“That’s not a down payment,” he replied, his voice thick.
Jesus, Amanda! What in the fuck have you gotten yourself into?
She could almost imagine his penis hardening right now as a bead of sweat trickled down his brow.
“Give me a second,” she said, as an attempt to stall.
She tried to imagine grasping her top, pulling it up and exposing her breasts, feeling an icy coolness against her skin. She looked over at Foley, who was now literally gaping at her, a huge stupid grin on his face.
She couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t do it. He would just have to accept it.
As if he had read her mind he suddenly grabbed at her with both hands. She shot up, trapped his wrists, brought an elbow up and broke his grip before hammering him in the jaw with her other elbow. He let out a howl, reeling from surprise at the attack. Amanda stood back, poised to strike again. Foley stared at her in utter disbelief.
“What the fuck?”
“You asked for it, Sheriff. So you got it.”
“Where did you learn how to do that?”
“Self defense class,” Amanda replied. “We’re leaving now, sheriff. I have half a mind to report you for attempted sexual assault—I’ll have to think about it. If I decide not to report you, you should thank your lucky stars. Either way, I definitely won’t be keeping that date with you tomorrow. You totally blew that.”
“No one will believe you,” he replied matter-of-factly, his hand nursing the bruise on his jaw.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
She reached in her back pocket and pulled out her iPhone. She hit the stop button and played back a portion of the night’s conversation she had recorded. Sheriff Foley’s face turned beet red and he lunged toward her.
“You goddamn—”
Just then they both heard the front door open. Foley froze in his tracks and a moment later a man in his mid-twenties entered the kitchen carrying a can of beer and smoking a cigarette.
“Hey, pops—oh, you have company!”
The sudden appearance of his son threw the sheriff off guard as he struggled to compose himself.
“What have I told you about busting in here like this, Mark?”
“Just stopped by to snag a couple of beers. So who do I have the pleasure of meeting?”
“This is Amanda Linville. This is my rude son.”
Mark offered his hand to Amanda. “Nice to meet you.”
Amanda nodded and shook his hand. “Same to you.”
Mark Foley looked a lot like his father, if you shaved off a hundred pounds or so. His eyes were bloodshot and Amanda could smell a mixture of alcohol and pot on his breath.
“You don’t look familiar,” he said.
“I live in Columbus—I’m just visiting,” she replied. “You father was just getting ready to take me to my car.”
“You don’t have to stop whatever you’re doing on my account. I’ll just get those beers and be on my way.”
“Lock the door behind you, son,” the sheriff said, obviously wanting this conversation to end immediately. “Let’s go, Amanda.”
“Whatever,” his son said. “Hey, what happened to your face? You look like you just got clocked, Dad!”
“Had an accident at work,” the sheriff replied lamely before leading the way out of the kitchen.
“Right, pops!” Amanda heard him say as she followed Foley to the front door.
On the way to the Suburban, Amanda noticed a sheriff’s department patrol car parked beside it.
“Your son works for you? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“He’s not with the department. His car’s been in the shop so I’m letting him borrow one of the cruisers until it’s done.”
“Is that legal?”
“It is when your father’s the county sheriff.”
Apparently the earlier incident had done little to stifle the sheriff’s pompousness. Amanda wondered if reporting him for attempted sexual assault would knock that arrogance down a notch or two.
As she got into the Suburban Amanda realized that this man could in fact do her some serious harm to her now if he chose to. Although he had just tried to assault her and it was recorded as evidence, she wondered how far it would go if she actually did file a report. She had only set up the sting for something to hang over Foley’s head if necessary; now she doubted it had done any good. Was the sheriff truly as omnipotent as he thought he was?
She didn’t plan on finding out. The important thing was that she now had his word that nobody had seen Nick in the area when Jodi was murdered. Assuming he was telling the truth, it would seem that Nick still had a chance of avoiding arrest, at least for the time being.
Foley reached into the console, got out his bottle of Jack Daniels and took a big swig. Neither spoke during the entire ride until they approached the Holiday Inn and the sheriff broke the silence.
“A word of warning, little lady: don’t even think about saying a thing to anybody about what happened at my place or you will seriously regret it. You hear me?”
“I hear you, sheriff. And what happens if I defy you? Would you shoot me? Rape me?”
He chuckled menacingly. “Oh, nothing like that. Let’s just say you don’t want to find out and leave it at that.”
“We’ll just do that then,” she replied.
He pulled up behind her uncle’s Jeep and she opened the door. “Thanks for the memories, sheriff. It’s been an enlightening experience.”
“Don’t forget what I said.”
She shut the door.
Foley spun out as he pulled away. Amanda found her keys, opened the door and got in before realizing that she was trembling. She stuck the key into the ignition but didn’t start the engine. Instead she merely sat there, staring straight ahead.
