Josh and I chatted about our days in skills training, and the long runs he dreaded. “You were the better runner, I was the better shot,” he said.
“I’m guessing that’s still true. You are on Saint Paul’s SWAT team. Not every officer qualifies for that. I’m guessing most of them don’t even try in the first place.”
Josh lifted his water bottle. “We’ve got one guy who is bent on making the team. He’s given it two tries already and isn’t giving up. I’m hoping his third try is a charm.”
The deli server delivered our meatloaf sandwiches and bowls of chili. When I thanked her, she nodded. When Josh thanked her, her grin was bigger than a wide-mouthed frog’s.
I opened a cracker package and crumbled the contents into my bowl. “This is a hearty meal. Chili on a chilly day,” I said.
Josh opened his mouth and sunk his teeth into his sandwich. “Mmm. That’s what I’m talking about.” He chewed and swallowed. “They sure do know how to make perfect meatloaf here.” He gave his head a slight nod as his eyes moved to someone standing by the counter. “Someone you know?”
I looked at the young, nondescript brunette woman who was standing at the front counter. She turned her body, and attention, back to the deli attendant, Melanie. As I studied her profile, the woman turned in the direction of the door, and left the store abruptly. Melanie shrugged.
“I guess she didn’t like the menu. In answer to your question, she looked a little familiar. Why do you ask?” I said.
“She was staring at us, throwing invisible daggers with her eyes.”
“She was probably thinking about something, and you happened to make eye contact.”
“I know a direct, dirty look when I see one. And I don’t know her from Adam. Or Eve, I should say. I figured it was someone you’ve dealt with. Someone you arrested.”
“No, I’d remember if I’d have arrested her. I’ve seen her somewhere, I just can’t place her. Maybe I gave her a ticket, once upon a time.”
“I think it’s pretty odd that she was about to order, and then took off after she spotted us.”
“Like I said, she was probably upset about something that had nothing to do with us.”
Josh raised his eyebrows and swallowed another mouthful. “So tell me what’s happening in Winnebago that’s got you asking about human trafficking, smuggling.”
I filled him in on the Jane Doe case and the conversation with Martin Geiger.
“Hmmph. That sounds suspicious, all right. Smuggling women into the county.”
I nodded. “It does. The two guys Martin mentioned—Fletch, the one who talked to him, and Champ, the one who made the arrangements—either of those names ring a bell?”
“No. Haven’t heard those names in connection with any trafficking. I don’t know much about buying, or selling, wives brought here from other countries, the smuggling part. But I know quite a bit about trafficking. The FBI lists Minneapolis as one of the top thirteen in the country for underage sex trafficking, sad to say. They estimate that through the Internet and escort services, over two hundred young girls are sold for sex an average of five times every day here. That’s a thousand crimes a day. And that doesn’t even include any street or gang activity prostitution.”
Staggering. “That’s even worse than I’d heard a while back.”
“More people are reporting, for one thing. In a study done on North Minneapolis a couple of years ago, half the women they interviewed said they were under eighteen when they were first traded for sex, and the average age was actually thirteen, if you can believe that. Most of them are controlled by a trafficker.”
A shudder ran through me at the thought of being at the mercy of someone who had none. “I’ve kept up with some of those statistics. It makes me sick to think how those kids are being victimized.”
Josh tapped his spoon. “That’s the message we’re trying to get out—the majority of prostitutes are not there by choice. Breaking Free is one of the organizations that helps these victims. You’ve probably heard of them.” I nodded as he continued, “I’m with you on feeling sick about all the creeps that prey mostly on kids. Internet activity has really increased, and complicated, the problem. If you look at Sidedoor dot com, you’ll see where the perverts go to hook up. I can give you a list of other sites, but that’s the most popular.”
“I’ll take a look.”
“Peeling away the layers of people to get to the traffickers themselves is challenging, but we’ve made some good arrests of clients by using baits from our department. The john shows up and finds out his evening is not going to turn out the way he’d hoped. Big surprise. We’ve put cuffs on some powerful men with their pants down. It’s not a pretty sight, let me tell you. And they’re either mad as hell, or embarrassed as all get out. Either way, they want the charges to magically disappear,” Josh said.
