by Matt Lincoln
“Kamya said they would make her stay ‘downstairs,’ right?” I asked as I came to a door off the kitchen that was slightly ajar.
“Yes, why?” Naomi asked as she walked up beside me. “Oh, no.”
“Yeah, I think so,” I nodded as I pushed open the cellar door. The staircase beyond It seemed to descend into total darkness. I flipped the light switch on before heading down. The cellar was unfinished, with exposed insulation in the walls and a cold, concrete floor. As I reached the bottom of the stairs and rounded a corner, I stopped dead in my tracks. At the end of the room, tucked between several bins of old Christmas decorations, was a tiny mattress and a small pile of toys.
“For goodness’ sake,” Naomi growled with disgust. “It wasn’t bad enough that they’re using her as free child labor. They wouldn’t even give her a decent place to sleep? It’s freezing down here! And that’s in the middle of summer.”
I just shook my head, unable to find any words.
“I wish they were still alive,” Naomi remarked as we ascended the stairs back up to the kitchen. “If only so they could tell us how Kamya got here.”
“Aside from the mattress and the toys, there’s no sign any children live here,” I replied as I looked around the house.
“That’s probably the way they wanted it,” Naomi sighed. “Kamya mentioned them hosting a party. It certainly wouldn’t do for the neighbors to catch sight of something out of the ordinary and start asking questions.”
“That’s true,” I replied. “There are locks on all the windows and doors, see? That explains why she had to smash open one of the windows.”
“That poor thing,” Naomi frowned. “I can’t imagine how she must have felt.”
“Well, we’re going to make whoever kidnapped her feel a lot worse,” I snapped. “Where’s Junior?”
“He said he was going to check out the upstairs,” Naomi informed me. “See if he would find anything on the Weavers’ personal devices. I’m going to go speak to the neighbors. If they were here, they might have seen something without even realizing it.”
“Okay,” I replied. “I’m gonna go see if Detective Finch found anything we might have overlooked.” We both left the house, and while Naomi took off for the house next door, I walked over to speak with Finch.
“Awful in there, isn’t it?” Finch asked as I approached.
“Which part?” I asked. “The dead bodies or the bare mattress in the basement?”
“All of it,” Finch grimaced, shaking his head. “To think that someone would do a thing like that. And what that kid must have gone through to get to that point. Never seen a thing like it.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Did you get a chance to speak to the neighbors or learn anything else about the Weavers?”
“I did, a little,” Finch shrugged. “There were a lot of lookie-loos hovering around when we first got on the scene. According to everyone we spoke to, the Weavers were model citizens. Mr. Weaver is apparently buddies with the guys down at the fire station, and Mrs. Weaver volunteers at a local animal shelter and is always donating baked goods to the local elementary school’s monthly bake sales. Everyone seemed shocked when they heard what had happened.”
“Well,” I scoffed. “It turns out they weren’t the upstanding citizens everyone thought they were. I wonder what other secrets the Weavers were hiding from everyone.”
5
Naomi
Despite the presence of cars in the driveways indicating that someone was most likely at home, I had trouble getting anyone to answer their doors. I wondered if anyone was simply wary of speaking to the police, but that didn’t make sense for this kind of neighborhood. In my experience, it was usually people from low-income areas who were hesitant to speak with law enforcement, while people from higher-income areas tended to be more receptive or, at the very least, want to gossip about what was going on.
I finally got lucky on the fourth door I tried at the house directly across the street from the Weavers. The woman who answered was small and a little nervous looking. She was wearing baggy clothes and had dark circles under her eyes, and I couldn’t help but think that she reminded me of Fiona.
“Hello, I’m Agent Patel with the Military Border Liaison Investigative Services,” I introduced myself. “We’re investigating a crime that occurred across the street. Could I speak to you for a moment?”
“The thing about the kid?” she asked.
“Yes,” I answered.
“I thought it would be,” the woman replied. “Everyone’s heard about it by now. It doesn’t surprise me, to be honest, those people were freaks.”
“How do you mean?” I asked, a little concerned by her aggressive response.
“I mean, they were fake,” the woman frowned. “I’m Emily, by the way. And yeah, they were total phonies. Half the people around here are. They all pretend to be these picture-perfect, cookie-cutter couples. It’s all a load.”
“I see,” I nodded. “Can you give me any specifics?”
“Yeah,” she replied. “A couple of weeks ago, they sent me an invitation to a dinner party. I’m pretty sure it was a mistake since they don’t like me. I don’t fit into their little ‘perfect world’ narrative, you know? Anyway, I decided to go anyway since I knew it would tick them off, and I was right. You should have seen their faces when I showed up at their door with the invitation in hand. Anyway, they have the dinner party, everything’s boring as heck, but there was this weird vibe the whole time.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” Emily shrugged. “You know how when two people have an inside joke you’re not a part of, you can tell they’re laughing about something only they know about, and you’re just sitting there like a jerk? That’s how it felt. Like almost everyone else at the table was in on this joke.”
“Almost everyone else?” I prompted.
