz of cheery activity. Her brother, Sjoerd, working the coffee machine, raised a hand in welcome. She returned the gesture and walked on through the kitchen, where her parents were busily fulfilling the orders of patrons, to the stairs leading up to the family’s living quarters and into her bedroom where her laptop sat on the small desk jammed into the space next to her bed.

The word ‘Si’Empra’ typed into her computer’s search engine confirmed the island’s existence. She leaned into the screen and began to trawl through the publicly available information: a few paragraphs in Wikipedia about population size, location, topography, commerce, together with a map showing an island in the vague shape of a bird lying on its side; two towns, Baltha and Sinthen, and the largest settlement, Si’Em City, a labyrinthine city within a bluff near the island’s harbour – called The Inlet. Several websites described Si’Empran jewellery, displaying images of finely wrought fashion accessories. A few science websites mentioned instrument components sourced from Si’Empra. A number of tourism sites lauded the island as a ‘once-in-a-lifetime’ destination. One tourism site targeting Japanese travellers showed images of the island: snow-capped mountains, a forbidding shoreline with high cliffs, and the huge Si’Em City monolith. Pictures of the harbourside showed a wide expanse of flat ground at the foot of the monolith; one part of it housing an open-air market. Among the images was one of a woman riding an enormous black bird with a bright red crest.

Saskia copied the Japanese characters of the caption of the bird and woman picture into a translator app: Si’Empra’s Ülrügh and her companion bird, the glasaur, Rosa.

Saskia expanded the image, focusing in on the woman’s face.

I do believe you have purple eyes, she murmured. So, maybe that man refers to those who live in the labyrinth city as living underground.

Hmm. Talking to yourself and doing it in French. Is your mother tongue not good enough?

Saskia turned her head to see Sjoerd leaning against the doorpost, a teasing smile tugging his lips. Like herself, he had inherited their mother’s tight, crinkly black hair, dark eyes and smooth olive skin. There their likeness ended. Her brother towered over crowds while she disappeared in them, barely topping the waist height of many adults. His limbs were long and graceful; hers were short and no one had ever called any part of her graceful.

Have you been interrogating that computer screen since you got back from your bike ride? Sjoerd stepped forward to look over her shoulder. He bent down and let out a slow whistle. That is one very attractive lady. Have you given up on men and started looking for a woman to share your life with – perhaps a French one so you can talk French all the time?

Oh, rotten boy! Saskia laughed, pushing at the top of his arm with a fist. Does nothing else ever enter your head?

Well, my hormones run strong. His remark was almost an aside because he was still focused on the woman on the screen. Who is this woman then?

She’s called Ülrügh. Though I think that’s a title – something like a president or prime minister. She’s head of a little country called Si’Empra.

Never heard of it.

Neither had I till this morning. It’s only tiny. Has about thirty thousand people on the island. Descendants of Vikings, it would seem.

Are they all this attractive?

No idea. What do you think? Do you think her skin is paler than usual and her eyes purple?

Sjoerd gave her a quizzical glance before returning his attention to the screen. Hmm. Let me see… nope, she looks pretty normal. Nice red hair, though. Hard to say about the eyes. Might be sort of purplish. He fiddled with the computer’s touch pad to bring the bird into the picture. What’s that? A statue?

Apparently, she rides it. It’s called a glasaur.

Sjoerd laughed. Hey, big sister. You’re playing with me now. I thought you were for real. Now you’re telling me about a fantasy place.

Saskia closed her laptop. Maybe I am, she said as she slid off her chair.

How did you come by this fantasy land?

I spoke to a man at the port and he told me about the country. I was curious. Are you finished in the café?

For the time being. We’re having a late lunch. Mother sent me to fetch you.

As Saskia followed Sjoerd into the dining area, she thumbed a message on her phone to Simon at Interpol. A country called Si’Empra might be the source of the images.

