“What did you think she was going to do, you little coward? Throw her a party?” Press grabbed Olivette’s collar. Rachel pulled them apart, as the attorney started yelling about abuse. The room was in chaos.
Once things calmed down again, Olivette continued with what he knew about Moira’s safe house and their involvement in the drug trafficking.
What a family, Press thought, Moira trafficking in drugs; George making girls disappear somehow; poor Macy caught in the middle.
“So Moira just sits and waits for Macy to talk to her? I don’t think so.” Preston was back under control again and something that had been nagging at him was coming into focus.
“No! Macy told me about it, and I urged her to warn Moira. She thought it was George that was trafficking the drugs. She never suspected Moira’s involvement—or mine! I told her it wouldn’t be fair to let the cops spring this on poor Moira. Macy loved Moira and it didn’t take much to convince her to warn her in advance of calling in the cops.”
Press had it all now. “So Moira makes arrangements to meet Macy, takes her for a walk into a dark area and shoots her in cold blood.”
“Don’t you see? Moira didn’t have any choice. She liked the kid, but she couldn’t have her going to the cops about the drugs. George would never support her—he’d throw her to the wolves.”
Suddenly Press knew just where that bruise on Macy’s shoulder came from.
As soon as David started talking about George and RFT International, Rachel asked Press to leave the room, and the FBI continued the interrogation. It pissed him off, but he wanted the case closed, and he really didn’t care who did it, as long as it happened. As the next few hours ticked by, David kept talking, Rachel kept taking notes, Bob and Rachel both asked questions—Press paced outside the room.
Olivette was picked up around noon and by 1:00 PM he had already rolled on Macy’s killer and had offered up George and RTF International as a bonus. Lieutenant Simpson did his best to look as if nothing he heard affected him, but, eventually, even he looked a little green as he listened to tales of the girl’s murder and George’s activities.
Just when Press thought he was going to burst, the Military Police entered the offices and Lieutenant Wallace directed them to the interrogation room. The MPs dragged off David with the JAG officer close behind them.
Press watched the transfer of their prisoner and when everything quieted down again, he turned to Rachel. “I guess this means we’re not sharing so thoroughly now?”
* * *
Just as the team settled back down in their temporary office, Rachel received a call from DC.
“Yes…yes…address? Thanks. We owe you one, Miller. You got it!” She laughed and hung up the phone.
She smiled at Press. “We may have a lead on Sherry’s whereabouts.”
They left so fast that Olivette’s confession and the issue of who had what authority over him was quickly forgotten.
“Where are we going?” Press asked.
“Several places. First Richmond. When we get back, we’re serving a warrant on Moira,” Rachel explained. “First things first, Detective,” she laughed, cutting him off before he could say anything. She was enjoying this. “One of our agents used the information Olivette gave us, and found a warehouse in Richmond owned by a blind corporation that they were able to link back to RFT International. Richmond police and our local office there are using unmarked cars to keep an eye on the place until we can get there. The warrant will be there when we arrive.”
Jumping into Press’s big SUV and strapping herself in, she continued. “We’re going to serve a federal warrant and take a look at the property. A guy doesn’t hide something like a warehouse unless he keeps something there he doesn’t want anybody to know about.”
“You think he might have Sherry there?” Press sounded desperate to find her. He started the car and backed out of his parking space with tires squealing.
“I think it’s very likely that he’d take her somewhere where he had control over the location and where he thinks he’s safe to do what he wants, don’t you?”
“Absolutely!”
Once they got onto the highway, Rachel turned to Press. “I’m sorry to have to keep some of what we know from you, Press. I’m going to be talking to the DA later this afternoon. We’ll work something out. Until then, I really can’t share anything other than to say that David is cooperating on the federal case.”
“What about the murder case? What about Macy?”
“We’ll pick up Moira as soon as we get back from Richmond. She’s not going anywhere—she doesn’t know we picked up Olivette, and he won’t have any outside communication where we’re taking him.”
“I could kiss you, Agent Wilder!”
“I’m counting on it, Detective Andrews!
38
Richmond
Day 10
2:15 PM
As Press and two other drivers drove full-throttle toward Richmond, sirens blaring, Rachel received another call.
“That was Richmond PD. A car just drove up, and a man that sounds like George’s description opened a bay door and drove his car into the warehouse. They couldn’t tell if he had anyone with him or not. He closed the bay door again as soon as he got inside.”
“I had them call for back-up but asked them to wait for us, unless he tries to leave. They’ve already blocked the bay door.”
“We’ll be there in about five minutes,” Press told her. His mind was reeling. Would Sherry be with him? Was she still alive?
* * *
After several phone calls in languages she hadn’t understood, the man turned to Sherry. “Well, I think our time has come.” He ripped of the duct tape he’d put on her mouth to keep her quiet. He got some pleasure just watching her grimace with the pain.
“What’s your name?”
He doesn’t even know who I am?
When she didn’t answer, he rose from his desk chair, walked around the desk with a knife in his hand. It was then that she noticed the gun tucked into his belt at his back. Shivers ran up and down her arms as he approached her with the knife aimed directly at her face.
