Kingston Kidnappings (What Happens In Vegas Book 3)

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by Matt Lincoln


  “I am offended, truly,” I remarked sarcastically. “That you would even think I’d do a thing like stealing. Or that you apparently think I’m not smart enough to figure out a simple puzzle.”

  “Well then, it shouldn’t be a problem, then,” Fiona smiled teasingly. “Thanks, Junior. I love it.” She smiled and placed a hand on his forearm.

  For the second time that day, I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. Why was everyone acting so strangely today? Had this happened overnight, or had I just missed the signs up until now? To be honest, I loved gossip, and I was itching to pry, but that would have to wait until later.

  I was just leaving the break room when I ran into Wallace.

  “Agent Patel, there you are,” he called, and for a moment, I worried I was about to get scolded for my tardiness. “Good. Could you please join me in my office? Agent Hills and Agent Chapman, you too.” I blinked in surprise. This clearly wasn’t about me being late if he was calling Charlie and Junior into the office as well. I followed him into the office, and we were joined by Charlie and Junior a moment later.

  “We have a potential new case,” Wallace began as soon as Charlie and I were both seated in front of him. “Yesterday, an eight-year-old girl called nine-one-one after killing a married couple in a town about an hour north of here. The police officers who responded were unable to communicate well with her because she could only speak some English and didn’t seem to understand a lot of what they were asking her. After a while, they were able to determine that she could speak Jamaican Patois, a language common around the Caribbean Islands. Once they had a police translator come in, they discovered that the little girl had been brought to the United States from Jamaica and that she had been held captive by the couple for at least six months.”

  “Oh, my word,” I gasped, horrified by what I was hearing.

  Wallace only nodded gravely.

  “That’s not all,” he continued. “The girl mentioned that there were other children with her on the airplane, so it’s likely that there are more out there we need to find. I’d like Agent Hills and Agent Chapman to take the case on since Agent Patel and Agent Castillo just finished an international mission. Agent Patel, I know you just got back from Italy last night, but I’d like you to accompany them for the time being. If I recall correctly, you indicated on your resume that you were fluent in that dialect.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” I nodded. Most of my childhood was split between India and the Caribbean, where a lot of my family lived. As a result, I was fluent in a lot of the dialects of the region.

  “Good,” Wallace nodded. “Since she’s more comfortable with that language, I’d like to make sure someone is there who can communicate to her as effectively as possible so we can get as much information as we can. ”

  “Of course, sir,” I responded. “Though, I have to say that is a strange situation. Most people who speak Patois can speak English as well. It’s taught in most Caribbean nations.”

  “You’re right,” he nodded. “All the more reason for us to get to the bottom of this. The police are waiting for you now. Here’s the address. Since there’s a child involved, I don’t have to remind you how important it is that we take special care in this case. That’s all.”

  We filed out of his office after that. I couldn’t speak for Charlie or Junior, but by the looks on their faces, I could guess that they were just as unsettled as I was. All crimes were bad, of course, but it was always worse when children were involved. We headed out the main doors of the office and down the elevator before heading out into the parking lot. We’d parked the company cars in a shady corner at the edge of the lot. Since there were three of us, we decided to take the van. I’d never ridden in it since it had only ever been me and Miranda, and a couple of times me and Junior.

  After what felt like an incredibly long drive, we finally made it to our destination. The town we’d arrived in was small, but I could tell from the buildings that we were in a wealthy area. Charlie parked the car close to the entrance of the police station, and after I climbed out of the backseat, I took a moment to stretch my legs and back. I felt sore after sitting still for so long, but I was also anxious to get inside and speak to the girl.

  We headed into the police station, where a woman in an officer’s uniform was waiting for us.

  “Are you the federal agents?” she asked.

  “We are,” I confirmed. “I’m Agent Patel, and this is Agent Hills and Agent Chapman.”

  “Great,” the officer nodded. “I’m Officer Berek. I’ll lead you all back there.” She led us down the hall and toward an elevator.

