The Collector

by Scott Wittenburg

He awoke at seven a.m. He’d told Marcia he would meet her at the Main Street Diner at seven-thirty sharp. He jumped out of bed and bee lined for the shower.

  After shaving, dressing and feeding Pan, Alan snuck her outside to relieve herself then told her that she would have to stay in the room until he got back. She was clearly having trouble understanding why a restaurant wouldn’t allow pets. Alan promised her a bag of doggy treats if she would just let it go. With a huff, Pan eventually acquiesced.

  It was chilly outside and Alan suddenly wished he had taken the time to get some coffee in the lobby. The shower may have woken him up physically but his mind was still in a semi-catatonic state. Thoughts of Marcia, the abducted girls and Martin Fowler came in spurts and needed sorting out—something he hoped a cup of strong coffee would help with. He drove quickly toward Main Street and noticed he was well over the speed limit. Letting up on the accelerator, he knew that the last thing he needed right now was to get caught speeding just before his meeting with the police chief to request a favor.

  He spotted Marcia’s car parked near the diner and pulled in behind it. He got out and saw her standing out front awaiting him. She looked even more beautiful than the night before. Her long chestnut hair was brushed out and fell onto her shoulders; she had no makeup on except for a little blush and was wearing a skirt with a navy sweater under an open leather jacket. She smiled as he approached.

  “Morning, Mr. Swansea. Would you care to join me for a cup of coffee?”

  “Jesus, I can’t think of anything better!”

  “Right this way.”

  He followed her inside and she led him over to a booth. The place wasn’t crowded but the few customers that were present gave them a second look as they sat down. A waitress came over in record time.

  “Morning, Marcia,” she greeted.

  “Morning, Maryanne. I’d like a coffee, please.”

  She looked over at Alan. “Me, too.”

  “I’ll be right back,” Maryanne said.

  Marcia said, “This place has the best omelets you’ve ever tasted.”

  “Oh yeah? Then I guess I’d better check them out.”

  “So how do you feel this morning? I didn’t keep you out too late, did I?”

  Alan chuckled. “Not hardly. I feel pretty good, actually. I’m just in desperate need of some java. Not too swift until I’ve had at least a cup or two.”

  “I’m the same way. By the way, I went by the police station on the way here to see when the chief gets in and they told me he’d be in around eight. So that at least gives us time to eat. I hope you don’t mind that I did that.”

  “Not at all—I appreciate it. So what do you think our chances are of the chief checking out Fowler’s place? Seriously.”

  Maryanne returned and Marcia waited until she served their coffee and took their orders before replying. They both ordered ham and cheese omelets with wheat toast and orange juice.

  “Seriously? Not too good. I thought about this while I was taking my shower and realized how bizarre it is. I mean, to think that there are actually several young girls up at Martin’s right now that have been stolen from their families then brought over here to work as unwilling models for him is—crazy! It just doesn’t seem possible!”

  “Oh, it’s possible all right. And not only is it possible, it’s for real.”

  “You’re that sure of yourself,” she said.

  “Yup, I am.” Alan took a gulp of his coffee. “And if it turns out that the girls aren’t there, then Fowler has been tipped off by Yuri Popov. And if that’s the case, I am royally screwed. That’s why we need to get moving on this right away. I have a funny feeling that Popov is on to me and although I doubt he knows where I am right now, I’m pretty sure he isn’t going to just sit around with his finger up his ass while there’s a possibility that his trafficking empire could be brought down.”

  “I guess all we can do is try to persuade Chief Myers that this is important enough to justify a call to Martin to see what he can find out. That may be the most we get out of him.”

  “That’s not going to do shit. All that will do is give Fowler time to lie his way out of this and hide the girls somewhere before the chief can do anything else. Nope, he has to go up there and blitz the guy. That’s the only thing that will work—use the element of surprise.”

  “Hmm. All I can say is good luck. I doubt he’ll go for it.”

  “That’s sure not very inspiring. Well, I guess we’ll just have to see what happens.”

  After the food came, Alan felt his anxiety building. That oh-so-familiar sense of self-doubt reared its ugly head as he considered the task at hand. The fact that Marcia described the chief as a play-it-by-the-book hardcore officer of the law made it look highly unlikely he would be willing to stick his head out on this. Alan wondered what he would do if this is the case and realized he had no idea at all. In a nutshell, it was imperative that he convince the chief to check Fowler out.

  “That was delicious,” he said after swallowing his last bite of omelet. “And it was the best I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Told you so,” Marcia sang.

  Alan chugged down the last of his coffee. “Guess we’d better get going.”