“I said, what is your name?”
“Sherry. Sherry Lowell.”
“Sherry Lowell. Hum. How do you know Preston Andrews?”
Press? Oh, God, was Press in danger, too?
“Press and I used to be friends,” Sherry answered, trying to make their relationship sound very casual—unimportant.
“Used to be?” The man shoved the knife to her throat and the tip of the blade broke skin. “I think you still are. I think you are more than friends.” Putting his lips close to her ear, he whispered in a voice that made the shivers run down her spine again, “I think you are much more than friends. I think you are…lovers!”
She felt spittle hit her cheek and neck as he spewed the word “lovers” out as if it were something nasty. Her stomach churned when she felt him lick at the drop of blood running down her throat.
“No, we’re just friends. I swear it—just friends!”
“Don’t lie to me, Sherry Lowell. Now that I have your name, I can find out everything there is to know about you and dear Preston. Actually, I think I know enough now to know that what happens to you will matter a great deal to Preston. So let’s see what we can do to make him feel!”
He replaced the tape over her mouth. Then he grabbed the knife and in one terrifying slice she was released from the chair back. Another quick slice to the left and the right had her free from the chair legs. He grabbed her arms and knocked her to the floor.
Sherry watched the change come over him. He had been taunting her before, but now his expression was cold, hard and malevolent. She had no doubt about where this was headed. She tried to make her mind go to something else…watching Jones run down the beach after his blue Frisbee.
She felt the man tearing at her clothes, felt his weight on top of her. She found herself fighting him with everything she had. She felt h
is skin under her fingernails, heard him scream obscenities at her. Suddenly, she remembered seeing the gun in his waistband.
* * *
Rushing into the warehouse, they heard muted screaming and gunshots. Suddenly, there was a silence more frightening to Press than any amount of chaos ever had been. He heard the rapid footsteps of many police officers and FBI agents rushing into the depths of the dark, dank warehouse. Snapping out of it, he was racing along with them.
He found himself entering an open area where he saw a small office with an overturned side chair with duct tape hanging from the back and legs. In front of the battered metal desk from the ‘70s were two bodies.
“Sherry!” he screamed. As he reached the pair, he saw the river of blood running down the concrete floor. Holding his breath, he reached for her. “Sherry!”
George Roberts lay partially draped across Sherry’s body. Press rolled him off her, checked quickly to assure he had no weapon and saw the gun laying on the floor on the far side of Sherry. Once he had the weapon secured, he turned his attention to Sherry.
He felt for her pulse. A fast and erratic beat reassured him just as he saw her eyes open. “Sherry, are you hurt?” He realized she couldn’t respond; the duct tape was still over her mouth. He quickly removed it and saw her wince.
Without waiting for her answer, he started taking a quick look at her body, dreading what he might find. There was a large bloodstain on her abdomen but no sign of any wound other than a small cut on her throat.
“I’m okay, Press,” she said, as she tried to sit up.
“No, stay put! Wait for the EMS. They’re on the way.”
“I’m okay, Press. Really, I am.” She stayed put anyway.
Press could see that Sherry was weak and very shaky. Then, he saw Rachel approach from his left.
She bent over George Roberts. “He’s still alive.”
Press would never feel any shame for the sense of well-being that statement gave him as he listened to the far-off whine of the ambulance. They needed George to talk. Beyond that, Press could have cared less for George’s well-being.
Rachel rode with George while Press stayed with Sherry. When they met again at the hospital, Rachel said, “He’s dead.”
“Damn! Did he say anything?” Press asked.
“You betcha, he did! He had just enough time left to tell me who killed Macy. I think he got a great deal of satisfaction telling me. Seems David panicked when you had him confined to base. He contacted George hoping to get some support from the bigger fish in his personal sea. David was too late. George already knew everything.”
“Now, Detective Andrews, come with me!” Rachel took his arm and they headed back out the ER door.
39
Virginia Beach
Day 10
6:30 PM
Crashing through the front door of the Roberts mansion, Rachel went in high, Press went in low, Trace and the FBI came in behind them—all with guns drawn.
The maid screamed. Moira came running down the stairs from the second floor. “Hands up, Moira,” Press shouted as he approached her.
Turning to an officer that came in behind, he said, “Take her into custody, Officer.”
“What is this? What is going on?” Moira was nearly hysterical now.
“Moira Roberts, you are under arrest for the murder of Macy Roberts.” As Moira stood there so stunned she couldn’t even react, Press directed the officer, “Read Mrs. Roberts her rights and take her downtown.” He could hear the officer reading her Miranda rights as they exited the house.
He handed the maid the search warrant. “You’ll want to go to your quarters and stay out of the way while we execute this warrant.” Without any argument whatsoever, the maid rushed down the hall and out of site.
Police officers and FBI agents scattered to various parts of the lower level, others went upstairs and so the very thorough search of the Roberts mansion, its garage and all vehicles began.