What in the hell had she just done? Not only had she gone against Alan’s advice not to mess with the sheriff—there would be no way of fudging her way out of that by mincing words—she had actually put herself in serious danger on purpose, for chrissakes! Yes, she’d been a stellar student in her self-defense classes but that didn’t make her Jackie Chan. Plus, Foley was at least three times her size. Yet there she was, egging him on, practically begging him to make a move on her so she could show off her ability to stave off an attack. All so she could frame him if need be.
Pretty damn stupid, Amanda.
She couldn’t tell Alan what happened. He would fire her—after reaming her out for taking such extreme measures just to get info about the case. Against his orders, no less.
She started the car and backed out, looking forward to going to her uncle’s and hitting the sack. All she wanted was to put this all behind her.
It wasn’t until she pulled into her uncle’s driveway that she recalled something Alan had told her before leaving for Columbus. That one of Jodi’s neighbors had seen a sheriff’s department patrol car around the same time Jodi had been murdered. That the sheriff had reacted strangely when she had told him that.
Could the sheriff’s son been the driver of that patrol car?
Tomorrow she would have to find out more about Mark Foley and where he had been on the morning Jodi was murdered.
CHAPTER 13
Alan stared at the computer screen as Ron Fleming began punching a long series of keystrokes. When he stopped typing, there was a long pause before the screen came to life. The page contained what looked like a series of text messages in a single screenshot.
“I intercepted this thread of text messages not long before Jim began his investigation of the Miami trafficking operation. The messages are from one of the ring’s operators to the man whom I believe is one of the principles in the gang.”
Alan read the thread:
Mia: bringing u a newbie.
Col: a?
Mia: 9
Col: g?
Mia: y
Col: r?
Mia: whte
Col: eta?
Mia: mon-late
Col: c u then
“As you can see, Columbus is asking Miami the age of the new victim that is being transported. Miami replies nine years old, that it’s a girl and that her race is white. Then he asks the estimated time of arrival and Miami replies late Monday.”
“So your program is able to hack phone texts?”
“Indirectly. I actually hacked this from one of the cellphone carriers—it was in fact the last text thread I was able to obtain. The operation has since switched to burners to avoid detection.”
“How long have you been chasing this operation, anyway?”
“Four months. And three of those months were spent just finding out where they were operating out of and where they’re sending the kids.”
“But this thread suggests you already knew they were in Miami and Columbus.”
“No, I just typed the locations in later to clarify which party said what. At any rate, you get the gist of what we’re dealing with here. Some of the victims are being held in Miami until they’re eventually transported to Columbus. What I don’t know is how many kids we’re talking about and what happens to the others that don’t get sent up to Ohio. Cordale estimated that there are no less than a dozen victims being stowed away in Miami. So if some of the kids are being transported to Columbus, where are the others ending up? I don’t know yet but right now my priority is to investigate the one destination I’m sure of. And that’s where you come in.”
“What do you have I can work with? More than this, I hope.”
“Not much more, unfortunately. There are two ways we could approach this and I’d like to hear your thoughts. Jim had been in the process of tailing a vehicle that was transporting one of the abducted girls to Columbus when he got whacked. We think he was set up because a couple of their goons were following him at the same time. He never suspected they were on to him until a car suddenly pulled up beside him with a man aiming a 9 mm Glock at him. Jim slammed on his brakes but not soon enough—he was shot in the jaw. He was barely able to get the car under control before becoming unconscious. Fortunately another driver pulled over and called 911. He was very lucky he wasn’t killed. The Miami police investigated the incident but so far haven’t found the driver of the car.
“So one option would be for you to take over where Cordale left off. Case out the operation until they make a run to Columbus again and then tail them. That would be the most efficient way to find their hub, but also the most risky. No doubt they will be on the lookout for somebody resuming the investigation.”
“Doesn’t sound particularly promising. Especially since I don’t feel like sticking my neck out like that. What’s the other option?”
“The other option would be less risky but take more time. I was able to hack an image of one of the victims I believe they have recently transported to Columbus. Your job would be to track her down.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not. Like I told you, I don’t have a hell of a lot to go on but at least it’s a place to start. And you’ll have to move quickly—who knows how long this child will be around?”
“As in alive?”
“Yes, to be blunt. The average lifespan of a child being used for sex in an operation like this is pathetically short. The scumbags that pimp the children know this and it’s one of the reasons they demand so much money for their services. They want to be assured that their investment is profitable before it disappears.”
“Christ, I didn’t realize—”
“That this racket is so horrific? Sexual exploitation of children is probably the lowest form of human depravity in the modern world.”
Alan was beginning to actually feel Fleming’s obsessive desire to rid the world of this heinous activity. He had learned quite a bit about the sex trafficking trade while on the Russian mafia case and it had been a real eye opener. But imagining that sort of thing going on with children barely out of the womb was more than just disturbing—it proved that human beings were capable of being that depraved.
“I’ll go to Columbus. Let me see the photo.”