Chapter 2

Briefings

Aweek later, Saskia said goodbye to her family. With the bike attached to its frame on the back of her hatchback, she sped along expressways to Lyon. She always enjoyed spending time with her family, but had moved out of home more than two decades ago and carved out a life and a profession that engrossed her – and which her family only had the vaguest idea about. In Lyon, she owned a studio apartment that was less a home than a place with a bed, a minimal kitchen and bathroom, and wardrobe and shelves to keep her few belongings. More important to her than the apartment was the organisation she had established with her two partners, Claude and Natalie, and their indispensable office manager, Clarissa. IFS, or International Financial Services, specialised in financial security systems. In her work, which often had her travelling to places throughout the world, she indulged her geeky and investigative nature on assignments that varied from uncovering money-laundering scams – especially those connected with the abuse of children – to helping set up secure financial systems for large and small enterprises.

The IFS office was Clarissa’s two-storey home. That is to say, the first storey of the home was where Clarissa, her three cats and two dogs lived, with the front lounge area doubling as a place for meeting IFS clients and Clarissa’s office/reception. The second storey housed the real office, a mass of benches, computers and equipment that enabled the team to prod and poke systems around the world in pursuit of their clients’ interests, and to continually update their knowledge. Out of this office, Saskia and her partners not only serviced clients but also researched and wrote books and blogs; side-line endeavours that were valuable for enhancing their reputation.

Clarissa greeted Saskia in her usual ebullient, motherly way by lifting her off her feet and clasping her to her substantial bosom. Why, honey, it is so good to see you. I been so darned lonely without nobody here, I near even bored my poor kitties!

Since she had been brought level with Clarissa’s plump cheek, Saskia pressed a kiss against it – just one, because Clarissa didn’t hold with the French way of a kiss for each cheek. Sometimes it’s even three! she was known to rage. When’s it going to stop!

I hurried back when I heard Claude and Natalie were both away, Saskia said. It was a lie and Clarissa would know it, but it was the right thing to say.

The big woman set Saskia back on her feet, giving the two dogs, who had been vying for attention, a chance for affection. Now you go on into the kitchen and let me fix you some breakfast and a good cup of coffee, and I’ll fill you in on everything that’s been going on in the office.

Saskia did so, followed by Clarissa’s menagerie: a tabby, a ginger and a Burmese, and two yappy white Pekinese who thought they were cats but were barely tolerated by their feline companions. In the background, she heard Clarissa deal with the three phone calls that had come in while she’d been fussing over Saskia. The tone and mannerisms Clarissa used on the phone were continents away from those she’d just used in greeting. No one at the other end of the phone would guess that the person who spoke so fluently and with an indeterminate accent in French, Spanish, German or English was a middle-aged woman with coal-black skin, a broad Jamaican lilt to her speech and smotheringly motherly instincts.

Clarissa was the hub of IFS. All four IFS partners shared a proficiency in languages and an instinctive knowledge of computer technology, but Clarissa preferred to manage the organisation rather than delve into the minutiae of the projects. It was an excellent arrangement, freeing Claude, Natalie and Saskia to concentrate on their areas of expertise while knowing that all else in the organisation would continue to run smoothly. The price, however, was to indulge Clarissa’s whims.

Being served breakfast, which was always a home-made croissant and coffee, was often one of those costs. ‘Everything that’s been going on in the office’ included being told – and appropriately responding to – detailed stories about the antics of her pets, and the latest home decorations she’d found.

Most other office news was not needed.

Released from breakfast duties, Saskia climbed the stairs and pressed the key sequence on the door lock to gain admittance to the space she considered her real home.

She had barely sat at her desk and started sifting through emails and files when her phone pinged with a message. Simon Perrot wanted her to set up a secure line. She did so in the privacy of a screened room in the otherwise open-plan office.

Your tip may have given us our first real lead, Simon told her. Turns out Interpol’s Maritime Crime section’s been working with Si’Empran police for some years. I got in touch with their contact. Head of their police unit is a lady called Lian Marene.

And?

I showed them a couple of images and they confirmed the children come from Si’Empra.

They? You spoke to more than this Ms Marene – or officer Marine – what’s her position?

From what I can gather, Lian is a title they give to members of the ruling class or executive group – something called Lianthem. They don’t seem to use surnames. Anyway, I’ve had a few sessions with her. After the first session, she wanted to go off and discuss things with one of her team and someone called Ülrügh. Next call I had with her, she had someone called Einar with her.

So, they’ve now got it all under control?

