Arleen Alleman masterfully tackles the difficult subject of human trafficking in her newest novel, Currents of Sin. She portrays the desperate plight of teenage runaways with a tone of compassion but also shines a ray of hope into the bleak situation. It is obvious that she researched the subject matter extensively. Those who read previous books in this series will certainly relish the conclusion of this novel. It wraps up unresolved currents in Darcy’s life. Those who haven’t read the other books can certainly appreciate this one as a stand-alone novel. Alleman’s insight into the human psyche helps add drama to an already compelling narrative. I recommend this novel to anyone who enjoys a psychological mystery.
—Diane Rapp, author
Other titles by this author
in order of publication
Currents Deep and Deadly
Currents of Vengeance
Current Assets
Alternate Currents
A Current Deception
CURRENTS
OF SIN
ARLEEN ALLEMAN
Copyright © 2016 by Arleen Alleman.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016911049
ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-5245-2405-0
Softcover 978-1-5245-2404-3
eBook 978-1-5245-2403-6
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.
Rev. date: 07/11/2016
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Contents
Acknowledgments
Part One Persecutors and Prey
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
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12
13
14
15
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17
18
19
Part Two Murder and Misery
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37
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Part Three Rescues and Raids
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79
To the heroes from many walks of life
who dedicate themselves to the fight against human trafficking
Honorees named in the 2015 Trafficking in Persons Report, US Department of State:
Betty Pedraza Lozano, Colombia
Ameena Safeed Hasan, Iraq
Gita Miruskina, Latvia
Norotiana Ramboarivelo Jeannoda, Madagascar
Catherine Groenendijk-Nabukwasi, South Sudan
Moses Binoga, Uganda
Parosha Chandran, United Kingdom
Tony Maddox, United States
Acknowledgments
I want to express my gratitude to Sue Ellen Naiberk, Diane Rapp, and Deborah Strohmayr for their thoughtful reviews of my manuscript. Their contributions greatly improved the final product. A second thank-you to Deborah Strohmayr and her husband, Walter, for graciously lending their names and Walter’s German heritage to my characters. I also want to thank my husband, Tim Alleman, for helping me resolve plot dilemmas with his imaginative ideas and knowledge of the justice system. I could not have produced this book without the highly professional contributions of the publishing representatives, editors, and graphic designers at Xlibris.
As with all the novels in the Darcy Farthing series, this book results from a combination of imagination and a fair amount of research. The story and characters are fictional, and any factual errors are mine alone.
Crimes associated with human trafficking are all too real and exist everywhere, including in Las Vegas. The situation there involving the combination of gang activity, prostitution, and homeless teenagers is real, as are efforts by the police and task forces to bring perpetrators to justice. The statistics describing the extent of the problem are close to accurate. The El Cortez Hotel, the Fremont Experience, and the restaurants mentioned are real. Athens Olympia, STAY, Strohmayr’s German Deli, and the Green Door Motel and its neighbors are fictitious.
Across the United States and around the world, lawmakers, police, local communities, individual citizens, and the media work to curtail this particularly vile variety of human suffering. These efforts must continue with support from those who act upon their outrage over the existence of slavery in the world and here at home.
Additionally, I believe I speak for all authors in saying that honest reviews posted on book sellers’ websites are welcome and extremely helpful. I truly hope that your reading of this series provided pleasure as well as some food for thought. To get additional information about all six Darcy Farthing novels or to send me questions or comments, please visit my website at www.arleenalleman.com. You can find me on Twitter at @aallemanwrites or on my Facebook page, Currents Deep and Deadly.
People were created to be loved. Things were created to be used. The reason why the world is in chaos is because things are being loved and people are being used.
—Unknown
It surprises people that there’s actually a very large number of slaves in the world today—our best estimate is twenty-seven million. And that is defining a slave in a very narrow way. We’re not talking about sweatshop workers or people who are just poor. We’re talking about people who are controlled by violence, who cannot walk away, who are being held against their will, who are being paid nothing.
—Kevin Bales
Human trafficking: the recruitment, harboring, transportation, provision, or obtaining of a person for labor or services through the use of force, fraud, or coercion for the purpose of subjection to involuntary servitude, peonage, debt bondage, or slavery; or sex trafficking in which a commercial sex act is induced by force, fraud, or coercion
, or in which the person induced to perform such an act has not attained eighteen years of age.
