Storm Rising

by Sara Driscoll

  “She could have called her parents.”

  “You and I know that as adults, but Mary honestly thought her parents wouldn’t take her back, that with all that had happened they’d blame her and consider her damaged goods. They don’t. They know there’s a long road to travel now, but they don’t care because they have her back. Emma, on the other hand, is not that lucky. She says she’s on her own. She also says she’s eighteen and no longer a minor. We don’t have any official ID for her, or even a last name, so we have to believe her unless we learn otherwise. So we won’t be handing her over to juvie or calling in Child Protective Services.”

  “Would she help with an investigation?”

  “I haven’t outright asked her, but I think so. Mary’s parents though, they don’t want their daughter involved.”

  Craig’s brows snapped together and his tone rose. “Don’t want her to help find the man who did this to her?”

  Meg grabbed his arm and dragged him a few more feet down the hallway and away from the open door. She gave Hawk the hand signals to follow and then sit at her feet. “See it from their point of view. She’s young, physically injured, has been physically and mentally abused, and they just got her back. There are also symptoms of drug abuse, so there may be a lot more to her recovery than they think. They just want to leave this life behind entirely to work on getting her better and back into some kind of normalcy. It would help us to have her testimony, but honestly, if I was in their shoes, I’m not sure I wouldn’t do the same thing. Even if we catch the guy tomorrow, there will be a court case and potentially an appeal. It could go on for years. They don’t want to keep dragging her back into that life. They want her to heal and move on.”

  “It’s all about Emma then.”

  “You don’t sound impressed.”

  “I think we need all the help we can get. Anyway, the Norfolk field office has sent out SAC Walter Van Cleave to talk to her while we still know her location.”

  Meg had been staring off down the hall, watching a nurse deftly steer a wheelchair around an empty gurney and a forest of unused IV poles lining the overcrowded corridor, but now her head snapped back sharply. “You’re afraid she’s going to rabbit on us.”

  “I think there’s a good chance. We can’t charge her and hold her. She’s free to just walk out the door. And then where does she go? You said she has no family. Back to the streets, then? Out to find another pimp who will help her find johns? Do you know what the statistics are on getting someone out of this lifestyle alive?”

  Meg simply stared at him for a moment, surprised at the bite in his words. “I don’t. But it sounds like you do. Has this case hit a nerve?”

  Craig ran a hand through his hair and turned away to pace several steps down the corridor and back again. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to go off on you. I do have some experience with this stuff. Earlier in my career, when I was still a special agent, I worked on one of the human trafficking task forces. We were in California dealing with the masses of immigrants getting into the state and trading their freedom for forced labor and captivity on the farms there. Or in the hotels. Or on estates. The terrible conditions and the disregard for human life, all to save a buck and turn around and make a buck on their backs . . . it still pisses me off.”

  “Was the task force successful?”

  “Some of the time. We definitely broke up a few trafficking rings during the six months I was there. But I always felt that one ring disappearing just opened up a vacuum to be filled by another. We could never get ahead of it. At least the groups I was working on never involved the sex trade. Well, not as the main focus. Women got caught in these rings, a few in the fields, more in domestic work, working up to eighteen hours a day, earning pennies that were then taken to pay for the debt of their entry into the U.S. Many of those women were sexually abused by both the men who ran the trafficking rings and the men who hired their services. They considered it a bonus.”

  “That’s awful. Considering the geographic location, it must be rampant down there.”

  “It is. But there’s more of it here than you might imagine. North Carolina and Virginia both have serious trafficking problems. And it looks like we stumbled into it.”

  “I’m sorry about that. I know you needed me today.”

  “We did okay. But already, only two days out, it’s becoming more of a recovery than a rescue. Almost anyone who survived the storm has come out from where they sheltered or has been discovered. Now we’re finding those who can’t call for help because they didn’t survive.”

  “What was Norfolk like?”

  “Less direct wind damage, but because of the way the storm was moving and the way the storm surge wrapped around the peninsula, the flooding has been catastrophic. The surge pushed up the Elizabeth River and into all its tributaries. We were helping with civilian searches, but were asked to steer clear of Naval Station Norfolk.”

  “They’ll have their own search dogs if they’re needed, with proper clearance already in place. But they must have had all their carriers and destroyers out to sea before the storm hit.”

  “They did. It’s a massive base, right at sea level where the mouth of the Elizabeth River meets Hampton Roads, and they apparently already have a serious issue with flooding due to rising ocean levels. They took a direct hit from Hurricane Cole. We offered our assistance, but they declined. Which was fine, because we had more than enough to do without worrying about the base.”

  “I’ll be back to help tomorrow. How many more days here, do you think?”

  “Two or three at most. Soon, we’re going to be the wrong K-9 teams for them and they’re going to need Victim Recovery. I’ve already given SAC Randolph the heads-up, and he says he can have his people here within eight hours as soon as they are given the go. Maybe in a day or two . . .” Craig’s voice trailed off as his gaze fixed over Meg’s shoulder.