  “We put the girl in our break room,” Berek informed us as we boarded the elevator. “We obviously didn’t want to leave her in the interrogation room, but we weren’t sure where else we could put her while we waited for you to arrive. A social services agent is in there with her right now with the translator.”

  “How limited is her English?” I asked as we reached the third floor.

  “Very,” Berek responded. “She was able to tell us her name and how old she was, but she didn’t seem to understand much else of what we tried asking her. Once the translator got here and we learned that she probably wasn’t the only kid that was brought over, we figured we’d better call you guys.”

  “That was a smart decision,” Charlie commented as we made it to the door of the break room. I peered through the glass window on the door and could see a small child sitting on a worn-looking couch next to two women.

  “What’s the girl’s name?” I asked Berek.

  “Kamya,” she replied. “Eight years old. She said she was living with her mom in India before they brought her here. Didn’t get much else out of her.”

  “We’ll take it from here,” I assured her before pushing open the break room door and stepping inside. The two women, whom I assumed were the social worker and translator, looked up as we entered. “Agents Patel, Chapman, and Hills from the Military Border Liaison Investigative Services. We’d like to speak to Kamya about everything that has happened.”

  “I’m Ms. Nicole,” the shorter of the two women said as she stood up to shake my hand. “I’m the social worker assigned to Kamya’s case. This is Mrs. Grose. She’s been helping me communicate with Kamya.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” I replied, though, in truth, I just wanted to get the pleasantries out of the way so I could speak to the girl. I moved toward the couch, and Mrs. Grose stood and walked a few paces away. Charlie and Junior walked to the other end of the room so they’d be close enough to observe without overwhelming Kamya.

  “Hello,” I greeted Kamya in Jamaican Patois. “My name is Naomi. I heard that you’re called Kamya. Is that true?”

  “Yes,” she nodded, looking up at me with large brown eyes. Her hair was a little tangled, but it didn’t look dirty. She looked a little gaunt and had bags under her eyes as if she hadn’t been sleeping or eating well.

  “Can you tell me your last name?” I asked.

  “Dayal,” she responded.

  “That’s such a pretty name,” I told her with a smile.

  “It is,” she agreed, “but the bad people changed it.”

  “Who are the bad people?” I asked.

  “Daniel and Patricia Weaver,” she replied, stumbling over the pronunciation. “When they brought me to their house, they told me my new name was Megan. I tried to tell them they were wrong, but they wouldn’t listen to me.”

  “That wasn't very nice of them,” I frowned. “Can you tell me how you got to the Weaver’s house?”

  “A man brought me,” she replied, frowning as she spoke.

  “Do you know the man’s name?” I asked. Kamya just shook her head sadly.

  “He came to my house in Nochikuppam,” she explained. “He talked to my mommy and me and said that he wanted to take my baby sister and me to a school in America.”

  “Your baby sister?” I asked. “So you came here together?”

  “Yes,�
�� Kamya nodded. “Her name is Lakshmi. We were together for a little while, but then a man took her away.”

  “Okay,” I nodded. “Tell me what happened after the man came to your house.”

  “I did go to school for a little while,” she replied. “But it wasn’t in the United States. I could see the sea from out the window, but it didn’t look like Jamaica. They taught us how to use a stove and an electric washing machine and how to sew. They didn’t take us to the United States until later.”

  “Us?” I prompted. “So there were more children with you?”

  “Yes,” she nodded. “It was mostly all girls, but there were a few boys too. They would get in trouble a lot because they said cooking and sewing was for girls, and they didn’t want to do it.”

  “I see,” I frowned. “So then what happened?”

  “Once we got very good at cooking and cleaning, they would tell us it was time to go to America,” she replied. “They chose me, Lakshmi, and two other girls, and a different man took us to the airport.”

  “That sounds exciting,” I forced a smile. It was heartbreaking to hear, but I wanted to encourage her to keep speaking.