“Oh, yeah, about every officer can relate to the experience of dealing with people who want the charges to disappear.” I thought of the last one I’d had. “I arrested the son of one of the mayors in our county. Not pretty, either. The kid celebrated his eighteenth birthday by really tying one on. He got behind the wheel of daddy’s car, with a couple of friends as passengers, and crashed into the back of a parked car that was occupied. Thankfully, no one got seriously hurt. His father called me up to chew me out the night of the arrest, and hasn’t talked to me since.”
Josh shook his head, took the last bite of his sandwich, and washed it down with a swig of water.
“You said you don’t know too much about people being brought here from other countries. No cases involving them?” I asked.
“No. The majority of our victims have been from the metro area, the others are mostly from outstate Minnesota. Some from neighboring states: North Dakota, South Dakota, Wisconsin, Iowa. We’ve heard rumblings, here and there, that there is an Asian ring, or a Russian ring, and some others out there. We’ve followed leads, but haven’t been able to uncover anything so far. The local underage sex trafficking rings take more resources than we have the way it is.”
“Resources. We could always use more in our field.” I thought for a moment. “Josh, you’ve been at this a few years. Have you had any luck rescuing those kids, getting them off the streets, back to their families?”
He blinked a couple of times. “Some success, not as much as we’d like. A lot of the kids don’t have stable families to go back to. The majority, it seems. One girl I worked with still haunts me. And she’d come from a decent home, so you never know. I arrested her and somehow got her engaged in conversation, got her to trust me. She called twice after that when she was in trouble, and asked me to go pick her up from some sleaze-bag hotel. You know, rescue her from her pimp or some john or herself, maybe. And I did. But her pimp would weasel his way back in, and got back control of her both times. She was a user. Heroin. They found her body in Texas a few months ago.”
“Man, I’m sorry. It sounds like you were emotionally invested. I know it’s hard not to be, a lot of the time.” I reached into my handbag, pulled out the copy of the photo of Jane Doe and the children, and handed it to Josh. “This is the woman we need to identify. We think her name is Maisa, the first in the list of the names written on the back of the original photograph.”
Josh studied the faces for a minute then turned it over. He read the names out loud and shook his head as he handed the photo back. “Your victims are never very far away from you, or your thoughts, are they?”
I shrugged slightly and shook my head. “They seem to have a way of taking up permanent residence, that’s for sure.”
I rang Sara’s doorbell, stepped inside, and told her it was me. She called out from the kitchen, “Hey, Corky, come on up.” She lived in a split-entry home, a common style built in the 1970s when her neighborhood was constructed.
I ran up the steps and joined her in the kitchen. “Something smells good.”
“I thought I’d break our girl’s night takeout tradition and make some chili.
”
“That is so funny. That’s what I had for lunch.”
“Get out of here. Seriously?”
“Seriously. At The Sandwich Shoppe where I met Josh Adler.” I filled her in on the conversation I’d had with Martin Geiger the day before, which resulted in arranging a meeting with Josh earlier that day. And then I shared the latest on the Jane—Maisa—Doe case. “So that’s where we are now, wondering if she’d been brought to Minnesota as a mail-order bride, of sorts. Smuggled in.”
“Thinking your victim came here from another country, maybe to escape whatever to marry someone here, adds a whole new dimension to your investigation.”
“A little mind-boggling, especially the smuggling part.”
Sara picked up a large stainless steel spoon and stirred the simmering chili. “I have to admire your friend Josh for being so dedicated to the trafficking cause. Modern day slavery.” She set down the spoon then reached for a bottle of cabernet on her counter, and filled two glasses. “Let’s have a glass of wine before we eat.”
“Thanks.” I accepted a glass, and then headed into the living room with Sara.
“Any more scary phone messages, or random acts of vandalism?” she asked as we sat down, Sara on the couch, and me on an overstuffed chair.
