“Then just pull up on Fifty-Fifth and stop short of Brooklyn,” Doc said. “Don’t cross. Cover us in case he keeps heading south.”
“Roger,” Kenny said.
“Toni, are you going to follow him down Brooklyn?”
“Yeah. It’s a tight street, though—I’m going to hang back a bit.”
“Okay,” I said. “Toni, you’ve got command.” I was looking at the portable Garmin GPS suction-cupped to the dash.
A few seconds later, Toni said, “He’s slowing down. He’s parking along the curb at a house across from the park. I’m going to slow down and then turn east here on Sixty-Second before I get there.”
“Okay, they’re getting out,” she said a second later.
“Kenny,” she called out. “Turn north on Brooklyn. Come up slow and do a drive-by and grab the address. The beemer is parked right in front of the house they went in.”
“Roger,” Kenny said.
“I’m making my turn onto Sixty-Second eastbound,” Toni said. “Kenny, you have the command.”
“Roger.” Kenny loves the military lingo.
“Do it slow but not stupid,” I said.
“Got it,” he said. “I’m just going to call it out. One of you guys can write it down.”
“Good.”
A few seconds later, Kenny started counting the numbers. “6131 . . . 6135 . . . 6139 . . . 6143 . . . it’s 6147! 6147 Brooklyn.”
“See anyone outside?” I asked.
“Nobody,” he said.
“Good. Keep driving. Toni, can you make a U-turn and sneak back up to keep an eye on the house?”
“Yeah. I’m already on it. I’ll call you when I’m in position.”
* * * *
Was this the boys’ house or the girls’? I didn’t know, but at least we now had an address. We could stake it out later and try to decide who actually lived there. Meanwhile, I redeployed all the vehicles in preparation for when Martin moved out again. Toni reported from her vantage point that four cars had arrived over the next twenty minutes. Each car was driven by a young black male. Using her binoculars, Toni was able to report that all of the drivers appeared to be in their early twenties. She took license numbers for all of them. Two of the drivers were accompanied by young white girls, neither of whom looked anything like Isabel. We waited. Forty-five minutes later, Toni said, “Here comes Martin and Crystal,” followed a minute later by, “They’re getting in. Doc—you ready?”
“I’m rolling,” he said. Doc was going to take over as command vehicle, this time from behind. We figured that since Martin hadn’t seen Doc’s vehicle in a trail position, it might be our best bet. Toni was going to be backup again, and Kenny was back down on Fifty-Fifth—this time, pointed east.
“They’re heading south,” Toni said.
“I got ’em,” Doc said. “I’ve got command. Just driving past the house. No other apparent activity.”
Martin drove south until he reached Fifty-Fifth, where he turned eastbound. We followed him for another two miles as he worked his way south and east, deeper into the U-District.
“He’s stopped on Nineteenth,” Doc said. “They’re getting out.”
“Can you break off?” I asked.
“Yeah. I’ll just keep going straight here.”
“Okay,” I said. “Don’t go down Nineteenth. I’m fifteen seconds away,” I said. “He hasn’t seen me in profile yet. I’m going to make the turn on Nineteenth and check it out.” We were running out of vehicles that hadn’t already been in prime position.
I turned south onto Nineteenth off of Fifty-Fifth. Immediately, I could see the white BMW parked alongside the curb, four houses down from Fifty-Fifth. The car looked empty.
“He’s parked at a house down the street. Looks like they’ve gone inside,” I reported.
The street was heavily tree-lined, making it hard to see the address. I slowed down before the house—I didn’t want to change speeds in front of it. As I approached, I looked for the address on the mailbox. Finally, just as I reached the house, I saw the box. The address was pasted to the side in inexpensive foil letters. “5387 Nineteenth,” I said. “5-3-8-7.”
“Got it,” Toni said.
“Nobody visible. House looks like a frat house. Big brick sucker—big porch. I’m going on past.”
I drove to the end of the block and stopped. I could see Doc parked around the corner.