“Yeah,” Emily replied. “There was this one other couple there. They just moved into the neighborhood recently. I could tell they felt it too because they kept looking over at me like, ‘what the heck is going on here?’ But anyway, the dinner’s going on, then suddenly we all hear this big crash like glass breaking and everyone goes completely silent.”
“What happened after that?” I asked. The more she explained, the more uneasy I felt about everything she was saying. It was clear that something insidious was going on involving more than just the Weavers.
“Mr. Weaver shot up from the table,” Emily answered. “Didn’t say anything, just took off running. Mrs. Weaver said something about neighborhood kids acting up again and left after him. After that, it was like someone had died. Everyone got super serious, and then we all just left.”
“You didn’t see or hear anything strange after that?” I asked.
“Nah, not really,” Emily shook her head. “Although I did think it was weird what Mrs. Weaver said about ‘neighborhood kids,’ cause there are no kids in this neighborhood. Unless you count that girl that you guys found, I’ve never seen or heard any kids playing around here.”
“I see,” I pursed my lips as I took in everything she’d just told me. “Thank you for your time. You’ve been very helpful.”
“Oh, wait,” Emily called as I was turning around to leave. “So, I can’t prove anything. But if I were you, I’d check out the house two doors down from the Weavers on the left. The Bradshaws’ house” She nodded toward the house in question.
“And why is that?” I asked.
“After the crash,” Emily began. “They were the ones who tried to distract everyone at the table. It was so obvious that they were trying to change the subject, and then they made us all leave through the back door. It was all so sketchy.”
“Thank you,” I replied as I turned to look at the house. “I’ll look into it.”
6
Junior
While Charlie and Naomi headed down into the cellar, I decided to check out the upstairs floor of the house. The Weavers had gotten Kamya
from someone, and there was a good chance there would be some kind of record of the transaction on their phones or computers. I found both laptops and Mrs. Weaver’s phone in their bedroom and placed everything in my evidence bag. I couldn’t find Mr. Weaver’s phone, and now that I thought about it, Naomi had mentioned something about Kamya using it to call nine-one-one after she attacked the Weavers. If that was the case, it had most likely been taken by the police as evidence. I’d have to get it as soon as possible to give to Fiona. The faster she got the devices, the faster she’d be able to give us more information to go on, and time was of the essence if there were other children out there waiting for us to find them.
As I was getting ready to leave the bedroom, a pamphlet sitting on the dresser caught my eye. It was for an organization called “Hope for Children” and listed several numbers one could contact if they suspected that a child was a victim of human trafficking. According to the pamphlet, the organization was based out of Las Vegas and had been running as a non-profit for five years. I took the pamphlet downstairs and left the house just as Naomi was returning from across the street.
“What’s that?” Charlie asked as he walked away from Finch and over to where I was standing.
“A pamphlet I found in the Weaver’s bedroom,” I responded as I handed it to him. “It’s all about recognizing the signs of human trafficking and giving advice on what you should do if you suspect someone might be a victim.”
“They might have been using it to stay under the radar,” Charlie grimaced. “They learn what people are looking out for so they can adapt and make sure they don’t get caught.”
“How vile,” Naomi sneered. “They would really go to such lengths to keep a child prisoner.”
“Where did you go?” I asked.
“I was interviewing the neighbors,” she responded. “Or trying to, anyway. Only one person answered the door, and what she told me really wasn’t good.”
“What did she say?” I asked. Naomi looked around and leaned in closer to Charlie and me before answering.
“She said that the Weaver’s weren’t the only ones she’s noticed behaving unusually,” Naomi explained. “In fact, she implied that half of the neighborhood has been acting strangely, and she specifically pointed me toward the house two doors down.”
“You think the neighbors are doing this too?” Charlie asked.
“It’s possible,” Naomi nodded. “I think we should speak to the couple living in that house and see what they have to say.
“Let’s go then,” Charlie urged. The three of us made our way down the street and to the house that Naomi had pointed out.
“Mrs. Bradshaw,” Naomi called as she banged on the door. “This is MBLIS. We need to have a word with you.” For a few seconds, there was only silence. Then, we heard a short, high-pitched scream that ended suddenly as though it had been stifled.
We exchanged concerned looks, and a second later, Charlie was stalking forward to pound on the door with his fist.
“Open up, or I’m gonna kick the door down!” Charlie yelled.
Now that we’d heard what sounded like a child screaming, he was perfectly within his rights to enter the house without permission. He reared back as if to make good on his threat, but before he could, the door cracked open a few inches, and a woman peered out at us. Her bleached blond hair was pulled up into a bun on the top of her head, and she was wearing such a thick layer of makeup that her face looked as if it was made out of clay.
“I’m so sorry,” she moaned in a gratingly phony voice. “I was just watching a scary movie. It was so loud I could hardly hear you knocking.” Before I could call her out on how obviously fake her story was, Charlie shoved her aside and pushed the door open. “Don’t you touch me! You can’t just barge in here!”
“Be quiet,” I told her. “And don’t move. You guys search the house. I’ll stay here with her.” It was irritating listening to her outraged exclamations when it was clear that she was hiding something. I was itching to search the house as well, but someone needed to stay behind to make sure she wouldn’t try to run or attack us in retaliation.