—Trafficking Victims Protection Act of 2000
Part One
Persecutors and Prey
1
The garage door wasn’t opening fast enough for my level of impatience, so I bent at the waist to squint into the dim interior. The blast of superheated air that hit my face was nearly as oppressive as the boiling miasma outside. The forty-five-minute air-conditioned drive from Southwest Florida International was pleasant enough, but as soon as I stepped out of the rental car, there was no doubt about where I’d landed.
In the middle of June and despite the efforts of the nearby gulf to spread a cooling breeze across the land, Marco Island could do nicely as a sauna. Still, I love the island and this three-bedroom peach-colored Florida-style home that backs up to one of the town’s many canals.
Adjusting my vision to the dim interior, I stood up and approached Sunny with one arm outstretched. Head down, peering closely, I took my time probing along her hot body for telltale marks—indications of abuse. Grateful, I let out the breath I’d been holding. She was in the same shape as when I left her. My bright yellow 2003 Mustang GT was still my baby even though she was trapped down here at the bottom of the country while I was living in DC.
Stepping around her to enter the house, I was already on the phone.
“Hey, Darcy, you made it?”
“Yep, I’m here. Thanks for taking good care of Sunny, Tom. She looks fine.”
“No problem.” He chuckled. “I love driving her too. Should I come over?”
“Sure, why don’t you pick up something cold to drink on the way?”
I hadn’t seen Tom Smythe for months, and I’d missed him. He’s a dear friend who suffered a number of personal setbacks, not to mention physical injuries, over the past few years. I hated to admit that all his troubles were due to his involvement with me to a greater or lesser extent.
His apartment on Bald Eagle Drive was only a mile from the house, so he arrived fifteen minutes later, carrying a six-pack of Corona and a lime. We embraced, then exchanged small talk pleasantries while I cut up the fruit.
Soon he drifted toward the living room. I watched his back as he gazed at the yard through the large sliding glass doors. I decided he looked fit and relaxed in shorts, a loose hawaiian shirt, and flip-flops. With a deep tan and sexy spiked hair, he seemed a million miles and years away from the dowdy uptight ship’s security chief I first met nearly five years ago.
I had to admit the screened lanai with its colorful tropical print furniture beckoned invitingly. Beyond the patio, the lush densely landscaped yard sloped to the canal and the unused boat dock. I too thought the little slice of paradise was a lovely sight. He turned from the view and smiled, nodding at the window.
“Kinda hot out there, I guess.”
“Yes, let’s opt for air-conditioning, if that’s okay.”
He came back to the kitchen. After opening our beers, he pushed a lime wedge into the neck of each bottle. Handing me one, he returned to the spacious living area and looked back at me for direction.
“I don’t care. Anywhere is fine.”
We settled next to each other on the seafoam couch, and I sat back to take in the room’s pastel ambiance. It wasn’t my style. I prefer a more neutral palette with primary splashes over this hopelessly dated peach and green décor. The look still belonged to Mick’s mother.
Mick’s parents were killed in a freak winter accident in Colorado about seven years ago, and he’s done nothing with the interior of the house they left him. I supposed he would not mind me making changes, but considering the little time we’re down here, I wasn’t sure if or when I would get around to it.
Thinking of my husband brought down my mood a little, which would be out of the ordinary to anyone who knows us. In fact, since meeting Mick, I’ve been happier than I deserve to be. We’ve faced a few obstacles along the way, but we’ve been able to overcome them … until now.
I glanced at Tom and realized he was studying me as he sipped his beer. I peered into the kind gray eyes, a little more hooded than I remembered. Graying brown hair and weathered features suggested his age, but his physique looked strong, his stomach flat.
“You look really good, Tom. Still working out?”
“Yeah, doing a little running over on Tigertail too if I can get up early enough to beat the heat.”
My thoughts flipped to the beautiful stretch of beach estuary near the north end of the island with its resident egrets, cranes, pelicans, storks, eagles, cormorants, and ibis, not to mention the plethora of fish and small mammals. This entire area really is paradise for nature and wildlife lovers, and that was a reason for my being here. Ever since Mick introduced me to this populated nature preserve, I’ve found that it provides therapeutic solace.