“Think the other house was the boys’ house and this one is the girls’ house?” Doc asked over the radio.
“Maybe. Is there a place for me to pull in and park on the curb north of the house, someplace where I could still get a view?”
“I don’t know,” Doc said.
“Hey, guys,” Kenny said. “I’m up here at the top of the street. How about if I make a U-turn and come back and just park up here. I can eyeball them when they come out before they even get in the car.”
“That works. Doc—you’re good where you are. I’d just as soon he didn’t see this green van again. I’m going to go down a half mile or so here and park. Toni? Where are you?”
“On Twentieth between Ravenna and Fifty-Eighth.”
“Perfect,” I said. “Just wait.”
Less than five minutes later, Kenny said. “Here they come. Just the two of them,” followed shortly afterward by, “They’re headed south again.”
“I got ’em,” Doc said a minute later. “They just passed me. They turned east on Fiftieth. They’re leaving our area.”
I thought about this. We were out of vehicles that hadn’t already been in the prime position. We had what we needed. I didn’t think we’d been spotted. A good afternoon.
“Everybody—let’s call it a day,” I said. “Break off, and we’ll debrief back at the office.”
Chapter 15
A FEW MINUTES before ten the next morning, Toni and I waited in the lobby of Nancy Stewart’s office for our meeting with the SPD gang unit. I was reading a Sports Illustrated article about Texas Ranger left fielder Josh Hamilton. Hamilton’s my kind of hero—a guy with superhuman powers yet still a man—a fallible human being. Part of the package with Josh Hamilton includes a fair share of goofs, screwups, and mistakes—just like the ones we all make every day. Yet—and this is the really inspirational part in my book—he still manages to find his way back—humble, contrite, no excuses, no attempts at blame shifting. His faith in God and the love and strong support of his family and friends serve as his bedrock, and—at least so far—it appears to be an unshakable foundation. I’m a fan.
“Morning, guys,” Nancy said. She’d poked her head out the “Restricted Access” door, and I hadn’t even noticed.
“Hey there,” I said, standing. “You ready for us?”
“C’mon back.”
She held the door for us and then led us back to a conference room. We walked into the room and noticed two men already seated. Both men were dressed casually—even more so than I was (I wore jeans and a short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt). One of the men looked up when we entered. He was Hispanic, probably late twenties. His dark hair was cut very short except for a slightly longer Mohawk strip down the middle. In a thousand years, I’d never have guessed him to be a cop—except for the badge pinned to his shirt and the Glock on his belt. The other guy was on his cell phone, his back turned to us. He had medium-length blond hair and even from the side, I could see he wore a short, scruffy beard. When we entered, he finished up his call and spun around in his chair.
Our eyes met, and we instantly recognized each other. “D-Lo!” he said, hopping out of his chair. “Son of a bitch! I had no idea you were the one we were meeting with today.”
“Mickey Cole,” I said as I walked around the table to greet him. Michael Cole, known far and wide as Mickey, had been a senior at Ballard High School when I was a sophomore. Normally, that two-year difference would have made us invisible to each other. In our case, though, we were both on the varsity track team—he threw the javelin, and I was a miler. We spent a
lot of time together. “Long time no see.”
“Damn right,” he said as we shook hands warmly. “Last I heard, you’d gotten yourself shot over in Iraq.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I zigged when I should have zagged.”
“Jesus, dude. You’re okay?”
“I’m fine. All in one piece. I was only out of action for a week or so.”
“Glad to hear it,” he said. He turned to Toni. “Hi,” he said, smiling broadly. “I’m Mickey Cole.”
Toni smiled. “Hi,” she said. “Toni Blair. I work for Danny.”
Mickey shook her hand. “Danny and I were on the track team together in high school. He was pretty good at it—damn good, actually. I sucked. I was just there for the letter.”
“He’s still pretty fast,” Toni said.