  She swiveled to see what he was looking at. Twenty feet down the hallway a tall, lean man with dark hair cut almost military short stood at the nurses’ station, his identification flip case open and extended as he talked to a nurse. “That must be SAC Van Cleave.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  Meg turned her back to the nurses’ station. “Know anything about him?”

  “Not personally. When I heard who we were going to be handing this off to, I looked him up. Ex–air force, flew Tomcats in Operation Desert Storm. Been with the Bureau for nearly twenty years. Going by his record he seems like a good man with a lot of experience. Also sounds like a straight shooter with no bullshit tolerated.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  “Better still, he hasn’t burned out. My six months working human trafficking as a junior agent was enough to show me that wasn’t my niche. It looks like he’s been doing this in the Norfolk office for close to a decade.”

  “Can’t beat that kind of experience,” Meg said. “Does he work in conjunction with local law enforcement?”

  “That’s what I’ve been told, so he’ll have some useful contacts. Here he comes.”

  Meg turned around to face the man coming down the hallway in the standard FBI uniform of white dress shirt paired with a dark suit and tie. Craig stepped up to stand beside her, holding out his hand. “SAC Van Cleave. I’m SAC Craig Beaumont from the Forensic Canine Unit out of D.C.”

  “Beaumont, nice to meet you.” The special agent in charge shook hands with him, then turned to Meg. “Walter Van Cleave.”

  Meg shook hands. “Meg Jennings. Canine handler for the Human Scent Evidence Team.”

  Van Cleave’s head tilted slightly as he considered her. “You’re the one who tracked the girls.”

  “Yes.” Standing so close to Van Cleave, a faint scent caught at Meg, tugging at a long-buried memory. Not cigarette smoke, nothing so acidic, something mellower, almost carrying a trace of cherries. Then it hit her—pipe smoke, and from a similar blend of tobacco as the one her Irish grandfather used. She blinked at him in surprise. In t
his day and age, a man who smoked a pipe. He was a throwback to the classic 1950s G-man. Walter Van Cleave was a rarity in more ways than one apparently.

  “That your search dog?” Pointing down at Hawk, Van Cleave interrupted her thoughts.

  “Yes. One of the nurses was kind enough to let me get him into one of the shower stalls for a quick wash off, so he’s clean now.” She indicated the muddy waterline clearly distinct on her yoga pants. “Cleaner than me.” She sniffed at her right sleeve and wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I still smell so much like swamp.”

  “It was for a good cause.” Van Cleave pointed to the open door. “Emma is in there?”

  Meg nodded. “With the second victim, Mary, but Mary’s parents don’t want her involved in this. Local PD took down her story, so you’ll have their details, but at this point, they don’t want her involved anymore. She’s a minor, so we have to respect that.”

  “The older girl is willing to talk?”

  “I hope so. I haven’t said anything to her yet because I didn’t want her changing her mind before you got here.”

  “I can talk to the nurses to see if they can find us a meeting room,” Craig offered. “To get the ball rolling. Unless you want to take her back to the field office.”

  “No, that’s not usually a good idea,” Van Cleave said. “These kids have been through hell and they’re taught that law enforcement is the enemy. A neutral location is better, so let’s see if there’s anything available here.” He turned to Meg. “Do you have a rapport with her?”

  “I think so. I found her in the swamp and rescued her from an alligator, so we have the threads of trust starting.”

  Van Cleave’s eyebrows lifted at the mention of the reptile. “It sounds like there’s an interesting story there. You’ll have to share it sometime.” He turned to Craig. “Beaumont, if you can get us a room, that would be great. Then leave it to us. One strange man in the mix is going to be bad enough. Two may make her clam up.”

  “Sure. Give me a few minutes to get you set up.” Craig headed for the nurses’ station.

  “What’s your strategy in a situation like this?” Meg asked.

  “I’ve handled a lot of these cases. There are a few risks. One, these girls are convinced we’re the bad guys and can’t be trusted, and they’ll often do anything to get away. Two, in conjunction with that, you have to be as nonthreatening as possible. You can’t build trust if they’re terrified of you. Three, a lot of them are compulsive liars, so you have to read the person, not necessarily the story, especially at the beginning.”

  “What you’re saying is you’re actually part profiler.”

  “You have to be. But I think we have an advantage here that she’s already got something of a connection with you.”

  “And with Hawk.”

  “Interesting.” Van Cleave’s eyes narrowed in calculation as he stared down at Hawk. “Is it okay if we use that?”

  “Sure. As long as she’s no threat to him, he can be used as a therapy dog.”

  “I like it. Also, when we’re in there, only refer to me as ‘Van,’ and never by my rank. I need to make a connection with her and I need to step back from a law enforcement persona. You already don’t have that.”

  “I kind of do. I told her I was an ex-cop out of the Richmond PD. But mostly I think she just associates me with Hawk.”

  “That’s good.” His gaze shot over her shoulder. “Here comes Beaumont.”

  Craig joined them. “I found you a room. One of the rooms they use for doctors’ meetings down a floor. Room 314.”

  “Excellent, thanks. I’ll have your handler back to you in a few hours.”

  “Sounds good,” Craig said. “Meg, let me know how it goes. And I’ll text you where we’re bunking down tonight. Does Webb still have your SUV?”

