by Lisa Harris
She took a seat across from them, set her water on the table, and plastered on her best smile. Carlos stood behind her, ready to play the game. “Mr. and Mrs. Sourn, I want to thank you for coming in and talking with us today. I know that you just recently received the news regarding the loss of your niece, and I am very sorry.”
“Thank you.” Mrs. Sourn nodded while kneading a tissue between her fingers.
“We are doing everything we can to find her killer,” Avery continued, “but there are several discrepancies we need to clear up.”
Mr. Sourn took his wife’s free hand. “Finding our niece’s killer is our priority as well. We’re happy to help in any way we can.”
“Good.” Avery looked down at her notes. “You both told us that Tala had been living in your house since graduating from high school. Her diploma and driver’s license are from her home state of Arizona.”
“Yes, that is correct,” Mr. Sourn said. “Is there a problem?”
“Actually, we’ve discovered a couple discrepancies. The first one has to do with the autopsy. The ME who worked on her case found that Tala had an enlarged spleen. Now this could mean a number of things, from mononucleosis to a bacterial infection, or even cancer, but everything he tested for came up negative. Until he tested her blood for malaria.”
Avery caught the look of surprise in Mr. Sourn’s expression. “Malaria?”
“The test came back positive.”
He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“We didn’t either at first. Because what makes this interesting is that malaria hasn’t been a problem in this country for over fifty years, meaning that Tala would have needed to travel overseas—to a place like Vietnam—to have contracted the disease. But you told me that Tala didn’t have a passport.”
Mrs. Sourn shook her head. “I . . . I didn’t think so.”
“According to the US Department of State’s Passport Records,” Avery said, “there is no record that your niece ever applied for a passport.”
“Which is why we started digging deeper and discovered a second problem.” Carlos took a step forward and dropped a copy of Tala’s high school diploma in front of the Sourns. “For starters, I applaud whoever worked on the execution of these documents. We almost didn’t catch it, but Tala never went to high school . . . at least not in Arizona. She was using a laundered identity.”
Mr. Sourn looked to his wife. “That’s not possible—”
“It’s clear what’s going on here.” Mr. Blackburn interrupted Mr. Sourn. “My clients are the victims here.”
“The victims?” Avery’s gaze widened.
“Tala told us—”
“You don’t have to say anything else, Mrs. Sourn.”
“It’s fine.” Mr. Sourn held up his hand. “We just want to get to the bottom of this. We believed Tala was our niece. If we had had any idea her paperwork was fake, we never would have let her live with us.”
Avery tried to swallow her frustration. “You are telling us, then, that you had no idea that Tala’s documents were fake.”
“Do you know how many people have fake licenses in this state alone?” Blackburn shook his head. “You can buy kits online that make authentic-looking IDs used for underage drinking. Some of the easiest to use are sold right here in Georgia. Tala . . . or whoever she was . . . arrived three months ago on my clients’ doorstep, claiming she was the niece they hadn’t seen for years, and now it’s clear that she must have been involved in some kind of con.”
“So now your clients are the victims?” Carlos asked.
“That is exactly what I’m saying. She stole a ring worth over ten thousand dollars and carried fake documents. What else could it be?”
“There is another possibility to this scenario.” Avery wasn’t ready to let things go. “Your clients were harboring an illegal immigrant. If we bring charges against them, they’ll be facing some stiff penalties.”
“My clients are innocent.”
“And a girl’s been murdered. Have you already forgotten?”
“Robbed and murdered by some homeless professor, I was told.”
“The new evidence brought forth by the ME casts doubt on his guilt.”
“Which is your problem, not mine, and certainly not my clients’. If Tala Vuong—or whatever her name really was—were still alive, she’d be the one who would be charged—for possession of fraudulent identification documents, for posing as the Sourns’ niece, and for theft. We’ve heard enough.” He signaled to the Sourns. “If you need anything else, Detective, you may contact me directly.”
Avery stood, fighting to control her anger. “Then let’s hope you’re right, because if you’re not, the next time we sit down in this room, I won’t just be talking to your clients about harboring an illegal alien. I’ll be talking to them about obstruction of justice.”
A minute later, Avery slammed her file folder down onto her desk, her head still spinning.
“Avery.”
“I blew it. I should have seen it coming. How did they become the victims in this situation?”
“Just because they won round one doesn’t mean they’re going to win the war. If you ask me, they’re guilty, and everyone in the room knew it.”
“But we can’t prove it.”
“Yet. They’re already running scared.”
“None of this adds up.” Avery ran her hands through her hair and slumped back down in her chair. “We have nothing to hold them on and no other suspects.”
“Which is why it’s up to us to find evidence that puts a hole in their story.”
Avery looked up at the knock on her door. Captain Peterson stood in the doorway, clearly unhappy.
“I listened to your interview outside, and I’m getting concerned about another case blowing up in our face.”
“Things just keep getting better and better.”