“I’ll bet he is,” Mickey said. He turned to the other man at the table. “This skinny guy over here is my partner Javier Martinez. Javi and I head up the Gang Unit’s north-side efforts. Nancy told us about your little sting operation. Sounds like it didn’t turn out quite the way you’d hoped.”
I shook my head. “No, it didn’t,” I said.
“Let’s have a seat, and you can tell us about it.”
We took our seats. “Have you ever heard of a group called the North Side Street Boyz—that’s boyz with a ‘z’?” I asked.
Mickey glanced at Javier and then turned back to me. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “We’ve heard of them. Donnie “Young Love” Martin and his crew. What are those knuckleheads up to?”
I walked them through the events of the last week and a half, starting with the text messages Kelli’d received from Isabel, all the way through our vehicle surveillance. “So,” I concluded, “our interest in this is finding and rescuing Isabel Delgado.”
Mickey nodded. “Based on what you just described, this sounds like vintage shit from these punks. They recruit young runaway girls, force them into prostitution, and then they live off the earnings. We think they’ve been doing it for three years or so. They use the money to buy drugs and fancy cars. They’re nothing but modern-day pimps.”
“That’s actually an insult to pimps, if you can believe that,” Javier said. “At least most of the old-fashioned pimps split the money with the prostitutes in some fashion. These guys don’t even do that. They keep everything. They’re actually modern-day slave masters.”
I opened the file I’d brought and slid out pictures of the three individuals we’d seen at the big house.
“That’s Donnie Martin,” Javier said. He held up the picture and turned to Nancy. “Have you pulled this guy’s sheet?”
Nancy nodded. “He’s been in trouble since he was ten years old.”
“No doubt,” Mickey said. “He’s a bad dude. What’s worse, he’s not very bright. The combination makes him dangerous. I’d say he’s on a one-way street. If he’s lucky, he’ll end up in prison for a long, long time.”
“And if he’s not,” Javier said, “somebody’s gonna take him out.”
“You guys don’t have any active investigations going on this guy then?” Nancy asked.
“Nothing formal,” Mickey said. “You guys neither?”
Nancy shook her head. “We’d never even heard of them until Danny and Toni brought them to us. It’s the exact kind of thing we’re all over—particularly with the threat of trafficking.”
“What threat is that?” Mickey asked.
Nancy recounted Paola’s conversation about Isabel possibly being sold.
“That makes it federal, doesn’t it?” Mickey asked.
Nancy nodded. “It does. The FBI runs a local task force dealing with sex trafficking of minors. They should be joining us any minute.”
* * * *
Ten seconds later, a man in a suit and a woman in a dress suit were led into the conference room by a member of Nancy’s staff.
“Here they are,” Nancy said, standing. We all stood for introductions. “Special Agents Nicole Bryan and Jonathan Geist.” Nancy introduced each of us.
“Thank you for inviting us to your meeting, Nancy,” Agent Bryan said as they took their seats. She was a tall woman, perhaps mid-thirties. Her blond hair was pulled back tightly. She turned to us. “I don’t know how familiar you are with what we do, but Agent Geist and I are attached to the national Innocence Lost Initiative. As such, we head up the King County Innocence Lost Task Force, which consists of the FBI, the King County Sheriff’s Department, and most of the local police departments. We’re here to try and stop domestic sex trafficking of children in the Seattle area. Nancy called us and told us that we might have a new subject.”
“That’s right,” Nancy said. “Danny and Toni are trying to find Isabel Delgado, a sixteen-year-old girl who we believe has become connected with a local gang called the North Side Street Boyz.” Nancy went on to explain the sting and how we ended up with Paola. “When Paola implicated the NSSB gang in trafficking, I had no choice but to notify the task force.”
“Just to be clear,” I said, “as I recall, Paola said she heard Isabel Delgado was going to be sold to another pimp—perhaps someone in Las Vegas—because she refused to begin prostituting herself for the gang.”
“Understood. And there are no details other than that?” Agent Bryan asked.
