by Jenifer Ruff
She sent Sam the picture. He would be able to tell her.
With so many things on her mind, Victoria needed a colleague to bounce ideas off, like she and Rivera had done on past cases.
Her mentor, retired agent Helen Bernard, was often her go-to person when she needed someone to talk about a case. Victoria called, and was glad when Helen answered.
“Hi, Helen. Can you talk for a bit?”
“I sure can. Where are you, girl? What’s going on?”
“I’m in Charlotte, North Carolina.”
“For the Football Festival? Good for you. It’s about time you got away from that big empty mansion of yours.”
“God, no! No!” Victoria laughed. “Everyone keeps asking me that. I’m here to help on a case.”
“Just sayin’ my Tigers are going all the way. Speaking of wild animals—”
“I know where this is going, Helen. There’s nothing wild about my dogs. They know more tricks than you.”
“Ha! Now that’s cute. How many are you up to now? Twenty? Thirty? You know, be careful. Cat lady is a thing, but dog lady can be one, too.”
“It’s still just seven. Ned is taking care of them. In fact, you’d be proud of me. He spent the night recently. With me at the house.”
“Proud? I’m in shock. How was it?”
A teenager arrived at Victoria’s table with her food. He set everything down and Victoria mouthed “thank you.” To Helen she said, “He still slept in the guest wing.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Stop. We’re . . . taking our time.”
“Well, tick tock, honey. He ain’t gonna be patient forever. What’s the case you’re working? You a consult?”
“Consult and sort of a favor because Murphy knows someone involved. I’m pretty much relegated to the outside of the investigation thanks to the lead detective.”
“Oh, Victoria, Victoria, you know by now how this game can be played. So much territorial bullshit. Why can’t everyone just get along, right? And it’s not just men. Powerful women can be the absolute worst about not letting anyone steal their thunder.”
“At least he’s civil about it. It’s all very politely disguised.”
“Same crap no matter how you package it. What’s the case?”
“An abduction. Possibly for sex trafficking.” Victoria filled her in on the case without mentioning that Emma might be out of the country and their chance of finding her greatly reduced.
“Thought we had a good lead to check out a building. But whoever was staying there got the jump on us.”
“Like they knew you were coming?”
“Yes. That’s my gut feeling.” Victoria took a sip of her sweet tea. “I know these operations don’t stay in one place very long, but there were a bunch of things left behind, my sense is they left in a hurry.”
“Sex trafficking rings are constantly moving to the next big event. They follow the demand. With another big game and all the events being advertised to draw crowds, seems a little strange they’d pack up now.”
“I thought the same.”
“You know, for a ring to work over the long haul, there’s got to be people of influence in each city who are paid to look the other way. City council, mayor, local cops. Hell, even lawyers and judges. Could be anyone.”
“Yeah, but it’s gotta be someone.”
“Pretty much. Or all of them. These things don’t operate in a vacuum.”
“I know.”
“You want the girl back. But you might not find her if someone with power is thwarting your efforts. So, you improvise until you figure out who to trust. Basically, until you know who you can trust, you trust no one.”
“It’s not even my case though.”
“Of course it is. Maybe not officially, but why are you there if it’s not? Look, if you were the missing girl or her parents—”
“Her parents are another matter. Don’t get me started on them. And their PI. They’re all making things more complicated.”
“My point is—if you were one of them, would you give a crap about who owns the case?”
“Nope.”
“Call Murphy and tell him what you told me. Then call Ned.”
“Ned’s fine.”
“He sure is. I looked him up on the internet, found a picture of him all sweaty after one of his races—whoa and wow—a whole lot to admire there. That’s why you should call him. Whatever happened to Rivera? He still around?”
“I was actually thinking about calling him, too.”
“What? I think I’m going to have a stroke. Did you just go from warming the bench for every game to starring in the field?”
“I was going to call him for input on the case. We work well together.”
“Uh huh. Well, whatever you decide there, just know that the right guy will appreciate you for you. It might take some time, but he’ll embrace all your weird quirks and that stoic personality of yours.”
“Weird quirks? What–?” Victoria didn’t know if she should laugh or be offended. Count on Helen not to beat around the bush with anything.
“You have a big heart. I’ve seen it. Big enough for your dogs and a special someone. Once you figure out who he is.”
“Helen—"
“Okay, darlin’, it’s almost kickoff. Get your input and call me back if you want my help with anything else.”
Victoria finished her meal, left a generous tip on her table, and another on the table where the four girls had been sitting, since they left without doing so. She headed back to her hotel. She missed Ned and her dogs, but the case in Charlotte needed her.
Inside her hotel suite, she did a bit more research, and decided on a plan. If Murphy okayed it, she’d only have to wait one more day. She hoped Emma Manning could, too.
Her phone beeped with a message from Sam.
Grass expert responded. Your pic shows a hybrid of Centipede grass that grows primarily and almost exclusively in the Southeast United States.
She still couldn’t prove anything, but she knew something wasn’t right.
She called Murphy and told him her plan.
Chapter Twenty-One
Anastasia tugged on her ear as she climbed the basement stairs. “I don’t think Ms. Bois ever came home.”