“And how is work, Tom? Everything okay over there?”
“Going well, after the rocky start.” He chuckled and leaned forward to set his nearly empty bottle on the coffee table.
I nodded but decided enough had been said in the past about the scary situation we faced a couple of years ago. Tom was charged with the attempted murder of a deputy sheriff just after he started work as the administrative officer for the Geneva County Sheriff’s Department. Thankfully, we sorted that problem out after a few months, and he settled into the new position.
“Do you want another beer?” I asked instead.
“Sure, but I’ll get us both another one.” He was already heading for the kitchen.
“Do you ever think of leaving Marco Island and moving closer to work?” I called.
“Sure, the forty-five-minute commute gets old, but I love it here near the coast. Besides who would keep an eye on this place and Sunny for you?”
“Right, and I don’t blame you for wanting to stay. I love it here too.”I glanced around the room and didn’t bother to suppress a sigh.
After handing me a beer, he plopped back down on the couch and squinted over the top of his bottle.
“Sure, Darcy, I know you do. But I can tell something is going on with you. You don’t seem as happy and, you know, effervescent as usual.”
That made me laugh. “Is that what I am? Sounds like the description of a bubbly teenager.”
He was clearly embarrassed. I reached over and touched his arm. “Thanks, Tom. I guess you know me pretty well. Of course I’m here to check on the house and relax for a few days, but you’re right. There’s something more personal, I’m afraid.”
He stared at me for a moment, then looked at his lap while I collected my thoughts. There was no question that I was going to confide in one of my closest friends. It was hard, though, because every instinct I possessed told me not to say out loud what I’d been thinking for the past few weeks. I knew if those words and feelings lived outside of me, they would become real—tangible—and I would have to face them. And then what?
Denial becomes harder to maintain when the issues are open for discussion. After all, we don’t have to worry about anything that isn’t part of the real world—even when it’s buried in our minds because, well, it doesn’t seem real.
In any event, I didn’t want to spill a lot of detail about my marital relationship. On the other hand, I knew from past experience that Tom could be a great sounding board. I leaned back and gulped my Corona before it got too warm.
“Okay, you’re right. Mick and I are in a little bit of a rough spot, or I should say he’s in one, and I’m probably not handling it as well as I should.”
Tom slowly brought his eyes back up to mine and shook his head. Almost in a whisper, he asked, “Is it the PTSD again?”
I shook my head a little too vigorously. A sharp pain shot across the back of my eye—the residual remnant of an injury I sustained months ago in Seattle at the hands of a vicious murderer who was threateni
ng some dear friends.
“No, not that. He’s been fine for, what, almost three years now? This is something else, and it’s so damn strange because it’s as if there’s a role reversal or something. I mean I’m the one who should be struggling with what’s happening.”
He leaned back. “Ah, Rachael?”
“Yes, have you heard from her?” I knew how much my daughter liked Tom, just as I did, and I could envision her staying in touch with him.
“She called me just before she left Kenya to go to Australia. Sort of a formal goodbye is how it felt at the time.”
I nodded in agreement. “I know what you mean. We hear from her every month or so. Of course we can call or Skype anytime, and I have. The thing is, something happened to Mick when she took the baby and went to live with her parents.”
I explained how we initially thought her trip to Africa was no big deal. We knew she wouldn’t want to raise little Anna there despite the presence of Anna’s father, Gerald. But when she decided to relocate with her folks to Australia, that was something entirely different.
Last year on a cruise down under, we saw firsthand how great Sydney and other Australian cities are. The Alosas, my biological daughter’s adoptive parents, will be stationed for a number of years at the US consulate in Sydney. I can’t blame her for deciding to stay there with them.
“Who knows how old Anna will be when we see her again.” I hated my own whiney tone.
“I understand, but I’m sure a lot of people don’t get to see their grandchildren as much as they’d like.”
“I know that, and I can get over it.”
“So you’re saying Mick is more upset about losing Anna than you are?”
“I hate to admit it, but yes, that’s putting it mildly.”
I had difficulty explaining Mick’s attitude to myself, never mind to someone else, but I tried. “You know, now that we’re into our forties, we’re not going to have other children. You also know very well how we found each other and overcame so much trauma over the past few years. And of course I found Rachael after eighteen years apart from her, which was an amazing thing in itself.”
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