Midnight Crossing: A Mystery

by Tricia Fields

  He finally asked what she’d learned about the body that had shown up in Artemis.

  “Did you hear we found the body in the pasture beside my house?” she asked.

  He looked shocked. “No kidding?”

  Jimmy had been part of the investigating team when the Medrano Cartel had shot up Josie’s bedroom several years ago over a cartel homicide that took place in Artemis.

  “What about the other woman that survived?” he asked.

  “I found her cowering on my front porch. I suspect she’d been there a day or two.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  She lifted her hands. “I know. It sounds absurd. I searched outside this morning when I got home. She’d been staying in the toolshed on the side of my house. I haven’t been in there in a week or so. I don’t know what she was going to do when I finally opened the door and found her.”

  “You think she ended up at your house by coincidence?”

  “I don’t know. I was hoping you could tell me,” she said.

  Jimmy settled back against the bench and then turned slightly to face Josie without addressing her comment. “You have any leads yet?”

  “Nothing. The woman who survived hasn’t spoken a word and neither woman had any identification. Marta is trying to track down the clothing brands to see if we can narrow down a country of origin, but beyond that I’m at a loss. Prints didn’t show up anywhere, and the missing persons databases haven’t matched with two females traveling together.”

  “They could have been crossing the border with a larger group too. Gotten separated,” he said.

  “I keep going back to the illegal immigrant idea and it just doesn’t fit.” Josie described the vehicle that had been driving by her house the two nights before they discovered the women.

  Jimmy nodded as she finished describing the turn of events. “You’re thinking a coyote transporting these women across the border isn’t going to come back for them.”

  Josie shrugged. “Why would they? They collect their money up front. If the women wanted to split from the group, it’s less hassle for the coyotes. Two less people to deliver.”

  “Unless the women took something from them,” Jimmy said.

  “They didn’t have anything on them. No money or ID, nothing.”

  “Sounds more like a human trafficking case.”

  Josie nodded. “Traffickers would have a lot more at stake if two girls escaped.”

  “You bet. They get money from the girls to transport them into the U.S. Then they get a second payment when they deliver the girls to whoever is paying for the service,” Jimmy said. “And it fits that the girls had no money or passports. The transporters take everything from them, knowing they’re less likely to leave if they don’t have any ID or way to get back home.”

  Josie frowned and watched a young woman with two small kids enter the PD across the street. “What kind of person takes someone’s desperation and turns it into profit?”

  “It’s a pretty sound moneymaker,” he said. “The girls get dropped off to a pimp or a labor broker in Houston or San Antonio. They don’t speak English. They have no money, no ID, no passport, and they’re here illegally. They work sixteen-hour days for enough money for only food and board in a crappy motel room they share with half a dozen other people. Then the room and board is deducted from their paycheck, and they get nothing.”

  “Indentured servants,” she said.

  “That’s it. They’ll work for years in those conditions. And the labor broker moves the maids or factory workers around so they can’t form friendships or figure out ways to partner up and break free.”

  “Have you heard of traffickers working in this area?” she asked.

  “No, but we’re so overwhelmed with illegal entry—so that’s not a current target for this area,” he said. “I’ll get back to the office and pull together the intelligence we have. I know there was a ring running out of Guatemala last year that got busted. They were coming through Juárez and into El Paso. Sex-trade workers.”

  “When these girls leave home do they know that’s where they’re headed?”

  Jimmy scowled. “Hell, no. They’re fed stories about how rich they’ll be in the U.S. Their families scrape together thousands to send them here. They count on the girls getting high-paying jobs and mailing home the cash. Then the girls just disappear.”

  Josie didn’t respond for a while. She watched the woman come back out of the police station, smiling, holding both her kids’ hands. Josie turned to look at Jimmy. “You ever wonder when you’ll hit the wall? When you’ll get up one morning and think, I just can’t do this job anymore. I can’t deal with one more piece of scum today.”

  “Some days, by the time I get home, I can almost feel the dirt on my skin. You know? I worry all that bad we’re surrounded by is rubbing off on me.” Jimmy paused and pointed to the lady strapping her kids into car seats in the back of a minivan. “And then I think, some people can’t do this job. But I can. And if people like you and me give up, then what?”

  * * *

  Josie caught up with Otto in the office and described her conversation with Jimmy about human trafficking.

  Otto gave her a half grin. “A few months ago Delores came home from the beauty shop complaining about a new hair-cutting place downtown. The one that offers massages?”

  Josie nodded in recognition. “Selena’s Cuts. She called herself a massage therapist and sent the Holy Water Church into spasms.”

  “That’s the one. The women at Delores’s old lady’s beauty shop claimed she went beyond the basic massage.”

  “I talked to Selena and Marta looked into it, but nothing ever materialized,” Josie said. “I think it was a young woman wearing short skirts giving back rubs to men that had the old…” Josie paused, realizing she was about to refer to Otto’s wife.

  He smiled at her discomfort. “That had the old women in a frenzy?”

  She tilted her head. “Something like that.”

  “Still might be worth a look. She came here from somewhere in South America, and there were rumors about how she came into the country,” Otto said. “Want me to talk to her?”

