by Stacy Green
Once, I might have said yes to that question. But not anymore. I don’t believe we ever really change, not in our hearts. Human wants and desires drive us all, and that’s it. But it was nice to pretend we could always do better.
Kelly buzzed me into her building, and I shivered the entire elevator ride to the fourth floor. Inside her apartment, I hung my coat on the rack and pulled my sweater tightly around me.
“Your cheeks are red.” Kelly handed me a cup of steaming coffee. “Make sure you put something on them before they crack.”
In these moments I envied her ability to live most of her life in the confines of this apartment. At least she didn’t have to deal with the arctic blast.
“I will.” I held the cup to my face, breathing in the warmth, before taking a sip. “Thank you.”
Kelly sat down in her large, overstuffed chair, folding her legs beneath her. The flat screen television on her crate-style coffee table droned on about a murder in Trenton, New Jersey, forty minutes away. The killer had left dimes on the women’s eyes in some pathetic cry for attention.
That’s the difference between me and those kinds of people. I don’t do it because I have an urge that must be quelled–at least not a physical urge. Killing doesn’t satiate me, and I don’t want the police marveling and confounded over my brilliance. I just want to cleanse the filth.
“Kind of stupid to leave such a brazen calling card,” Kelly said. “Silver is deeply rooted in mythology. He’s only helping the cops out.”
“Trying to make a statement, I guess. Hopefully he left a fingerprint.”
She swiveled around. Her wispy black hair contrasted sharply with the white chair, and her tiny frame looked like it had been swallowed by a marshmallow. “So. Did you get it?”
I pulled the cellphone out of my purse and handed it to her. “It was hidden underneath the desk. I didn’t even try to decode the lock screen. I’ll leave that up to you.”
Her slim fingers moved easily over the smartphone, trying varying arrangements of numbers. I soon heard the click of the phone giving her access and eagerly leaned over her shoulder.
“This thing is really well protected,” Kelly said. “It’s got separate passwords for email and Internet access. I can’t even mess with the settings.”
I slumped against the back of the chair. “Can’t you get anything from it? That’s got to be where she keeps her information.”
“How do you know she’s the one running this sex ring?”
“Why else would she have hidden this phone, Kel?”
She shrugged. “Maybe she’s got another identity. Or she’s having an affair and her boyfriend is possessive. Who knows? I just have trouble understanding why she’s working through this phone when the Dark Web is a lot more protected.”
The dark web. I hated the term. It belonged in the Middle Ages, especially since many of the things found on the deepest layer of the Internet–the one normal search engines can’t touch–are barbaric.
“I mean, think about it,” Kelly said. “All you need is software that allows you to access the hidden domains. And then you’re in with your own username and passwords, and the best part is you’re anonymous.”
I rubbed my temples. Tech-speak usually gave me a headache. “I still don’t understand how it works.”
“Think of it like this.” Kelly’s hands started flapping around like they always did when she got nerdy. “Normal search engines, like Google or Yahoo, use things called spiders. They crawl around looking for keywords, which lead to active links, domains, and so on. But the sites on the dark web are too hidden for those spiders to find. You need passwords. It’s the same kind of technology that protects your online banking.”
“And it’s not all child porn, is it?”
“No,” she said. “Plenty of people just want their privacy. They don’t want the government watching them regardless of whether or not they’re doing anything bad. And I’ve run across watchdogs who try to report these kid porn sites, but it’s impossible to find many of them.”
My head began to ache. “Why? That’s what I don’t understand.”
“Because of the encryption and the sheer number of domains. And everything bounces off foreign servers in Timbuktu or some other obscure country. Look, these people spend their lives online and in a half-paranoid state. They’re on the lowest level of the dark web, like the deepest layer of trash at a landfill, and they know how to cover their tracks.”
“Maybe Sarah’s not smart enough to figure it out,” I said. “Or maybe she is, and we just haven’t gotten that far. But I have no doubt she conducts business on this phone. Maybe it’s just her top layer. We won’t know until we break into it.” I sat down on the couch across from her. “Anyway, you don’t really believe she’s innocent, do you? Not after everything I’ve seen and heard.”
“By stalking her,” Kelly said.
“Following her,” I clarified. “Like I’ve done plenty of times on cases. And Chris helped.”
“But this is different,” Kelly said. “You’re getting so up close and personal. She nearly saw you the other day. And the whole finances thing, calling the credit card companies and fishing for her information?” Her voice rose, adding to my headache. “Lucy, that’s illegal. You could lose your private investigator’s license if you get caught.”
I laughed. “As if that’s the most illegal thing I’ve done.”
“You’re deliberately ignoring my point.”
Of course I was. She wasn’t about to change my mind, and we didn’t have any more time to waste. “Kel, I don’t have any choice. This isn’t just some released offender we’re tracking. We’re trying to bring down a well-organized sex trafficking ring.”
“But that is your choice,” she said. “You could easily walk away from this. Go back to all the dirtbags we’re keeping track of. If you’re focused on the guys trolling online, we can find them on the dark web. You don’t have to focus on these trafficking rings.”