“I sure hope not.” Sofia gripped the flashlight she’d found behind the bar. “But Svet and Stephen might still be here.”
Sofia stopped on the landing. Her free hand wrapped around the door handle.
The girls stared at each other until Anastasia looked back down the stairs. “We are so very in trouble if we get caught.”
“We’re not going to get caught.” Sofia placed her hand on her friend’s arm. “We’ll be fast and we’ll be quiet. Look on all the walls and all the tables. Then in drawers. If you find a phone, come get me and we’ll take it back here.”
“And then we must put it back.” Anastasia’s lip trembled and Sofia was tempted to tell her to stay put, but her friend had a better chance of spotting a phone than she did.
“I’ll bring it back up.” Sofia closed her eyes to say a quick silent prayer. Help us find a phone. Don’t let them catch us. “Are you ready?”
Anastasia nodded.
Sofia flicked the switch and the light above the stairs went off. Slowly, she nudged the door open, then listened.
Silence.
A light shimmered somewhere down the hall. Visibility was dim, but far from total blackness. Without turning on the flashlight, they tiptoed into the first room off the hallway.
“What is realtor?” Anastasia whispered, staring at a plaque on the wall. “There is picture of Ms. Bois. It says ‘Top Ten Realtor of the Year.’ There are prizes for what she do with us?”
Frowning at Anastasia, Sofia placed a finger against her lips. She turned to creep around the dim room. Worried she might miss something sitting in plain sight, she slid her hand over table tops and into drawers.
She was heading into another room when something crea
ked. Sofia held her breath. She strained to listen over the thumping of blood rushing past her temples. Were her nerves playing tricks on her? A quick glance across the room at Anastasia told her otherwise. Her friend stood frozen; elbows lifted at an odd angle by her sides like she was doing a chicken dance.
Another creak and then heavy footsteps approached. A loud burp echoed into the room.
Svet is up!
A soft suctioning noise came from the kitchen. Bottles clinked together.
Sofia pressed her back against a wall, trying to become invisible. Don’t breathe, don’t breathe. If he finds us hiding in the dark . . . that will be the end of using the tip line. She didn’t let herself imagine what he might do to them. She was afraid enough already.
A carbonated drink popped open with a quick hiss. The rustling and crinkling of a plastic bag followed.
If Svet finds us, I’ll tell him we got hungry . . . we couldn’t find the bathroom . . . we needed a glass for water . . .I’ll tell him Emma needs something.
Sofia pointed back toward the basement door. Anastasia’s eyes were already on it, her face scrunched with fear. With each slow and meticulously controlled step, they inched closer to safety. Sofia braced herself for what might happen as she pulled the door open and they slipped inside. Once the door was closed behind them, she allowed herself to breathe again.
They hurried down the carpeted stairs, panting.
They were safe. But they hadn’t found a phone. Tomorrow. They had to find one tomorrow. Before Emma disappeared for good.
Chapter Twenty-Two
In the late morning, Adams found the funeral home that handled the burial of Linda Wood. The business hadn’t reached the modern ages in terms of information storage. After a long wait, while an elderly man shuffled through papers, Adams left with the address of the person who had paid in cash for the funeral. The paperwork had been signed friend of Linda Wood. No name. Just an address. He drove straight there.
Adams followed directions to a neighborhood with large homes built around a golf course. At the end of a private cul-de-sac, he pulled up to the curb in front of a stucco house with a stone-facade. A chimney rose from each side of the brown-tinted roof. Purple and lavender flower beds decorated the front. Whoever lived there could pay for a nice funeral.
Adams walked to the front door. He knocked. He waited. The door remained closed. He stepped to the edge of the stoop and peered through the nearest window. He walked to one side of the house, stopping at the side gate without going through to the back yard, and then did the same on the other side. He was about to get back into his car when the front door opened.
A trim, middle-aged man wearing a gray suit stuck his head through the opening. “Can I help you?” He spoke with an accent.
“Yes. I’m looking for someone who knew a woman named Linda Wood. Specifically, someone who might have paid for the woman’s funeral.”
“I don’t know anyone by that name. When was this funeral?”
“Five years ago.”
“Sorry. Can’t help you. I think you have the wrong address.”
Adams apologized and walked back to his car. The man watched him go.
On the side of the house, two girls appeared behind the tall, black-rail fence. They looked very young because of their slender frames, but poise and grace characterized their movements. One girl arched her back and tipped her face up to the sun. The other spread her arms wide and twirled around. Their long, flowing hair swayed with the breeze. At exactly the same time, they jerked their heads toward the house and ran off, disappearing again.
♦ ♦ ♦
Victoria pulled the blinds to block out the afternoon sun coming through her hotel room windows. Someone knocked on the door. She peeked through the spyhole before opening it. Her smile quickly spread. “Welcome to Charlotte, Rivera! It’s really nice to see a familiar face.”
Agent Dante Rivera smiled back and stepped into the room. A dark shadow of stubble covered his cheeks and chin. He looked handsome wearing jeans, boots, and a button-down flannel shirt. “Always happy to be of service.”