  “Why don’t you let me talk to her, and you check in with Cowan on the autopsy. See if he found any matches on the woman’s fingerprints.” Josie turned to her desk to find Marta’s notes from her shift. She typically left Josie a brief summary and listed anything that needed follow-up the next day. Josie read through Marta’s notes, repeating key pieces for Otto. “Regarding the clothing the women were wearing, she says the brands were all too global to narrow down, except for the dead woman’s cowboy boots, which were tooled in Petrolina, Brazil.”

  Otto jotted down a note and considered Josie for a second. “Delores and I talked about languages in South America this morning. Portuguese is the main language in Brazil. Maybe that’s the language barrier.”

  “Except I think Brazilian Portuguese is fairly close to Spanish. I think the woman would recognize the basic questions we’ve been asking in Spanish.”

  “All right. I’ll check missing persons in Brazil,” he said, “but a pair of boots is hardly a lead.”

  “It’s all we have right now. Can you call one of the nurses at the trauma center? See if they’ll check with the translator about the Portuguese/Spanish language issue.”

  “Will do.”

  * * *

  Josie sent Jimmy Dixon a quick email and asked him to look specifically into human trafficking intelligence from Brazil with a connection to West Texas. She worked through a pile of return calls and emails and set out for Selena’s Cuts at 4:58, knowing Selena closed her shop at five on weekdays.

  Selena Rocha was a tall woman with long legs, deep blue eyes, and satiny black hair. When Josie pushed open the door to the salon Selena was bent over at the waist, pulling a brush through her hair. The black mass was so long that the tips grazed the floor. When Selena heard the door open she stood and flipped her hair up and back to let it fal
l around her face.

  Selena gave Josie the once-over and seemed to quickly deduce that Josie hadn’t come into her salon in a police uniform to have her hair styled. She pursed her lips into a thoughtful pouty expression.

  Josie knew Selena from the trouble she’d experienced earlier that year when the salon opened. Several anonymous complaints were filed against her. One woman left a message on the department hotline about lewd and lascivious conduct taking place at the salon. Josie had talked with Selena and felt confident nothing illegal was happening. No doubt there were men who left their barbers for the new woman with the long legs, but it wasn’t a crime.

  Josie held her hand out and Selena shook it, still pouting.

  “How are you, Selena?”

  “I’m well, and you?”

  “I’m doing okay. I have a few questions, if you have just a minute.”

  Two middle-aged women who appeared to work at the salon poked their heads out from a curtain at the back of the salon that hid a stockroom. One of the women said, “We’re leaving now. Okay?”

  Selena waved. “See you tomorrow. Lock the door behind you.” Her speech was heavily accented and her voice low-pitched—the kind of voice that commanded authority. She pointed to the plastic chairs in the waiting area and they took seats next to each other.

  “Do I remember right that you moved here from South America?” Josie asked.

  Selena raised her eyebrows in response and Josie noticed their perfect arch.

  “Yes. I came from Venezuela. I’ve been in Texas almost two years now and came to Artemis just a year ago,” she said.

  Josie nodded. “That’s what I thought. I’m hoping you can give me your perspective on a current investigation we’re working on. A young woman was found shot to death early this morning. Another woman was found hiding nearby. She’s in shock and hasn’t said a word.”

  “You think they’re from Venezuela?”

  “We’re not sure. We’re investigating a possible human trafficking connection. They aren’t from the area, and we’ve not been able to match them to a missing persons database for the surrounding areas.”

  Selena looked confused. “You want me to translate?”

  “We have a Spanish translator, but we can’t get the survivor to talk. Honestly, we don’t know what language the woman even speaks. Until we have some background information, though, we’re lost. Let me be clear. I’m coming here because I’m grasping for anything right now, any kind of lead that could help us figure out who these women are.”

  “Okay.”

  “Typically, human trafficking cases we’re seeing are coming up through Latin America.”

  Selena tilted her head back and made a guttural sound that startled Josie. “Let me get this right. Because I perform licensed massages you’ve made the leap to massage parlor, which makes you think those women were coming to Artemis to work for me.”

  Josie shook her head. “No.”

  “Now I have a human trafficking ring running through my salon? Did some old biddy tell you that too?”

  Josie raised both of her hands in the air. “No, Selena, that’s not—”

  “Because I thought we were beyond this. I thought we’d all grown up a little and decided it’s okay to touch someone without being labeled a prostitute.” Her accent became even more pronounced as her anger intensified.

  Josie hadn’t anticipated her reaction. “No one has complained. And no one is calling you a prostitute. I’m here because I’m trying to help find justice for these women. You’ve recently moved here from South America. You may have information that the police aren’t aware of. Even if it’s rumor. At this point, we’ll take any lead we can get.”

  “So now every country in South America is the same? That’s such an American attitude about the world.”

  Josie sighed openly. “Selena, I’m sorry. I’m not handling my questions well. Of course I realize Venezuela is quite different from other countries in South America. But you traveled to the U.S. from far away, facing all kinds of obstacles that I can’t know about. You may have a better understanding about what this woman has gone through than I do. It seemed reasonable to ask you if you’d heard anything around town about women traveling through the area. I certainly didn’t mean to offend you.”