She was wrong. Ever since discovering Kailey Richardson on the auction site, my entire focus had shifted beyond the everyday creep. As bad as these creeps were, the big networks were far more sinister. It wasn’t just one sick monster trying to consume a child’s innocence. It was pedophiles helping pedophiles, justifying their behavior as if they had every right to breathe the same air as the rest of us. But that wasn’t even the worst of it. That honor belonged to people like Sarah, who had no physical interest in kids but saw them as a product to capitalize on. If I thought I could have gotten away with it, I would have killed her my first week on the job. But that wouldn’t stop her organization. I needed as many details as possible: names of associates, clients, partners, victims. So I endured watching her elaborate act, submitting to her insecurity and allowing her to feel the power she so obviously craved.
I still planned to kill her. When the time was right.
I couldn’t muster the words or the energy to explain myself to Kelly. “I can’t walk away from this.”
“I know, and that’s what scares me. It’s about more than justice now, and I’m afraid that’s going to be your downfall.”
She was probably right, and I was powerless to stop. “If it is, hopefully I’ll take some of these people with me.”
She stared at me with those big, doe-like eyes that had experienced too much in her young life. I didn’t want to cause her worry, disappointment, or fear. If I wasn’t so selfish, I’d walk out of her life tonight. Let her find her way without the help of a jaded killer who didn’t really know who she was more afraid of–the people she hunted or herself.
“Kel, I need your help.” I’d like to say I felt shame for asking, but I didn’t. I only felt desperation and determination. “If you can’t get anything off the phone, I’ll return it and walk away from Exhale, okay? We’ll go back to the repeat offenders, maybe do some searching your way. But I’ve at least got to try to get to Sarah.”
She sighed and turned her attention back to the phon
e. “This thing has a really good password protection system. It’s a paid app that provides different passwords for as many programs as you want. I got lucky on the lock screen. But with the email and the other applications? After the fifth failed attempt, it will take a screenshot of my face and then lock me out. You’ve got to go on the website and enter a special pin code to reactivate the phone.”
I dragged my hands through my hair. “We’ve got to at least try.”
“Let’s try the calendar. What are the last four digits of her social security number again?”
“9065.”
Kelly typed in the numbers. The phone beeped signaling the wrong code. Next were her birth date and then a combination of her bank account numbers. “We’ve only got one try left.” She leveled a hard stare at me. “Have you stolen any other numbers that might be useful?”
“No. But I did hear her give out a phone number the other day, and it didn’t match the cell she’d given to employees or the salon number. Do you think she’d be foolish enough to use the last four digits?”
Kelly debated. “If she thinks no one else knows about the phone but her, it’s worth a shot.”
“5834.”
She typed in the numbers while I waited with a sinking stomach. “Holy shit, you were right.”
I jumped up from the couch and sat on the arm of the recliner, almost forgetting Kelly didn’t like physical contact. “What do you see?”
“Appointments.” There were only four in the month of January, each coded the same way: in blue, with letters representing what I assumed were client and victim names, followed by time and place.
Today, January 10th, was shaded blue. I read with a turning stomach. “R for L. Eight-thirty, Rattner Inn.”
I took out my own phone and did a quick search. “North Philly, a few blocks off Temple’s campus.”
“Lovely neighborhood,” Kelly said.
“Good thing I’ve got my pepper spray and bottle of kill juice.” I dropped the phone back into my purse. “If I’m lucky, I can make it in time.”
“What the hell?” Kelly jumped up. “You’re not going out there alone at night.”
“I’m always alone at night,” I countered. “And this is my chance. If I can interrupt this…transaction, I might be able to get all the information I need.”
“What about this?” Kelly held the phone up. “We can still keep trying.”
“Until we’re locked out. We won’t get lucky again.” I grabbed my coat off the rack. She stared at me with stricken eyes. “What did you think I was going to do?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “But I think you should leave this with the police, Lucy. This is bigger than you.”
I zipped my coat up to my chin and tugged on my hat. Chasing a creep in this cold sounded as appealing as an enema. “That’s exactly why the police are the wrong people to handle it. It’s happening right under their noses, and they don’t have a clue. Besides, I don’t need a warrant or have rules to follow. My world moves much faster.”
Her shoulders sagged. “This will be your downfall,” she repeated the words from earlier in a small, broken voice. “Please be careful.”
I couldn’t allow myself to feel badly about her fear. Intercepting this meeting was the right thing to do for everyone involved, including me. I mustered a smile. “I’m always careful, Kel.”
3
Despite being below zero with dangerously cold winds, traffic was still thick and most drivers were exceptionally stupid. Driving like they walk, whipping in and out of lanes, cutting people off and cruising as though they are the only people on the road. It was no different than walking a busy sidewalk or department store aisle. By the time I made it to North Philly, it was nearing 9 p.m. I parked four blocks away from the motel and ran down the sidewalk, the cold air ripping through my lungs like a frozen knife.