Lord no! They were shocked. Believed it couldn’t happen on their island. But here’s the thing. These children in the images apparently belong to people who live underground. Can you believe it? Lian Marene and Einar don’t have a say in how these underground people do things, but Ülrügh – she’s apparently the top person on Si’Empra – called an emergency meeting with a couple of the leaders of this underground group.

Saskia grimaced at this news. Do you think these underground people might be running the website? Won’t that just mean they’ll know you’re looking and that’ll make it even harder to close down the site?

"Nope. I told Lian Marene the whole story about how we’ve been trying to locate the kids and close down the site selling the images. I asked her to be discreet. She said there was no chance these underground people would be running a website. She said most of them don’t even know how to read and write or use electronic equipment. Seems they’re sort of backward or something.

Anyway, of greater interest to you might be the next bit of news I’ve got. Lian Marene and Einar said they’d never had to deal with anything like this before. Seems they have a tiny police unit and most of it has to do with petty stuff and breaking up squabbles – keeping the peace – they’re not a big population. Their biggest problem isn’t home-grown crime, it’s problems with foreigners – on the sea, like. That’s to say, theft of their marine resources. That’s why they work with our Interpol Maritime Crime section. But they talked to their leader – this Ülrügh person. They asked what sort of help we could give them. I told them that of course we’d back them up any way we could, but remotely. No personnel. But then I thought you might be interested being on the ground with them.

Me?

You needn’t sound so surprised. You’ve worked as a consultant on all sorts of internet crimes before and you’re good at working with us and police units. You’re steady and patient and you don’t let ego get in the way. But the real reason I thought of you was that I got some intel from the guys from our Marine Unit. They tell me Si’Emprans are really active in international finance dealings. Seems they’re pretty clued up about that. I thought it might be a fit – you know – you could do consulting for them and work on the case on the side.

Did you suggest that to them?

I did. I told them you mightn’t have the time and all that, but I put it to them and spruiked your credentials. They got back to me this morning and said they’d be interested in talking with you. What do you think?

Chapter 3

Si’Empra

Saskia clung fiercely to the rope fastened to holds on the side of the tender as it bucked its way over choppy, white-frothed waves towards land. Cold wind thrust into the hood of her coat and threatened to pull it off her head. She hunched her shoulders but decided holding on was more important than trying to secure her head covering.

It’s only a twenty-minute trip, she’d been assured as she was lifted down into the craft off the ship. Land’s just over there. She’d had to trust that was the case because a fine mist hazed visibility.

The driver of the tender leaned towards her. That’s Si’Em City, he shouted over the noise of engine and water.

Saskia peered into whiteness and made out a huge black shape looming ever larger as the tender lurched on through spray.

The whole city’s inside that rock. We’re coming into the harbour now. We’ll dock on the side of Si’Em Square. They’ll put down some steps for you to get off. The driver pointed, drawing Saskia’s attention to the side of the bluff where she could now see two overhead cranes lifting shipping containers off a barge. That’s the loading bay – not for us – for cargo. They have to unload fast because these waters aren’t safe.

No kidding! yelled Saskia, sure her terrified grip throughout their journey had not escaped his notice.

The driver laughed. Sometimes we have to sit offshore for a couple of days before it’s safe enough for us to come in. Look over there. You can just make out a waterfall.

The northern part of the harbour was enclosed by a cliff. One part of the cliff was smeared in a wide deluge of white. That waterfall’s from the Chess River. It comes in from the north. And see that break in the cliff? That gorge is the Si’Em River. It comes in from the east. Both rivers like to spit ice into these waters, but it’s the sea that makes this place dangerous. You can’t predict what it’ll do. He pointed to a huge iceberg. That drifted into the inlet last night. It’ll cause havoc in here till it’s melted.

The driver slowed the craft and steered it towards stairs being winched down the greasy-looking side of the rocky ledge. This is where you get off. I’ll pull up next to those stairs. Wait till I’m secure then I’ll help you get up. Grab hold of the rail and hang on till you’re on shore. There’s no telling what these waters will throw up.