“No, but that reminds me to ask you sort of a strange question. You didn’t stop at my house last night between five thirty and seven, did you?”
Her lips pursed slightly. “No. Why do you ask?”
“Someone let Queenie out when I was on that interview with Smoke.”
“That’s weird. Was it your Mom, maybe?”
“No, it wasn’t her.”
“And you’re sure Queenie was in when you left?” she said.
“Positive. I know I shut the door tight.”
“Why would someone go to your house, and let Queenie out?”
“No clue, and that’s what I’m trying to find out. I’m hoping it was one of my friends, like Todd or Brian. Someone who knows it’s okay if they open the door, and yell for me, if I don’t answer. But that brings up the issue of me potentially losing my mind.”
“And you think that because?”
“My door wasn’t locked and I can’t specifically remember locking it, even though I always do.”
“Maybe it was locked and someone picked it.”
“If someone picked the lock, it wasn’t obvious. Smoke and I checked. And nothing was amiss in my house. Except for Queenie being outside, that is.”
“Corky, I know that when you’re hot on the trail of a mystery that needs to be solved, or a bad guy that needs to be found, you are very focused. Things that you perceive as less important tend to go off your radar.”
“Like what?”
“Like checking your door before you leave home to be sure it’s locked.”
“I was preoccupied. Smoke was waiting, and I knew Queenie wanted to go with us. But mostly I was wondering what Martin Geiger wanted to talk about.”
“There you go.” Sara stood up. “Are you ready for your second chili meal of the day?” she asked on the way to the kitchen.
I followed behind her and set my wine glass on the counter. “I love your chili, and will gladly eat it tonight. In fact, I think I could eat it almost every day.”
Sara smiled as she ladled some into bowls then set them on the kitchen table. “There is some cheddar cheese and sour cream in the fridge, if you want some.”
“Nah, thanks, I’ll take it straight.”
“More wine?”
I shook my head. “I put myself on a one-glass limit when this Maisa Doe case began. In case I get a call from someone, and I have to go check it out.” I sat down at the table and waited for Sara.
“You’re calling her Maisa now?” I nodded. “And there’s nothing wrong with a one-glass limit.” She took her chair across from me.
“You know, I was scared half to death to get out of the office and back on the road, investigating and performing my other sergeant’s duties. But now I realize I had to, or I would never really recover. Grief was eating me alive.”
Sara reached over and patted my hand. “I’m glad you’re healing. It’s been a tough road for you and it’s very difficult to see someone I love in pain.”
I thought of the reason for my grief, and tears formed in my lower lids. I blinked them away before they fell down my cheeks. “I’ll be relieved when that doesn’t happen every time Eric comes to mind. Which is a lot. Many, many times a day.”
“That is totally normal, and the tears will lessen. I remember my aunt telling me after my uncle died that she never knew when a wave of sorrow would hit her, and she’d break down and cry like there was no tomorrow.”
“I understand what she meant. It seems to come out of nowhere.”
“Keep working through it. And lean on me, or one of your other friends, whenever you need to. I mean it.”
“I know you do. And thanks for being the best friend ever.”
We watched two movies—an adventure followed by a romantic comedy. It was close to midnight when I put on my coat to leave, and Sara carried our hot cocoa mugs into the kitchen. “Corky, come here.”
The kitchen lights were off and Sara stood by her sliding glass door with the blind pulled back slightly. She was peering around it.
“What’s going on?”
“My neighbor boy.”
“Let me see.” Sara stepped back and I took her place. “Do you have a pair of binoculars?”
Sara didn’t answer for a few seconds while she considered the question. “As a matter of fact, I do. They’re in the front closet.” She left to get them and was back a minute later.
When she handed them over, I held them up to my face, and focused the lenses until I had a clear view of the boy in the house across the way. He had dark hair that curled over his ears, and a fair complexion. He was lean, and I guessed his height was a little over five feet. Maybe five foot two. “Yeah, he looks about twelve. And he’s cleaning out the cupboards for heaven’s sakes. Saturday, at midnight.” His pale skin tone was lighter than I would have thought, given his dark hair. “And you’ve never seen him outside playing or hanging out?”
