As they approached the parked car, Alan said, “You’re going to have to sit in the backseat—I’m afraid I don’t have a booster seat.” He opened the rear door and after she was seated he did his best to adjust the seatbelt over her tiny body.
“How old are you, Carly?”
“I just turned eight. I had a birthday party the day before they took me.”
Jesus, he thought. His heart ached for her. “Well, we’re going to get you back to your family real soon. Where do you live?”
“Memphis, Tennessee,” she replied. “I miss my mommy so much!”
“I know you do, and I’m sure she misses you, too. She’ll be so glad to see you again! Now do me a big favor and stay low in the seat and don’t move around, okay?”
“Okay. Where are you taking me now?”
“Not sure, yet—have to make a call, first. Trust me, everything’s going to be okay.”
He started up the engine, pulled out and immediately called Fleming on the burner.
“You’re not going to be very happy with me,” he said after Fleming answered.
“What do you mean? What happened?”
“Long story short, I had to get a little more involved than originally planned. I just couldn’t stand by while Matthews was in that house with this little girl. So I broke in and basically took the bull by the horns.”
Fleming said nothing for a moment that seemed like an hour. “Okay, I hear you. I probably would have done the same thing. So, tell me what happened.”
Alan was relieved his client was taking it so well. “Got some compromising shots of Matthews playing cards with the girl—her name is Carly, by the way. The man had removed most of his clothes—he was apparently on the losing end of strip poker. After I took the photos, I think I was able to convince him to cooperate with the authorities or face certain public scorn and plenty of prison time. Then I took Carly with me and left Matthews there. I’ve got no more than twenty minutes before somebody returns for her and the shit hits the fan. That’s why I’m calling you—I need to know what to do now.”
“We’ve got to try to locate the other victims before Mansky learns what’s happened—that is paramount. Can the girl show you where they’ve been keeping her?”
Alan turned and looked back at Carly. “Do you think you can show me where you’ve been staying, Carly?”
“I don’t know. I remember what it looks like but I don’t know how to get there.”
“If we go back to the house, do you think you could at least tell me what direction you came from? That would be a start.”
“I think so. But I don’t want to go back there—I want to go home!”
“I know you do, sweetie, and I’m going to see that you go home very soon—I promise. But first we need to try to rescue the other kids from these bad guys. Were there any other kids staying there where they kept you?”
“Yes, there were! There was Sarah and Gabbie—and Marie, too! Can we really save them?”
“We’re sure going to try. But first we have to find out where they are,” he replied. A thought suddenly came to him. “Is Gabbie’s name short for Gabriela—did she happen to say?”
Carly nodded. “Uh-huh. They told her she had to go by Candy, though—she hated that! When she asked them why she couldn’t go by her real name, they just ignored her. Those people were so mean to us!”
So Fleming was right. Gabriela had indeed been transported from Miami to Columbus specifically to be inducted into Mansky’s operation. And apparently all of the victims had been given aliases to cover their true identities—the first step of the brainwashing process. How fricking charming.
“Well, we need to go find your friends so they can start using their own names again, don’t we? You ready to see if you can get us back there?”
“I am—let’s go save them!”
“Let’s go!”
Alan turned onto the next street, sped back toward the townhouse and said into the phone, “She’s going to try to lead me there, Ron,”
“The girl’s our only hope. The first thing Mansky will do is pack up the victims before he bails out of town. If that happens, we’re pretty much out of gas on this.”
“But what about all the evidence? We’ll have Matthews, the photos, Carly plus the dry cleaners connection and whatever you learn about the town house. That’s a decent start, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but not nearly enough. Especially after Mansky flees, which is inevitable. That’s why I didn’t want you to intervene before we had all of our ducks in a row. But what’s done is done. Maybe we can at least save the other victims before it’s too late—that would certainly be much better than nothing.”
“I’m really sorry, Ron. Like I told you, I just couldn’t sit by while this little girl was in there at Brock Matthews’ mercy.”
“It’s alright. And don’t think I’m not happy you rescued her. Let’s just hope we can save the rest of them.”
They were back on Wilhelm Street. Alan pulled up in front of the townhouse and saw that the driveway was empty—Matthews had already split.
“Here we are, Carly. Now which way did you come from?”
“That way,” she replied, pointing straight ahead.
“Great, here we go.”
He pulled away and said, “Keep your eye on the surroundings and tell me when to turn.”
“I’ll try. I remember that big house there. Let’s see— Oh, turn here!”
Alan whipped onto Metzger Avenue. “That’s the way to do it!”
He glanced back and saw the girl’s nose glued to the window, her little hand holding on to the oversized restraint strap. Alan thought of what a cute shot that would make if the situation had been different.
“How we doing?” he called back.
“I can kinda remember some of these houses. It seems like we were on this street for a pretty long time.”
“Good, just let me know when to turn.”
He put the phone back to his ear as a thought came to mind. “I just thought of a way we might be able to buy some time,” he told Fleming.