  “And all my stuff, yeah. I’ll let him know where to meet you guys, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Sure. He’s practically one of the team now.” He turned to Van Cleave and held out his hand. “Good to meet you. I worked trafficking for six months, so I have an idea of what you’re up against. Good luck.”

  Van Cleave took his hand. “Thanks.” He looked over at Meg. “I suspect we’re going to need it.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Aiming Off: A cross-country navigational technique to locate an unseen destination, such as a shelter or stream crossing, by navigating along a visible landscape feature.

  Sunday, July 23, 6:37 PM

  Children’s Hospital of the King’s Daughters

  Norfolk, Virginia

  “Emma, come on in here.” Her arms cradling a large pizza box that balanced a tray of drinks, Meg led the way into a meeting room that consisted of an oblong table surrounded by eight chairs and a white board on one long wall. “I hope fully loaded works for you. You said you weren’t a vegetarian, and I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I figured you could just pick off what you don’t want.” She set the box down on the table. “Hawk, don’t get under my feet.” She shot a glance at Emma. “This dog. Honestly, any time he smells meat, he’s all over me.”

  What she didn’t let on was that Hawk’s terrible manners were in response to her hand signals for him to come closer.

  “Can you call him over, just until I get this all set out?” Meg looked down at her dog with a look of irritated impatience. “You already had your dinner. You don’t need ours too.”

  “Come here, Hawk.” Emma sat down in a chair on the long side of the table and patted her thighs.

  Meg surreptitiously gave him the hand signal to go, before looking up at Emma. “Thanks. He’s great, but you know dogs sometimes—they think with their stomachs, kind of like most men.” She knew she’d said the wrong thing when Emma’s expression closed over, and she wanted to kick herself. Most of the men Emma had likely known concentrated on more brazen appetites. She went for a different spin. She doesn’t know you don’t have a brother. “When we were growing up, my brother Jake was a stomach with legs. When he was thirteen, two things ruled his life—a killer case of acne and a bottomless pit for a stomach. My mother used to lament filling the fridge one day and coming home to an empty fridge two days later. Once she baked a cake as a surprise for my dad, and when she came home Jake had eaten the whole thing. All by himself. I didn’t even get a crumb. I honestly thought she was going to kill him that day. I can still hear him making excuses, his voice breaking because it was in the middle of changing. Sorry, Mom, I didn’t know you made it for anyone in particular.” She did the quote like she imagined a teenage boy would do, the words full of exaggerated vocal dips and whine. The corner of Emma’s lips twitched and Meg decided it was time to stop while she was ahead. “You wanted a Coke, right?”

  “Yes.”

  Meg slid a fountain cup toward her, then flipped open the pizza box and pushed it and a stack of napkins toward Emma. “Help yourself. Take as much as you like.”

  Emma didn’t move. “When is that agent coming?”

  “You mean Van? He’s going to eat with us, so he’ll be along anytime. Now, come on, you get first dibs.”

  The girl had to be starving, but she only selected two pieces, taking a moment to remove all the onions and peppers before picking up the first slice and taking a bite. Her eyes closed in pleasure, and Meg wondered how long it had been since she’d gotten to experience something as simple as a favorite food. Withholding luxuries is just another method of control. Providing luxuries trains them as well as Pavlov’s dogs, even when it’s something as basic as pizza.

  Meg was just reaching for her own slice when Van Cleave came through the door. His suit jacket was tossed over his arm, his tie was missing, and the top two buttons of his dress shirt were undone. Going for the casual, friendly look.

  Van gave them both a sheepish smile. “Sorry I’m late.” He held out a hand to Emma. “Walter Van Cleave.”

  “Agent Van Cleave?”

  “Special Agent in Charge if you want to split hairs, bu
t I don’t think we need to be that formal. Please call me Van. I don’t like to stand on ceremony. All right! Pizza!”

  Meg rolled her eyes in Emma’s direction, who actually smiled.

  “Help yourself,” Meg said. “Hawk staying out of trouble?”

  Emma reached down to stroke the dog, who gazed up at her . . . and her pizza.

  Meg bent to look under the table, giving Hawk the hand signal to stay. When she straightened, she threw an apologetic glance at Emma. “I hope you don’t mind. He’s a total mooch. Just don’t give him anything. He’d love to eat an entire meat lover’s pizza, but it would make him sick.”

  “I don’t mind. Really. He’s a sweetheart.”

  Van Cleave sat down with a stack of pizza and reached for the drink Meg pushed at him. “Emma, Meg says you’re willing to talk to us today. We appreciate that. Thank you.”

  Emma put the pizza back down. “I don’t think I can help.” Her voice was flat.

  Meg wondered if she was fighting for control.

  “You’d be surprised what you know and how that can help. Can we start with the basics? What’s your full birth name?”

  “Emma.”

  Van Cleave waited a few beats. “Your last name?”

  “I don’t have one of those anymore. I’m just Emma.”

  Van Cleave considered her for a moment, blinked and continued. “Maybe that’s something you’ll share with us later on, once you know us a bit better. We know from the scene of the accident that you were in the van with three other girls. Can you tell me how you all got there?”