“You accused the Sourns of harboring an illegal alien.”
“The evidence I have points to that possibility.”
“I was under the impression that everything had already been wrapped up, and that the DA set an arraignment for James Philips.”
“Last night, the ME came to me with new evidence from the autopsy that places doubt on James Philips’s guilt.”
“You’re certain of that?”
“Yes. Enough for me to move Mr. and Mrs. Sourn—no matter what they say—from grieving uncle and aunt to the top of my suspect list.”
“That’s pretty strong. Isn’t it possible that they really were the victims here?”
“That is a possibility, but I’m simply following the evidence.”
“We just need to make sure this goes down by the book. Robert Sourn has been under investigation for money laundering in the past, but we never could prove he was involved. He ended up making the department look bad, something none of us want to happen again.”
Avery nodded, hating the politics that managed to entwine themselves in every case. “I’ll be careful, but if we don’t find out the truth soon, we’re going to end up with another victim.”
17
Avery took a bite of the fish taco from one of the food trucks strategically placed around the city. Thankfully, Atlanta’s battle against the roving gourmet vehicles had finally come to an end and the trucks were able to sell their food. Some of her best meals had come from mobile vendors. Besides that, there was nothing like street fare when in the middle of a stakeout or, like today, another long day of canvassing.
“This is delicious.”
“No kidding.” Mitch started on his second chicken burrito as they stood beneath the bright green umbrella that blocked the afternoon sun for the truck’s patrons.
She took another bite. It was almost enough to lighten her sour mood. Almost. Constant dead ends always left her irritated, and this case was hitting more than its share of brick walls.
They’d begun going through the Sourn neighborhood house by house for the second time, and once again they’d turned u
p nothing. Several neighbors thought they recognized Tala, but no one remembered speaking to her. How was it possible that she’d lived in that house three months and no one even knew her name?
Avery took a sip of her iced tea. What happened to good, old-fashioned neighborhood cookouts and the welcome wagon when one moved into town? Apparently community solidarity had gone the way of cassette tapes and typewriters.
Scrunching up the paper wrapper from her finished taco, she tossed it into the trash and waited for Mitch to finish his lunch before they headed out again. Despite Jackson’s findings, punching holes in the Sourns’ story had ended up being more of a challenge than she’d anticipated. Not only had their story never wavered, a search of flight manifests and border control posts confirmed that Tala—as Mrs. Sourn had told her—had not traveled overseas. Which meant they were no closer to finding out who the young woman really was than they were two days ago.
While waiting for Mitch to finish, Avery watched the dozen people standing in line for their lunch. Moms with strollers, a jogger, three men dressed in suits and ties. The smell of exhaust from the passing cars mixed with the scent of grilled meat from the food truck. “I have to say, I don’t get this.”
Mitch frowned and finished swallowing, clearly not happy with the interruption. The man took his food way too seriously.
He wiped a spot of sauce from his chin. “Don’t get what?”
“We’re missing something. The Sourns continue to insist that Tala was the one lying, but it’s as if Tala never existed, except for the fact that her body is lying in the morgue. We have her fingerprints all over the house and her room, but the neighbors have never spoken to her. She has a positive case of malaria, but never left the country. We have a forged driver’s license and a high school diploma, but no friends or phone numbers of friends. No one who remembers any detail about her. Did she jog in this park here in the mornings, take the dog for a walk every night? Did she watch action-adventure films or prefer crying over old movies? I just don’t understand how someone could have existed, yet have been so completely invisible.”
The only scenario that made sense was that Tala had been in the country illegally. It gave the Sourns motivation to lie and explained the laundered documents. They just had to find a hole in their story.
“Living in anonymity these days isn’t as unusual as you think,” Mitch said. “People spend more time on the internet than they do face-to-face with friends. They live their lives through reality TV, online video games, or places like Facebook.”
They started the three blocks on foot back toward the Sourns’ plush neighborhood. The heat hung heavy in the air, but at least she’d get in a bit of exercise today. “I don’t know.”
“My cousin’s a prime example. He lives in his parents’ basement, most of his friends are online, and he’s known to most by his avatar name, Zytan. He works at home as a graphic designer, so there’s no commuting, no hanging out with friends by the water cooler or lunch with co-workers. If he goes out, it’s to grab fast food or to watch a movie. If he does actually show up at one of his real friends’ houses, they play video games or watch a game, but he certainly doesn’t call and chat with his buddies on the phone.”
“Maybe you’re right, but there’s got to be more. I have friends who work at home, but they have an email address, Facebook, they take the trash out and wave to their neighbors. Even though your cousin lives in his parents’ basement, tracking down friends who knew him wouldn’t be that difficult.”
“True.”
“If it weren’t for her body in the morgue, and the handful of documents we have, I’d have a hard time proving Tala even existed.”