“How’s that?”
“I have a friend with the Columbus police—he’s a detective. Maybe he could send an officer to detain Mansky’s man before he goes back into the townhouse.”
“That’s an excellent idea. See what you can do—I’ll stand by.”
“I’ll call him on the other phone.”
Alan picked up his iPhone and speed-dialed Mike Draker.
“Here! Turn here!” Carly suddenly shouted.
“Right or left?”
“To the right!”
Alan lay on the brakes, whipped the wheel to the right and almost hit the curb just as Draker answered.
“Mike, it’s Alan. I have a huge favor to ask and very little time.”
“Hey, Alan. Shoot—I’ll do my best.”
“Got a guy who’s returning to the scene of a sex trafficking offense in about ten minutes. The place is a townhouse in German Village. Could you get somebody there to hold him up for a little while—before he goes inside, preferably?”
“Jesus, that’s a pretty tall order, buddy! And you know I can’t hold him very long without a viable cause.”
“I know. Maybe just tell him somebody reported shots fired in the area or that there’s been a burglary and you’re just canvassing the neighborhood.”
“I get the idea,” he sighed. “What’s the address?”
“Six-seventy-three Wilhelm.”
“I’ll see what I can do. But I can’t promise anything.”
“Great, thanks a million, Mike. I owe you one.”
“No problem. Let me know the details when you get a chance—sounds interesting.”
“I will. See ya— Hey, wait! Mike?”
“I’m still here.”
“If I told you that there are some very young children who have been trafficked for sex being holed up somewhere, could you do anything about it?”
“How do you kno
w this? That would be my first question.”
“Long story; but in a nutshell I have one of the victims in the car with me right now —an eight year old little girl named Carly—and she’s trying to guide me to where they’ve been holding her. But even if she’s able to find the place, there will be nobody there to do anything about it. This case has been a private job with no police involvement thus far. My client and I have been trying to expose this operation with every intention to get the authorities involved when the time is right but tonight everything blew up in my face. I guess what I’m asking is, can you help me with this victim situation in any way?”
“How long have we got?”
“Not long at all—ten minutes, maybe. That’s why I was hoping you could detain that guy—to buy me some time until Carly finds the place. Once the guy calls his boss, the boss will surely try to pick up the vics before he blows town.”
“Let me get off so I can see if somebody can be dispatched to the townhouse. Then I’ll try to talk to the chief. I’ll explain the situation and get back to you.”
“You’re the best, Nick! I’ll be waiting for your call.”
I owe him big time now, Alan thought as he disconnected.
“We still doing okay, Carly?” he called over his shoulder.
“It’s getting hard to remember. I’m not sure if we should have turned before now. These houses don’t look familiar anymore.”
“Take your time, sweetie. Do you think we should double back?”
“Wait—I remember that ice cream store!” she exclaimed, pointing toward a Graeter’s Ice Cream.
“Wonderful!”
Alan picked up the burner. “My detective friend’s going to try to have somebody cover the townhouse. He’s also going to see if he can help us somehow with the victims.”
“He must be one hell of a friend! How much longer do you think it’ll take to reach the place?”
He called back at Carly. “Do you think we’re getting close, Carly?”
“Maybe. But it took pretty long, so I’m not sure.”
“Could be a while, yet,” he told Fleming.
“I’ll get off and see if I can track down an agent in case this all plays out. I’ll call you back soon. Good luck, Alan.”
“I’m gonna need it.”
He checked the time and wondered if it was even possible for Draker to get an officer to the townhouse on such short notice. He also wondered if Draker would be able to talk the chief into letting him stick his neck out on this case without so much as a sliver of prior knowledge of what was happening.
He would just have to keep his fingers crossed.
“I think we’re getting close!” Carly cried. “Turn right here!”
Alan turned onto Broad Street. “How do you know?”
“I remember that big building!” she said, pointing toward the Columbus Museum of Art.
“Awesome—what should I do now?”
“Stay on this street for a little longer. The place is near a big park—it’s a big glass building.”
Franklin Park Conservatory, he thought. He gunned the engine and in less than five minutes he neared the park entrance.
“Where to now?”
“Go past the park a little ways. I think you’ll turn left pretty soon.”
Alan was elated. What an incredibly strong kid Carly was to be able to direct him to a strange place in a strange town at night no less, after all the trauma she’d been through.
“There! Turn left over there!”
Alan looked at where she was pointing, waited for a break in the traffic and pulled onto Bender Avenue. They were in Bexley, one of the more affluent suburbs of Columbus.
“How close are we?” he asked the little girl.
“Very close, just a little farther,” she replied.
Alan would never in a million years consider Bexley as a place where trafficked children were being imprisoned. He wondered if Carly had made a mistake.
“Right around this corner!” she cried.
Alan turned left onto Melton Street and saw impressive two and three-story houses as far as the eye could see. Something seemed very wrong. Had she messed up? If so, they had all but run out of time.