  Selena turned from Josie and stretched her long legs out in front of her, staring ahead at the shelf full of hair products across the room. “I hear drama all the time.”

  Josie shifted to examine the woman’s profile more carefully. Her arms were crossed over her abdomen and her sulky pout had turned into a frown. She looked like a stripped-down version of the model she was ten minutes before. Josie felt like she was finally talking to the real Selena.

  “About what?” Josie said.

  “About girls leaving their families. The U.S. is riches and happiness.” Selena turned back. Her brows were drawn together in frustration. “That’s what I thought I would get here. That’s what I was told I would get here. Look at me. I’m living in the middle of the desert with no man, no riches, and no fame and fortune.” She appeared to be debating whether to continue, so Josie remained quiet. “Can I tell you something, without you repeating it?” she finally said.

  “Of course you can. I’m not here to make trouble for you, Selena. I just need your help.”

  Her expression had become softer now, absorbed in her own story. “I left Venezuela when I was twenty-two and went to San Antonio. It wasn’t human trafficking. It was me, a young girl with big plans about making a name for myself in the world. I’d been told how beautiful I was my whole life. My grandma used to tell me, ‘Those men in the States, they’ll adore you with your big blue eyes and ebony hair.’ So I came.” She shrugged it off, as if it was just part of her life experience. “But there’s lots of beautiful girls. You know?”

  Josie lifted a shoulder. It wasn’t something she thought about much.

  Selena smiled and then laughed. “You’re so funny. You don’t care about beauty and riches.”

  Josie tipped her head, acknowledging Selena’s assessment. “It’s not that I don’t care about it. It’s just that beauty and riches aren’t something I have much experience with.”

  Selena seemed shocked, and Josie figured she was mocking her.

  She held up her hand, feeling the interview starting to derail. “Let’s get back to San Antonio. You came here to make a name for yourself as a twenty-two-year-old. What happened?”

  Selena made an exaggerated dismissive face and said, “What do you think? I traveled here through an employment service. Men took advantage of me. I learned lessons the hard way, and I escaped. The American way. Right?”

  “How did you end up in Artemis?”

  “After several months in San Antonio I realized the only person looking out for me was me. I eventually saved up enough money on the side to take a cosmetology course, and a kind man, believe it or not, took me under his wing and helped me get board-certified. My trip to Artemis involves two other men and a story that’s too long for now.”

  “But it looks like your story turned out okay.”

  She shrugged again. “I’m okay, yes. But some of these girls are fourteen or fifteen years old when they get here. They spend years trying to find a way out. At least I was old enough to figure out the system before it destroyed me.”

  “Are you aware of any trafficking operations coming through our area?”

  She frowned deeply and shook her head as if it were a ridiculous question. “Why would they bring them to Artemis? There’s no jobs here. They take them to big cities where they can put them to work, where the girls blend in and don’t draw attention. A trafficking ring here would stand out. They’re smarter than that.”

  Josie thanked Selena for the information and asked her to call if she thought of anything else.

  “If you need help with the girl—” Selena stopped and appeared to rethink what she was about to say. She finally took a deep breath and continued. “If she needs someo
ne to talk to, and you think I can help, call me.”

  SIX

  Josie had felt her phone buzz in her pocket while she was talking with Selena. When she walked outside she saw she had a voicemail from the trauma center.

  “Josie, this is Mark. Dr. Brazen is done with the patient. He said he could talk to you if you make it over here in the next few minutes.”

  Mark was a trauma nurse in his late fifties, and Josie liked his easygoing demeanor. Where Vie was hardheaded and intense, Mark was laid-back and soft-spoken. Mark had a great bedside manner with patients, but no one could take control of chaos like Vie.

  Josie returned Mark’s call as she was getting into her jeep. He told her the doctor had agreed to wait until she arrived.

  As Josie drove the four blocks across town, she called Nick to check in with him. He’d stayed at her house to get caught up on paperwork while Josie went back on the clock. Nick’s job as a kidnapping negotiator in Mexico had expanded into a ten-man team, with the territory they covered each year expanding as well. As his business grew, so did the stress of taking on new cases, but it also allowed him to spend more time in Artemis. Technology provided more freedom to connect with his team remotely, a fact that made his and Josie’s long-distance relationship more bearable.

  He assured her he was fine and said he’d found a can of soup in her cabinet for dinner and that he’d wait up for her.

  * * *

  Josie arrived at the trauma center and found Mark in green scrubs with a scrub cap over his bald head, talking to a man in khaki pants and a lab coat. Mark introduced Josie to the doctor.

  “I appreciate you staying to talk with me,” she said.

  “No problem. I’ll do what I can. She’ll need intensive therapy once you find out where her home is. Until then, I’d be glad to try and fit her in again over the next day or two.”

  “Thank you.” Josie wondered about payment for this type of service but elected not to ask. The police department had been charged for services such as this in the past, and the charges were a mess to explain to the city council, which ran the city budget as if guarding the U.S. Mint. Sadly, there wasn’t much money in Artemis to guard.