Just a few feet away, still within sight of the entryway where the woman and I were standing, Naomi came to a stop in front of a hallway door. She leaned down and pulled at something that was sticking out of the bottom between the bottom of the door and the floor. She yanked and managed to pull a small cloth doll from the small space.
“Unlock this door,” Naomi commanded the woman.
“Absolutely not,” Mrs. Bradshaw bristled. “This is my private home! You can’t just start rummaging around!”
“Fine,” Charlie sighed. “Stand back, Patel.” Naomi moved away from the door and behind Charlie, who then shot two bullets into the doorknob, blasting it off of the door. Mrs. Bradshaw screamed at the noise, but Charlie ignored her and pulled the door open. From this angle, I couldn’t see what was inside the closet, but I couldn’t leave Mrs. Bradshaw unsupervised. I craned my neck around to get a better look and nearly gasped with shock when Naomi pulled a child-sized cot and blanket out of the closet. She dropped the items on the floor beside the closet and reached back inside to pull out a few more small toys and a water bottle.
“Do you have children, Mrs. Bradshaw?” Naomi asked.
Mrs. Bradshaw’s mouth gaped open and closed like a fish.
“No, those are for when my nephew comes to visit,” she finally sputtered.
“Your nephew?” Charlie reiterated sarcastically. “This little pink handmade doll is for your nephew? Why was the door locked? You think someone’s going to try to steal the crummy plastic cot that you make your nephew sleep on?”
“I want to see a warrant!” Mrs. Bradshaw yelled as her face grew red.
Naomi just rolled her eyes and moved toward the kitchen to continue searching. Charlie headed up the stairs, and I was nervous that I couldn’t see either of them anymore.
“Oh, my word!” Naomi yelled from the kitchen, and I swung my head around toward the sound instinctively. As I did, I heard a metallic jingling, and I turned my gaze back toward Mrs. Bradshaw. I only had a second’s warning before her hand came down across the left side of my face, and I felt a sharp, stinging pain alight on my cheek.
I brought my hand up to my face, and it came away wet with blood, but I had to ignore it for now. Mrs. Bradshaw had taken off out the door in the few seconds I was distracted, and I needed to catch her. Fortunately, she wasn’t as fast as I was, and I was able to tackle her to the ground before she made it to her car. Her keys were clutched in her right hand and covered in my blood.
“Help!” she screamed. “Somebody help me!” I forced her arms behind her back and was just getting the handcuffs clicked around her wrists when Finch came running up to us. I could see a few of the neighbors beginning to gather around as well. A few of them were holding their phones out and recording the altercation.
“Are you okay?” Finch asked as he leaned down to help me haul Mrs. Bradshaw off the ground. “You’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine,” I answered, wincing as Mrs. Bradshaw continued to screech at the top of her lungs. “She got me with her keys. I think I’ll be okay.” Charlie came rushing up to us at that moment.
“Everything okay?” Charlie asked, grimacing at Mrs. Bradshaw. “Naomi and I could hear her wailing from inside.”
“Yeah,” I confirmed. “I got distracted when Naomi yelled, and she attacked me and tried to flee. Is everything okay in there? Why’d she yell like that?”
“She found another kid,” Charlie replied grimly, and we all fell silent, even Mrs. Bradshaw.
My heart fell at the news. Even though we’d suspected it, it was still awful to discover that we’d been right.
“Shoot,” Fitch responded solemnly, shaking his head. “I’ll call for more backup, then.”
7
Naomi
“Oh, my word!” I exclaimed as I opened the small cabinet under the sink. I’d been looking for any traces o
f a child, but I’d still been surprised to see a pair of large brown eyes staring back at me from beneath the piping.
“Hello, there,” I smiled at the small child. “Do you speak Patois?” The little girl nodded, and I reached my hands out toward her. She hesitated at first but then placed her hands in mine and allowed me to pull her out of the cabinet.
“Hey, is everything okay?” Charlie asked as he ran into the kitchen. “I heard you yell.”
“Sorry about that,” I replied. “I was startled.”
His eyes drifted over to the open cabinet in front of me, and I saw him visibly flinch as his gaze landed on the small child huddled inside.
“I’m not surprised,” Charlie raised an eyebrow, looking down at the little girl. She was even smaller than Kamya and looked like she was four or five years old. I wondered if she might be Kamya’s little sister, but before I could ask her, I heard screams coming from the front yard.
“Go,” I told him, “I’ll stay here with her.” Charlie nodded before taking off, and I turned back to the little girl in front of me. “I’m Naomi. Can you tell me your name?”
“Fatima,” she responded. She wasn’t Kamya’s sister, then.
“Okay, darling,” I smiled at her. “Why don’t you come and sit with me? I’m going to call some friends of mine who will take you to a nice place, okay? You won’t have to stay in this house anymore.” Fatima smiled, and my heart broke at how eager she seemed to leave this place. I took her hand and led her into the living room before gesturing for her to have a seat on the couch.
“I can’t,” she replied sadly. “I’m not allowed on the couch.” I felt a jolt of white-hot fury burn through me at that, but I kept the sweet smile plastered onto my face for her sake.