“Slow down, it’s—right there!”
“Alan looked over to where she was pointing and felt his hopes fade into oblivion. What he saw was a modern Tudor style home set back from the street that was to die for. Although it was dark out, the grounds were subtly lit by carefully placed floods illuminating the impressive architecture and landscaping.
No way the owner of this house was harboring trafficked children in there.
“Uh, Carly. Are you sure this is the place?”
“Yes, I’m sure—it’s around back.”
“You mean there’s another house behind this house?”
“Sort of. It’s really a garage—they call it ‘the guest house.’”
Suddenly it made sense—sort of. Even if the children were kept in the garage, who in the hell lived in the manor? The mayor of Bexley? This all seemed way over the top.
Alan noticed that the driveway ran along the side of the house then cut to the left and out of sight. The garage was completely invisible from the street. Maybe there was something to this after all.
He needed to find the address and call Mike. He strained to see the street number in the darkness but saw nothing. He pulled forward to the next home and saw a number seventy-three above the mailbox.
He phoned Detective Draker.
“Mike, we found it. It’s in Bexley one door south of seventy-three Melton Street.”
“Bexley? You sure?”
“I thought the same thing. Carly says they keep the kids in the garage around back. It’s plausible. Have you had any luck with the chief and the other thing?”
“I was just getting ready to call you. Got a unit headed to German Village that should be there any minute. Couldn’t reach the chief so I’m waiting to hear back from him. I’m heading your way in the meantime—I’m only about five minutes away. I’ll call back in and have them send somebody to pick up the girl.”
“Thanks a million, buddy. That was going to be my next question—how to get her back to her family in Tennessee.”
“I’ll also inform them to stand by for more possible victims. Did Carly indicate how many others there were?”
“She mentioned three by name—there could be more, I guess. I’d love to know who owns this house—it’s just what you would expect to see in this town but even nicer. No one in his right mind would ever suspect that there was a trafficking gang working out of here.”
“That’s probably the whole idea. And so far it has apparently worked for them.”
“Until now, I hope. I’d love to slip around back for a look—see but you’re probably going to advise me to stay put, right?”
“You better believe it! I’ve already strayed from protocol by sending that unit so the last thing I need is to get grilled for abetting trespass on private property. Stay right where you are until I get there.”
“Got it. We’ll be standing by.”
He grabbed the burner and called Fleming.
“Carly came through and we’re parked in front of the place. It’s a very nice house in a very nice neighborhood that is evidently hiding a multitude of sins around back.”
“Not surprising,” Fleming replied. “Knowing what kind of clientele Mansky is dealing with, one might expect this sort of cover. You have an address for me?”
“Not exactly—it’s next door to seventy-three Melton Street in Bexley. South of it.”
“I’ll see what I can find. Have you heard back from your detective friend yet?”
“He’s already sent a cruiser to the townhouse and he’s on his way here now. He hasn’t gotten any sort of OK from his superior, though. That’s where we stand.”
“I have contacted an acquaintance of mine in the FBI and told him what’s happened. I’ll give him the address when I get off so he
can try to get an agent there ASAP. Don’t hold your breath though—it could be awhile before the feds show up. Hopefully just having police presence there will keep Mansky at bay.”
“Unless he’s already in that house and has some kind of secret tunnel for escape,” Alan quipped.
“Anything’s possible,” Fleming said, dead serious.
“Jesus, let’s hope not.”
“I’ll get back to you—keep me informed,” Fleming said before disconnecting.
“What are we going to do, Alan?” Carly said.
“We’re just going to stay right here until the police come. One of them is going to take you to the station so they can contact your parents. I want you to know how proud I am of you, Carly. You are an amazing kid.”
“Thank-you. My mom says that all the time. Can you go with me to the police station?”
“I wish I could, but I have to stay here. But when this is all over, I promise I’ll come and see you. Is it a deal?”
She smiled broadly. “It’s a deal!”
Alan was just getting ready to ask Carly about her family when he saw a car approaching in his rear view mirror. The car slowed to a crawl as it got nearer, prompting him to duck down instinctively in his seat. It looked as though the driver was going to pull in to the driveway for a moment, but then the car suddenly accelerated and drove past him.
Alan shot up and tried to make out the car’s license plate, but had no luck. He had a feeling that whoever it was had intended on going to the house but had changed his mind when he spotted him parked there.
Could it have been Mansky?
“Who was that?” Carly asked.
“Don’t know. Did the car look familiar?”
“No, I don’t think so,” she replied.
Alan had the sudden urge to back up and block the driveway. By doing so, any visitors would be aware that the house was being watched and drive on by. But on the other hand, there would be no chance of possibly apprehending Mansky if he were to show up. Better to stay right here, he finally decided.
His iPhone vibrated. It was Mike.
“I’m two minutes away, Alan. Any activity yet?”
Double Trouble Page 29