Not trusting her short legs to span the gap between the side of the tender and the swaying stairs, Saskia was happy to let the driver pick her up and deposit her on the first step, holding on to her until she had secured a hold on the stair rails. At the top of the steps, a man welcomed her to Si’Empra and bent down to help her out of her life jacket. Viv is waiting for you, he said, pointing to a slender woman dressed in loose, brightly patterned trousers and matching double-breasted coat standing behind a rope marking the disembarkation area. We’ll bring up your luggage.

Saskia recognised the woman from the online conference calls she had engaged in with Si’Emprans to organise her engagement in their finance hub. She’d established a quick rapport with Viv in those calls, finding similar interests and ways of thinking through issues.

You’re a special guest, Viv said as she lifted the rope for Saskia to duck under. Saskia noted the ugly scars scoring the right side of Viv’s face and the missing fingers on the hand held up in greeting. Neither had been conspicuous during the conference calls. I’ve only ever seen the dock workers helping children out of their safety jackets.

I’m often treated like a child, Saskia said with a laugh, pleased that Viv seemed to accept her small stature with frank acknowledgement. Often, it’s handy and often it’s annoying. But I’m used to it.

How was your trip?

I’m glad it’s over, to be honest. I’m not much of a sea traveller.

Rough passage?

I’m told not, but it was rough enough for me.

It had taken more than two weeks to reach the island. First, it required a flight to New Zealand and then a passage on a cargo ship to Si’Empra. The crew had been most accommodating. They’d praised her for not being overcome by seasickness and seemed relaxed to share their spaces and meals with her; though, for most of the journey, she had worked, either with her IFS partners on IFS assignments she was already involved in or in familiarising herself with the volumes of information on Si’Empra that Viv had sent to her.

Saskia thanked the person who set her luggage next to her. She shrugged on her backpack and lengthened the handle on her roll-away suitcase.

All set? The stiff breeze blew blonde, wavy, shoulder-length hair over Viv’s face. She held it back off her forehead and nodded towards clusters of stalls arrayed in ordered rows on the platform in front of the Si’Em City bluff. We need to walk through the market to the entrance to the city. Or would you prefer I call for an electric cart to taxi us there?

Oh! I’d love to walk. It will be so good to have solid ground to walk on. As Viv set off, Saskia asked, Is this market always here?

Only on fine days.

Viv walked with a pronounced limp. Saskia wondered whether she should have taken up the invitation to take a cart but Viv continued, Otherwise, it’s all packed away and the whole area is empty. But I’m glad you decided to walk; you’ll enjoy looking at the offerings.

So, okay to walk, Saskia decided. Out loud she said, So this is what passes as a fine day?

Viv grinned. Ah yes. I’ve heard that fine day means other things in other parts of the world. On Si’Empra, the sun generally only visits us in short bursts, if at all, and wind only leaves us in short bursts, if at all. So, if it isn’t raining hard or snowing, we call it a fine day.

There were stalls selling clothing, jewellery, foods and artworks. Saskia dawdled past the stalls and listened with interest as stall holders explained the unique nature of their wares. The clothing was all in broadly the same style: loose shirts – some double-breasted, some with buttons at the front and sometimes the back, some with high collars, some with square and some with rounded collars – and loose trousers. What distinguished the clothing, however, were vibrant colours and patterns in the cloth and, often, fine embroidery. Most people, including Viv, wore similarly exquisite but comfortable-looking clothing. The cloth was soft and light and seemed to radiate warmth. Cryptal cloth, Viv explained. It will keep you warm, sloughs off dirt easily and does not retain moisture.

Can you throw it in the washing machine? asked

Reviews for The Website

[Juliet Middleton · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Feisty pocket-rocket Saskia van Essen, a financial security geek by day and a hunter of paedophiles by night, is a new heroine to cheer for in the genre of fantasy crime.
Saskia tracks an elusive paedophile ring to Si’Empra, an intriguing island nudging the Antarctic Circle. The action in The Website takes place within the timeframe of the third book of the Songs of Si’Empra series, but this is a fast-paced, stand-alone story that will captivate readers both new and returning.

[linda v · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Based in a fantasy world that crosses into our everyday world makes this book an great read. Saskia van Essen makes a great detective and unravels the crimes whilst learning about the norms and mores of Si"Empra. I look forward to reading the previous books in this series to learn about Si'Empra and how the country evolved to the the society it is now.