“You won’t be tonight.” Victoria slumped into the corner chair. “Happy, that is.” She and Rivera had worked closely together on several cases. He was a man of few words, and she appreciated anyone who valued silence. Even when they were together, his presence allowed for time alone with her thoughts. But now, it was she who could hardly keep quiet. She was fired up about the case and glad to have someone to discuss it with. “Between following people around, I’ve been doing a lot of research on sex trafficking in our databases. Sorry to say this, but right now, men make me sick.”
Rivera stood close to the wall and looked around the suite. “What men? Johns?”
“Yes. Remember the grad student in our last case who was a . . . companion? To put herself through school.”
“Olivia Something.”
“Right. So, I know not every prostitute is a victim, but these girls are young. It’s entirely different. The average pimp makes around three hundred thousand dollars a year off of each girl.”
“Whoa. That’s . . . a lot.”
Victoria huffed in disgust. “Makes me sick. Johns can pay up to five thousand to have their way with a terrified or drugged child for an hour. I mean, who does this? Who?”
“Well, it’s a sick and expensive fetish, so sick bastards, that’s who. But you got to have extra cash to throw around, so it’d be a pool of rich guys. Any sick deviant who has money to throw away.”
“Think of the good they could do with that money instead of using it to hurt others.”
“Right.” Rivera rubbed his knuckles and cracked them. “Just because a few men do this, doesn’t mean the majority—the overwhelming majority—aren’t just as horrified as you.”
She sat up and scooted to the front of the chair. “Fine. Just wish I had a list of who was horrified and who was exploiting them.” She sighed an angry sigh and turned to look at the wall. For now, I need to narrow my focus on whoever is responsible for Emma’s situation. And whoever is responsible for locking people in an abandoned building with a bucket for a latrine. She took a deep inhale. “Did you get the file with the pictures I sent?”
“Yeah. I studied them.” Rivera took a seat in a chair across from Victoria. “I’ll recognize her.”
“She’ll be different. They’ll have done something to change her. Different hair. Heavy makeup. Or maybe no makeup at all if they want her to look young.”
“I know.” Rivera set his hands on the sides of his chair.
“Good. So, you have a time and meeting place?”
“Nine thirty tonight. I used an anonymous browser and an email from an old cover. It’s solid. I specifically requested the girl in the school uniform with long straight hair. We’re set to go.”
“It was that easy?”
“I had a whole creepy exchange prepared, just in case. But it was easy. They were very trusting.”
“Just proves no one is looking for the girls they have and they know it.”
“True. And why is that? I should know but . . .never worked a sex trafficking case before.”
“Most of the girls were already troubled runaways and their family and friends have already given up on them. Some came from poor families overseas. Maybe they’re told they’re coming to work as housekeeping in a motel, and then they find out they’re being sold for sex. Some come from families so poor, with so few options, they have to sell one child to feed the rest.”
Victoria let the harsh facts sink in before continuing. “There isn’t enough time and resources for sting operations. If the girl is over eighteen—and I’m sure the pimps get fake ids for most of them—she has to identify herself as being sex-trafficked. Most of them don’t. They won’t.”
“Because?”
Victoria ticked off reasons on her fingers. “They’re being manipulated. They’re terrified. If they take the stand against their pimp— do you know how many girls are killed after
they take the stand? With some of the gang-based sex-trafficking, there’s a hit on them as soon as they agree to testify. They don’t want to die. And even if they do take the stand, the defense attorney’s job is to try and rip the girl apart—try to prove she’s an addict, that she “chose” this life-style. It’s very, very difficult to successfully prosecute.”
“So, I can probably get fifteen big drug busts done in the time it takes me to prosecute one sex-trafficker, and any girl who does help me put one away might die as a result.”
“That’s the gist of it. Look, I’m sorry about giving you a hard time. I’m really glad you’re here.”
“I go where the boss sends me. And I’m honored you requested my help. But, if I can catch the NFL game before I go, that’d be awesome. Gotta figure out how to get a ticket last minute.”
Victoria rolled her eyes. “I don’t really care about the game.”
“That’s practically un-American.” He chuckled. “You know, once I saw a bunch of dogs doing tricks at a half-time show. You would have loved that. Anyway, I didn’t say I’d try to get a pair of tickets.”
“Good. Right now, I only care about bringing Emma home. And once I have some assurance that will happen, I want to get back to Virginia and my own life as soon as possible.”
“I’ve been wondering, are we sort of going rogue on this?”
“Rogue? No. Murphy knows. He approved this. It’s hardly going rogue if our boss condones it. Like you said, I asked and he sent you.”
“Yeah, but it’s not his jurisdiction.”
“The motel address is in South Carolina, right?”
“Yep.”
“Then they’ve crossed state lines with the girl to bring her there. It’s an FBI matter. Potential kidnapping.” Victoria lifted her chin. “But for right now, no one else can know we’re doing this. Not even the local FBI. Not until we’ve figured out what is going on. Detective Connelly thinks I went home.”
Rivera grinned. “Like I said, we’re going rogue on this.”