  Marcia glanced at her watch. “Yeah, you’re right.”

  Alan looked at the check, pulled out a twenty and laid it down on the table.

  “Let’s do it.”

  The police station was only a couple of blocks away so they walked. When they arrived at the rather elaborate columned municipal building, Marcia led them across the main hall to the police headquarters. Alan let Marcia do the talking when they approached the desk sergeant.

  “Hi, Tom. Is Chief Myers in yet?”

  The officer smiled and replied, “Yeah. He just came in a few minutes ago.”

  “May we speak with him? This is the guy I was telling you about. Alan, this is Tom Maynard.”

  Alan nodded. “Nice to meet you, Tom.”

  “So you’re the PI, eh?”

  Alan glanced at Marcia, trying not to show his chagrin that she had already blown his cover to this rookie-looking cop. “Uh, yes—semi-retired, that is.”

  “Well, hold on a minute and I’ll let the chief know you’d like to see him.”

  While he went over to the phone, Alan said, “Why did you tell him I’m a PI?”

  “I couldn’t see why not. I mean—they’re all probably going to know eventually anyway. This is a small department, after all.”

  “Yeah, I see what you mean. I just sort of wish you would have—”

  “He said for you two to go on back to his office. You know the way.” Tom said.

  “Thanks, Tom.”

  “No problem.”

  Tom followed Marcia as she walked around the desk toward a hallway that led back to several rooms. They reached an office with a large glass window and Alan saw a middle-aged man sitting at a desk. Marcia went up to the open door, stuck her head inside and knocked on the woodwork.

  “Hello, Chief.”

  The chief smiled and stood up. “Why hello, Marcia. How have you been? Come on in.”

  The two entered the office and the chief shook Marcia’s hand. “Chief, I’d like you to meet Alan Swansea. He’s a private investigator. Alan, this is Chief Bill Myers.”

  “Nice to meet you, Chief,” Alan said. He shook the man’s hand, feeling his own being nearly crushed by the chief’s death grip.

  “Same to you, Mr. Swansea. So what brings you here today?”

  “Please call me Alan, Chief. I guess you could say that I need to ask you for a favor.”

  The chief was around six-three, rock-solid and in good shape. He had short-cropped dark hair that was graying slightly at the temples. He cast Alan a look of curiosity and said, “Please sit down, you two. So ya need a favor you say? And what might that favor be?”

  “I’ve been working a case that involves human trafficking and the forced prostitution of foreigners in our country. I’ve been hired to
locate a victim’s younger sister, who is also a victim and only thirteen years old. My investigation has brought me here to Wayneston, where I believe the victim’s sister plus several other trafficked girls are being held against their will.”

  The chief stared at Alan intently, his curiosity clearly piqued. “And where are these girls being held?”

  “I have very good reason to believe that they are being held in Martin Fowler’s home, Chief.”

  Surprisingly, the chief didn’t flinch at the mention of Fowler. “What are you basing this belief on?”

  “It’s sort of a long story but I will summarize. Mr. Fowler indirectly hired the girls from a man named Yuri Popov, who lives in New York and appears to be a major player in a gang of Russian traffickers. My investigation led me to Popov as a result of my client’s account of how he had baited her in Germany with the promise of legitimate employment in the U.S. only to instead force her into sex slavery upon her arrival. After being sexually abused and beaten for several months, Popov sold the woman to her present pimp, another gang member who owns a bar that fronts a brothel.

  “While investigating Popov I discovered yet another victim who was living in his home, also trafficked over here from Eastern Europe and used as a sex slave. She is now in a safe house in Manhattan. I found the phone number of the Russian man who had originally abducted both victims and gave him a call under the pretense of looking for young girls for sale after learning that the girls were being “put back on the market” so to speak. That’s how I was eventually able to track down Henry Fowler.”

  “And what is Martin using these young girls for?” the chief asked.

  “That’s the only hopeful news that I can report in this whole case. Supposedly, they are only being used as models by Fowler. He is photographing them and then doctoring up the images to look like impressionist paintings. Although I’m a little skeptical that this is the only purpose he is using them for, it appears to be the case from what I’ve learned. We can only hope so.”

  “Are you saying these girls are being used for pornography?”

  “No, at least not based on the images I’ve seen of them. Fowler is evidently obsessed with the impressionist painter Degas, who painted a series of works depicting ballet dancers. He is creating mockup scenes from Degas’ paintings with the girls posing in ballet attire and then photographing them in identical poses. Then he manipulates the images in a software program to make them look like impressionist paintings.”

  “So tell me how it is that you viewed these images.”