“If by details you mean times and places of exchange, then no,” I said, “no additional details. We do believe we have the addresses of the three houses where the gang bases its operation, the automobiles they drive, and—,” I pointed to the pictures, “—pictures of the gang leaders.”
Both agents examined the photos and took notes. When she was finished, Agent Bryan said, “Well, Nancy, I agree—this sounds like exactly the kind of case we’re set up to investigate. As you know, we’re just days away from pulling the trigger on Operation Cross Country VI. It’s way too late to fold this into that. But I’d be willing to recommend that we start an investigation into this NSSB group now. That way, we could definitely include it in Cross Country VII.”
“How long would that take?” I asked.
“It could take a while,” she said. “We have to gather evidence, prepare a case.”
“Weeks?” I asked. “Months?”
“Probably months,” she said.
“Well, let me ask you this,” I said. “You said you’re about to pull the trigger on Cross Country VI, right?”
“Yes,” she said.
“When did Cross Country V happen?”
She thought about it for a minute, and then she said, “December—no, November 2010.”
“2010?” I said. “Eighteen months ago?”
She nodded. “That’s about right.”
“And how many kids got rescued?”
She considered this. “Around seventy,” she said.
“Nationwide? Or just here in Seattle?”
“That was nationwide. I can see what you’re getting at, Mr. Logan,” she said, a little testily. “But you have to understand that it takes time for us to put a case together against these people.”
“I do understand,” I said. “And that’s the point.” I tilted my head a little and looked at her. “Where’s that leave Isabel? Apparently, she’s about to be sold like a slave and shipped out of state any time now. What about her?”
“I wish we could do more, but we can’t swoop in and arrest these guys and make a case that will stick overnight,” Agent Bryan said.
“Who cares about that?” I said. “We can definitely swoop in and rescue Isabel—this afternoon for that matter. To hell with making a case. All I care about is Isabel. I don’t give a damn about NSSB.”
She looked at me for a moment and then said, “Unfortunately, for us it doesn’t work that way. We have to look at the bigger picture.” She seemed to have channeled her patience and decided to explain things to me. I felt like I was back in elementary school. “Consider for a moment that these guys might be involved with dozens of girls just like Isabel. We have a duty to close the whole operation down. Jumping i
n and blowing our cover before we’re ready probably eliminates that possibility. We have no choice but to carefully assemble a tight, solid case against the men involved so that we can arrest them, convict them, and put them away. In the process, we save all of their victims.”
I stared at her for a moment. “And while you’re doing that, what? You just ignore the people you see right in front of you who are being hurt by these men? People like Isabel?”
The room was tense. I could clearly hear the ticking of the clock on the wall as the seconds passed by. Finally, Nancy broke the silence. “Nobody’s going to ignore anyone we see getting hurt, including Isabel,” she said. “That said, the sad fact is that right now, it’s a moot point anyway. We don’t even know where she is.”
“That’s easy enough,” I said. “Why don’t you just go look? We already gave you the addresses.”
“You mean get a warrant and search the houses?” Agent Bryan said.
“Yeah.”
“We can’t do that,” she said. “We don’t have anything on them. We just heard about them two minutes ago. I don’t think that hearsay from a fifteen-year-old would be sufficient probable cause. We’d never be able to get a warrant.”
“You mean a warrant for trafficking?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I turned to Nancy. “And you agree? I mean—the Seattle Police Department agrees?”
She looked at me. “For the moment—much as I hate to say it—we don’t have a choice. Unless we get something more concrete, our hands are tied.” She turned to face Agent Bryan. “But, Nicole, if we do come up with something more concrete—something that makes it so we think we know where that little girl is, then I will try to get a warrant. And I don’t care if it’s for trafficking or jaywalking or whatever. My first job is to protect. I won’t stand by and watch one little girl become a sacrifice while we build a case against these guys. I’ll find some reason to throw them in jail.”
“But they might turn right around and walk,” Agent Bryan protested.
“They might,” Nancy said. “But in the meantime, I’ll have Isabel. Safe and sound.”
* * * *
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