  “It was,” she agreed with a nod. “It was so big and pretty, and there were so many people with pretty dresses and suits. After a little while, we got on an airplane. Some other girls thought it was scary, but I wasn’t afraid.”

  “What a brave girl you are,” I smiled at her. “Can you tell me what happened after that?”

  “After the plane landed, the man took us to a car,” she frowned as she recalled what had happened. “He gave us some sweet drinks and told us to go to sleep. When I woke up again, I was somewhere very dark.” Damn. So he’d drugged them so they wouldn’t be able to see where they were being taken. That meant we’d have a much harder time tracing what the traffickers’ movements had been.

  “Do you remember anything about that place?” I asked, hopeful that she’d remember some small detail. To my disappointment, Kamya shook her head.

  “I couldn’t see anything,” she responded. “It was so dark, and the ground was so dirty and dusty. The man gave us some flashlights, and Lakshmi and I would sometimes play hide-and-seek. It was fun.”

  “There weren’t any windows or doors?” I asked.

  “No,” she shook her head. “I couldn’t tell if it was night or day because there was only one door that we were not allowed to touch.”

  “Alright,” I nodded. “What happened after they took you to that place?”

  “Sometimes the door would open, and a man would come inside and take one of the kids,” she replied.

  “The same man that took you on the plane?” I asked.

  “Sometimes,” she nodded. “But sometimes it was different men. Then one day, one of the men came and took Lakshmi. I kept yelling at him to bring her back, but he just closed the door. I didn’t want to be there anymore after that.” I could see that she was becoming upset, but I needed her to go on.

  “Tell me what happened after they took Lakshmi,” I prompted.

  “One day, one of the men came and took me and drove me to the Weavers’ house. I told him I wanted to go to where Lakshmi went, but he didn’t listen. I asked him if this was the school, but he just told me to be quiet and do what they said.”

  “I see,” I responded. “And what were the Weavers like? Were they nice to you?”

  “Mrs. Patricia Weaver was nice,” she answered. “Sometimes Mr. Daniel Weaver would get angry and tell me I had to go to sleep without dinner, and Mrs. Patricia Weaver would come downstairs and give me some and tell me not to tell Mr. Daniel Weaver.”

  “Why would Mr. Weaver get angry at you?” I asked.

  “Sometimes I would make mistakes,” Kamya frowned sadly. “I would forget to switch the clothes from the washer to the dryer, or I would burn his breakfast. Once I didn’t wake up on time, and he told me I had to stay downstairs all day, but Mrs. Weaver let me out after he left for work.” It sounded like Mrs. Weaver might have felt guilty about what they were doing. I’d have to bring that up with Junior and Charlie later.

  “Okay,” I nodded. “Now, Kamya. Something happened yesterday, didn’t it? Can you talk to me about it?” Her eyes widened, and she bowed her head before speaking.

  “I didn’t want to hurt them,” she mumbled meekly.

  “I believe you,” I smiled as I gently lifted her chin up so I could look her in the eye. “Kamya, what happened was not your fault. The Weavers did something very bad, and we all know that you were only trying to defend yourself. But I need to know what happened so I can try to find the other children who were with you, okay?”

  She nodded slowly and took a deep breath before speaking again.

  “I tried to run away,” she started. “I wanted to go find Lakshmi, so a few weeks ago, I tried to escape while the Weavers were having a party. They made me prepare a lot of food and then told me to go downstairs. But then someone knocked on the door, and they forgot to lock it. I could hear people walking around outside the door, and I kept waiting for the lock to click, but it never did. Once I couldn’t hear anything anymore, I opened the door and went into the hallway. I tried to open the front door, but I couldn’t reach the top lock, so I threw one of Mrs. Weaver’s flower vases through a window and climbed out.”

  “That was very brave of you,” I assured her. “What happened after that?