  “Fowler has posted them online anonymously. That’s what indirectly led me to investigating him in the first place.”

  “And how can you be so sure that it was Martin Fowler who posted those images if he did so anonymously?”

  “Simply by doing some routine investigative work that essentially proves it is his work—I have no doubt whatsoever that he is the artist.”

  “Excuse me for saying this Alan, but surely you must realize how ridiculous all of this sounds. First of all, I know Martin Fowler personally, and although he’s a bit on the eccentric side, I don’t think he’s likely to have committed the offenses you are accusing him of. Why in the world would he risk using girls that have been illegally brought into this country for an apparently legal purpose in the first place? There is no law against taking photographs of minors as long as they aren’t in any way sexually explicit or for pornographic purposes. You even admit that you have no proof that this is the case. Seems it would be a lot easier for him to just hire some of the local girls to model for his project.

  “Furthermore, I don’t see how Fowler could possibly have pulled this off without anyone knowing about it. How long have these foreign girls supposedly been up at his place?”

  “Six months.”

  “Six months? And in all this time not a single soul in this town has seen hide nor hair of any of them? How many girls are there supposed to be?”

  Alan’s hesitant reply reflected his plummeting hopes. “Five or six.”

  “Five or six! I’m sorry Alan, but it just isn’t possible. You just can’t stash away five or six young girls for that length of time without somebody finding out about it—not in this little town! How the hell is he feeding them? Hell, where in the world is he putting them? I know his place is pretty big, but you’re making it out as some sort of girl’s boarding school or something. Nope, I just ain’t buying any of this.”

  Alan mentally put himself into the chief’s position and had to admit that this situation would seem far-fetched to anybody. It did seem preposterous to think that a man of Martin Fowler’s public stature would go to such extreme measures of obtaining girls that have been trafficked into the country to model for him while he had a whole town full of potential models at his disposal. And accepting the notion that the girls could be stowed away for this length of time without anyone ever finding out was just as hard to swallow. Wayneston was a tiny town with lots of chatty residents. How could everyone miss it?

  Nevertheless, all of it was absolutely true in spite of how crazy it seemed. He knew it and wasn’t about to back down just because the chief wasn’t buying into it.

  “Okay, chief, I realize how incredible all of this must sound—especially coming from a total stranger you have no reason to believe or trust. But let me ask you this. What if it is true? What if there really are several young girls right now in Martin Fowler’s house that have been abducted from their families and sold to him as merchandise? To be forced to do whatever he demands, whether those services are as innocuous as modeling for photos or something more sinister—like being used for kiddie porn or forced to perform sex acts. Don’t you think that if there’s even the slimmest possibility that this sort of human injustice could be occurring that it’s worth taking a moment to check out, just in case?”

  Chief Myers thought for a moment, then replied, “I see your point and you’ve made a legitimate argument. But here’s the problem, Alan. Even if I were crazy enough to consider the charges you’re making against Martin Fowler and decided to look into this, I couldn’t do a damn thing without a search warrant. And as much as I hate to bust your bubble, that ain’t gonna be happening. Not based on the thin evidence you’ve just presented to me, which is nothing more than circumstantial at best and more like a bunch of theories than anything else.”

  Marcia said, “But chief, couldn’t you at least ask Martin if he would mind your checking out his place? I mean, if he has nothing to hide, maybe he would be willing to comply.”

  “Marcia, you know as well as I do how much the Fowlers have contributed to this town through the years. They have literally made this town what it is with their generosity and support of so many programs. And if you think for one moment I’m going to publicly incriminate Martin Fowler for allegedly harboring abducted persons, you’re out of your mind! Not only would he be offended and humiliated, I would suddenly find myself on the wrong side of the fence with him from here on out.”

  “Worried about your job, Chief? Is that it?” Alan said.

  The chief’s face went crimson. “Listen here, Swansea! That is not what this is all about and I resent your implying that! This is about protecting the rights of one of our most prominent citizens. And I am not about to jeopardize my relationship with Martin Fowler with any of this nonsense! Am I making myself clear?”

  “Sorry, chief. That was a cheap shot and I apologize. And I really don’t blame you for refusing my request based on the circumstances. I mean, there is an awful lot at stake here and the last thing we want to do is tarnish Martin Fowler’s sterling reputation and stature in Wayneston. That would certainly be a tragedy compared to the possibility of saving the lives of several young girls who have been abducted from their homeland and forced into modern day slavery. God forbid that you inconvenience Mr. Fowler by asking him a couple of questions in order to prove his innocence. I now see the inequity here. Much more important to protect a citizen’s rights.”