The Rattner Hotel sat on a rusting corner of an older area of the city. Three stories of weather-beaten, cracking brick with a drooping marquee and faded lettering, it was a throwback to the storefront hotels of fifty years ago. Time had literally shrunken the place, the wood framing of the door splintering under the building’s weight. The “A” in the vacancy sign in the window blinked on and off like a creepy tick.
Inside, the smell of old, dusty carpet and the faint scent of mold greeted me. A balding, middle-aged man sat behind a yellowed counter. He perked up from his wrinkled copy of the New York Times when I blew through the door. “Help you?”
Breathless from the freeze, I gathered my thoughts and then sneezed, barely managing to shove my face into my elbow in time. “Excuse me. I’m looking for someone.”
“Can’t give out information.” His gaze flickered between me and the paper. His oily skin left him with a smattering of blackheads across his nose. A blush dotted his cheeks, and his eyes bore a look I recognized and could use to my advantage.
Toes burning as they began to warm up, I approached him, pulling my hat off and letting my hair fall around my shoulders. I leaned across the counter trying to ignore the years of stickiness. I licked my lips, pitched my voice low, into the sort of breathy whisper so many men loved. A college friend called it the “porn whisper.” She wasn’t far off. “Sure you can.”
He scratched his thinning forehead. “Against the rules.”
But farming out young kids to predators is okay. I swallowed the words. This guy might not have any idea what was going on, although the more likely scenario was that he probably just told himself he didn’t know because then he didn’t have to deal with the facts. We all lie to ourselves.
If I had all the information, I could probably wheedle a room number out of this guy. But all I had were initials and zero time.
“I’m looking for a man sharing a room with a teenage girl,” I said. “They might have arrived at different times. Her dad is from out of town and visiting.”
“All I can do is call the room, if you’ve got a name or room number.”
I thought back to the calendar. R for L. “First name starts with an L.”
“That’s not enough.” He went back to his paper. Moisture shone across his forehead. The index finger on his right hand tapped the paper making it rustle. He didn’t strike me as the sort who would still read a newspaper, much less the New York Times.
Irritated and short of time, I decided to take a chance. “Look. Either you tell me where this meeting goes down, or I call the police in here and let them know what’s really going on behind closed doors. They’ll never believe you weren’t aware of it.”
He messed with his bald spot yet again, his eyes shifting from me to the paper.
“So,” I rested my chin on my hands, smiling like we were old friends. “Either you tell me where to look, or I call the police. Your choice.”
He shook his head. “This is bullshit.”
I took out my cellphone. “Have it your way.”
He slammed the paper down on the counter. “You’re pretty late. Check the back alley.” He jerked his head to the left. “Guy you’re looking for will be leaving through the back door.”
I followed his direction and bolted down a dingy, musty hallway toward the door with the blaring red “exit” sign. I should have taken the time to make a plan, but all I could think about was the late hour and that I’d probably lost my best chance. I shoved at the door, fighting the force of the wind. At first there was nothing but more icy air and wind so strong my eyes stung, but then my vision cleared. Several feet to my right were a tall man with a thick overcoat and a teenage girl a few inches shorter. She wore a dark knitted cap, but the street lamps provided enough light for me to see the telltale signs of youth in her profile: vibrant skin with some errant acne, a smidgeon of baby-fat still left on her cheeks, and hands devoid of lines and wrinkles.
The man’s face was turned down and shadowed–all I saw was a beard and part of a smile. He put his hands on the girl’s shoulders, and the girl looked up at him not with adoration but resignation. The man l
eaned down, my stomach shifted, and my feet moved before my brain caught up.
“What the hell are you doing?”
4
Wind blasted down the alley. The force sent me back on my heels; I dug them in and strode forward, ignoring the wind-sicles pelting my face. If only the cyanide were nestled in my pocket. But my fingers were probably too numb not to kill myself.
The man recovered quickly, drawing himself up straight. He kept his face turned away, only allowing me to see his very generic profile. “My daughter and I were talking.”
“In the freezing cold in a back alley in a dangerous part of the city?” I asked. “Strange place for a chat.”
His head twitched like he wanted to turn, maybe get in my face. The girl stepped back, her body language both defiant and desperate. I got my first direct look at her face. My prostitute friend from Kensington Avenue. She glared at me, but I didn’t see the telltale flash of recognition. Hopefully my wig, glasses, and heavy makeup had done the job.
Cocking her head, she looked up at the man and reached out her right hand, rubbing her fingers together. She’d yet to get paid.
“So.” I stepped forward, trying to get a better look at the man. “Which one of you is R and which one is J?”
In true cowardly form, the man bolted down the alley, his long legs quickly carrying him out of sight. The girl turned to me, her cherub-like face twisted with rage. Short, dark hair peeked out from her hat. She was even prettier without the heavy eye makeup she’d worn on the street. Her delicate features reminded me of Kelly in the worst way, and the surprise left me vulnerable. Before I could react, she struck, slamming both slender hands against my shoulders.
“What did you do that for? He hadn’t paid me yet!”
I stumbled backwards, the heels of my boots sliding across the sheen of ice. Teetering, I regained my balance. “You don’t have to live this way. I’m here to help you.”