“We’ve still got more canvassing to do. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Avery lengthened her steps to match Mitch’s long stride as they reentered the exclusive community of two-story homes, each worth at least a million-plus, with its surrounding golf course. Except for the lawn mower buzzing a few houses down, the neighborhood was quiet. She studied the sign on the side of the lawn service truck. Hiring someone to mow your lawn meant you didn’t spend time outside doing your own landscaping.
She looked down the street in the other direction. A black sedan pulled into a driveway. The garage door opened with the push of the button, securing the driver inside, where he would probably spend the rest of the day locked away inside the comfort of the air-conditioned home. Once the weather cooled, he might hang out on the back porch surrounded by a fence tall enough that none of their neighbors could see him. It had been built purposely for that reason.
No barn raisings or hunting parties for the men.
No quilting bees for the women.
Nothing requiring them to work together.
Maybe Mitch was right. It was possible to be invisible in the middle of a community.
“Have you ever thought about how much life has changed over the past hundred and fifty years, and how much we’ve lost?”
“Lost?” Mitch chuckled. “A hundred and fifty years ago, they had no cable TV, no cars or airplanes, no internet, no fast food . . . I must be missing something. What have we lost?”
“We have everything we need at our fingertips. We’ve lost that true sense of community where we rely on each other for our very survival. Instead we live in communities where they lose a young girl and no one misses her.”
They walked up the long drive. Avery rang the bell, then took a step backward. A little boy, no more than five, finally opened the door.
Avery bent down, pressing her hands against her thighs. “Hi, I’m Detective North. Is your mommy or daddy home?”
The boy’s eyes widened. “You’re a policeman?”
“Yes, I am.”
His smile faded. “Am I in trouble?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Teo?” A young woman behind him tried to pull the boy back into the house. Asian, like the boy, late teens, maybe early twenties.
“Wait, please—” Avery started.
“Teo, vui long!”
Teo stood his ground and didn’t budge from the still-open door. The young woman spoke a few more words, then glanced behind her as if she wasn’t sure what to do.
Teo didn’t seem to care. “I want to be a policeman when I grow up.”
“I’m sure you would make a very fine officer.” Avery took a step forward and identified herself to the woman. “Do you speak English?”
The young woman shook her head. “No. No English.”
“I’m helping her learn. She can say hello, good-bye, how are you—”
“I’m sure you make a wonderful teacher, Teo. Is she your mother?”
“No, her name is Malaya. She takes care of me when my mother is gone.”
“Is your mother here now?”
He shook his head. “No, she had to go shopping.”
“I have a picture I would like you and Malaya to look at. I need to know if either of you know this girl. She died, and we are trying to find out what happened to her.”
Teo made a quick translation and Malaya nodded. Avery handed the girl a copy of the photo they’d found on Tala’s body.
Malaya studied the photo, then shook her head, but not before Avery caught the brief flicker of recognition in her eyes.
“She says she’s sorry, but she doesn’t know the girl. I don’t know her either.”
“Is she sure? It’s very important.”
Teo repeated the question to her and Malaya shook her head again, insistent. Avery shoved back her frustration. Without more evidence, there was nothing more she could do for the moment.
She pulled out her business card. “One more thing. If you or Malaya remember something you think might help me, please call me.”
Teo took the card and stepped inside before Malaya slammed the door shut, leaving Avery and Mitch alone on the front porch.
Avery started down the drive toward the next house. “I think she recognized her.”
“Maybe. There was defini
tely fear in her eyes, but it could be that she was simply afraid she was going to get in trouble for letting Teo open the door to a stranger.”
“Or it could be something more. Not every person who can’t speak English is here illegally, but after she saw our badges, I’m pretty sure she didn’t want us there.”
She started up the next driveway beside Mitch and watched a landscape crew pack up their tools, load them into their truck, and drive away down the empty street. She didn’t want to run off on tangents not supported by evidence and forensic findings, but neither could she ignore the way the pieces of the puzzle were coming together.
“There’s a connection somewhere here, Mitch. No one knew Tala, which means that it’s possible she was living in a situation no different than a prostitute kept under the radar by her pimp. And now this girl, she was clearly frightened by something.”
Mitch shook his head. “I know where you’re going with this, but most of the people in this neighborhood pay their employees to cook for them, watch their children, clean their houses, and mow their lawns. It’s economics, not exploitation. And it certainly doesn’t mean they’re all doing it under the table by using illegal immigrants.”
“I’m not concerned, right now anyway, about other people’s employees and whether or not they’re here legally.” Avery turned to him and caught his gaze. “What I’m worried about is one dead girl, and the possibility of more murders.”
18
Malaya tried to breathe, but the air wouldn’t reach her lungs. The living room started closing in on her. She leaned against the wall for support, but all she could see was Tala’s face. They’d killed her. Just as they’d promised. She and Tala had been warned, but Tala hadn’t listened and now she was dead. There was no way out. Why couldn’t she have seen that? The scarred man on the boat had been the first to threaten them, and now they had come for her.