  “Mr. Weaver caught me,” she replied sadly as he patted her own head. “He hit me right here three times before Mrs. Weaver stopped him. He said I wouldn’t get food for three days for doing that, but Mrs. Weaver snuck me a little whenever he left the house. A few days after that, Mr. Weaver was watching a movie. I wasn’t allowed to watch the TV, but I saw some of it when I was bringing him his drink. One of the people in the movie got hurt. He was bleeding very much, and a lady said to call nine-one-one. Then an ambulance came and rescued him.”

  “Is that why you attacked Mr. and Mrs. Weaver?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she nodded. “They had told me I was never, ever, ever allowed to use their telephones, but I knew that if I used it, I could call nine-one-one and get help. So I hit them both until they were bleeding, and then I called nine-one-one.” She looked proud as she finished speaking, and it took all of my composure not to break down in tears over this poor child’s plight.

  “That was very clever of you,” I smiled reassuringly. “You see those two men over there?” I pointed at Junior and Charlie. “They are going to help me find Lakshmi, okay?” Kamya’s eyes lit up at my words.

  “Really?” she cried.

  “Yes,” I nodded. “You did such a great job telling me about everything that happened, but now I want you to go with Ms. Nicole, okay? She’s going to take care of you until we can get in touch with your mommy.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Naomi,” Kamya responded.

  I smiled as warmly as I could, though inside, I was seething with rage. I wouldn’t rest until I found Lakshmi and every other child that this group had trafficked into the United States.

  4

  Charlie

  “Therefore, it’s obvious that this is bigger than just a one-off case,” Naomi sighed. “This is absolutely something that requires MBLIS’s attention.”

  I frowned as I mulled over everything she had just told us. I hadn’t understood what Kamya and Naomi had been saying, but I could tell from the translator's shocked expression as she listened to the story that it hadn’t been good. We were now standing outside the police station’s break room, discussing everything that the little girl had shared with Naomi. As I looked through the small glass window at the girl, it appalled me that people could do something so horrifying to a child and that there were apparently more out there.

  “We should get to the crime scene,” Junior nodded. “Wallace called and said that the police have cordoned off everything and are waiting for us at the Weavers’ house.”

  “Let’s go,” I urged.

  The three of us filed silentl
y out of the police station and back into the car. The drive over to the crime scene was quiet and tense as each of us went over the details of what Kamya had said in our heads. The silence became so stifling that I felt a wave of relief when we made it to the Weaver’s home, which was blocked off with bright yellow police tape.

  As I stepped out of the car, I took a look up at the house. It was an impressive, two-story Victorian-style home with a manicured lawn and white picket fence. The surrounding houses were all similarly imposing and revoltingly charming. Frankly, I thought it was creepy.

  “Agents Chapman, Hills, and Patel, I assume?” A police officer asked as he stepped out of the house and approached us.

  “That’s us,” I confirmed.

  “Great,” the man replied. “I’m Detective Finch. As soon as we heard that this was a possible case of human trafficking, we stopped everything we were doing. Didn’t want to damage or move anything before you got here.”

  “That was helpful, thank you,” Junior responded.

  “Of course,” Finch nodded. “Well, go in. I’ll be out here if you need me.”

  “Thanks,” I answered before leading the way inside.

  The smell of blood hit me as soon as I walked through the doorway. Just a few feet away, a body that I assumed belonged to Mrs. Weaver was splayed out across the ground. Several feet behind her, Mr. Weaver was lying on the kitchen floor. Both of their heads were caved in and bloody.

  “Geez,” Junior sighed as he crouched down to examine one of the bodies. “I can’t believe that tiny little girl did this.”

  “It’s amazing what fear and desperation can do to a person,” I scoffed as I stepped through the foyer. “Kamya had been held here against her will for half a year, and she had no idea where her little sister was.” I knew that as a federal agent, I should never be glad when someone died, even if that person was a criminal. Regardless, I couldn’t help how I felt seeing the bodies of these two monsters who would rip an innocent child away from her family and force her into slavery.

 

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