“No.”
“What time does the school bus come in the morning?”
“Early. Like at seven thirty.”
“Where does it stop in this neighborhood?”
“I’m pretty sure the closest stop is at the corner of Eighth Street and Davis Avenue. I hear it drive by when I’m getting ready for work. I can’t see that corner from here, but that’s what it sounds like.”
“Monday morning I’ll plan to be there and watch to see if the young Hueber boy gets on it. And you told me you’ve seen him up late on school nights, also.”
“I have. Maybe you—or even I—should call the schools. Ask about him. His attendance, his behavior.”
“That could get tricky. We’d have to disclose why we’re investigating, and this isn’t a formal investigation. At this point we’re unofficially looking into suspicious activity. Unless you want to file a suspicious circumstances report.”
“I’m not quite ready to do that. Let’s see what we can find out unofficially first.”
“All right, we’ll take this one step at a time. Since you saw him for the first time last week, he may be a foster child the Huebers have recently taken in. That I can check on pretty easily,” I said.
“And I’ll ask the probation officers who work in Juvie if they have a kid by the last name of Hueber. Or one whose guardians are named Hueber.”
“That’s another good avenue.” I watched the cleaning boy for another minute, and then he suddenly stopped wiping the shelf he was cleaning, scooted to the window, and closed the blind. “Okay, that was odd.”
Sara was watching over my shoulder and witnessed the same thing. “See what I mean? None of what he does could be classified as normal behavior.”
“So I’ll be posted near the bus stop on Monday morning, And my next da
y off, if it’s okay with you, I’ll come over the night before and do a stakeout to see if he’s doing his cleaning routine again. See what time he starts, what he does, and when he stops.”
“Sure. Maybe we can help that poor kid.”
“Not that it’s any of my official business, but—”
“You’re even more curious than I am.”
8
Sunday was as dreary a day as we’d had in a long time. The temperature stayed in the low forties. The wind howled and pelted heavy rain drops against my house. Visibility from the windows was limited to about thirty feet. Even Queenie, who normally loved a little run through the rain, hunkered down and watched the nasty elements from her favorite spot by the sliding glass door in the living room. It gave her a bird’s-eye view of the back yard. Mid-morning, when I finally insisted she go outside to do her duty, she followed me to the door and went as fast as she could. I was waiting with a towel to dry her off when she ran back in.
The Maisa Doe case left me too unsettled to relax, so I decided to do more research on human trafficking and smuggling. I sat down at the computer in the den office and signed onto the Internet. A minute later, when the thunder roared and the lightning bolted, so did Queenie. She yelped, left her window view, and was under my feet in a flash. I leaned over and petted her until she stopped shivering, and then launched into a search.
I navigated my way around the Sidedoor site that Josh had clued me in on, until my stomach turned sour, and I could not read one more ad. Some things were beyond my ken, and men and women seeking underage girls and boys for sex was not even on my ken’s radar.
I closed out of the site, and picked up the two copies of the images I had of the woman we had come to believe was Maisa, last name unknown. I turned over the three-person photo and read the names out loud for the umpteenth time. Queenie’s ears perked and she let out a quiet whine. I scratched her head. “You want me to find out who she was in life, too, don’t you girl?”
My fingers found their way back to the computer keyboard, and I typed “Country of Georgia” on my search engine. When I’d selected one of the sites, I read for a long time. It was an old country that had been through much change over the centuries. From being a country with many independent kingdoms in the fourth century, to being a united nation in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, to annexation into the Russian Empire in the nineteenth century, to a brief period of independence, to occupation by Soviet Russia in 1921. When the USSR was disbanded in 1991, Georgia went through years of civil unrest and economic crisis until the Rose Revolution of 2003. A new government structure had led to both democratic and economic reforms.
A Death in Lionel's Woods Page 10