An hour later, Rachel called Press to her side. “Look what we have here!” She stood in front of a wall safe hidden behind a bookcase that swung out into the large study used by George Roberts. With a very deft hand, Rachel slowly and carefully twirled the dial time and time again until finally she heard the ‘click’ that told her that her FBI training was going to pay off.
“Remind me never to keep any secrets from you,” Press whispered.
“Ve have our vays,” she mocked him and smiled.
Inside the moderate-sized wall safe, they found cash that later counted to be one-hundred-twenty-five-thousand dollars. “Petty cash,” Rachel snickered as she handed the cash to the agent behind her.
Then she removed the several jewel cases that held emerald, ruby and diamond jewelry no doubt worn by Moira Roberts. Under the tray containing the jewels, there was a locked compartment. Inside, they found the little blue ledger in which Moira kept her records. The fact that Macy had apparently broken the lock when she accessed the safe less than two weeks earlier made accessing the ledger all that much easier.
Press took the tray of jewels and scanned it carefully. Then he reached into the ring section and pointed to a lovely emerald and diamond cocktail ring. “I think our ME is going to match that ring to the bruise on Macy’s shoulder.
“How did you know that?” Rachel asked.
“She was wearing it the morning Trace and I reported Macy’s murder,” Press explained. “I thought it was a little overkill for a morning meeting, but she was actually still dressed from the night before when Macy called her to tell her what she thought George was up to.”
“Why would she assume it was George when the ledger was in Moira’s jewel case?” Rachel wondered aloud.
“George would have been in control of Moira’s jewels and putting the case into his safe after each use. It would be just as logical for her to assume George had hidden it under the jewel tray. She loved her aunt and would never assume she could be a party to such a crime.”
Press smiled at Rachel. “Imagine how Moira’s going to react when she discovers that George was having her followed.”
“Yeah, he was a nasty son-of-a-bitch, but he did us one big favor,” Rachel smiled back.
* * *
The final item removed from the safe was a locked box that, once opened, was found to contain the records of George Roberts’ private enterprise. In accordance with their agreement with the District Attorney, the FBI took all contents of the safe into custody.
The DA would get anything relative to the case against Moira Roberts—George’s operation belonged to the FBI.
They found they could all live with that.
40
Washington, DC
Day 17
Press arrived in DC and drove directly to FBI Headquarters where he received a quick VIP tour from Bob Forrester. As Press and Bob stepped out of the elevator, Press saw Rachel moving toward them.
“Press, it’s good to see you!”
She smiled at him and he felt his heart skip a beat. “Rachel.” It was all he dared say, for now.
She took his hand and the three entered a small conference room where they could talk privately.
“I’m so glad you came, Press. We owe you some explanations. Although we really cannot go into much detail,” she hesitated.
“I understand.”
Rachel looked deep into Press’s eyes. Yes, he really did understand. She hated to withhold information from him, but she was an FBI Agent and had a job of her own to do. If they were ever to have a future together, they would both have to accept certain limitations in what they could share with one another.
Bob explained that he had been very busy working with the State Department getting several diplomats recalled to their home countries. There, they would have to deal with their own legal systems—harsh as they might be—for the embarrassment caused to their governments.
“Press, as you suspected, RFT International was a front,” Rachel explained. “We know now that George Roberts�
� operation sold young women to various countries as sex slaves.”
“This is a really nasty business and we suspect George had been at it for a long, long time. He was in very tight with diplomats from several countries whose customs, even religions, have no morality issues with enslaving women and paying top dollar for this particular commodity—especially if it’s unmarred.”
“So, what—they were kidnapping these girls and shipping them overseas somehow—human trafficking?” Press took note of the nods from both agents. “Do we know how they were getting them to the buyers?”
Bob and Rachel looked at each other before Rachel continued. “All I can tell you is that the transport of their ‘goods’ was where David Olivette’s contacts came into the picture. We’re not at liberty to tell you how or who else might have been involved. Let’s just say that the Court Martial system will be very busy for a long time. Much of it will probably never go public. That’s about all I can say.”
“Ah,” Press blew out the breath he’d been holding. “So, we’ve finally stopped sharing, heh?”
“Yes,” Rachel looked into his eyes again. “I’m sorry, but yes.”
“That’s alright, Rachel. I understand,” he said, as he smiled gently. “We knew it would happen and now it has. It’s alright! You have your job to do; I have mine. There’s no conflict here—we’re on the same side.”
Rachel knew Press could read between the lines. David was involved in using Navy to assist the traffickers—Navy resources being used somehow in the girls’ transport, getting ID papers or something that Press would never know for certain. NCIS and the FBI—and probably the Pentagon—had closed ranks and would forever keep VBPD and the public-at-large in the dark.
“What about the girls?”
“Well, we do have some good news there. Eight of the girls most recently taken have been located and are on their way back home. Unfortunately, due to the laws of the other countries involved, the so-called ‘buyers’ won’t be brought to justice, but at least we will be able to bring more girls home—with a lot of diplomacy, of course.”
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