Fleming closed the program he was in and booted up the program he had used to view Alan’s hacked iMac. He navigated to a folder on his hard disk, opened it and soon a phantom PC desktop appeared on the screen.
“Gracie got me into one of the main player’s PC a couple of weeks ago,” he explained as he opened a file on the new desktop named “May.”
“This guy works out of Miami and apparently is the one who keeps inventory of the victims. The problem is that this guy is very careful what he leaves on his computer and routinely deletes files immediately after they have served his purpose. He’s aware that he could be hacked at any time and therefore wants to minimize the loss in that event. He has also created a number of different firewalls that he regularly uses, switching from day to day, so it has not been easy or consistent getting into this thing. It’s one of the problems I’ve been working on.”
The file opened up in an image storage app that Alan had never heard of. Suddenly a dozen thumbnail images appeared in a grid on the screen. Alan felt his heart sink.
A couple of the images were of toddlers no older than three or so. The images were stark, the babies on the verge of crying. It was heartbreaking to think what horror these poor tiny beings had been subjected to just to be photographed for this trafficking ring. In both images large hairy arms held the children in place for the camera.
The remainder of the children in the photo array were aged from around six to early teens he estimated. All of the children were nude and wore frightened, hollow expressions on their faces. Most of the children were girls but there were also a couple of boys.
Fleming double clicked one of the thumbnails and an enlarged view appeared on the screen. A caption under the image read “Gabriela, 9” The girl was Hispanic with long black hair framing a small round face. She was a cute kid, although this would be more evident if she were smiling. Her eyes were big and round and all Alan could think was how devastated her parents would be if they could see what had happened to their precious little daughter.
“This is who I believe is one of the most recent Columbus recruits.” Fleming said.
“How do you know?”
“As I said, this guy is very cautious and it took me several invasions of his hard drive to figure out his system.”
He closed the window and returned to the thumbnail images. “When you look at these images, the order appears to be random—girls and guys spread out instead of together, ages not grouped together and so on. I wondered about this because it didn’t make much sense why the guy would arrange them that way. Then I realized what was happening.”
Fleming opened three screen shots of what appeared to be the same photo array and grouped them side by side on the screen.
“Tell me the difference you see between these groupings,” he said.
Alan studied the images carefully. All of the images were of the same children and the order was the same in all three groupings. Except for one thing—Gabriela. She was in the first row, middle position in the first group; second row, second from the left in the next group, and third row, first position in the last group. In each case, the child whose position was being replaced with Gabriela was switched out to her former position.
“Gabriela’s position changes rows numerically,” he said.
“Right. Now check out this from the most recent scan of this guy’s drive.”
He opened another photo array, dragged it to the lower corner and Alan examined it. Gabriela’s image was gone. All of the remaining images were the same as the first grouping except for a new child now residing in the middle of the first row.
“Gabriela’s gone. Do you think the child in the middle of the first row will be the next one to go?”
“Could be—we’ll have to wait and see.”
Alan tried to imagine the madman who had devised this game of tic-tac-toe with children’s lives. He could almost see him grinning to himself as he shuffled the
images around to suit this demented form of human slavery—the power he must feel over the lives and fates of these innocent souls.
What he wouldn’t give to clock the son of a bitch.
“When did you get this data?” Alan asked.
“Just a few days ago. That’s why we have to move quickly or you may never find her. I’ve devised a plan that could potentially enable you to be in a position of discovering where they’re keeping Gabriela. If my plan works, there’s a possibility we can infiltrate this operation and crush it, as well as rescue the victims.”
“One question keeps coming to mind—have you reported any of this to the authorities? I’m seeing an awfully strong collection of damning evidence here.”
“I knew you would eventually ask and the answer is no, I have not.”
“Why in the hell not?”
“I have a number of reasons, but the most obvious one is culpability. What I am doing is illegal—a serious felony. The authorities would arrest me before I even had a chance to explain what I’ve collected and why. Secondly, even after they investigated what I’ve gleaned through my illegal activity and thrown me in jail, not a shred of it would be admissible in court. I am not about to stick my neck out for nothing. For that reason, I made a vow to myself when I started doing this that I would never report my findings to the police unless I’m in a position to turn it over to them without penalty. The bottom line is I want results, Alan—I owe that to Gracie, and these kids you see here on this screen. There would be no results, otherwise.”
Alan considered what he just heard and it made sense, as ironic as it was. The irony being the fact that an ordinary citizen like Ron Fleming could potentially do much more damage to these criminals than the police or FBI ever could. The catch being that the law had to be broken in order for him to be successful.
Vigilantism? Most certainly.
Did Alan mind being an accomplice? Nope. Not for something like this.
He was stoked now. Fleming had done his job well and Alan was anxious to get to work on this case. He looked out the window and realized that it was getting dark out. It had been a long day and he was tired in spite of himself.
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