>   Alan concluded this last ditch effort to appeal to Chief Myers’ conscience and priorities by staring directly into the man’s gray eyes, praying for a miracle. The chief returned his stare for a moment before he spoke.

  “And what if it turns out that Fowler is innocent? Would you be willing to accept that and get the hell out of this town?”

  “Definitely—you’ll never see me again. That’s a promise.”

  He turned to Marcia. “I assume that you are this man’s biggest cheerleader, Marcia—otherwise you wouldn’t be here. What are your thoughts? Do you think there’s any chance that Martin Fowler could be involved in any of this?”

  “My initial reaction was just like yours, Chief. It just seemed impossible to conceive of. But after hearing what could be at stake, that all went out the door. The sheer possibility that there could be girls up there right this moment being forced into submission is heartbreaking and definitely worth looking into. I also don’t believe that Alan would have come all the way here making such seemingly bizarre accusations unless he had very good reason to.

  “And as for Martin Fowler, the more I think about him, the more I feel like this may not be below him. Let’s face it, Chief, the guy is a loner and a pretty damn weird. And when you read about all of these serial killers, you always find out that they were a lot like him: loners with opportunity who keep to themselves and rarely interact with people. That profile fits Martin to a tee, I hate so say.”

  The chief’s manner became resigned. “Okay, you guys win. I can’t just stand around and do nothing while there’s a chance that this could be happening in our town, however slim it may be. But I’m going to go about this the only way I see fit. I’ll take one of my officers with me and drive out to Fowler’s place. I’ll give him a phony reason for needing to pay him a visit. Assuming that he opens that gate for me, we’ll go up and check the place out. If anything seems out of place or Martin seems in any way suspicious, I’ll push as far as I can to case out the place. If he gets nervous and mentions anything about a warrant, we’ll just take it from there.”

  “Any chance I could tag along, chief?” Alan said.

  “Most certainly not. I want this to look like a friendly visit and nothing more. Your presence will only complicate things.”

  “Okay, I understand. How soon can you go?”

  The chief glanced at the wall clock. “Twenty minutes. I want you guys to leave now and find some place to hang out. And not a word of this to a soul—not to anyone in this department or in this town. Understand?”

  “No problem. When will we learn what you find out?” Alan asked.

  “I’ll call you—give me a number I can reach you at.”

  Alan handed him a business card. “Thanks, chief. I truly appreciate it.”

  “Just don’t forget that promise. If Martin is clean, you split town and forget all of this ever happened.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Now you folks move along so I can get started on this.”

  “Thanks a million, Chief,” Marcia said.

  “You’ve always found a way to break me down, Marcia, and that’s the truth. Why do you have to be so darn gorgeous?”

  “I guess you can blame my parents for that.”

  He chuckled and pointed toward the door. “Can’t really blame them for that. Later.”

  On the way out, they saw Tom the desk sergeant awaiting them expectantly. Marcia managed to immediately squelch any questions he may have about their meeting with the chief.

  “Coming to the bar tonight?” she said.

  He glowed. “You tending?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then I’ll be there.”

  Marcia smiled, never breaking her stride as they exited the headquarters. She looked over at Alan. “That guy’s been trying to get into my pants for two years.”

  “Nice move to get his mind off of things. But what are you going to do when you see him tonight?’

  “I’ll let him down easy,” she smiled. “Just like I always do.”

  “Thanks for your help back there. I don’t think he would have come through, otherwise.”

  “Well, the chief and I go back pretty far. He’s always been good to me by keeping an eye on the bar and dealing with the occasional riffraff that goes in there. Bill’s really a good guy that cares a lot about this town.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought that after the way he was so adamant about protecting Martin Fowler like the guy is some kind of saint. But I’ll give him credit for finally changing his mind. You were my trump card.”

  They arrived at her car and Marcia looked at her watch. “I hate to bail out on you but I have some important errands to run. Maybe you can give me a call after you’ve heard from the chief?”

  “Yeah, I’ll do that. I think I’ll just hang out here for a while and check out your town square while I’m waiting. I’m going to feel like a fugitive if he doesn’t find anything and I have to leave Dodge to honor my promise. I can only hope Fowler hasn’t been tipped off by Popov.”

  “This is definitely going to be pretty nerve wracking for you, I’m sure. Try to stay cool and I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed for you.”

  “Thanks. Oh, how about your phone number?”

  “Right, I almost forgot.”

  She dug a scrap of paper out of her purse, wrote down her cell number and handed it to Alan.

  “Great, I’ll call you later,” he said.

  “Okay.”

  Marcia got into her car and Alan headed back to the restaurant for a coffee to go.